Both Elsa and Betty wanted some advice about the colours of paints to use first, so the time did not seem very long to them before Ben returned,—a most penitent-faced boy now, and in his own clothes.
Ben walked straight up to Miss Ruth, made his best bow, and said in a manly way, though very fast: “Mother says I must beg your pardon for bringing the squirrel. I am sorry I did it.”
“I think you frightened the squirrel more than you did the girls, Ben,” Miss Ruth replied, feeling that the boy had already done sufficient penance for his attempted fun.
Ben drew a long breath of relief. “I had a ride both ways,” he said, quite cheerfully. “May I paint, too?” he inquired, turning to look at the tempting array upon the table, and also at the plateful of thin sandwiches which Miss Ruth had wisely provided to go with Betty’s candy.
“Yes, indeed,” Miss Ruth answered. “How would you like to paint the shoes on the dolls? Take some sandwiches, children.”
“I will black their boots for them,” cried Ben merrily, as he helped himself to a chicken sandwich and a paint-brush.
“Betty brought the candy,” said Miss Ruth, for Ben, somehow, was ready for a piece in a flash. Then Betty bravely made the explanation.
“Peggy says she will do all the painting you want her to. She can’t hardly wait for it.” Ben suddenly remembered the message.
“We can’t hardly wait for that story! Please, please, begin!” entreated Betty.
This is a true story, children,—said Ruth Warren, going toward the hearth, where a bright wood-fire burned steadily, and wheeling a deep, comfortable chair half around so that she might watch the children at their work:—The winter that I was eleven years old, my father had to go to California. My mother went with him, and as it would have been a rather long, hard journey for a child, they left me with my grandmother, who lived in a roomy, old-fashioned house just on the border of a large town. I was not very well that winter, and the doctor had said I must not go to school, but must be out-of-doors all that I could. I remember this half made up to me for having my father and mother go away—or I tried to think it did.