So she argued with herself all through the long sunny morning, while the bundles of corn fell in ever-increasing numbers, and little Ruth flitted to and fro playing with the long golden strands that she drew from them.
After a while Oliver came up with a smile on his merry face to talk to her, but he had scarcely reached her when there came the sound of a horse’s feet in the lane, and Dr. Square appeared at the gate.
“They told me I should find you here,” he said, and came in and sat down beside her, while Oliver saluted and went away.
She told the doctor of her drive in the dog-cart to the Stones, and he expressed some surprise that Arthur had taken her there.
“He usually avoids the place like the plague,” he said.
Her curiosity awakened. “Do you know why?” she said.
“Yes, I know,” said Dr. Square.
She looked at him. “Is it a secret?”
She thought his red, wholesome face had a dubious look, but he answered her without actual hesitation. “Not that I know of. Naturally they don’t talk about it here at Tetherstones. It was the scene of a very unhappy tragedy some six years ago.” His eyes rested upon Ruth busy among the corn-sheaves at a little distance. “It was one of the sisters,” he said, “the child’s mother,—a lovely girl—a lovely girl. She died up there in a blizzard one winter night. She was out of her mind at the time. She took the little one with her. When we found them, she was frozen stiff, but the child still lived. Poor mite—poor little girl! She’d better have gone with her mother.”
“Oh, why do you say that?” Frances said. “She is happy. There are plenty to love her.”