"No," said Miss Cynthia ungraciously, "they haven't. The girls in this town don't care anything about me or my belongings, and they never come here if they can help it. The boys are nicer." And forthwith Miss Cynthia told Ruth some of the kind things the boys had done for her, and grew quite gentle and friendly again in the telling.
"I often wish I knew something I could do for them," she added.
"It's so hard to think of anything that would really please boys."
"If they should see the bundles of letters you have there, Miss Cynthia," suggested Ruth, "I'm sure they'd ask you if you could spare any stamps. They're all crazy over their collections."
"Are they really?" asked Miss Cynthia, as if a new idea had been given her. "Why, my dear, those are letters from all over the world written to my blessed father. One of his dearest friends was a sea-captain who sailed everywhere, and always mailed letters to my father from every port he touched."
Even as she spoke, Miss Cynthia was excitedly slipping the letters out of their envelopes. "Here," she said, thrusting a package into Ruth's hands. "You help me, and then you may take them home to Arthur, and he can divide with the others. Of course I don't know which ones they will like, so I'll send them all."
"Good-bye, Miss Cynthia. I can hardly wait to show these to the boys," said Ruth as her hostess came slowly down the steep stairs behind her, and then she jumped and almost screamed when, "Good-bye, good-bye; come again," came hoarsely from under her very feet.
"It's only Ebenezer out again," said Miss Cynthia serenely. "I must have the catch on that door made stronger."
Five minutes later Ruth rang the door-bell at home, and, as she stepped into the house, Dorothy came toward her from the library.
"Oh, did you think I was perfectly dreadful?" cried Dolly, putting on a very penitent expression.
"Well, yes, I did just at first. Then Ebenezer told me to 'cheer up' and after that, to tell the truth, I forgot all about you. I've had a perfectly lovely time."