Ruth laid down her knitting-work, and was in the back porch in a moment.
“Ruth, what does thee think?” said Rachel. “Father says Eliza’s husband is in the last company, and will be here tonight.”
A burst of joy from the little Quakeress interrupted the speech. She gave such a bound from the floor, as she clapped her little hands, that two stray curls fell from under her Quaker cap, and lay brightly on her white neckerchief.
“Hush thee, dear!” said Rachel, gently; “hush, Ruth! Tell us, shall we tell her now?”
“Now! to be sure,—this very minute. Why, now, suppose ’t was my John, how should I feel? Do tell her, right off.”
“Thee uses thyself only to learn how to love thy neighbor, Ruth,” said Simeon, looking, with a beaming face, on Ruth.
“To be sure. Isn’t it what we are made for? If I didn’t love John and the baby, I should not know how to feel for her. Come, now do tell her,—do!” and she laid her hands persuasively on Rachel’s arm. “Take her into thy bed-room, there, and let me fry the chicken while thee does it.”
Rachel came out into the kitchen, where Eliza was sewing, and opening the door of a small bed-room, said, gently, “Come in here with me, my daughter; I have news to tell thee.”
The blood flushed in Eliza’s pale face; she rose, trembling with nervous anxiety, and looked towards her boy.
“No, no,” said little Ruth, darting up, and seizing her hands. “Never thee fear; it’s good news, Eliza,—go in, go in!” And she gently pushed her to the door which closed after her; and then, turning round, she caught little Harry in her arms, and began kissing him.