“Seems to me that her gingham dress is just the thing for running around in the woods and fields,” said Mrs. Cole, who did not often pluck up courage sufficiently to oppose her own opinions to her daughter’s superior wisdom. “I’ve seen her fixed up in white of an evening, and looking like a picture. But, as far as that goes,” she concluded resolutely, “there’s so much to her face, just as if her head was crammed full of bright ideas, and her heart of kind thoughts, that you get to looking at her, and forget what she’s wearing. An’ I guess that young man thinks so, too.”
The closing sentence silenced the retort on Rosetta Muriel’s lips. Her mother had voiced her own suspicions. As a rule, the sophisticated Rosetta Muriel had very little respect for her mother’s opinions, but, in this case, her views happened to coincide with some inward doubts of her own. Rosetta Muriel wondered if it were possible, after all, that sweetness and intelligence written in a girl’s face, might count for more than some other things.
Farmer Cole’s optimism regarding Hobo was justified. For that very evening as the young folks ranged themselves in a semi-circle for the flash-light picture, on which Amy had set her heart, Hobo appeared, looking very interesting in his big collar of bandages, and squeezed himself into the very front of the circle, with a dog’s deep-rooted aversion to being left out of anything. Poor Hobo! He was inexperienced in the matter of flash-lights, and that eventful day was to end in still another shock. For when the powder was touched off and the room was illumined by the lurid glare, high above the inevitable chorus of screams and laughter, sounded Hobo’s yelp of terrified surprise. He left the room with his tail between his legs, and never again, while the summer lasted, could he be induced to face Amy’s camera.
CHAPTER IX
RUTH IN THE RÔLE OF HEROINE
The boys’ stay was almost at an end. There had been a number of “last days,” indeed, and Graham declared that he felt like a popular prima donna with a farewell tour once a year. “Jack and I hate like the mischief to go,” he acknowledged frankly, “but for all it’s so jolly here, you can’t exactly call it a walking tour, and that’s what we set out for. So to-morrow is positively our last appearance.”
They had been sitting around the fire in the front room when Graham made the announcement, and forthwith it was unanimously decided that the closing day of the boys’ visit must be a red-letter occasion in the annals of the summer. Enough suggestions were offered to provide a week’s entertainment for people who object to taking their pleasures strenuously. In addition to outlining plans for the morrow, it had been tacitly agreed to make the most of the present, and this had resulted in their sitting up very late and clearing among them several platters of fudge, which Amy had thoughtfully made ready. It was that fudge which Ruth recalled about five o’clock the next morning,–recalled with an aversion which by rapid degrees became loathing.
“I ought to have known better,” thought poor Ruth, failing to find any especial consolation in the reflection that she herself was responsible for her present misery. “I didn’t eat half as much as Amy, though.” She pressed her hands to her throbbing temples and groaned. “It’s Graham’s last day, and I’m going to be sick and spoil everything.”
She entertained herself for some moments by picturing the consternation with which her announcement would be received. “You’ll have to go without me to-day. I’ve got such a headache that I can’t do a thing.” But, of course, they would not go without her. They would sit on the porch and discuss regretfully the good times they would have had if nothing had interfered.
All at once Ruth came to a magnificent resolve. She would not spoil the pleasure of Graham’s last day. She would not allow the shadow of her indisposition to cloud the enjoyment of the others. She would bear her sufferings in silence. The resolution was such a relief that she almost fancied that the pain in her head was a little easier. She turned her pillow, pressed her hot cheek to its refreshing coolness, and proceeded to enjoy contemplating herself in the rôle of a heroine.