Ruth said nothing more. She put the book back into the drawer and locked it. Then she sat down by her grandfather's side.
"Would you rather I got you your dinner," she said, "or would you rather I talked to you for a little?"
"I'd a sight rather my little Ruth sat near me and let me place my hand on her hair. Your hair is jet-black, Ruthie—almost blue-black. So was your father's hair, my child. He was a very handsome boy. I never looked for it that he would die in the foreign parts and leave you to your grandmother and me. But you have been a rare blessing to us—a rare blessing."
"Sometimes I think," said Ruth slowly, "that I have
been a great care. It must have cost you a great deal to feed and clothe me."
"No, no, child; far from that. You were always the bit of good luck—on the right side of the balance—always, always."
Ruth took the old man's hand and pressed it between both her own. Presently she rubbed her cheeks softly against it.
"Grandfather," she said, "are you all right now—quite wide awake, I mean? Has the dream about the shop and the wrong accounts passed out of your head?"
"Why, yes, darling; of course it was only a dream."
"Then I'd like to ask you something."