"Ruth, do have a potato with me," said Kathleen; "they are first-rate when you don't put a knife or fork near them."
But Ruth had no inclination for potatoes eaten in the Irish way.
"I will go in and see how grandfather is, granny," she said, and she disappeared into the little parlor.
"You know," said Kathleen, helping herself to a second
potato, and fixing her eyes on Mrs. Craven's face—"you know how fond I am of Ruth."
"Indeed, my dear young lady, she has been telling me about you; and I am glad you notice her, dear little girl!"
"But it is not only I," said Kathleen; "every one in the school likes her. She could be the primest favorite with every one if she only chose. She is so sweetly pretty, too, and such a lady."
"Well, dear, her mother was a real lady; and her father was educated by my dear husband, and was in the army."
"It doesn't matter if her father was a duke and her mother a dairymaid," said Kathleen with emphasis. "She is just a lady because she is."
Before she could add another word Ruth came in.