THE RIGHT SIDE OF THE LEDGER.
Ruth got up rather earlier than usual on that Saturday morning. She had a dull, stunned kind of feeling round her heart. She was glad of that; she was glad that she was not acutely sorry, or acutely glad, or acutely anxious about anything.
"If I could always be like this, nothing would matter," she said to herself.
She dressed with her usual scrupulous neatness, and after hesitating for a moment, put on her best Sunday serge dress. It was a dark-blue serge, very neatly made. She combed back her luxurious hair and tied it with a ribbon to match the dress. She then ran downstairs.
"Why, Ruth?" said her grandmother, who was pouring some porridge into bowls, "what are you wearing that frock for?"
"I thought I would like to, granny."
"Well, to be sure. I trust to goodness you are not getting extravagant. It will be doomsday before we can get you another like it. You must remember that I saved up for it sixpence by sixpence, and it took me all my time and my best endeavors to get it."
"I know it, granny; and when I wear it I feel that you were very kind to give it me. A girl who wears a dress
like this ought to be very, very good, oughtn't she, granny?"
"Well, to be sure, little woman; and so you are. There never was a better child. Sit down now and sup your porridge. It is extra good this morning, and there's a drop of cream in that jug which will give it a flavor."