The old lady took them from her and disappeared into the kitchen.
"Ruth—Ruth!" said a somewhat querulous but very deep voice which evidently issued from the parlor.
"Yes, granddad; coming in a moment or two," Ruth
replied. She ran up the tiny stairs, and entered her own little bedroom, which was so wee that she could scarcely turn round in it, but was extremely neat.
Ruth removed her hat, brushed out her black hair, saw that her dress, shabby as it was, was in apple-pie order, put on a neat white apron, and ran downstairs. She first of all entered the parlor. A handsome old man, with a decided look of Ruth herself, was seated by the fire. He was holding out his thin, knuckly hands to the blaze. As Ruth came in he turned and smiled at her.
"Ah, deary!" he said, "I have been missing you all day. And how did you like your school? And how is everything?"
"I will tell you after supper, grandfather. I must go and help granny now."
"That's right; that's a good girl. Oh! far be it from me to be impatient; I wouldn't be for all the world. Your granny has missed you too to-day."
Ruth smiled at him and went into the kitchen. There were eager voices and sounds of people hurrying about, and then a fragrant smell of fried sausages. A moment later Ruth appeared, holding a brightly trimmed lamp in her hand; she laid it on a little centre-table, drew down the blinds, pulled the red curtains across the windows, poked up the fire, and then proceeded to lay the cloth for supper. Her pile of books, which she had brought in her satchel, lay on a chair.
"I can have a look at your books while I am waiting, can't I, little woman?" said the old man.