CHAPTER IX.
A DAY OF PLEASURE.
T was an unusually warm day in June, and Ruth had dismissed her scholars early on that account. She stood by the window plucking the dried leaves off the climbing rose, and thinking how delightful the approaching vacation would be, when a little hand touched her. Looking down she found Philip by her side.
"And what will mamma say at having no little boy at home?" she asked, drawing him nearer, and smoothing back his wavy hair.
"O, mamma knows. She only said I must not trouble you. I guess I wouldn't do that, though, because I love you too much."
Here the little hand tried to give Ruth's a great squeeze, while such an effort brought color to the pale cheeks. Not only that, but it brought something he wanted very much, a kiss.
"You always kiss me for telling you that, Miss Ruth, and so does mamma. What do you do it for? Do you like little boys to love you?"
"You have not told me how much you love me," was the laughing reply. "I cannot answer questions till I know all about them."
"O, I love you more than all the world, except my mamma;—isn't that ever so much?"