“Thank you for the tip, Uncle,” said Winfield, heartily.
The old man glowed with gratification. “We men understand each other,” was plainly written on his expressive face, as he went noiselessly back to the kitchen.
“You'd better go home, dear,” suggested Ruth.
“Delicate hint,” replied Winfield. “It would take a social strategist to perceive your hidden meaning. Still, my finer sensibilities respond instantly to your touch, and I will go. I flatter myself that I've never had to be put out yet, when I've been calling on a girl. Some subtle suggestion like yours has always been sufficient.”
“Don't be cross, dear—let's see how soon you can get to the bottom of the hill. You can come back at four o'clock.”
He laughed and turned back to wave his hand at her. She wafted a kiss from the tips of her fingers, which seemed momentarily to impede his progress, but she motioned him away and ran into the house.
Aunt Jane was nowhere to be seen, so she went on into the kitchen to help Uncle James with the potatoes. He had peeled almost a peck and the thick parings lay in a heap on the floor. “My goodness'” she exclaimed. “You'd better throw those out, Uncle, and I'll put the potatoes on to boil.”
He hastened out, with his arms full of peelings. “You're a real kind woman, Niece Ruth,” he said gratefully, when he came in. “You don't favour your aunt none—I think you're more like me.”
Mrs. Ball entered the kitchen with a cloud upon her brow, and in one of those rare flashes of insight which are vouchsafed to plodding mortals, a plan of action presented itself to Ruth. “Aunty,” she said, before Mrs. Ball had time to speak, “you know I'm going back to the city to-morrow, and I'd like to send you and Uncle James a wedding present—you've been so good to me. What shall it be?”
“Well, now, I don't know,” she answered, visibly softening, “but I'll think it over, and let you know.”