“I'd be pleased,” he said plaintively. “'Taint as if I wan's accustomed to money. My store was wuth five or six hundred dollars, and you've been real pleasant to me, Niece Ruth. Buy a hair wreath for the parlour, or sunthin' to remind you of your pore old Uncle.”
Winfield pressed her arm warningly, and she tucked the bill into her chatelaine bag. “Thank you, Uncle!” she said; then, of her own accord, she stooped and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
A mist came into the old man's eyes, and he put his hand to his belt again, but she hurriedly led Winfield away. “Ruth,” he said, as they went down the hill, “you're a sweet girl. That was real womanly kindness to the poor devil.”
“Shall I be equally kind to all 'poor devils'?”
“There's one more who needs you—if you attend to him properly, it will be enough.”
“I don't see how they're going to get Aunty's silk gown and a ring like mine and a haircloth parlour suit and publish a book with less than two hundred dollars, do you?”
“Hardly—Joe says that he gave Hepsey ten dollars. There's a great discussion about the spending of it.”
“I didn't know—I feel guilty.”
“You needn't, darling. There was nothing else for you to do. How did you succeed with your delicate mission?”
“I managed it,” she said proudly. “I feel that I was originally destined for a diplomatic career.” He laughed when she described the lemonade set which she had promised in his name.