We told her about it.
"Poor little lonely kiddie," Ruth said softly afterward, giving Becky a strange little caress with the tip of her finger on the end of the child's infinitesimal nose. "Most as forlorn as some one they don't invite to family reunions any more."
"Why, Ruth," I remonstrated. "We thought—you see——"
"Never mind," she interrupted lightly. "I wasn't serious. I'll run upstairs now, and freshen up a bit."
"Come, Becky," ordered Oliver, "get down."
I saw Becky's arm tighten around Ruth's neck again. She's an unaccountable child.
Ruth said quietly, "Let her come upstairs with me, if she wants. I haven't had a welcome like this since the days of poor little Dandy."
An hour later Edith and I found Ruth sitting in a rocking-chair in the room that used to be hers years ago when she was a young girl. She was holding Becky.
"What in the world are you doing?" asked Edith.
"I never held a sleeping child before, and I'm discovering," replied Ruth, softly so as not to disturb Becky. "Aren't the little things limp?"