The three girls were breathless with attention, and Aunt Betty went on.
“I want the one I shall choose to ponder these conditions well; there will be a few years—probably—of partial seclusion from society, and of devotion to her old auntie, and then freedom, with the consciousness of having made happy the declining years of one who buried the last of her own children many years ago.”
She paused—but not a word was spoken—and in a moment she went on.
“I did not know how to choose between you, for you are all so sweet to me, so I made a plan to find out—with Sam’s help—a little about your characteristics. The virtue I prize almost above all others, is—truthfulness, honest, outspoken truth. The bad fish, the salted cream, and the odious spread were tests, and only one of you stood the test and spoke the honest truth. I am glad that one did, for otherwise I should not have found, in my own family, one I could adopt and depend upon.”
She paused; not a word was said.
“Ruth,” she began again, turning to that confused, and blushing, and utterly amazed girl, “Ruth, will you come to live with me, take the place of a daughter, and occupy that room?”
“You ask me?” cried Ruth, “clumsy and awkward as I am! I never dreamed you could want me!”
“I know you did not,” said Aunt Betty; “but your habit of truthfulness is far more valuable to me than the deftest fingers or the most finished manners. Will you come?”
“Oh, yes, indeed!” cried Ruth, falling on her knees and burying her face in Aunt Betty’s lap, while happy tears fell from her eyes, and Aunt Betty gently stroked her hair.
“Well, well,” said Jenny, with a sigh, as the two girls walked slowly home, “I always knew Aunt Betty was the crankiest woman in the world, and if Ruth wasn’t so perfectly sincere I should almost think that she”—