The boy's face was flushed; he ran his hand back through his hair in an agitated way; it was evident that his heart was hot with feeling about it all. "I don't know whether you know, Deane," he said in a lowered voice, "that mother's last words were for Ruth. They can't deny it, for I was standing nearest her. 'Where's Ruth?' she said; and then at the very last—'Ruth?'"
His voice went unsteady as he repeated it. Deane, nodding, was looking straight down the street.
"Well," said Ted, after a minute, "I'm not going to have that happen again. I've been thinking about it. I did write Ruth a week ago. Now I shall write to her before I go to bed tonight and tell her to come home."
"You do that, Ted," said the doctor with gruff warmth. "You do that. I'll write her too. Ruth wrote to me."
"Did she?" Ted quickly replied. "Well"—he hesitated, then threw out in defiant manner and wistful voice, "well, I guess Ruth'll find she's got one friend when she comes back to her old town."
"You bet she will," snapped Deane, adding in another voice: "She knows that."
"And as for the family," Ted went on, "there are four of us, and I don't know why Ruth and I aren't half of that four. Cy and Harriett haven't got it all to say."
He said it so hotly that Deane conciliated: "Try not to have any split up, Ted. That would just make it harder for Ruth, you know."
"There'll not be any split up if Cy will just act like a human being," said the boy darkly.
"Tell him your father was asking for Ruth and that I told you you must send for her. See Harriett first and get her in line."