down hair, and chattering as only girls in their teens do chatter at
bedtime.

Ruth was in her white window-chair, one foot up on a cricket; and, as
if she could not get into that place without her considering-fit
coming over her, she sat with her one unlaced boot in her hand, and
her eyes away out over the moonlighted fields.

"She played all the evening, nearly. She always does," said Barbara.

"Why, I had a splendid time!" cried Ruth, coming down upon them out of
her cloud with flat contradiction. "And I'm sure I didn't play all the
evening. Mrs. Van Alstyne sang Tennyson's 'Brook,' aunt; and the music
_splashes_ so in it! It did really seem as if she were spattering it
all over the room, and it wasn't a bit of matter!"

"The time was so good, then, that it has made you sober," said Mrs.
Holabird, coming and putting her hand on the back of the white chair.
"I've known good times do that."

"It has given me ever so much thinking to do; besides that brook in my
head, 'going on forever--ever! _go_-ing-on-forever!'" And Ruth broke
into the joyous refrain of the song as she ended.

"I shall come to you for a great long talk to-morrow morning, mother!"
Ruth said again, turning her head and touching her lips to the
mother-hand on her chair. She did not always say "mother," you see; it
was only when she wanted a very dear word.

"We'll wind the rings with all the pretty-colored stuffs we can find