a child's ears should hear from hour to hour the sweet babble of a
mother's love, and its tongue begin to give back the words in lisping
sounds, the ear of Ruth's child heard nothing, and its tongue was mute.

Then Ruth's spirit sank, but still the angel out of heaven seemed to
come to her, and find her a thousand excuses, and say, "Wait, Ruth; only
wait, only a little longer."

So Ruth held back her tears, and bent above her babe again, and watched
for its smile that should answer to her smile, and listened for the
prattle of its little lips. But never a sound as of speech seemed to
break the silence between the words that trembled from her own tongue,
and never once across her baby's face passed the light of her tearful
smile. It was a pitiful thing to see her wasted pains, and most pitiful
of all for the pains she was at to conceal them. Thus, every day at
midday she would carry her little one into the patio, and watch if its
eyes should blink in the sunshine; but if Israel chanced to come upon
her then, she would drop her head and say, "How sweet the air is to-day,
and how pleasant to sit in the sun!"

"So it is," he would answer, "so it is."

Thus, too, when a bird was singing from the fig-tree that grew in the
court, she would catch up her child and carry it close, and watch if
its ears should hear; but if Israel saw her, she would laugh--a little
shrill laugh like a cry--and cover her face in confusion.

"How merry you are, sweetheart," he would say, and then pass into the
house.