sweetness' used to be one of Parson Larrabee's texts. That's Ruth's
kind of strength.--Can I--will you let me bring her here to see you,
Letty,--say for New Year's? It's all so different from the last time I
asked you. Then I knew I was bringing you nothing but sorrow and pain,
but Ruth carries her welcome in her face."

The prop inside of Letty wavered unsteadily for a moment and then
stood in its accustomed upright position.

"Why not?" she asked. "It's the right thing to do; but you must tell
her about the children first."

"Oh! I did that long ago, after I found out that she cared. It was
only at first that I didn't dare. I haven't told you, but she went out
for her daily walk and brought me home a Christmas card, the prettiest
one she could find, she said. I was propped up on pillows, as weak as
a kitten. I looked at it and looked at it, and when I saw that it was
this room, the old fireplace and mother's picture, and the Hessian
soldier andirons, when I realized there was a face at the window and
that the door was ajar,--everything just swam before me and I fainted
dead away. I had a relapse, and when I was better again I told her
everything. She's fond of children. It didn't make any difference,
except for her to say that the more she had to do for me, the more she
wanted to do it."

"Well," said Letty with a break in her voice, "that's love, so far as
I can see, and if you've been lucky enough to win it, take it and be
thankful, and above all, nurse and keep it.--So one of Reba's cards,
the one the publisher thought would never sell, found you and brought
you back! How wonderful! We little thought of that, Reba and I!"