still awaiting their turns. Seated in one of the easy-chairs, near the
window, was an aristocratic-looking woman, whom Ruth recognized as a friend
of one of her Christian friends, and with whom she had a speaking
acquaintance. Nodding pleasantly in response to the rather frigid bow, she
walked to the centre of the room, and laying upon the table a bunch of
roses that she carried, proceeded to select one of the magazines scattered
about. As she sat down, she found herself opposite a stout Irishwoman,
coarsely but cleanly dressed, who with undisguised admiration took in every
detail of Ruth's appearance. She overlooked the evident simplicity of the
woman's stare; but the wistful, yearning look of a little girl who reclined
upon the lounge caused her to sit with her magazine unopened. As soon as
she perceived that it was her flowers that the child regarded so longingly,
she bent forward, and holding out a few roses, said invitingly, --

"Would you like these?"

There is generally something startling in the sudden sound of a voice after
a long silence between strangers; but the pretty cadence of Ruth's gentle
voice bore no suggestion of abruptness.

"Indeed, and she just do dote on 'em," answered the mother, in a loud tone,
for the blushing child.

"So do I," responded Ruth; and leaning farther forward, she put them in the
little hand.

But the child's hand did not close over them, and the large eyes turned
piteously to her mother.

"It's paralyzed she is," hurriedly explained the mother. "Shall Mamma hold