"I am not sure; that would depend upon your aunt."

"But--mother--you don't think of letting me go, do you?" asked Ruth,
almost over-whelmed with pleasure and surprise.

"I don't know. Your father thinks it would be good for you, but I am not
sure, Ruth. I am afraid whether, after living in a handsome
well-appointed house, waited upon by servants, and surrounded with
comforts and luxuries, you would grow discontented with our quiet
country life. I know you love your home now, but I fear lest a life in
town should spoil you, and make you no longer our little Ruth, but a
grown-up young lady, who would feel herself above our simple joys and
pleasures, and only bring herself to tolerate them from a sense of
duty."

"Mother, mother!" cried Ruth, bursting into tears, "don't talk so. I'll
never go away. How can you think so of me?"

"Perhaps I have done wrong to say so much to you, darling," replied her
mother; "but I must tell you that your father does not fear anything of
the sort for you. He says that you need to go to a good school, and that
he is thankful for the opportunity which is now offered. He feels sure
that you would be happy with his sister, and does not fear your growing
discontented with home. Besides, as he says, when you come back you will
be able to teach the younger children, and that will be a good object to
have in view while you are studying. So we have determined to leave it
for you to decide. We will give you to-day to think it over, and
to-morrow you must tell us what you wish to do. Pray over it, Ruth, and
don't let anything I have said prejudice you against the idea of going.