had saved him the wages of a housekeeper.

This very day, on coming home from school, Ruth had met Doctor Davison
coming away from the Red Mill. She thought the red and white mare,
that was so spirited and handsome, had been tied to the post in front
of the kitchen door, and that the physician must have called upon Aunt
Alvirah.

"So this is the young lady who wouldn't stop at my house but went to
Sam Curtis' to stay all night," he said, holding in the mare and
looking down at Ruth. "And you haven't been past the gate with the
green eyes since?"

"No, sir," Ruth said, timidly. "I have never even been to town."

"No. Or you would not have failed to see the Curtises again. At least,
I hope you'll see them. Mercy has never ceased talking about you."

"The lame girl, sir?" cried Ruth, in wonder. "Why, she spoke awfully
unkindly to me, and I thought her mother only thought I would feel bad
and wanted to smooth it over, when she asked me to come again."

"No," said the doctor, seriously, shaking his head. "Nobody knows
Mercy like her mother. That's not to be expected. She's a poor,
unfortunate, cramp-minded child. I've done what I can for her back--
she has spinal trouble; but I can do little for Mercy's twisted and
warped mind. She tells me she has cramps in her back and legs and I
tell her she has worse cramps in her mind. Bright! Why, child, she
knows more than most grown folks. Reads every book she can get hold
of; there is scarcely a child in the Cheslow High School who could