Ruth did to help others, in spite of her failing strength.

The schoolroom, or nursery, as I believe it was called, was a large
pleasant room just over the drawing-room, and commanding the same
view of the garden and cedar-tree. It had three windows, only they
were rather high up, and had cushioned window-seats. In one of them
there was a little girl curled up in company with a large brown and
white spaniel.

"Well, Flurry, what mischief are you and Flossy concocting?" asked
Miss Lucas, in a playful voice, for the child was too busily engaged
to notice our entrance.

"Why, it is my little auntie," exclaimed Flurry, joyously, and she
scrambled down, while Flossy wagged his tail and barked. Evidently
Miss Ruth was not a frequent visitor to the nursery.

Flurry was about six, not a pretty child by any means, though there
might be a promise of future beauty in her face. She was a thin,
serious-looking little creature, more like the father than the
mother, and no one could call Mr. Lucas handsome. Her dark eyes
--nearly black they were--matched oddly, in my opinion, with her
long fair hair; such pretty fluffy hair it was, falling over her
black frock. When her aunt bade her come and speak to the lady who
was kind enough to promise to teach her, she stood for a moment
regarding me gravely with childish inquisitiveness before she gave
me her hand.

"What are you going to teach me?" she asked. "I don't think I want
to be taught, auntie; I can read, I have been reading to Flossy, and