ur; yet all the
time she was glancing at Ruth's grave face. The latter kept silence,
and showed no wish to inspect her present further. At last she said,
in a low voice,

"I suppose I may send it back again?"

"My dear child! send it back to Mr Bradshaw! You'd offend him for
life. You may depend upon it, he means it as a mark of high favour!"

"What right had he to send it me?" asked Ruth, still in her quiet
voice.

"What right? Mr Bradshaw thinks-- I don't know exactly what you mean
by 'right.'"

Ruth was silent for a moment, and then said:

"There are people to whom I love to feel that I owe
gratitude--gratitude which I cannot express, and had better not talk
about--but I cannot see why a person whom I do not know should lay me
under an obligation. Oh! don't say I must take this muslin, please,
Miss Benson!"

What Miss Benson might have said if her brother had not just then
entered the room, neither he nor any other person could tell; but she
felt his presence was most opportune, and called him in as umpire.
He had come hastily, for he had much to do; but he no sooner heard
the case than he sat down, and tried to draw some more explicit
declaration of her feeling from Ruth, who had remained silent during
Miss Benson's explanation.

"You would rather send this present back?" said he.

"Yes," she answered, softly. "Is it wrong?"

"Why do you want to return it?"

"Because I feel as if Mr Bradshaw had no right to offer it me."

Mr Benson was silent.

"It's beautifully fine," said Miss Benson, still examining the piece.

"You think that it is a right which must be earned?"

"Yes," said she, after a minute's pause. "Don't you?"

"I understand what you mean. It is a delight to have gifts made to
you by those whom you esteem and love, because then such gifts are
merely to be considered as fringes to the garment--as inconsiderable
additions to the mighty treasure of their affection, adding a grace,
but no additional value, to what before was precious, and proceeding
as naturally out of that as leaves burgeon out upon the trees; but
you feel it to be different when there is no regard for the giver to
idealise the gift--when it simply takes its stand among your property
as so much money's value. Is this it, Ruth?"

"I think it is. I never reasoned why I felt as I did; I only knew
that Mr Bradshaw's giving me a present hurt me, instead of making me
glad."

"Well, but there is another side of the case we h