Derby, sir,
Upon a market-day.

And if music is a necessary element in a song, perhaps I had better
call it by some other name.

But the strange change was in Ruth herself. She was conscious of
it though she could not define it, and did not dwell upon it. Life
had become significant and full of duty to her. She delighted in
the exercise of her intellectual powers, and liked the idea of
the infinite amount of which she was ignorant; for it was a grand
pleasure to learn--to crave, and be satisfied. She strove to forget
what had gone before this last twelve months. She shuddered up from
contemplating it; it was like a bad, unholy dream. And yet, there was
a strange yearning kind of love for the father of the child whom she
pressed to her heart, which came, and she could not bid it begone as
sinful, it was so pure and natural, even when thinking of it, as in
the sight of God. Little Leonard cooed to the flowers, and stretched
after their bright colours; and Ruth laid him on the dry turf, and
pelted him with the gay petals. He chinked and crowed with laughing
delight, and clutched at her cap, and pulled it off. Her short rich
curls were golden-brown in the slanting sunlight, and by their very
shortness made her look more child-like. She hardly seemed as if
she could be the mother of the noble babe over whom she knelt, now
snatching kisses, now matching his cheek with rose-leaves. All at
once, the bells of the old church struck the hour; and far away, high
up in the air, began slowly to play the old tune of "Life let us
cherish;" they had played it for years--for the life of man--and it
always sounded fresh and strange and aerial. Ruth was still in a
moment, she knew not why; and the tears came into her eyes as she
listened. When it was ended, she kissed her baby, and bade God bless
him.

Just then Sally came out, dressed for the evening, with a leisurely
look about her. She had done her work, and she and Ruth were to drink
tea together in the exquisitely clean kitchen; but while the kettle
was boiling, she came out to enjoy the flowers. She gathered a piece
of southern-wood, and stuffed it up her nose, by way of smelling it.

"Whatten you call this in your country?" asked she.

"Old-man," replied Ruth.

"We call it here lad's-love. It and peppermint-drops always remind me
of going to church in the country. Here! I'll get you a black-currant
leaf to put in the teapot. It gives it a flavour. We had bees once
ag