he knew how, but he
did not hide the truth. It was not until the day before he went back
to Lockhaven that he told them; he had put it off as long as he could,
hoping, as Dr. Howe had done, that John Ward would see how useless it was
to carry out his plan. Gifford had found the sisters together. Miss Ruth
was at work in her studio, while Miss Deborah sat in the doorway, in the
shadow of the grape-vines, topping and tailing gooseberries into a big
blue bowl. She had a handful of crushed thyme in her lap, and some
pennyroyal.

"It isn't roses," Miss Deborah remarked, "but it is better than Ruth's
turpentine. And so long as I have got to sit here (for I will sit here
while she's copying the miniature; it is a sacred charge), the pennyroyal
is stronger than the paint."

Miss Ruth, her hands neatly gloved, was mixing her colors a little
wearily; somehow, on her canvas, the face of the little sister lost what
beauty it had ever known.

"I can't get the eyes," Miss Ruth sighed. "I have a great mind to help
you with your preserving, sister."

"My dear Ruth," said Miss Deborah, with much dignity, "do I try to do
your work?"

"But you know you couldn't paint, dear Deborah," said the younger sister
eagerly. The round china-blue eyes of the little sister stared at her
maliciously.

"Well," returned Miss Deborah, running her small hand through the
gooseberries in the bowl, "neither could you make gooseberry jelly, or
even a tart." Then seeing her nephew lounging down the flagged path to
the door of the studio, his straw hat pushed back and his hands in his
pockets, she was suddenly reminded of his packing. "I hope, Giff, dear,"
she cried, "you left plenty of room in your trunk? I have a number of
articles I want you to take."

"There's lots of room, aunt Deborah," he answered. "You know I had to put
in a bag of straw to fill up, when I came on,--I couldn't have things
rattle around."

Miss Deborah laughed. "You need your aunt to look after you, my dear."

"Or a wife," said Miss Ruth, looking up at him over her gleaming
spectacles.

"Nonsense," replied her sister vigorously; "don't put such ideas into his
head, if you please. I must say such jokes are not in good taste, dear
Ruth."

But Miss Ruth was more anxious about her light than Gifford's marriage.
"You are really so big, Giff," she complained mildly, "you darken the
whole studio, standing there in the doorway. Do pray sit down."

Gifford obediently took his se