ng his poor little knuckles till they were
blue? Besides, talking of pittances, you'd get less than nothing if you
did try it. I don't see what you could do to earn a living."

"I could be a hospital nurse!"

"Perhaps you might--a bad one--for you don't like nursing, and would
only do it for the sake of the pay. I should have no respect for you if
you did that, Ruth. It would be too hard on the unfortunate patients?"

"I could be a companion--"

"People who want companions are old, or gouty, or mad; invariably
disagreeable, or why have they to advertise for a friend? I think I see
you shut up with a trying old lady, combing the lap-dog's hair, and
winding wool! You wouldn't be a very agreeable companion, Ruthans dear.
Better make the best of things, and stay where you are."

Ruth made no further protest, but her lips tightened with an expression
of determination. Her mind being made up, she was not easily swayed
from her purpose. She decided to talk to her mother on the subject on
the following morning.

CHAPTER TWO.

AN EVENING AT HOME.

The father of Ruth and Mollie Farrell had died when the latter was two
years old, leaving his wife but a few hundred pounds with which to
support herself and her children. She was a pretty, winsome creature,
the sort of woman who attracts sympathy and love, but a most difficult
person to help.

Friends came forward with suggestions and offers of assistance, and Mrs
Farrell thanked them ardently, and wept, and agreed to all that they
said. In words, she was ready to undertake any exertion, however
arduous; but when it came to deeds, she was so weak, so incapable, so
hopelessly confused, that the school, the boarding-house, and the home
for Indian children ended successively in failure.

At the end of three years her scanty capital was almost exhausted; but
at this critical moment the Fates--which seem to take special care of
the helpless ones of the earth--sent Ernest Connor to play the part of
rescuer. He was a round stone in a square hole, that is to say, a
student by nature, who, by the exigencies of fortune, found himself
doomed to a business life, wherein he was a painstaking but consistent
failure.

Nervous and shy, he shrank from the society of women; but it was
impossible to be shy with the irresponsible little widow, who confided
all her troubles to him on the first day of their acquaintance, and
asked his advice with tears in her pretty eyes. To h