s finished."

"Oh, I know how beautiful it is without seeing it," said Ruth, with a
sudden shrinking; but she added hastily, "There is no such needle-woman
as Sister Angela anywhere."

She followed the Sister into the larger of the two rooms which the house
contained. David bashfully stayed behind, lingering on the threshold,
and keeping man's respectful distance from the mysteries of feminine
wear. But the three white caps and the flower-wreathed bonnet drew close
together over the dainty garments, all a foam of lace and ruffles and
embroidery. David heard the terms rolling and whipping, and felling and
overcasting and hemstitching and herring-boning which were an unknown
tongue to him. Ruth praised everything, till even Sister Angela was
quite satisfied. That pretty young sister was indeed so elated that she
turned to admire Ruth's dress but the Sister Superior gently reminded
her that it was the eve of All Souls', when they and every one should be
thinking of graver things.

"This year the souls and the safety of the living, as well as the repose
of the dead, will need all our prayers," said Sister Teresa. "There
seems no doubt of the war with the Shawnees. Ah me, ah me! And the Cold
Plague growing worse every day!"

"But Doctor Colbert is curing that," said Ruth, eagerly.

"As God wills, my daughter," said the Sister, making the sign of the
cross. "More recover, certainly, since he came. Before, the little ones
always died."

"He told me that three babies were coming to you yesterday. Are they
here? The poor, poor little things! And may I see them, Sister? I should
like to help take care of them, if I might," Ruth said timidly, not
knowing that her pink cheeks bloomed into blush roses.

The Sister led the way into the other room--the first orphan asylum in
the wilderness--and Ruth smiled and talked to the desolate little waifs
of humanity as brightly as she could with dim eyes and quivering lips.
She, herself, and David, also, had been like this. He had followed her
into the room, and was now standing by her side, so that she could clasp
his hand and hold it close.

Walking homeward through the darkening shadows of the forest, she still
held his hand. Both were thinking sadly enough of their own coming into
this wild country, they knew not--whence or how or wherefore--and were
never to know.

"Fathers and mothers must go suddenly when they leave their children
so," said Ruth, musingly. "Ours must have die