work was again in full
blast.

Jack, to be sure, was still in his room, having swallowed more gas and
smoke than the others, badly scorching his insides, as he had panted
under the weight of MacFarlane's body. The crisis, however, brought on
by his imprudence in meeting Ruth at the station, had passed, and even
he was expected to be out in a few days.

As for Miss Felicia, although she had blown hot and blown cold on Ruth's
heart, until that delicate instrument stood at zero one day and at fever
heat the next, she had, on the whole, kept up an equable temperature,
and meant to do so until she shook the dust of Corklesville from her
dainty feet and went back to the clean, moist bricks of her garden.

And as for Peter! Had he not been a continuous joy; cheering everybody;
telling MacFarlane funny stories until that harassed invalid laughed
himself, unconscious of the pain to his arm; bringing roses for the
prim, wizened-up Miss Bolton, that she might have a glimpse of something
fresh and alive while she sat by her brother's bed. And last, and by
no means least, had he not the morning he had left for New York, his
holiday being over, taken Ruth in his arms and putting his lips close
to her ear, whispered something into its pink shell that had started
northern lights dancing all over her cheeks and away up to the roots of
her hair; and had she not given him a good hug and kissed him in return,
a thing she had never done in her whole life before? And had he not
stopped on his way to the station for a last hand-shake with Jack and
to congratulate him for the hundredth time for his plucky rescue of
MacFarlane--a subject he never ceased to talk about--and had he not at
the very last moment, told Jack every word of what he and Ruth talked
about, with all the details elaborated, even to the hug, which was no
sooner told than another set of northern lights got into action at once,
and another hug followed; only this time it took the form of a hearty
hand-shake and a pat on Peter's back, followed by a big tear which the
boy tried his best to conceal? Peter had no theories detrimental to
penniless young gentlemen, pursued by intermeddling old ladies.

And yet with all this there was one corner deep down in Ruth's heart so
overgrown with "wonderings" and "whys," so thick with tangled doubts
and misgivings, that no cheering ray of certainty had yet been able
to pierce it. Nor had any one tried. Miss Felicia, good as she was and
lo