ring that even Nature was something of a liar, with her
mirages and her horizons.

At the present moment she was living in a world of her own
creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of
the tales she had so newly read for the first time. She could not
resist enduing persons she met with the noble attributes of the
fictional characters. We all did that in our youth, when first we
came upon a fine story; else we were worthless metal indeed. So,
step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith
was John Smith and nobody else.

Presently she was again in that dreadful tavern of the Thenardiers.
That was the wonder of these stories; one lived in them. Cosette
sat under the table, still as a mouse, fondling her pitiful doll.
Dolls. Ruth's gaze wandered from the printed page. She had never
had a real doll. Instinct had forced her to create something out of
rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. But a doll that rolled its
eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour--there had
been natives to fetch and carry--she and Cosette were sisters in
loneliness.

Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. A bobbing
lantern, crossing the bridge--for she had not drawn the
curtain--attracted her attention. She turned off the light and
approached the window. She saw a pole-chair; that would be this Mr.
Taber returning. Evidently Ah Cum's luck had held good.

As she stared her eyes grew accustomed to the night; and she
discovered five persons instead of four. She remembered Taber's
hat. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking
beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. She
could not see clearly. All at once her heart began to patter
queerly. He was bringing the sing-song girl to the hotel!

The strange cortege presently vanished below the window-sill.
Curiosity to see what a sing-song girl was like took possession of
Ruth's thoughts. She fought the inclination for a while, then
surrendered. She was still fully dressed; so all she had to do was
to pause before the mirror and give her hair a few pats.

Mirrors. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the
still pools in the rocks after the ebb. She had never been able to
discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror.

When she entered the office a strange scene was presented to her
startled gaze. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating
her forehead upon