"I don't indeed, indeed I don't!" cried the girl, stung by the charge into indignant remonstrance. "I think you are both the most beautiful girls I ever saw. Oh, Clotilde! you know what lovely eyes and hair you have." "I haven't; my eyes are dark and my hair is long and coarse." "It's beautiful!" cried Ruth, "isn't it, Marie? Why, see how everyone turns to look at you both when you are out, in spite of your being so badly dressed." "Go back to the door. No, stop," cried Clotilde, pushing the poor girl's head to and fro as she retained her ear. "Clotilde dear, you hurt me very much," sobbed Ruth. "I'm trying to hurt you," said Clotilde, showing her white glistening teeth. "Let her be, Clo." "Shan't. Mind your own business." "Let her be, I say," cried Marie, flashing into excitement. "If you don't loose her I'll scratch you." "You daren't," cried Clotilde, and as her sister's face turned red her own grew pale. "Go back to the door and listen, little fibster." "I dare," said Marie, relapsing into her half-dreamy way. "Come here, Ruthy; I won't have you hurt. It's truth, isn't it? We are beautiful?" "Yes," said Ruth, starting to her feet, and joyfully nestling in the arms held out for her, while Marie kissed her with some show of affection. "Yes, you are both beautiful, and Clotilde knows I would not tell her a story." The gratified look had spread by this time to the elder sisters face, and she returned to her position upon the table, where she sat swinging one leg to and fro. "Go back and listen, Ruthy," said Marie quietly. "You are quite right, dear--we are both handsome; and so are you." "I?" laughed Ruth, with a merry, innocent look brightening her face; "oh no!" "Yes, you are," said Marie, smoothing her own dark hair. "You are very nice, and pretty, and sweet, and when I'm married and away from this wicked old poverty-stricken workhouse, you shall come and live with me." "Shall I, Marie?" cried the girl, with the eagerness of a child. "Yes, dear; and you shall have a handsome husband of your own." Ruth laughed merrily. "What should I do with a husband?" "Hold your tongue, Rie, and don't stuff the child's head with such nonsense." "Child, indeed! why, she is only a year younger than I. Oh! it has been abominable; we have been treated like babies, and I feel sometimes now as if I were only a little girl. But only wait." "Yes," cried Clotilde with a curious laugh, "only wait." "Someone coming," whispered Ruth, leaping up from the floor where she had been listening, and the childlike obedience to the stern authority in which they had been trained resumed its sway.