'If I had been the minister preaching,' says Robert Truefit to Mrs. Silver, as they come out of church, 'I should not have ended my sermon with "God help the poor!"' 'With what then?' 'With "Man, help the poor!"' answers Robert Truefit gravely. Here Charley and Ruth come forward with a petition. They want permission to take a walk by themselves; they will be home within an hour. 'Very well, my dears,' says Mrs. Silver; 'don't be longer, if you can help it.' It is Ruth who has suggested the walk, and she has a purpose in view which Charley does not know of as yet. But Charley is happy enough in his ignorance; a walk on such a day with his heart's best treasure by his side is heaven to him. He is inclined to walk eastward, where glimpses of the country may be seen; but she says, 'No, Charley, please; you must come my way.' Perfectly contented is he to go her way, and they walk towards the City. 'You remember the day we went to the Exhibition, Charley?' What a question to ask him! As if it has not been in his thoughts ever since, as if they have not talked of it, and lingered lovingly over the smallest incidents, dozens and dozens of times! But he answers simply, 'Yes, Ruth.' 'And what occurred when we came back, Charley?' 'The poor girl do you mean, Ruth?' 'Yes, the poor girl--so much like me!' 'I remember.' 'I have never forgotten her, Charley dear! I want to pass by the spot where we met her, and if I see her, I want to give her something. I should dearly like to do so, to-day! Do you remember, Charley?--when we saw her, she had not a bit of bread in the cupboard. Perhaps she has none today.' 'Take my purse, Ruth, and let us share together.' 'I shall tell her, Charley, that it is half from you.' 'Yes, my dear.' But though they walk past the spot, and, retracing their steps, walk past it again and again, and although Ruth looks wistfully about her, she sees nothing of Blade-o'-Grass. They walk homewards, Charley very thoughtful, Ruth very sad. 'Come, Ruth,' says Charley presently, 'we must not be unhappy to-day. Let us hope that the poor girl is provided for; indeed, it is most reasonable to believe so.' 'I hope so, Charley, with all my heart.' 'What you hope with all your heart, dear Ruth, is sure to be good and true. Is there anything else you hope with all your heart?' There is a tender significance in his tone, and she glances at him shyly and modestly, but does not answer. 'You can make this happy day even happier than it is, Ruth; you can make it the happiest remembrance of my life if you will say Yes to something!' Her voice trembles slightly as she asks, 'To what, Charley?' 'Let me tell our dear parents how I love you. Let me ask them to give you to me. Is it Yes, Ruth dear?' 'Yes, dear Charley.' But so softly, so tenderly whispered, that only ears attuned as his were could have heard the words. Presently, 'And do you love me with all your heart, Ruth?' 'With all my heart, Charley.'