“I didn't know about it until a few years ago,” he continued, “when some kindly disposed relatives of father's gave me full particulars. They're dead now, and I'm glad of it. She--she--drank.” “Don't, Carl!” she cried, “I don't want to know!” “You're a sweet girl, Ruth,” he said, tenderly, touching her hand to his lips. “Father died when I was ten or twelve years old and I can't remember him very well, though I have one picture, taken a little while before he was married. He was a moody, silent man, who hardly ever spoke to any one. I know now that he was broken-hearted. I can't remember even the tones of his voice, but only one or two little peculiarities. He couldn't bear the smell of lavender and the sight of any shade of purple actually made him suffer. It was very strange. “I've picked up what education I have,” he went on. “I have nothing to give you, Ruth, but these--” he held out his hands--“and my heart.” “That's all I want, dearest--don't tell me any more!” A bell rang cheerily, and, when they went in, Aunt Jane welcomed him with apparent cordiality, though a close observer might have detected a tinge of suspicion. She liked the ring on Ruth's finger, which she noticed for the first time. “It's real pretty, ain't it, James?” she asked. “Yes'm, 't is so.” “It's just come to my mind now that you never give me no ring except this here one we was married with. I guess we'd better take some of that two hundred dollars you've got sewed up in that unchristian belt you insist on wearin' and get me a ring like Ruth's, and use the rest for furniture, don't you think so?” “Yes'm,” he replied. “Ring and furniture--or anythin' you'd like.” “James is real indulgent,” she said to Winfield, with a certain modest pride which was at once ludicrous and pathetic. “He should be, Mrs. Ball,” returned the young man, gallantly. She looked at him closely, as if to discover whether he was in earnest, but he did not flinch. “Young feller,” she said, “you ain't layin' out to take no excursions on the water, be you?” “Not that I know of,” he answered, “why?” “Sea-farin' is dangerous,” she returned. “Mis' Ball was terrible sea sick comin' here,” remarked her husband. “She didn't seem to have no sea legs, as you may say.” “Ain't you tired of dwellin' on that?” asked Aunt Jane, sharply. “'T ain't no disgrace to be sea sick, and I wan't the only one.” Winfield came to the rescue with a question and the troubled waters were soon calm again. After supper, Ruth said: “Aunty, may I take Mr. Winfield up to the attic and show him my grandmother's things that you've just given me?” “Run along, child. Me and James will wash the dishes.” “Poor James,” said Winfield, in a low tone, as they ascended the stairs. “Do I have to wash dishes, Ruth?” “It wouldn't surprise me. You said you wanted to work for me, and I despise dishes.” “Then we'll get an orphan to do 'em. I'm not fitted for it, and I don't think you are.”