“Huh!” snorted Mrs. Ball. “Mary Ainslie ain't got no sperrit!” With this enigmatical statement, she sailed majestically out of the room. During the afternoon, Ruth finished her packing, leaving out a white shirt-waist to wear to Miss Ainslie's. When she went down to the parlour to wait for Winfield, Aunt Jane appeared, with her husband in her wake. “Ruth,” she announced, “me and James have decided on a weddin' present. I would like a fine linen table-cloth and a dozen napkins.” “All right, Aunty.” “And if Mr. Winfield is disposed to it, he can give me a lemonade set--one of them what has different coloured tumblers belongin' to it.” “He'll be pleased to send it, Aunty; I know he will.” “I'm a-layin' out to take part of them two hundred dollars what's sewed up in James's belt, and buy me a new black silk,” she went on. “I've got some real lace to trim it with, whet dames give me in the early years of our engagement. Don't you think a black silk is allers nice, Ruth?” “Yes, it is, Aunty; and just now, it's very stylish.” “You appear to know about such things. I guess I'll let you get it for me in the city when you buy the weddin' present. I'll give you the money, and you can get the linin's too, while you're about it.” “I'll send you some samples, Aunty, and then you can take your choice.” “And--” began Mrs. Ball. “Did you know Mrs. Pendleton was going away, Aunty?” asked Ruth, hastily. “Do tell! Elmiry Peavey goin' travellin'?” “Yes, she's going somewhere for a visit--I don't know just where.” “I had laid out to take James and call on Elmiry,” she said, stroking her apron thoughtfully, while a shadow crossed Mr. Ball's expressive face; “but I guess I'll wait now till I get my new black silk. I want her to know I've done well.” A warning hiss from the kitchen and the odour of burning sugar impelled Aunt Jane to a hasty exit just as Winfield came. Uncle James followed them to the door. “Niece Ruth,” he said, hesitating and fumbling at his belt, “be you goin' to get merried?” “I hope so, Uncle,” she replied kindly. “Then--then--I wish you'd take this and buy you sunthin' to remember your pore old Uncle James by.” He thrust a trembling hand toward her, and offered her a twenty dollar bill. “Why, Uncle!” she exclaimed. “I mustn't take this! Thank you ever so much, but it isn't right!” “I'd be pleased,” he said plaintively. “'Taint as if I wan's accustomed to money. My store was wuth five or six hundred dollars, and you've been real pleasant to me, Niece Ruth. Buy a hair wreath for the parlour, or sunthin' to remind you of your pore old Uncle.” Winfield pressed her arm warningly, and she tucked the bill into her chatelaine bag. “Thank you, Uncle!” she said; then, of her own accord, she stooped and kissed him lightly on the cheek.