Just then Major Welch appeared, and a moment later, breakfast was announced. When they went into the little plain dining-room there were other roses in an old blue bowl on the table, and Ruth saw that they not only made the table sweet, but were arranged deftly to hide the cracks and chipped places in the bowl. She was wondering where Dr. Cary could be, when his daughter apologized for his absence, explaining that he had been called up in the night to go and see a sick woman, and then, in his name, invited them to remain as their guests as long as might be convenient to them. They “might find it pleasanter than to stay at Mr. Still’s?” This hospitality the travellers could not accept, but Ruth appreciated it now, and she would have appreciated it yet more could she have known that her young hostess, sitting before her so dainty and fresh, had cooked their breakfast that morning. When they left after breakfast, Miss Cary came out to their vehicle, giving them full directions as to their road. Had her father been at home, she said, he would have taken pleasure in conducting them himself as far as the river. Uncle Tarquin would tell them about the ford. The horse was held by an old colored man, of a dark mahogany hue, with bushy gray hair, and short gray whiskers. On the approach of the visitors he took off his hat and greeted them with an air as dignified as Dr. Cary’s could have been. As he took leave of them, he might have been a host bidding his guests good-by, and he seconded his mistress’s invitation to them to come again. When they drove off, Ruth somehow felt as if she were parting from an old friend. Her little hostess’s patched table-cover and darned dress, and cracked china hidden by the roses, all seemed to come before her, and Ruth glanced at her father with something very like tears in her eyes. They had been in her heart all the morning. Major Welch, however, did not observe it. The fresh, balmy air filled his lungs like a draught of new life, and he felt an interest in the country about him, and a right to criticise it. It had been rich enough before the war, he said, and might be made so now if the people would but give up their prejudices and go to work. He added many other criticisms, abstractly wise and sensible enough. Ruth listened in silence. As the travellers drove along they passed a small house, just off the road, hardly more than a double cabin, but it was set back amid fruit-trees, sheltered by one great oak, and there was an air of quietude and peace about it which went to Ruth’s soul. A lady in black, with a white cap on her gray hair, and a white kerchief on her shoulders, was sitting out on the little veranda, knitting, and Ruth was sure that as they drove by she bowed to them.