Ruth said her father was not at home, but explained that she would take any letter for him—or—would not he tie his horse and come in and wait for her father? This invitation quite overthrew the little structure of assurance the boy had built up, and he was thrown into such a state of confusion that Ruth’s heart went out to him. He thanked her; but he was afraid his horse would not stand tied. He was stuffing the paper back in his pocket, hardly aware of what he was doing. Ruth was sure the horse would stand; she had seen him tied; but she respected the boy’s confusion, and offered again to take the letter for her father. He gave it to her apparently with reluctance. His cousin, Steve Allen, had told him to give it to Major Welch himself, he half stammered. “Well, I am his daughter, Miss Welch,” Ruth said, “and you can tell Captain Allen that I said I would certainly deliver it to my father. Won’t you tell me who you are?” she asked, smiling. “I’m Rupert Gray, Jacquelin Gray’s brother.” “Oh! You have been off at school?” “Yes’m. Jacquelin would make me go, but I’ve come back for good, now. He says I needn’t go any more. He hasn’t got anything to send me any more, anyhow.” This in a very cheery tone. He was partly recovering from his embarrassment. “Steve wanted to send me to college, but I won’t go.” “You won’t? Why not?” “Steve hasn’t got any money to send me to college. Besides, they just want to get me away from here—I know ’em—and I won’t go.” (With a boy’s confidingness.) “They’re afraid I’ll get—” He stopped short.—“But I’m not afraid. Just let ’em try.” He paused, his face flushed with excitement, and looked straight at her. He evidently wanted to say something else to her, and she smiled encouragingly. “You tell your father not to have anything to do with that Still and that man Leech.” His tone was a mixture of sincerity and persuasiveness. “Why?” Ruth smiled. “Because—one’s a carpet-bagger and t’other a scalawag.” “Why, we are carpet-baggers, too.” “Well—yes—but—. Steve he says so, too. And he don’t want you to get mixed up with ’em. That’s the reason.” His embarrassment returned for a moment. “Oh! Captain Allen says so? I’m very much obliged to him, I’m sure.” Ruth laughed, but her form straightened and her color deepened. “No, no, not that way. Steve is a dandy. And so is Jacquelin. He’s just as good as Steve. Never was anybody like Jacquelin. You ought to know him. That fellow Leech imprisoned him. But I knocked him down—I could die for Jacquelin—at least, I think I could. That’s the reason I hate ’em so!” he broke out, vehemently. “And I don’t want you to get mixed up with ’em. You aren’t like them. You are more like us.” Ruth smiled at the ingenuousness of this compliment. “And you tell your father, won’t you?” he repeated. “Good-evening.” He held out his hand, shook hers, sprang on his horse, and, making her a flourishing bow, galloped away, evidently very proud of his horsemanship.