"I interpret your thoughts," said Mr. Walter; "but we must have no backward glances to-day. Those children will never suffer what you have suffered; few women ever did. Ruth, for the thousandth time I tell you, you are a brave woman!" "--Upon my word," said Mr. Walter, suddenly, blushing and thrusting his hand in his pocket, "I have committed the sin so common to all _man_-kind; carried letters for you round in my pocket all this time, without delivering them: here they are. I never saw a woman have so many letters as you do, 'Floy;' you'll need a private secretary before long." Ruth broke the seal of one, saying, "You'll excuse me a few moments," and read: "TO 'FLOY': "DEAR MADAM,--We have established a very successful Infant School in our neighborhood, numbering about fifty pupils. Our first anniversary occurs next month. It is our intention to gather together the parents and children, and have a sort of jubilee; hymns will be sung, and short pieces spoken. We should be very much obliged to you if you would write us a little dialogue to be repeated by two little girls, of the age of six; something sweet and simple, such as you know how to write. We make no apology for thus intruding on your time, because we know your heart is with the children. "Yours respectfully, JOHN DEAN. "Secretary of the Leftbow Infant School." "Patience, gentlemen, while I read No. 2," said Ruth. No. 2 ran as follows: "DEAR 'FLOY': "Old Guardy has sent me up to this academy. I hate academies. I hate Guardy's. I hate everything but snipe shooting and boating. Just now I am in a horrid fix. Every fellow in this academy has to write a composition once a week, I cannot do it. I never could. My talents don't lie in that way. I don't know where they do lie. What I want of you is to write those compositions for me. You can do it just as easy as water runs down hill. You could scratch one off while I am nibbing my pen. Old Phillips will think they are uncommon smart for me; but never mind, I shall keep dark, and you are such a good soul I know you can't refuse. My cigars have been out two whole days; so you may know that I have no funds, else I would send you a present. "Yours truly, HAL. HUNNEWELL." After glancing over this letter Ruth broke into a merry laugh, and saying, "This is too good to keep," read it aloud for the amusement of the company, who unanimously voted Hal. Hunnewell a composition every week, for his precocious impudence. "Come, now," said Mr. Walter, as Ruth took up No. 3, "if you have another of the same sort, let us hear it, unless it be of a confidential nature." Ruth looked over the letter a moment, and then read: "DEAR 'FLOY':