“A wretch! you are nothing of the kind, Jimmy. Don’t think that of yourself—and I haven’t been good to you a bit more than you deserve. Here, now, take Jerusha Maria. She wants to kiss you dreadfully. If she wants to put her hands in the fire, you may—yes, just on this occasion, I think you may shake her a little—not enough to make her teeth chatter, though, because you see they are new and tender yet.” “I thought you would never trust her with me again,” said James, holding out his arms and smiling, though his thick eyelashes were still wet. “Trust her with you! there, what does that seem like?” cried Mrs. Smith, putting the child into those outstretched arms, and patting both boy and child into harmony, while her own angry passions gave place to a tender sort of penitence, which extended even to Smith. “Now, James, take good care of her while I go in and pour out the tea, for I’m afraid its getting cold.” She did go in, beaming between tears and smiles, like an April morning; and performed the honors of her table beautifully, putting two lumps of sugar in her husband’s cup with a shy look of concession, which did more to brighten his face than the best bar soap had done. CHAPTER XXII. THE FIRST FRUITS OF GENIUS. Ruth Laurence kept her secret. An idea had entered her head which she was resolved to carry out, unaided and alone. At first she longed to tell her good fortune to her mother; but Mrs. Laurence was never sympathetic or impulsive enough to win that loving confidence which Ruth longed to give. She had thought her own thoughts, and suppressed her natural impulses so long, that this precious secret became as gold to a miser, after she had dwelt upon it, unspoken for a few hours. One thing was certain: Eva should go to this party dressed like the lady she was. Enough of the money under her pillow should be used for that. Her own frail fingers had earned this great happiness for her sister. Tears came into those soft eyes as Ruth thought of it: tender, sweet tears, such as the good and unselfish alone can shed. She murmured to herself: “Yes, it shall be snow-white, and fleecy as foam. I have the idea in my mind, with a contrast—something brilliant and rich. Still, she does not need that to make her the most beautiful of them all. Dear Eva! what a surprise it will be! Here she comes, looking _so_ tired!” Eva came into the little parlor weary and sad; for the duties of her position were frequently galling to the pride of a high-spirited girl; and every hour some painful contrast was forced upon her which disturbed her sense of justice. While the family had been in absolute want, this feeling was held in abeyance by all those active sympathies that trample down minor causes of grief under great afflictions, but now the proud nature of the girl asserted itself, and strongly cynical and bitter feelings were rooting themselves in her young heart.