"So this is the young lady who wouldn't stop at my house but went to Sam Curtis' to stay all night," he said, holding in the mare and looking down at Ruth. "And you haven't been past the gate with the green eyes since?" "No, sir," Ruth said, timidly. "I have never even been to town." "No. Or you would not have failed to see the Curtises again. At least, I hope you'll see them. Mercy has never ceased talking about you." "The lame girl, sir?" cried Ruth, in wonder. "Why, she spoke awfully unkindly to me, and I thought her mother only thought I would feel bad and wanted to smooth it over, when she asked me to come again." "No," said the doctor, seriously, shaking his head. "Nobody knows Mercy like her mother. That's not to be expected. She's a poor, unfortunate, cramp-minded child. I've done what I can for her back-- she has spinal trouble; but I can do little for Mercy's twisted and warped mind. She tells me she has cramps in her back and legs and I tell her she has worse cramps in her mind. Bright! Why, child, she knows more than most grown folks. Reads every book she can get hold of; there is scarcely a child in the Cheslow High School who could compete with her for a month in any study she had a mind to take hold of. But," and the doctor shook his head again, "her mind's warped and cramped because of her affliction." "I pitied her," said Ruth, quietly. "But don't tell her so. Go and see her again--that's all. And mind you don't come to town without turning in at the gate with the green eyes;" and so saying he let the eager mare out and she swiftly carried him away. It was after this Aunt Alvirah seemed so confident that a way would be provided for Ruth to get the frocks that she so sadly needed. On the very next day, when Ruth came home from school, she found the little old lady in a flutter of excitement. "Now, Ruthie," she whispered, "you mustn't ask too many questions, and I'll surely tell ye a gre't secret, child." "It must be something very nice, Aunt Alviry, or you'd never be like this. What is it?" "Now Ruthie, you mustn't ask too many questions, I tell you. But to make no secret of it, for secrets I do despise, somebody's made you a present." "Made me a present?" gasped Ruth. "Now, careful about questions," warned Aunt Alvirah. "I told you that a way would be pervided for you to have frocks. And it is true. You are a-goin' to have 'em." "Auntie! New frocks!" "Just as good as new. Ev'ry bit as good as new. Somebody that's-- that's seen ye, deary, and knows how badly you want to go to school, and that you need dresses, has given you three." "My goodness me!" cried Ruth, clasping her hands. "Not three?" "Yes, my dear. And they're jest as good as new--about. 'Cretia Lock won't be two days fixin' 'em over to fit you. And you won't mind, deary, if the little girl who wore them before you is--is--Well, deary, she won't never want them any more."