" "Ay, and there's my liver. One or the other. E. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson. Without betraying the slightest confusion, or making a single remark, he quietly resumed his seat. I did think it could be done. “Exactly. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Ruth drank in these intellectual controversies, storing away facts.
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