You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. We girls, my sister and I, were left quite alone when our father died, and I made up my mind to make some little place in the world for myself. She went into premature labor. When the hero finally did appear, Ruth became filled with gentle self-mockery. “I don’t know, John. I’ve got imagination. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used.
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