“How sweetly they sleep,” said Ruth, shading the small lamp with her hand, and gazing at Katy and Nettie; “God grant their names be not written, widow;” and smoothing back the damp tresses from the brow of each little sleeper, she sat down to the table, and drawing from it a piece of fine work, commenced sewing. “Only fifty-cents for all this ruffling and hemming,” said Ruth, as she picked up the wick of her dim lamp; “only fifty cents! and I have labored diligently too, every spare moment, for a fortnight; this will never do,” and she glanced at the little bed; “they must be clothed, and fed, and educated. Educated?” an idea struck Ruth; “why could not she teach school? But who would be responsible for the rent of her room? There was fuel to be furnished, and benches; what capital had she to start with? There was Mrs. Millet, to be sure, and her father, who, though they were always saying, ‘get something to do,’ would never assist her when she tried to do anything; how easy for them to help her to obtain a few scholars, or be responsible for her rent, till she could make a little headway. Ruth resolved, at least, to mention her project to Mrs. Millet, who could then, if she felt inclined, have an opportunity to offer her assistance in this way.”

The following Monday, when her washing was finished, Ruth wiped the suds from her parboiled fingers on the kitchen roller, and ascending the stairs, knocked at the door of her cousin’s chamber. Mrs. Millet was just putting the finishing touches to the sleeves of a rich silk dress of Leila’s, which the mantau-maker had just returned.

“How d’ye do, Ruth,” said she, in a tone which implied—what on earth do you want now?

“Very well, I thank you,” said Ruth, with that sudden sinking at the heart, which even the intonation of a voice may sometimes give; “I can only stay a few minutes; I stopped to ask you, if you thought there was any probability of success, should I attempt to get a private school?”

“There is nothing to prevent your trying,” replied Mrs. Millet, carelessly; “other widows have supported themselves; there was Mrs. Snow.” Ruth sighed, for she knew that Mrs. Snow’s relatives had given her letters of introduction to influential families, and helped her in various ways till she could get her head above water. “Yes,” continued Mrs. Millet, laying her daughter’s silk dress on the bed, and stepping back a pace or two, with her head on one side, to mark the effect of the satin bow she had been arranging; “yes—other widows support themselves, though, I am sure, I don’t know how they do it—I suppose there must be a way—Leila! is that bow right? seems to me the dress needs a yard or two more lace; ten dollars will not make much difference; it will be such an improvement.”

“Of course not,” said Leila, “it will be a very great improvement; and by the way, Ruth, don’t you want to sell me that coral pin you used to wear? it would look very pretty with this green dress.”

“It was Harry’s gift,” said Ruth.

“Yes,” replied Leila; “but I thought you’d be very glad to part with it for money.”

A flush passed over Ruth’s face. “Not glad, Leila,” she replied, “for everything that once belonged to Harry is precious, though I might feel necessitated to part with it, in my present circumstances.”

“Well, then,” said Mrs. Millet, touching her daughter’s elbow, “you’d better have it, Leila.”

“Harry gave ten dollars for it,” said Ruth.

“Yes, originally, I dare say,” replied Mrs. Millet, “but nobody expects to get much for second-hand things. Leila will give you a dollar and a quarter for it, and she would like it soon, because when this north-east storm blows over, she wants to make a few calls on Snyder’s relatives, in this very becoming silk dress;” and Mrs. Millet patted Leila on the shoulder.

“Good-bye,” said Ruth.

“Don’t forget the brooch,” said Leila.

“I wish Ruth would go off into the country, or somewhere,” remarked Leila, as Ruth closed the door. “I have been expecting every day that Snyder would hear of her offering to make caps in that work-shop; he is so fastidious about such things, being connected with the Tidmarshes, and that set, you know.”

“Yes,” said Leila’s elder brother John, a half-fledged young M.D., whose collegiate and medical education enabled him one morning to astound the family breakfast-party with the astute information, “that vinegar was an acid.” “Yes, I wish she would take herself off into the country, too. I had as lief see a new doctor’s sign put up next door, as to see her face of a Monday, over that wash-tub, in our kitchen. I wonder if she thinks salt an improvement in soap-suds, for the last time I saw her there she was dropping in the tears on her clothes, as she scrubbed, at a showering rate; another thing, mother, I wish you would give her a lesson or two, about those children of hers. The other day I met her Katy in the street with the shabbiest old bonnet on, and the toes of her shoes all rubbed white; and she had the impertinence to call me “cousin John,” in the hearing of young Gerald, who has just returned from abroad, and who dined with Lord Malden, in Paris. I could have wrung the little wretch’s neck.”

“It was provoking, John. I’ll speak to her about it,” said Mrs. Millet, “when she brings the coral pin.”