d the letter adoringly, dwelling over her handwriting,
loving each stroke of her pen, and in the end kissing her signature.

And when he answered, he told her recklessly that he had not been to see
her because his best clothes were in pawn. He told her that he had been
sick, but was once more nearly well, and that inside ten days or two
weeks (as soon as a letter could travel to New York City and return) he
would redeem his clothes and be with her.

But Ruth did not care to wait ten days or two weeks. Besides, her lover
was sick. The next afternoon, accompanied by Arthur, she arrived in the
Morse carriage, to the unqualified delight of the Silva tribe and of all
the urchins on the street, and to the consternation of Maria. She boxed
the ears of the Silvas who crowded about the visitors on the tiny front
porch, and in more than usual atrocious English tried to apologize for
her appearance. Sleeves rolled up from soap-flecked arms and a wet gunny-
sack around her waist told of the task at which she had been caught. So
flustered was she by two such grand young people asking for her lodger,
that she forgot to invite them to sit down in the little parlor. To
enter Martin's room, they passed through the kitchen, warm and moist and
steamy from the big washing in progress. Maria, in her excitement,
jammed the bedroom and bedroom-closet doors together, and for five
minutes, through the partly open door, clouds of steam, smelling of soap-
suds and dirt, poured into the sick chamber.

Ruth succeeded in veering right and left and right again, and in running
the narrow passage between table and bed to Martin's side; but Arthur
veered too wide and fetched up with clatter and bang of pots and pans in
the corner where Martin did his cooking. Arthur did not linger long.
Ruth occupied the only chair, and having done his duty, he went outside
and stood by the gate, the centre of seven marvelling Silvas, who watched
him as they would have watched a curiosity in a side-show. All about the
carriage were gathered the children from a dozen blocks, waiting and
eager for some tragic and terrible denouement. Carriages were seen on
their street only for weddings and funerals. Here was neither marriage
nor death: therefore, it was something transcending experience and well
worth waiting for.

Martin had been wild to see Ruth. His was essentially a love-nature, and
he possessed more than the average man's need for sympathy. He was
s