with real feeling. "I did," she said with a little
grimace that carried Harriett back a long way, "then I got so rested I
got to thinking about things--then I got tired again." She flushed after
she had said it, for that was the closest they had come to the things
they kept away from.

"Poor Ruth," Harriett murmured again. "And I'm afraid," she added with a
little laugh, "that now I'm going to make you more tired."

"Oh, no," said Ruth, though she looked at her inquiringly.

"Because," said Harriett, "I've come to talk to you about something,
Ruth."

Ruth's face made her say, "I'm sorry, Ruth, but I'm afraid it's the only
chance. You see you're going away day after tomorrow."

Ruth only nodded; it seemed if she spoke she would have to cry out what
she felt--that in common decency she ought to be let alone now as any
worn-out thing should be let alone, that it was not fair--humane--to
talk to her now. But of course she could not make that clear to
Harriett, and with it all she did wonder what it was Harriett had to
say. So she only looked at her sister as if waiting. Harriett looked
away from her for an instant before she began to speak: Ruth's eyes were
so tired, so somber; there was something very appealing about her face
as she waited for the new thing that was to be said to her.

"I have felt terribly, Ruth," Harriett finally began, as if forcing
herself to do so, "about the position in which we are as a family. I'll
not go into what brought it about--or anything like that. I haven't come
to talk about things that happened long ago, haven't come with
reproaches. I've just come to see if, as a family, we can't do a little
better about things as they are now."

She paused, but Ruth did not speak; she was very still now as she
waited. She did not take her eyes from Harriett's face.

"Mother and father are gone, Ruth," Harriett went on in a low voice,
"and only we children are left. It seems as if we ought to do the best
we can for each other." Her voice quivered and Ruth's intense eyes,
which did not leave her sister's face, dimmed. She continued to sit
there very still, waiting.

"I had a feeling," Harriett went on, "that father's doing what he did
was as a--was as a sign, Ruth, that we children should come closer
together. As if father couldn't see his way to do it in his lifetime,
but did this to leave word to us that we were to do something. I took it
that way," she finished simply.

Ruth's eyes had bri