r
her; for all she could think of was Hero.

Gilbert Merrill had gone about the city making inquiries, but no one had
seen Hero, or could tell him anything about Ruth's dog. Aunt Deborah was
very sorry for her little niece, but she still insisted that Ruth should
dust the dining-room as carefully each morning as if Hero was safe in
the yard; that the little girl should knit her stint on the gray wool
sock, intended for some loyal soldier, and sew for a half hour each
afternoon.

Ruth dropped stitches in her knitting, for a little blur of tears hid
her work from sight when she thought that perhaps her dear Hero might
be hurt, unable to find his way home; or perhaps he was shut up
somewhere by some cruel person who did not care if he was fed or not.

Aunt Deborah was very patient with the little girl. She picked up the
dropped stitches in the knitting; and when she found how uneven a seam
Ruth was stitching she picked out the threads without a word of reproof.

But on the second day, as they sat at work in the little sewing-room at
the top of the stairs, Ruth threw down her knitting and began to cry.

"I can't knit! I can't do anything until Hero is found. You know I
can't, Aunt Deborah. And I do wish my mother would come home," she
sobbed.

Aunt Deborah did not speak for a moment. She had no little girls of her
own, and she often feared that she might not know what was exactly right
for her little niece. So she never spoke hastily.

"For thy sake, dear child, I wish that thy mother were here: but it is
very pleasant for me to have thy company, Ruth," she said in her
musical, even voice. "Would thee not like to go and play with Winifred?
But be sure thy hair is smooth."

But Ruth made no reply. She stopped crying, however, and looked up at
Aunt Deborah.

"Didn't you like Hero?" she asked.

Aunt Deborah knitted on until she came to the last stitch on her needle,
then she lay down her work, and looked at Ruth with her pleasant smile.

"Indeed, I liked Hero," she said; "but suppose I decided that because he
was lost I would no longer prepare thy breakfast or dinner? that I would
not see that thy mother's house was in order. Thee would truly think I
had but little sense. It does not prove thy liking to cry because thy
dog is lost; to fix thy thoughts on thy own feelings and leave thy tasks
for me to do. It does not help bring Hero back. Now, put on thy hat and
cape and we will walk toward the river. I have an err