omised my mother to do everything I
could to help Aunt Deborah, and now she heard me say that I don't like
her," and Ruth leaned her head against the arm of the big chair in which
she had curled up and began to cry, quite sure that no little girl in
all Philadelphia had as much reason for unhappiness as herself.

After a little she wiped her eyes, and began to think over her
misfortunes: First of all, Hero was lost. Then came all the troubles
that, it seemed to Ruth, Aunt Deborah was to blame for. As she said them
over to herself they appeared sufficient reasons for her dislike: "She
is always fussing. Always telling me to brush my hair, or wash my
hands, or not to soil my dress. And I do believe she is glad that Hero
is lost, and does not wish me to find him because he brings dirt into
the house."

As Ruth finished a sudden resolve came into her mind. She would not wait
for the next day before going to General Howe to tell her story of
Hero's disappearance, and of being sure that he had been taken by an
English soldier. She would go at once. If she waited perhaps Aunt
Deborah would find some way of preventing the carrying out of the plan.

"Perhaps if General Howe thought I was a grown-up lady, or nearly grown
up, he would pay more attention than to what a little girl might ask,"
thought Ruth. And then a great idea flashed into her mind: she would
pretend to be grown up.

"I'll wear Mother's best dress, and do up my hair and wear her bonnet,"
she decided; and opening her chamber door she ran through Aunt Deborah's
room to the deep closet where her mother's best dress, a pretty gown of
russet-colored silk, was hanging. Ruth pulled it down, slipped it on
over her dress of stout brown gingham, and began to fasten it.

"I didn't know my mother was so big," she thought regretfully, as she
managed to turn back the long sleeves, and glanced down at the full
breadths of the skirt which lay in a big waving circle about her feet.
"I'll have to hold it up as high as I can to walk at all."

In a few minutes the dress was fastened, and she managed to pin up her
hair; and now she drew out the bandbox containing her mother's best
bonnet. It was made of a pretty shade of brown velvet, with a wreath of
delicate green leaves, and strings of pale green ribbon.

Ruth tied the strings firmly under her chin. The bonnet came well down
over her face, nearly hiding her ears, but the little girl thought this
was very fortunate, as it wou