er who
saw Hero must want him for his own. The dog was her dearest possession.
On her tenth birthday, nearly a year before, her father had given her
Hero for a birthday present; and now that her father was with
Washington's army his gift seemed even more precious to his little
daughter.

Aunt Deborah looked at Ruth for a moment before she answered, and Ruth
became conscious that her brown hair was rough and untidy from running
about the garden in the March wind, that her hands were not clean, and
that there was an ugly rent in her blue checked apron where it had
caught on a nail in the shed.

"Was it not yesterday that thee declared Hero was stolen, only to find
that he had followed Winifred Merrill home? And on Sunday, thee was sure
he had been killed, because he did not appear the first time thee
called," responded Aunt Deborah reprovingly. Aunt Deborah was not very
large, and her smooth round face under the neat cap, such as Quaker
women wear, was usually smiling and friendly; but it always seemed to
Ruth that no least bit of dirt or untidiness ever escaped those gray
eyes.

"Do you suppose he is at Winifred's? I wish she wouldn't let him follow
her," and Ruth's tone was troubled. Of course Winifred was her dearest
friend, but Ruth was not willing that Hero should divide his loyalty.

"Very likely," responded Aunt Deborah, "but thee must smooth thy hair,
wash thy hands and change thy apron before thee goes to inquire; and put
on thy hat. It is not seemly for a girl to run about the street
bareheaded."

"Oh, Aunt Deborah! Only to go next door!" pleaded Ruth, but Aunt Deborah
only nodded; so Ruth went to her own room and in a few minutes was back
tying the broad brown ribbons of her hat under her chin as she ran
through the kitchen.

"I do hope Mother will come home soon," the little girl thought as she
went down the front steps to the street; "Aunt Deborah is so fussy."

Mrs. Pernell had been away for a week caring for her sister who lived in
Germantown, near Philadelphia, and who was ill; and Aunt Deborah Mary
Farleigh had come in from her home at Barren Hill, twelve miles distant,
to stay with Ruth during Mrs. Pernell's absence.

As Ruth ran up the steps of her friend's house the front door opened,
and Winifred appeared.

"Oh, Ruthie! Where are you going?" she asked smilingly.

Winifred was just a month older than Ruth, and they were very nearly the
same size. They both had blue eyes; but Ruth's hair wa