"No,--not in so many words."

"Well, try it. She has always gone with her father; she loves the
outdoor life and it loves her. I never saw her look as pretty as she is
now, and she has her horse too. Try asking her yourself, beg her to come
along and keep house and make a home for the three of you."

Jack leaned back in his seat, his face a tangle of hopes and fears. What
was Uncle Peter driving at, anyhow?

"I have tried other things, and she would not listen," he said in a more
positive tone. Again the two interviews he had had with Ruth came into
his mind; the last one as if it had been yesterday.

"Try until she DOES listen," continued Peter. "Tell her you will be
very lonely if she doesn't go, and that she is the one and only thing
in Corklesville that interests you outside of your work--and be sure you
mention the dear girl first and the work last--and that you won't have
another happy hour if she leaves you in the--"

"Oh!--Uncle Peter!"

"And why not? It's a fact, isn't it? You were honest about Isaac; why
not be honest with Ruth?"

"I am."

"No, you're not,--you only tell her half what's in your heart. Tell
her all of it! The poor child has been very much depressed of late, so
Felicia tells me, over something that troubles her, and I wouldn't be
at all surprised if you were at the bottom of it. Give yourself an
overhauling and find out what you have said or done to hurt her. She
will never forget you for pulling her father out of that hole, nor will
he."

Jack bristled up: "I don't want her to think of me in that way!"

"Oh, you don't! don't you? Oh, of course not! You want her to think of
you as a great and glorious young knight who goes prancing about
the world doing good from habit, and yet you are so high and mighty
that--Jack, you rascal, do you know you are the stupidest thing that
breathes? You're like a turkey, my boy, trying to get over the top rail
of a pen with its head in the air, when all it has to do is to stoop a
little and march out on its toes."

Jack rose from his seat and walked toward the fire, where he stood with
one hand on the mantel. He knew Peter had a purpose in all his raillery
and yet he dared not voice the words that trembled on his lips; he could
tell the old fellow everything in his life except his love for Ruth
and her refusal to listen to him. This was the bitterest of all his
failures, and this he would not and could not pour into Peter's ears.
Neither did he wan