he,' and my ideal has kept me out of many a pitfall I wanted to go to
her with clean hands and a clean heart, and I have. I'm not a saint, but
I'm as clean as I could be, and live in the world at all."

Ruth put her hand on his. "Tell me about your mother."

A shadow crossed his face and he waited a moment before speaking. "My
mother died when I was born," he said with an effort. "I can't tell you
about her, Ruth, she--she--wasn't a very good woman."

"Forgive me, dear," she answered with quick sympathy, "I don't want to
know!"

"I didn't know about it until a few years ago," he continued, "when some
kindly disposed relatives of father's gave me full particulars. They're
dead now, and I'm glad of it. She--she--drank."

"Don't, Carl!" she cried, "I don't want to know!"

"You're a sweet girl, Ruth," he said, tenderly, touching her hand to
his lips. "Father died when I was ten or twelve years old and I can't
remember him very well, though I have one picture, taken a little while
before he was married. He was a moody, silent man, who hardly ever spoke
to any one. I know now that he was broken-hearted. I can't remember even
the tones of his voice, but only one or two little peculiarities. He
couldn't bear the smell of lavender and the sight of any shade of purple
actually made him suffer. It was very strange.

"I've picked up what education I have," he went on. "I have nothing to
give you, Ruth, but these--" he held out his hands--"and my heart."

"That's all I want, dearest--don't tell me any more!"

A bell rang cheerily, and, when they went in, Aunt Jane welcomed him
with apparent cordiality, though a close observer might have detected
a tinge of suspicion. She liked the ring on Ruth's finger, which she
noticed for the first time. "It's real pretty, ain't it, James?" she
asked.

"Yes'm, 't is so."

"It's just come to my mind now that you never give me no ring except
this here one we was married with. I guess we'd better take some of that
two hundred dollars you've got sewed up in that unchristian belt you
insist on wearin' and get me a ring like Ruth's, and use the rest for
furniture, don't you think so?"

"Yes'm," he replied. "Ring and furniture--or anythin' you'd like."

"James is real indulgent," she said to Winfield, with a certain modest
pride which was at once ludicrous and pathetic.

"He should be, Mrs. Ball," returned the young man, gallantly.

She looked at him closely, as if to discover whether h