"I was so skeered I'd lose it I didn't trust it no place 'cept in my head." Ruth unfolded the note and read: "DEAR RACHEL: I mean biznis if you mean biznis send me fore dollars to git a devorce.
"_George_." Rachel sat on the floor, with her hair standing out wildly and anxiety deepening on her face.
"I ain't got but three dollars," she said.
"I was gwine to buy my weddin' dress wif dat." "But, Rachel," protested Ruth, in laughing remonstrance, "he has one wife." "Yes,'m.

Pete Lawson ain't got no wife; but he ain't got but one arm, neither.

Whicht one would you take, Miss Rufe ?" "Pete," declared Ruth.

"He's a good boy, what there is of him." "Well, I guess I better notify him to-night," sighed Rachel; but she held the love-letter on her knee and regretfully smoothed its crumpled edges.
Ruth pushed back her chair from the table and crossed the wide hall to the library.
It was a large room, with heavy wainscoting, above which simpered or frowned a long row of her ancestors.
She stepped before the one nearest her and looked at it long and earnestly.

The face carried no memory with it, though it was her father.