Ruth stared into the painted face, now sundrily cracked by the coursing tears. Hers was beauty on a large scale no doubt; but it was beauty, nevertheless: and the carpenter thought her eyes as bright, her complexion as blooming, and her figure (if a little more buxom) quite as captivating as when he led her to the altar some twenty years ago. "Go to the pump, Nab," he said, when this was done, "and fill a pail with water. ” “Friendship and love being separate things. It was not as bad a wound as she had at first thought, and the blood was only oozing now. You are the High Priestess of Life.
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