A Colonial Wooing
Journal and Barclay's Apology. "There may be less soberness, mother," Ruth had been heard to say, "but I have not yet heard indiscreet speaking. There is laughter continually, but it is like the songs of the birds to which thee loves to listen. Father is like a sturdy tree that grows in the forest; my young cousins are like the wild roses that grow beneath the windows, and, mother, did not the Lord make them both?"
Ruth's mother scarcely suppressed a faint smile and merry twinkle in her eyes when thus questioned, but her husband's step was heard, and she had but time to reply, "Thee is too young yet, Ruth, to understand these things. Be careful that thy words do not prove a wile of the adversary."
"Does thee mean thy cousin Robert is the evil one?" she whispered, and then, kissing her mother, darted away before her step-father could cast a shadow over them.
The storm was raging without, but not an intimation of it crossed the Pearson threshold. There was abundant warmth and light in the grand old kitchen, and the walls, to
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