When she joined us at supper--she had kept her room all day--I saw that
her eyes were red, as if she had been crying. I knew then that I had
offended her.
"Ruby, I really couldn't go," I said. "You don't feel cross about it, do
you?"
"Oh, no," she answered, with some earnestness. "And I knew you were
busy."
"And about Jim--what's the matter with the wheel?" I asked, greatly
relieved at the discovery that whatever troubled her, my staying at home
had not caused it.
"One of the buckets is broken--Uncle Jim always fixes it," and she
turned her head away to hide her tears.
"Is Jim a carpenter, too?" I asked, with a smile.
"Why, yes," she replied. "Didn't you know that? They often send for him
to fix the mill. There's no one else about here who can." And she
changed the conversation and began talking of the beauty of that part of
the brook where they had been to fish, and of the rich brown tint of the
water in the pools, and how lovely the red sumachs were reflected in
their depths.
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