The children brightened up a little at these words, for their blithe spirits refused to be long downcast, especially when they felt sure of seeing the same bright, loving mother unchanged--all except Ruth; her sober face too well expressed her thoughts.
"Oh, father," broke in Hal, presently, "Jake Murphy says the fire has caught over at Liberty."
"Yes," replied his father, absently, "they are having a desperate struggle with the fires this summer."
Lou's great blue eyes had grown brighter and brighter while they were talking, and a pink spot glowed in each cheek as she asked, "Do you think it _could_ get here?"
"No, I think not; the wind is decidedly westward, and the people of Liberty will probably take all possible measures for checking its progress."
Mr. Leonard sighed as he spoke, and he seemed to be looking straight through Ruth rather than at her. Perhaps he was wondering how the four bairns and the sick wife were to be fed and cared for all winter if no rain came to save his failing crops.
"Yes, ma'am," answered the little girl, running to the foot of the stairs.
"Will thee bring mother a nice glass of cold water?"
"I will, mother," rang out Ruth's cheery voice; "I'm coming up anyway."
Ruth went out to the well with her tin water pail, that her mother might have a draught fresh and sparkling. As she lowered the bucket, peering down into the mossy depths, she noticed how low the water was--lower than she had ever seen it, for their well was never known to fail, and in these times of drought the neighbors from far and near drew their daily supply from Farmer Leonard's spring. "We'll have to be very careful of it," she thought, "or it will give out."
Ruth returned to the house with her cool refreshment, and taking one of the best goblets from the pantry, gave an extra polish with a fresh towel, and filled it with the water, "because it would taste so much better out of that."
"I thank thee, deary. How good it looks!" said the invalid, drinking eagerly. "Thee takes a deal of trouble for thy mother."
"And why shouldn't I? Thee is the best of mothers," responded the girl, tenderly hugging her.
Ruth now began to busy herself about the room. She wheeled out a big arm-chair by the window, padded it out with pillows into comfortable proportions, placed in front of it a little stuffed cricket, and threw a large soft shawl over the whole arrangement. She then gathered up all the stray dishes, placed everything in order, and carefully dusted the room.