Page:Ruth of the U.S.A. (IA ruthofusa00balm).pdf/221

 Ruth was full of joy that she had dared to come; for she was, to this boy, his sister.

"Tell me—about—home," he begged her.

"I've brought all my letters," she said; and opening them with one hand—for he would not have her lose grasp of him—she read the home news until the nurse returned and, nodding, let Ruth know she must go.

He could not follow in his mind the simple events related in the letters; but he liked to hear the sentences about home objects, and the names of the people he had loved, and who loved him.

"You'll—come back—tomorrow, Cynth?" he pleaded.

Ruth promised and kissed him again and departed.

It was quite dark now on the streets with only the sound of the evening bustle. The long-range German gun had ceased firing; but the dim lights beside doorways proved that on this clear, still night the people of Paris realized the danger of air raids. Ruth was hurrying along, thinking of the boy she had left and of his comrades in the long rows of beds; from them her thoughts flew back to the battle, to "1583" and his English on the hill, to Grand'mère Bergues' farm, and to Gerry Hull; she thought of the German soldiers she had seen with him and of her errand to their land. Almost before she realized it, she was turning into the little street of the Holy Fathers when a man, approaching out of the shadows, suddenly halted before her and cried out:

"Cynthia!"

The glow of light was behind him, so she could not make out his face; but she knew that only one stranger,