"Now, thee does n't say that, father?" said Rachel, all her face radiant with joy.
"It's really true. Peter was down yesterday, with the wagon, to the other stand, and there he found an old woman and two men; and one said his name was George Harris; and, from what he told of his history, I am certain who he is. He is a bright, likely fellow, too."
"Shall we tell her now?" said Simeon.
"Let's tell Ruth," said Rachel. "Here, Ruth,—come here."
Ruth laid down her knitting-work, and was in the back porch in a moment.
Ruth, what does thee think?" said Rachel. "Father says Eliza's husband is in the last company, and will be here to-night."
A burst of joy from the little Quakeress interrupted the speech. She gave such a bound from the floor, as she clapped her little hands, that two stray curls fell from under her Quaker cap, and lay brightly on her white neckerchief.
"Hush thee, dear!" said Rachel, gently; "hush, Ruth! Tell us, shall we tell her now?"
"Now! to be sure,—this very minute. Why, now, suppose 't was my John, how should I feel? Do tell her, right off."
"Thee uses thyself only to learn how to love thy neighbor, Ruth," said Simeon, looking, with a beaming face, on Ruth.
"To be sure. Is n't it what we are made for? If I did n't love John and the baby, I should not know how to feel for her. Come, now, do tell her,—do!" and she laid her hands persuasively on Rachel's arm. "Take her into thy bed-room, there, and let me fry the chicken while thee does it."
