The Search

A beautiful smile came out on the tired sorrowful face.

"Yes, I've given him," she said, "but I'm hoping God will give him back again some day. Do you think that's too much to hope. He is such a good boy!"

"Of course not," said Ruth sharply with a sudden sting of apprehension in her soul. And then she remembered that she had no very intimate acquaintance with God. She wished she might be on speaking terms, at least, and she would go and present a plea for this lonely woman. If it were only Captain La Rue, her favorite cousin, or even the President, she might consider it. But God! She shuddered. Didn't God let this awful war be? Why did He do it? She had never thought much about God before.

"I wish you would let me come to see you sometime and take you for another ride," she said sweetly.

"It would be beautiful!" said the older woman, "if you would care to take the time from your own friends."

"I would love to have you for one of my friends," said the girl gracefully.

The woman smiled wistfully.

"I'm only here holidays and evenings," she conceded, "I'm doing some government work now."

"I shall come," said Ruth brightly. "I've enjoyed you ever so much." Then she started her car and whirled away into the sunshine.

"She won't come, of course," said the woman to herself as she stood looking mournfully after the car, reluctant to go into the empty house. "I wish she would! Isn't she just like a flower! How wonderful it would be if things had been different, and there hadn't been any war, and my boy could have had her for a friend! Oh!"

* * * * *

Down at the Club House the women waited for the fair young member who had charge of the wool. They rallied her joyously as she hurried in, suddenly aware that she had kept them all waiting.

"I saw her in the crowd at the station this morning," called out Mrs. Pryor, a large placid tease with a twinkle in her eye. "She was picking out the handsomest man for the next sweater she knits. Which one did you choose, Miss Ruth? Tell us. Are you going to write him a letter and stick it in the toe of his sock?"

The annoyed color swept into Ruth's face, but she paid no other heed as she went about her morning duties, preparing the wool to give out. A thought had stolen into her heart that made a tumult there and would not bear turning over even in her mind in the presence of all these curious people. She put it resolutely by as she taught newcomers how to turn the heel of a sock, but now and then it crept back again and was the cause of her dropping an occasional stitch.