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RUTH ERSKINE'S CROSSES.
HER CROSS SEEMS HEAVY.
SHE stood in the hall, waiting. She heard the thud of trunks and valises on the pavement outside. She heard her father's voice giving orders to driver and porter. She wondered why she did not step forward and open the door. How would other girls greet their mothers? She tried to think. Some of them she had seen--school-girls, with whom she had gone home, in her earlier life, who were wont to rush into their mother's arms, and, with broken exclamations of delight, smother her with kisses How strange it would be if she should do any such thing as that! She did not know how to welcome a mother! How should she? She had never learned.
Then there was that other one, almost harder to meet than a mother; because her father, after all, had the most responsibility about the mother; it was really his place to look after her needs and her comfort. But this sister would naturally look to her for exclusive attention. A sister! She, Ruth Erskine, with a grown-up sister, only a few years younger than herself! And yet one whom she had not only never seen, but, until the other day, of whose existence she had never heard! How perfectly unnatural it all was!
There had been daughters before, who were called on to meet new mothers. Yes, but this was an old, old mother--so old that, in the nature of things, she ought, years ago, to have been reconciled to the event, and to have accepted it as a matter of course. But what daughter, before this, had been called upon suddenly to greet, and to receive in social equality an own sister? The more she thought of it, the more unnerved she felt.
And so the door was opened at last by Judge Erskine himself. His daughter had decreed that no servant should be in attendance. She wanted as few lookers-on as possible.
"Well, daughter," he said; and, even in that swift moment, she wondered if he ever spoke that quiet-toned, "well, daughter," to that other one. Then she did come forward and hold out her hand, and receive her father's lingering kiss. Something in that, and in the look of his eyes, as he put her back from him, and gazed for an instant into hers, steadied her pulses, and made her turn with a welcome to the strangers. There was an almost pleading look in those eyes of his.
"How do you do?" she said, simply, and not coldly; and she held out her hand to the small, faded-looking woman, who shrank back, and seemed bewildered, if not frightened. "Do you feel very tired with the long journey?"
"Susan," said her father, to the third figure, who was still over by the door, engaged in counting the shawl-straps and satchels. "This is my daughter Ruth."
There was an air of ownership about this sentence, which was infinitely helpful to Ruth. What if he had said, "This is your sister Ruth?" She gave her hand. A cold hand it was, and she felt it tremble; but, even in that supreme moment, she noticed that Susan's hair was what, in outspoken language, would be called red; and that she was taller than accorded with grace, and her wrap, falling back from its confinings, showed her dress to be short-waisted, and otherwise ill-fitting. Long afterward Ruth smiled, as she thought of taking in such details at such a moment.
It transpired that there was still another stranger awaiting introduction--a gentleman, tall and grave, and with keen gray eyes, that seemed looking through this family group, and drawing conclusions.
"My daughter, Judge Burnham." This was Judge Erskine's manner of introduction. For the time, at least, he ignored the fact that he had any other daughter. Very little attention did the daughter bestow on Judge Burnham; eyes and wits were on the alert elsewhere. Here were these new people to be gotten to their rooms, and then gotten down again; and there was that awful supper-table to endure! She gave herself to the business of planning an exit.
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