The Fortunes of the Farrells | Page 6

only do it for the sake of the pay. I should have no respect for you if
you did that, Ruth. It would be too hard on the unfortunate patients?"
"I could be a companion--"
"People who want companions are old, or gouty, or mad; invariably
disagreeable, or why have they to advertise for a friend? I think I see
you shut up with a trying old lady, combing the lap-dog's hair, and
winding wool! You wouldn't be a very agreeable companion, Ruthans
dear. Better make the best of things, and stay where you are."
Ruth made no further protest, but her lips tightened with an expression
of determination. Her mind being made up, she was not easily swayed
from her purpose. She decided to talk to her mother on the subject on
the following morning.
CHAPTER TWO.
AN EVENING AT HOME.
The father of Ruth and Mollie Farrell had died when the latter was two
years old, leaving his wife but a few hundred pounds with which to
support herself and her children. She was a pretty, winsome creature,
the sort of woman who attracts sympathy and love, but a most difficult
person to help.
Friends came forward with suggestions and offers of assistance, and
Mrs Farrell thanked them ardently, and wept, and agreed to all that they
said. In words, she was ready to undertake any exertion, however
arduous; but when it came to deeds, she was so weak, so incapable, so
hopelessly confused, that the school, the boarding-house, and the home
for Indian children ended successively in failure.
At the end of three years her scanty capital was almost exhausted; but
at this critical moment the Fates--which seem to take special care of the

helpless ones of the earth--sent Ernest Connor to play the part of
rescuer. He was a round stone in a square hole, that is to say, a student
by nature, who, by the exigencies of fortune, found himself doomed to
a business life, wherein he was a painstaking but consistent failure.
Nervous and shy, he shrank from the society of women; but it was
impossible to be shy with the irresponsible little widow, who confided
all her troubles to him on the first day of their acquaintance, and asked
his advice with tears in her pretty eyes. To his amazement, he found
himself confiding his own troubles in return, and the ready sympathy
accorded to them seemed the sweetest thing in the world. A month after
their first meeting he asked her to be his wife, explaining honestly his
financial position, and the uncertainty of improvement in the future.
"But you will help me!" he said. "The money will go twice as far when
you hold the purse!"
And Mrs Farrell agreed with ardour, unabashed by previous failures.
She went to her new home full of love and gratitude, and, let it be said
at once, never had cause to regret the step in after years.
Ernest Connor was a devoted husband, and a most kindly father to the
two little girls; but life was not easy. It was a constant strain to make
ends meet, and as Trix, and Betty, and Drummond, and Ransome, and
Bruce came in quick succession to fill the nursery, the strain grew even
more and more acute.
The elder girls had been educated at a neighbouring high school, but
left as soon as they were seventeen, and after that there was no money
to spare for music and painting lessons, such as most girls continue as
an interest and occupation long after schooldays are over.
Ruth and Mollie were kept busy teaching the babies and making
clothes for the family--cutting down Trix's dress to do duty for Betty;
laboriously planning little pairs of knickers out of trousers worn at the
knees; patching, darning, covering-up, hiding over, turning and twisting;
making up something out of nothing, with the lordly sum of fifteen
pounds a year each for dress and pocket-money alike. They had never

known the luxury, dear to girlish hearts, of choosing a garment simply
because it was pretty or becoming. Dark, useful remnants were their lot;
sailor-hats in summer, cloth toques in winter; stout, useful boots, and
dogskin gloves which stood a year's hard wear.
Many a time over had Mollie stretched forth hands and feet for her
sister's inspection, quoting derisively--
"`Her thickly--made country shoes could not conceal the slender
contour of her ankles; her rough gloves served only to reveal the
patrician beauty of her hands.' Look at that, my love--there's contour
for you! There's patrician beauty! What rubbish those books do talk, to
be sure!"
Many a time had the girls groaned together over their impecuniosity,
and vaguely vowed to "do something" to remedy their condition, until
at last Ruth's unrest had reached the point