The Rebel of the School | Page 4

them piping hot. Your grandfather wants his beer. Dear, dear! What a worry that is! I never knew that the cask was empty. What is to be done?"
"I can go round to the shop and bring in a quart," said Ruth.
"But you--a member of the Shirley School! No, you mustn't. I'll do it."
"Nonsense, granny! I'll leave school to-morrow if you don't let me work for you just the same as ever."
Mrs. Craven sank into her chair.
"You are a good child," she said. "All day I have been so fretting that we were taking you out of your station; and that is a sad mistake--sad and terrible. But you are a good child. Yes, go for it, dear; it won't do you any harm."
Ruth wrapped an old shawl round her head, picked up a jug, and went off to the nearest public-house. They were accustomed to see her there, for old Mr. Craven more often than not had his little cask of beer empty. She went to a side entrance, where a woman she knew served her with what she required.
"There, Ruth Craven," she said--"there it is. But, all the same, I'm surprised to see you here to-night."
"But why so?" asked Ruth.
"Isn't it true that you are one of the Shirley scholars now?"
"I am; I joined the school to-day."
"And yet you come to fetch beer for your old grandfather!"
"I do," said Ruth, with spirit. "And I shall fetch it for him as long as he wants it. Thank you very much."
She took the jug and walked carefully back to the cottage.
"She's the handsomest, most spirited, best little thing I ever met," thought the landlady of the "Lion," and she began to consider in her own mind if one of her men could not call round in the morning and leave the necessary beer at the Cravens'.
Supper was served, and was eaten with considerable relish by all three.
"Now," said old granny when the meal had come to an end, "you stay and talk to your grandfather--he is all agog to hear what you have got to say--and I will wash up. Now then, child, don't you worry. It isn't everybody who has got loving grandparents like us."
"And it isn't many old bodies who have got such a dear little granddaughter," said the old man, smiling at Ruth.
Mrs. Craven carried the supper things into the kitchen, and Ruth sat close to her grandfather.
"Now, tell me, child, tell me," he said. "What did they do? What class did they put you into?"
"I am in the third remove; a very good class indeed--at least they all said so, grandfather."
"I don't understand your modern names; but tell me what you have got to learn, dear. What sort of lessons are they going to put into that smart little head of yours?"
"Oh, all the best things, grandfather--French, German, English in all its branches, music, and Latin if I like. I am determined to take up Latin; I want to get to the heart of things."
"Quite right--quite right, too. And you are ever so pleased at having got in?"
"It does seem a grand thing for me, doesn't it, grandfather?"
"Most of the girls are ladies, aren't they?"
"It is a big school--between three and four hundred girls. I don't suppose they are all ladies."
"Well, you are, anyhow, my little Ruth."
"Am I, granddad? That is the question."
"What do you think yourself?"
"I think so; but what does the world say?"
"Ruth, I never told you, but your mother was a lady. You know what your father was. I saved and stinted and toiled and got him a commission in the army. He died, poor fellow, shortly after you were born. But he was a commissioned officer in the Punjab Infantry. Your mother was a governess, but she was a lady by birth; her father was a clergyman. Your parents met in India; they fell in love, and married. Your mother died at your birth, and you came home to us. Yes, child, by birth you are a lady, as good as any of them--as good as the best."
"They are dead," said Ruth. "I don't remember them. I have a picture of my father upstairs; it is taken with his uniform on. He looks very handsome. And I have a little water-color sketch of my mother, and she looks fair and sweet and interesting. But I never knew them. Those I knew and know and love are you, grandfather, and granny."
"Well, dear, when I had the power and the brains and the strength, I kept a shop--a grocer's shop, dear; and my wife, she was the daughter of a harness-maker. Your grandparents were both in trade; there's no way out of it."
"But a gentleman and lady for all that," said the girl.
She pressed close to the old man, took one of his weather-beaten hands