Ralph Trulock's Christmas Roses

A BRIGHT little fire burned that evening in Ralph Trulock's parlour, and at one side of it sat Ralph, in the easiest chair the house contained (and, with the help of pillows, Ruth had made him very snug, though the chair was by nature angular and uncompromising). Opposite him, in a low wooden chair, sat Ruth, her small fingers plying her knitting-needles with great zeal, while her eyes rested fondly on Ollie, who was stretched at lazy length upon the little rug between the other two, reading a book lent him by Miss Jones. Ollie lay face downward, his round chin propped up on his two hands, and the firelight playing upon his dark hair and bright face, made him "quite a picture," as Ruth privately told herself. Oh, if Ollie could always have such a fire as that to bask before! For the child loved warmth like a little cat.

"Ruth, do you remember what you said to me yesterday about getting work? " said Ralph.