" The feminine vanities in Ruth were quiescent; nothing had ever occurred in her life to tingle them into action. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. “I don’t know where to go to.
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