She had been kept so busy seeing Glenloch, meeting Mrs. Hamilton’s friends and getting acquainted with her own special chums that she had hardly had time to settle her belongings.  Saturday morning, therefore, found her at work in good earnest, for the girls were coming in that afternoon, and she wanted her pretty room to look its prettiest.

“Not homesick, I hope, dear,” said Mrs. Hamilton, coming into the room about noon to find Ruth curled up in the big armchair with the black kitten on her lap.

“No, only resting after putting my room in order.  I’ve been so busy and the days have flown so fast that I haven’t wholly unpacked my trunk until this morning.”

“The pictures make the room look very homelike,” said Mrs. Hamilton, glancing at the photographs which adorned desk, mantel and table.  “Are these all friends of yours?” she added with a sly smile, as her eye caught the picture of the little Queen of Holland in quaint peasant costume.

“No, most of them are what papa calls my ‘admirations,’” answered Ruth with a laugh.  “That picture of Queen Wilhelmina is my great joy because she looks like such a nice girl.  The others are mostly musicians and composers.  Papa bought them to encourage me in my music, because he is so anxious I shall make a success of it.”

“Why, this is interesting.  I haven’t had time yet to find out about your talents.  Do you sing or play the piano?”

“A little of both, but I like the violin best and I’ve taken lessons on it since I was eight years old.  I am all out of practice now,” she added soberly, “for I’ve done hardly anything at it since mamma died.  She was so fond of it that everything I play reminds me of her, and I can’t bear it yet.”

“Perhaps you will feel like beginning again this winter,” said Mrs. Hamilton, putting her arm around her.

“I am sure I shall,” answered Ruth gratefully, giving the kind arm a little squeeze.  “Papa thought that just as soon as I got well started in school it would be a good plan for me to go into Boston for violin lessons.”

“That will be delightful,” said Mrs. Hamilton heartily, “and I shall have to begin practicing so that I can play your accompaniments.  Since Arthur has been ill I have neglected my piano dreadfully.  I used to play duets with him a great deal, but I suppose nothing would persuade him to touch the piano now.”

“Will he never be any better?”

“The doctor gives us every reason to hope that he will be almost well if he can only get over this terrible depression.  His father and I can only stand by and help all we can while he fights this battle for himself.”  There was a long pause while Mrs. Hamilton looked thoughtfully out of the window as though facing problems harder than she could solve, and Ruth racked her brain to think of something encouraging to say.

“If I could only help I should be very glad,” she said at last, timidly.