It is not a dissipated face. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. But then you're an adopted son, and that makes all the difference. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. Her skin prickled. "I am—I am!" cried the widow, snatching the babe, and pressing it to her breast with rapturous delight "God be thanked, I have found it!" "We have both good reason to be grateful," added the lady, with great emotion.
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