They were words that,
curiously, had never ceased to ring in her brain since the moment she
had first read them: "With love from Tots."
* * * * *
Fully five minutes passed before Ruth crossed the room to the
honeysuckle-draped window, the roses pressed against her thumping heart.
Outside, an ancient wooden bench that sagged dubiously in the middle
stood against a crumbling stone wall. It was a bench greatly favoured by
aged labourers in the summer evenings, but this morning it had but one
occupant--a loose-knit, lounging figure with a straw hat drawn well down
over the eyes, and a pipe thrust between the teeth.
As Ruth gazed upon this negligent apparition, it suddenly moved, and the
next instant it stood up in the sunshine and faced her, hat in one hand,
pipe in the other.
"Mornin'" said Tots. "Got somethin' nice for breakfast?" His brown face
smiled imperturbably upon her. He looked pleased to see her, but not
extravagantly so.
Ruth fell back a step from the window, her roses clutched fast against
her. She was for the moment speechless.
Tots continued to smile sociably.
"Nice, quiet little place--this," he said. "There's a touch of the
antediluvian about it that I like. Good idea of yours, comin' here. No
one to get in the way. It won't be disturbin' you if I sit on the
window-sill while you have your breakfast?"
Ruth experienced a sudden, hysterical desire to laugh.
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