He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. "I've a good deal to do. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. " "Shall I tell you a real story?" "Something you have seen?" "Yes.
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