Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. "Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you. "Your wife?" "His lawful wife," said Ruth, with fine dignity.
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