sleep in this dear little room for a whole year, or for six months at least."

She had rarely called her chamber a "dear little room" before; in fact, she had often grumbled because it was so small; but now that she was about to go away it had suddenly become dear, for was it not part of her home, and what place in the world could ever be so dear as home?

How strange it all seemed that morning! The coming downstairs and finding the little trunk packed and corded in the hall; the hurried breakfast, at which every one but mother talked very fast, because they had so much to say and such a short time in which to say it; the leave-takings, the good-byes, and parting injunctions.

Ruth drove off at last beside her father, feeling like one in a dream, so dimly did she see everything through the mist of tears which hung about her eyes.

There was another farewell to be said at the railway junction, for Mr. Arnold could only wait a few minutes to see her into a comfortable carriage, and then returned home to Cressleigh. When he waved his hand and the train was fairly in motion, Ruth began to realize that she was being separated for a long, long time from all whom she loved best in the world; she heaved one great sob, and crouching into a corner of the carriage gave way to a flood of tears. She wept for several minutes undisturbed, then a kind motherly-looking lady, who was sitting opposite to her, asked, "What is the matter, my dear? Are you going away to school?"

"Yes, ma'am; at least, I mean no, not yet. I am going to the sea-side to stay with my cousins for a few weeks."

"I don't think that most girls would be so distressed at the thought of a visit to the sea-side," said the old lady, smiling.

"But I'm not coming back for ever so long," replied Ruth, drying her tears, however. Then she informed her new friend how long she was going to be away, and what she hoped to see and do during her absence from home, and the old lady seemed so much interested that Ruth soon grew bright and merry, and began to notice the pretty country through which they were passing; and when the train stopped at a rustic station, where a little pony trap was waiting to convey the old lady to her own home, they felt as if they had known each other for years instead of hours, and were really very sorry to part.

The rest of the journey seemed rather dull and tedious, and it was late in the afternoon when the train drew up at the Stonegate station. There were a good many people on the platform, and Ruth was wondering if any one had come to meet her, when a lady looked in at the carriage door and inquired in a pleasant manner, "Your name is Ruth Arnold, is it not?"

"Yes, it is," she replied rather shyly, as she bent forward to look at her aunt. But that look told her a great deal.

She saw a fair placid face which she felt sure she should love, for the dark blue eyes reminded her of her father's, though the fair hair and small mouth were strangely unlike his. But there was something familiar in the tone of her voice, and when she called a cab, gave instructions about the luggage, and took her seat beside her niece, Ruth was quite at ease and felt that she was going to be happy.

"You will see Julia very soon," said Mrs. Woburn, "but this is our first day at the sea-side, and she was out when I started. I am afraid that she will be angry with me, for I know that she intended to come herself to meet you, and I think she will be disappointed."

"It was very kind of you to come," said Ruth; "I was getting quite frightened, and thought that perhaps you might not know me, and that I should be all alone in a strange place."

"There is not much fear that any one who has seen your mother would not recognise her daughter," was Mrs. Woburn's smiling reply.

"Do you think me so much like her?" asked Ruth eagerly, looking greatly pleased.

"Indeed I do. But this is our lodging. I see Julia looking out of the window."

In another minute Ruth had followed her aunt into a large cheerful sitting-room, with two bay-windows overlooking the beach and sea.

"Oh! mamma, what a shame of you to go without me!" cried a voice from the window where a young girl was standing.

"You were so late, dear," said Mrs. Woburn gently. "Here is your cousin; take her to her room; I am sure she must be tired after her long journey."

Julia, a pretty fair-haired fashionably-dressed girl, came forward and shook hands, saying, "How d'ye do, Ruth? I am glad mamma met you. Will you come upstairs?"

She led the way to a pretty bedroom, much larger than the one in which Ruth had slept at Cressleigh. There was a splendid view of the sea from the windows, and the furniture of the room was all of light polished wood; a pretty dressing-table stood between the windows, which were hung with white muslin curtains, and the hangings and cover-lids of the two little beds were snowy white.

"What a pretty room!" said Ruth, as she entered.

"Do you think so? I think it is awfully small and poky. And we are both to sleep here, which I am sure will be very inconvenient; but we couldn't get anything better, so I suppose we must put up with it. Lodgings are always the great drawback to the sea-side, you know."

Ruth did not know what reply to make, she was so taken aback by the grandeur of Julia's air and manner.

CHAPTER V.

COUSINS.

"Tea is ready, miss," said a trim maid-servant at the door of the bedroom where the two girls were talking, and Ruth followed her cousin downstairs to the large cheerful room she had entered upon her arrival.

Mrs. Woburn had already taken her seat behind the urn, and the two boys who were sitting beside her rose to meet their cousin. Ernest, the elder of the two, was a tall, thin lad of fifteen, with a pair of large brown eyes, the only striking feature in his plain but sensible face.

Rupert was a merry little schoolboy of seven, bright-eyed and curly-haired, a mischievous little sprite, no doubt, but a very affectionate lovable little fellow. He chattered continually during the meal, and did a great deal to take off the sense of shyness that Ruth felt in the company of Julia and Ernest, and her aunt asked questions about the farm-life at Cressleigh, and talked of their plans for the next few weeks.

"Oh! you will have a great deal to see," said Julia, "as this is your first visit to the sea-side. I think we had better put on our hats and go for a long walk at once, it is a shame to be indoors this lovely evening."

"That will hardly do for your cousin, dear; she looks rather tired, and we must remember that she has had a long journey to-day."

Ruth was very tired, and, much as she longed to go for a walk along the shore, she felt that that pleasure must be deferred until the next morning. But she was rather dismayed by Julia's saying, "Well, I don't see any reason for our remaining indoors. Of course Ernest won't come, he is too much taken up with that book about—shellology. So he can stay with Ruth while you come out with us."

"Why can't you call things by their right names, and say 'conchology'?" asked Ernest quietly.

"Really, Julia, I don't think we must leave your cousin this evening," said Mrs. Woburn, doubtfully.

"Don't stay at home on my account, auntie," replied Ruth, putting aside her own feelings, though she did not much like the idea of spending the evening with Ernest, such a grave, quiet boy, so very different from her brothers.

Julia carried her point, and started in a few minutes for a walk with her mother and Rupert, leaving the cousins to their own resources. Ruth took a seat near the window, and watched the waves breaking gently upon the beach, while the boy appeared to be entirely occupied with his book. It was rather dull, this first evening away from home; it seemed scarcely possible that she had really only left Cressleigh that morning, and she began to wonder if they had missed her