"Oh, how charming! Then we shall see this new member after all!"
while Elizabeth added,

"Yes! I shall like to do that. But where must we be? Papa will want
the dining-room and this room, and where must we sit?"

"Oh!" said Ruth, "in the dressing-room next to my room. All that your
papa wants always, is that you are quiet and out of the way."

CHAPTER XXIII

Recognition

Saturday came. Torn, ragged clouds were driven across the sky. It was
not a becoming day for the scenery, and the little girls regretted it
much. First they hoped for a change at twelve o'clock, and then at
the afternoon tide-turning. But at neither time did the sun show his
face.

"Papa will never buy this dear place," said Elizabeth, sadly, as she
watched the weather. "The sun is everything to it. The sea looks
quite leaden to-day, and there is no sparkle on it. And the sands,
that were so yellow and sun-speckled on Thursday, are all one dull
brown now."

"Never mind! to-morrow may be better," said Ruth, cheerily.

"I wonder what time they will come at?" inquired Mary.

"Your papa said they would be at the station at five o'clock. And
the landlady at the Swan said it would take them half an hour to get
here."

"And they are to dine at six?" asked Elizabeth.

"Yes," answered Ruth. "And I think if we had our tea half an hour
earlier, at half-past four, and then went out for a walk, we should
be nicely out of the way just during the bustle of the arrival and
dinner; and we could be in the drawing-room ready against your papa
came in after dinner."

"Oh! that would be nice," said they; and tea was ordered accordingly.

The south-westerly wind had dropped, and the clouds were stationary,
when they went out on the sands. They dug little holes near the
in-coming tide, and made canals to them from the water, and blew the
light sea-foam against each other; and then stole on tiptoe near to
the groups of grey and white sea-gulls, which despised their caution,
flying softly and slowly away to a little distance as soon as they
drew near. And in all this Ruth was as great a child as any. Only she
longed for Leonard with a mother's longing, as indeed she did every
day, and all hours of the day. By-and-by the clouds thickened yet
more, and one or two drops of rain were felt. It was very little, but
Ruth feared a shower for her delicate Elizabeth, and besides, the
September evening was fast closing in the dark and sunless day. As
they tur