Ruth Arnold Part 4

"They are very pretty, and you are very kind, auntie; but I would rather not wear them," said the girl, trying hard to repress the tears of mortification that stood in her eyes.

"But, my dear, they have been bought on purpose for you to wear at the sea-side. Do at least try them."

"Thank you, auntie, I would much rather not do so;" and Ruth turned aside to the window, from which she could see nothing for the mist before her eyes caused by the storm of pa.s.sion and pride surging within her breast.

There was no reply, and when she looked round again she found that she was alone. The suns.h.i.+ne was streaming into the room, s.h.i.+ning upon the white hat and the pretty dresses, just such garments as Ruth would have chosen if she had had an opportunity of buying such a stock of clothes for herself. But she remembered Julia's words and manner the previous morning, and felt so proud and angry that she deliberately shut her eyes as she walked out of the room, and gave not a thought to her aunt's kindness.

"It is too bad! I'll not stand it!" she murmured. "I did not come here to be treated like a poor relation. If they don't like me as I am, I will go home again. Yes, I'll go and tell auntie so at once," she continued, her pride rising higher and higher until she reached the bay-windowed drawing-room where her aunt was sitting with Ernest. She did not observe his presence, but went straight to her aunt, her cheeks crimson and her eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

"Aunt Annie," she said as calmly as her emotion would permit, "Aunt Annie, I think that I had better go home."

"My dear child, what is the matter?" cried Mrs. Woburn, dropping her work in her amazement.

"I think that if you don't like me as I am, I had better go home," she repeated.

"What do you mean?" asked her aunt, still more perplexed; while Ernest looked up from his book and inquired, "Has Julia been annoying her?"

"No," said Ruth; "but, oh, auntie! I can't bear to be--a poor relation, and--and have clothes given me."

The pent-up sobs would have their way at last, and the girl sank down beside her aunt, who tried to soothe and comfort her.

"Have those dresses troubled you so much, dear?" she asked gently. "I had no idea that that was the cause of your annoyance, but fancied you did not like the style in which they were made. If I had thought that you would have any objection I would have acted differently; but as your mother----"

"Did mother know that you were getting them for me?" inquired Ruth.

"Yes, and she wrote to say that she should be glad for you to be treated in every way like your cousin. And you must never think, dear, that we regard you as 'a poor relation.' Remember that your father is my brother, and whatever I give you has been paid for, and far more than paid for, years ago."

"Thank you, auntie; I am glad to know that," she said quietly.

"I did not think you were so proud, Ruth," whispered Ernest as she left the room, and went up to her own chamber to have a good cry over her foolish behaviour. But, to her dismay, Julia was there dressing for a walk, an occupation which she knew would take her a considerable time.

Oh, how she longed for her little room at home, where she had so often taken her childish troubles, or for a quiet nook upon the sh.o.r.e, such as she had often read of, but which is rarely to be found in a fas.h.i.+onable watering-place. There was no solitude for her just then, and she was obliged to fight the battle within silently, while her companion rallied her upon her mournful looks and red eyes; and to send up her prayer for help from the heart, without using the lips. But help came, and she conquered at last the pride and temper of which she was now thoroughly ashamed. She was anxious to obtain her aunt's forgiveness for the rude reception of her kindness, and tried to make amends by arraying herself in the pink dress and pretty hat, which she showed to Julia, saying how kind it was of auntie to get such lovely things for her. By-and-by when she had an opportunity she said in a low voice, "I am very sorry that I was so proud and rude just now, auntie. I'll try to behave better in future."

And Mrs. Woburn, looking at her niece's dress, saw that her repentance was not only expressed in words.

CHAPTER VIII.

SEA-SIDE PLEASURES.

A week spent at Stonegate had taught Ruth more of her own frailties and weaknesses, and had shown her more of the various sorts of people of which the world is composed, than she would have learnt in a whole year spent in the quiet sheltered seclusion of her home at Cressleigh.

The novelty, the continued round of pleasure, the excitement and gaiety, were bewildering and delightful to the simple country girl. It seemed to her that she had been suddenly transported from the commonplace ordinary work-a-day world in which she had hitherto dwelt, to a fairyland of suns.h.i.+ne, music, and pleasure. It was almost impossible at times to realize that the sun which brightened the Esplanade, and gilded the edge of the rippling waves, was the same sun which was s.h.i.+ning upon her father's harvest-field at home, upon the labourers toiling at the sickle, the women binding the sheaves, and the servants briskly moving hither and thither, all as busy as bees throughout the whole of the long summer day.

Everything at the sea-side was new to Ruth, and she exulted in the freshness and novelty of all around her, for she was still at that happy age

"When all things pleased, for life itself was new, And the heart promised what the fancy drew."

Alas, that that time is being gradually shortened, and that children say good-bye at such an early age to the simple pleasures of youth!

How few years there are in which one can be young, and how many in which one must be old!

But Ruth was still young, far younger in her capacity to enjoy than Julia, who was her junior by some months. She was in good health, with fine animal spirits, and had not tasted half the pleasures which had already grown stale to her cousin. The boating, the chatter, the strolls, the music on the pier, the glorious sunsets, the very stones and sh.e.l.ls upon the beach, the fresh breezes and the ever-changing sea, all contributed to afford her such pleasure as it would have been impossible for Julia to feel, because she, poor child, was already disenchanted at fourteen, was already wearied with frequent repet.i.tion of the amus.e.m.e.nts which were new to her cousin, and also because she had imbibed the idea that it was ill-bred, and a mark of ignorance, to show or even to _feel_ extreme pleasure in anything, yet was ever selfishly seeking some new gratification.

"You appear to be enjoying yourself very much, Ruth," observed her aunt, as she sat beside her on the pier the evening before the day arranged for the picnic.

"How can I help it, auntie? You are so kind, and everything is so enchanting," was the enthusiastic reply.

"I think that many of the richest people here would give all they possess to have that child's keen sense of delight," remarked Mrs.

Woburn to her husband, as Ruth tripped away to join her cousins.

"Oh, Julia," she exclaimed, "what a charming piece the band has been playing!"

"That old thing!" replied the other contemptuously. "It is the overture to 'La Sonnambula,' and I perfectly hate it, for I learnt it at school ages ago, and Signor Touchi used to get awfully angry about it."

Julia often acted as a sort of wet blanket upon her cousin's enthusiastic outbursts; though it was a long time before the country girl learnt to express her delight in the usual formula of a fas.h.i.+onable young lady, "Very charming," or "Awfully nice," p.r.o.nounced in a manner which seems to imply, "Just tolerable."

Wednesday morning rose clear and bright, and soon after sunrise Ruth peeped out of the window to see if the weather were favourable, and when she saw the suns.h.i.+ne she could remain in bed no longer, but dressed quickly and ran down to the beach, her favourite retreat in the early morning, and the only place where she ever found an opportunity for quiet thought amidst all the excitement of pleasure-seeking.

What a long time it seemed since she had left home! And yet it was only a few days. What would her mother think, she wondered, of the life she was leading now? She had only received one short letter from her, written after all the rest of the household were in bed, and Ruth could guess how very busy every one was, although there was but a casual reference to the fact in the letter.

"I hope that mother is not doing too much," she mused, "it was very kind of her to let me have so much pleasure; but how hard it would be to go back now after all this gaiety. I trust that I am not getting spoilt, yet----"

"Have you been looking for anemones, Ruth?" asked a boyish voice beside her. "This is not the place to find them."

"I had no idea that you were near, Ernest," was her reply, "but I have not been looking for anything, only thinking."

"Well, it is almost breakfast time now. You know that we are to be early this morning on account of the picnic to which you are all going."

"But surely you are going with us?" said Ruth in surprise.

"No," he answered quietly, "I should only be in the way. Gerald and his fellows don't want me, and Julia and her friends only snub me and think me a nuisance, and of course I am too old to romp and be petted like little Ru. So I shall have a quiet day on the sh.o.r.e collecting fresh specimens, and you shall see them to-morrow. Now we must go in to breakfast."

Ernest had grown very fond of his country cousin, who was so different from his sister and her friends that she could actually take an interest in his pursuits, and who, under her father's guidance, had learnt many interesting facts of natural history which the town-bred boy had never had opportunities of observing.

Breakfast was a hurried meal, and directly it was over there followed the bustle of preparation for the day's excursion. Hampers were sent off, duly packed with all kinds of delicacies; Rupert was running up and down stairs continually, and getting in the way as much as Ernest, who remained stationary near the door; while Julia rushed from her room to her mother's, declaring that she was quite certain they would all be late, and then ran back to ask Ruth to help her to dress.

CHAPTER IX.

THE PICNIC.