Presently the voices ceased, there were footsteps on the stairs, the light of a candle showed through the chink of her door, the footsteps receded and a door was shut, and Ruth knew that the decision was made and her mother had gone to bed. And as she could not know the result of the conversation that night, she very wisely closed her eyes and went to sleep.
Early the next morning she was awakened by the sun shining in at her window. She rose at once, dressed quickly, and was soon downstairs, but not before her mother, who was busily preparing the breakfast. There was so much to be done before the meal was ready, so much chatter over it, and so many last words to the boys and their father before they set out for the hay-field, that Ruth could not find an opportunity to ask her mother the question that was burning upon her lips, until all trace of the meal was removed and the children had gone to play in the orchard.
Then she went upstairs to help her make the beds, and there was time for a quiet chat.
Mrs. Arnold began by inquiring, "What did your cousin say in her letter yesterday?"
"She asked if I could spend my holidays with them at the sea-side," replied Ruth, blushing with joy at the very thought.
"And you would like to go?"
"Oh yes, indeed I should, very, very much; that is—of course—if you could spare me," she added hesitatingly.
"I suppose then that you do not know what your aunt has suggested. She writes to know if we will spare you, not only for the holidays, but for a whole twelvemonth, to be a companion to your cousin and go to school with her (What are you doing with the pillows, Ruth?), to share her studies and amusements."
"Should I see none of you for a whole year?"
"I am not sure; that would depend upon your aunt."