But Will, the eldest brother, who found that his father's speech and Ruth's face were getting too much for his feelings, jumped up and seized his hat, saying in his queer way that he must be off to the hay-field if there was a prospect of showers, and he hoped Ruth would not run away before he came back.
The other members of the family soon dispersed; and although Ruth's departure was for days the all-absorbing topic of conversation, it was generally referred to in a cheery way, and not in what Will called "the sentimental strain."
CHAPTER IV.
THE JOURNEY.
Several letters passed between Mrs. Arnold and her sister-in-law; and as it was arranged that Ruth was to go the following week, there was not much time for preparation, and every spare minute was fully occupied. Her entire wardrobe had to be inspected and replenished, as far as slender means would permit; old garments were made to look as much like new as possible, and little bits of ribbon and lace which had not seen the light for years, because there were so few suitable occasions for wearing them in a quiet country place, now reappeared in the form of bows and tuckers for the neck.
As Mrs. Woburn, Ruth's aunt, lived a great many miles from Cressleigh, it was decided that her niece should go direct to Stonegate, the watering-place where they were to spend the holidays. She was therefore to take a long railway journey, quite an event in itself, as she had rarely been farther by rail than the county town, twelve miles distant, and even there she had always been accompanied by her father or mother. But just now there was so much to be done on the farm, that her father could spare neither the time nor money for a long journey, and the young girl was obliged to travel alone, a formidable undertaking, which seemed almost to spoil the anticipated pleasure of the sea-side visit.
One bright morning in the early part of July, Ruth woke with the thought, "I am really going away to-day, and perhaps I may not 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.