CLAY'S MILLS PLAYING.
Sarah was sitting in her own room, rather cross with herself for feeling lonely, and trying not to acknowledge, even to herself, that she missed Horatia, or to own that her schoolfellow made things go more smoothly, somehow. It was a stormy-looking morning, and Sarah was wondering what she should do with herself, when she felt a gentle hand placed on her shoulder, and, turning in surprise, saw her brother standing behind her, with his usual pleasant smile on his face.
'Good-morning!' he said, as he kissed her.
'Goodness me, George! Where on earth did you spring from?' she cried in surprise. 'I thought you were in Scotland.'
'So I was till yesterday; in fact, I've only just arrived,' he remarked.
'You've been travelling all night, and you look as fresh and clean as if you'd just dressed for breakfast! But that's just like you. I believe you'd be miserable if you had your hair untidy or your face dirty,' she observed.
'It certainly isn't a pleasant idea. Besides, there is no need for it in this case, seeing that they provide plenty of hot water in the through sleeping-car,' remarked George, seating himself on the window-seat opposite his sister.
'All the same, I should think it would be pleasanter to travel by day. And what brought you back a week before your time?' Sarah demanded.
'I thought I should like to have a last look at the old home,' he replied dryly. 'I have more affection for it than you have, you see.'
'How did you hear about it?' inquired Sarah.