TALKING IT OVER.
"Have you read your cousin's letter, Ruth?" asked her mother as she took
her seat. "Why, what makes you look so unhappy?" she exclaimed,
observing the girl's grave face.
"It's very silly, I know, mother; and I didn't mean to be vexed about
it," she began, "but Julia said something about my going to the sea-side
with them to spend the holidays. Of course I know very well that you
couldn't spare me,--but I can't help crying--just a minute, mother, that
is all," said Ruth, while her tears dropped slowly.
"Don't cry, child; we'll talk it over to-night, and see what can be
done," said her father cheerfully.
"But, father!" cried Ruth, starting up in surprise, her tears quite
forgotten, "you don't think _really_ that there is any chance of my
going, do you? Just see how busy you are with the haying, and then there
are the boys and the little ones----"
"Well, well, your mother and I will talk it over," he repeated, as he
took up his hat and set out again for the hay-field.
The summer evening soon slipped away, and Ruth knew better than to worry
her mother by asking foolish questions; but when supper was over, and
her head lay at rest upon the pillow, her brain was busy, and it was a
long time before sleep overtook her. Delightful visions of sea-side
places such as she had read of in her favourite books, of picnics and
boating, of rambles in search of shells, rare stones and long sea-weeds,
filled her mind; and as she heard the monotonous sounds of her parents'
voices talking in low tones in the room beneath her, and knew that they
were discussing the important question Was she to go or stay? her
impatience almost got the better of her, and she longed to run
downstairs and take part in the conversation.
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."
"But--mother--you don't think of letting me go, do you?" asked Ruth,
almost over-whelmed with pleasure and surprise.
"I don't know. Your father thinks it would be good for you, but I am not
sure, Ruth. I am afraid whether, after living in a handsome
well-appointed house, waited upon by servants, and surrounded with
comforts and luxuries, you would grow discontented with our quiet
country life. I know you love your home now, but I fear lest a life in
town should spoil you, and make you no longer our little Ruth, but a
grown-up young lady, who would feel herself above our simple joys and
pleasures, and only bring herself to tolerate them from a sense of
duty."
"Mother, mother!" cried Ruth, bursting into tears, "don't talk so. I'll
never go away. How can you think so of me?"
"Perhaps I have done wrong to say so much to you, darling," replied her
mother; "but I must tell you that your father does not fear anything of
the sort for you. He says that you need to go to a good school, and that
he is thankful for the opportunity which is now offered. He feels sure
that you would be happy with his sister, and does not fear your growing
discontented with home. Besides, as he says, when you come back you will
be able to teach the younger children, and that will be a good object to
have in view while you are studying. So we have determined to leave it
for you to decide. We will give you to-day to think it over, and
to-morrow you must tell us what you wish to do. Pray over it, Ruth, and
don't let anything I have said prejudice you against the idea of going.
Indeed, dear," she added in a lower tone, "I don't think I should have
any fear for you if I were sure that you were not going alone, if I knew
that you had an almighty Friend to be with you and guide you in the
right way."
It was very rarely that Mrs. Arnold said so much to any of her children,
and Ruth was quite overcome. She ran off to her own little room to give
vent to her feelings, and to think over all that she had heard.