below.

Ruth opened the window and drew a long breath. Her senses had
been dulled by the years in the city, but childhood, hidden
though not forgotten, came back as if by magic, with that first
scent of sea and Spring.

As yet, she had not fully realised how grateful she was for this
little time away from her desk and typewriter. The managing
editor had promised her the same position, whenever she chose to
go back, and there was a little hoard in the savings-bank, which
she would not need to touch, owing to the kindness of this
eccentric aunt, whom she had never seen.

The large room was a typical attic, with its spinning-wheel and
discarded furniture--colonial mahogany that would make many a
city matron envious, and for which its owner cared little or
nothing. There were chests of drawers, two or three battered
trunks, a cedar chest, and countless boxes, of various sizes.
Bunches of sweet herbs hung from the rafters, but there were no
cobwebs, because of Miss Hathaway's perfect housekeeping.

Ruth regretted the cobwebs and decided not to interfere, should
the tiny spinners take advantage of Aunt Jane's absence. She
found an old chair which was unsteady on its rockers but not yet
depraved enough to betray one's confidence. Moving it to the
window, she sat down and looked out at the sea, where the slow
boom of the surf came softly from the shore, mingled with the
liquid melody of returning breakers.