"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.