RECOGNITION
Saturday came. Torn, ragged clouds were driven across the sky. It was not a becoming day for the scenery, and the little girls regretted it much.
First they hoped for a change at twelve o'clock, and then at the afternoon tide-turning. But at neither time did the sun show his face. "Papa will never buy this dear place," said Elizabeth sadly, as she watched the weather. "The sun is everything to it. The sea looks quite leaden to-day, and there is no sparkle on it. And the sands, that were so yellow and sun-speckled on Thursday, are all one dull brown now." "Never mind! to-morrow may be better," said Ruth cheerily. "I wonder what time they will come at?" inquired Mary. "Your papa said they would be at the station at five, o'clock. And the landlady at the 'Swan' said it would take them half-an-hour to get here." "And they are to dine at six?" asked Elizabeth. "Yes," answered Ruth. "And I think, if we had our tea half-an-hour earlier, at half-past four, and then went out for a walk, we should be nicely out of the way just during the bustle of the arrival and dinner; and we could be in the drawing-room ready against your papa came in after dinner." "Oh! that would be nice," said they; and tea was ordered accordingly. The south-westerly wind had dropped, and the clouds were stationary, when they went out on the sands. They dug little holes near the incoming tide, and made canals to them from the water, and blew the light sea-foam against each other; and then stole on tiptoe near to the groups of grey and white sea-gulls, which despised their caution, flying softly and slowly away to a little distance as soon as they drew near. And in all this Ruth was as great a child as any. Only she longed for Leonard with a mother's longing, as indeed she did every day, and all hours of the day. By-and-by the clouds thickened yet more, and one or two drops of rain were felt. It was very little, but Ruth feared a shower for her delicate Elizabeth, and besides, the September evening was fast closing in the dark and sunless day. As they turned homewards in the rapidly increasing dusk, they saw three figures on the sand near the rocks, coming in their direction. "Papa and Mr. Donne!" exclaimed Mary. "Now we shall see him!" "Which do you make out is him?" asked Elizabeth. "Oh! the tall one, to be sure. Don't you see how papa always turns to him, as if he was speaking to him, and not to the other?" "Who is the other?" asked Elizabeth. "Mr. Bradshaw said that Mr. Farquhar and Mr. Hickson would come with him.
But that is not Mr. Farquhar, I am sure," said Ruth. The girls looked at each other, as they always did, when Ruth mentioned Mr. Farquhar's name; but she was perfectly unconscious both of the look and of the conjectures which gave rise to it. As soon as the two parties drew near, Mr. Bradshaw called out in his strong voice-- "Well, my dears! we found there was an hour before dinner, so we came down upon the sands, and here you are." The tone of his voice assured them that he was in a bland and indulgent mood, and the two little girls ran towards him. He kissed them, and shook hands with Ruth; told his companions that these were the little girls who were tempting him to this extravagance of purchasing Eagle's Crag; and then, rather doubtfully, and because he saw that Mr. Donne expected it, he introduced "My daughters' governess, Mrs. Denbigh." It was growing darker every moment, and it was time they should hasten back to the rocks, which were even now indistinct in the grey haze. Mr.
