CHAPTER III.

SOUTH BAY.

"I SUPPOSE you all want to hear everything," said Dr. Arundel cheerfully, as he looked round on the expectant faces of the party who sat at tea the following evening.

"Yes, everything," answered Ada; and the others certainly did not say no.

"Well, we went to South Bay, and, as you know, it takes nearly three hours in the train. When we arrived there, we were hurried into a little shaky omnibus, and were driven into the town, and set down, according to our wish, in the very middle of all the lodgings."

"I suppose you do not care to know how many houses we went over? Nor how many disappointments we had before we found the right place?"

"Did you find the right place?" asked Arthur.

"I think we did. After wandering about till we were nearly footsore, we caught sight of a little settlement on the cliff about ten minutes' walk from the sea.

"'What is that, I wonder?' said mamma, quite brightening up.

"And we turned our steps that way, though I will confess to you, children, that I had not much hope it would turn out anything after all. But it was something, and just the very something we had been longing for. It was a small farm, with high, pointed gables; and, to our great joy, up in one of the windows close to the lane was the welcome word 'lodgings.'

"A pleasant middle-aged woman came to the door, and asked us to enter. I assure you we were not loath to do so. The glaring sun and the unusual fatigue made us glad to sit down, and the woman seemed to understand this; for she did not offer any remark for a moment, but turned to a little toddling child who hung to her skirts, and said coaxingly,—

"'Now, Alfy, granny wants you to go in the garden; run away, there's a good little boy.'

"Master Alfy, however, preferred to stare at us, and his grandmother again tried to coax him, 'See, Alfy, here's a bit of cake; now, darling, run into the garden, do deary.'

"Alfy took the cake and ate it, but remained where he was; and as mamma had by this time got a little rested, we proceeded to look at the lodgings."

The children made sundry exclamations, but their papa soon went on with his story.

"Downstairs, looking into the lane and across to the orchard, was the sitting room, which we shall take our meals in, and the kitchen belonging to the farm; then on the other side of the house, and looking over a sweet-smelling old-fashioned garden, are two rooms, which we shall use for our drawing room and nursery. From these, you can see the sea very well, and the garden and meadow slope away down to South Bay, and the fringe of houses close by the sea. These, however, are nearly hidden from the farm by some few trees at the bottom of their first field."

"How delightful!" burst from many lips.

"Then," resumed Dr. Arundel, "upstairs there are endless rooms, enough for all of you to be as comfortable as possible. The only difficulty will be for you to find your way about; for you go up three stairs, and down three stairs, and up three stairs again in the most fascinating manner."

The children all understood this, and it raised their hopes beyond everything.

Suddenly Netta laid her head on her father's arm, "But you won't be there, papa. What shall we do without you? And how dull you will be! I am so very, very sorry."

All the faces were turned full of feeling towards him. "We all are," said Ada, "only it is of no use keeping on saying so."

"Yes, my dears, so we are," he answered, looking at them all, "but it has seemed to me that I have been called to stay in London this summer. You know the physician who had undertaken my work has been suddenly taken ill; and at this time of year, everyone has made arrangements, and it was too late to find anyone else. There are a good many sick ones round us, and I cannot leave them. No; we must be patient. Perhaps further on in the autumn, I may get away; and I hope even now to come down and look in on you once or twice during your stay."

The children sighed; it was a great disappointment to them; and they felt almost guilty to be so delighted when their dear father could not share it.

The final packing up was more like Arthur's advice to Ada than the elders would have chosen. Certainly the servants, as well as Nellie and Ada, had not been idle during the two days of Mrs. Arundel's absence. But it was, nevertheless, a great bustle to pack up for so large a family. And when at last on Saturday afternoon they really did drive away from No. 8 in two cabs, and the carriage for mamma and Tom, they all were perfectly certain they had left the very thing behind that they wanted most.

Dr. Arundel was obliged to wish them good-bye at the station. They were in two adjoining carriages, in one of which Nellie, Arthur, and the little girls were established, with Simmons, the housemaid; and in the other Tom's little couch had been laid, and by him sat his mother, while at the further window Ada and the nurse and baby were making themselves as comfortable as possible.

Dr. Arundel looked at all the happy faces, and as he clasped his wife's hand, he whispered, "We have much to be thankful for, my love; may God bless you all, and strengthen little Tom."

Mrs. Arundel's eyes were full of tears as she glanced at the pale face beside her, and then back at her husband, and she only managed to say good-bye rather brokenly. But just as the train began to move, she whispered hurriedly, "Indeed I know it, so many mercies; I am not unthankful."

Dr. Arundel smiled brightly in answer, and they were quickly out of sight.

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