mma," she said, as they drove
through Rainharbour, the little north-country seaside place which was
henceforth to be their home. "I wonder which is to be our house. There
are several empty. Do you think it is that one?" She had singled out
one of the largest in the place.

"No," said Mrs. Caldwell rather bitterly, "more likely this," and she
indicated a tiny two-storied tenement, wedged in between tall houses,
and looking as if it had either got itself there by mistake, or had
been put in in a hurry, just to fill up.

"That _is_ the one," Beth said.

"How do you know?" Mildred snapped.

"Because we're going to live in Orchard Street, opposite the orchard;
and this is Orchard Street, and there's the orchard, and that's the
only house empty."

"I'm afraid the child is right," Mrs. Caldwell said with a sigh.
"However," she added, pulling herself up, "it is exceedingly kind of
Uncle James to give us a house at all."

"He might have given us something nicer," Mildred remarked
disdainfully.

"Oh!" Beth exclaimed, "he's given us the best he has, I expect. And
it's a dear little place, with a little bow-window on either side of a
little front door--just like the one where Snowdrop found the empty
beds when the bears were out."

"Don't talk nonsense, Beth," Mildred cried crossly.

But Beth hardly heard. She was busy peopling the quaint little town
with the friends of her fancy, and sat smiling serenely as she looked
about her.

They had to drive right through Rainharbour, and about a mile out
into the country on the other side, to arrive at Fairholm, Uncle James
Patten's place. The sun had set, and the quaintly irregular red-brick
houses, mellowed by age, shone warm in tint against the gathering grey
of the sky, which rose like a leaden dome above them. At one part of
the road the sea came in sight. Great dark mountainous masses of
cloud, with flame-coloured fringes, hung suspended over its shining
surface, in which they were reflected with what was to Beth terrible
effect. She sat and shivered with awe so long as the lurid scene was
in sight, and was greatly relieved when the carriage turned into a
country lane, and sea and sombre sky were blotted out.

It was early spring. Buds were bursting in the hedgerows, birds were
building, songsters sang among the branches, and the air was sweet and
mild. Fairholm lay all among fertile fields, well wooded and watered.
It was a typical English home, with surroundings as un