“Nobody cares,” she said to herself miserably.  “Mother doesn’t care; she loves Amy and Alick more than me.  The boys hate me; they will eat all the buns, and I shall die of hunger.  I wish—­”

“Susie,” said mother’s voice, “the children are stifling me.  Come and have tea; we have bought such a lot of buns.  Will you help me put baby down in your corner? and you might give him your jacket for a pillow.”

Susie could see nothing, but she kept her eyes on the reflection in the window, with a fascinated stare.

“Susie, I want you,” said her mother gently.

In a minute Susie had swept the tears away with her sleeve, and had launched herself across the rocking carriage, and flung her arms round her mother’s neck.

“Gently, gently, darling,” said mother, smiling.  “I haven’t got a hand—­Alick is holding it so fast—­but I missed you, Susie.  There is something there, outside, that I wanted to be the first to show you.”

Susie, still rather subdued, leant as far out of the window as the bars allowed, and let the wind from the engine blow the curls about her face.  Away, far on the horizon, was a silver line, as straight as if it had been ruled with a ruler, and a shining white speck showed against the yellow evening sky.

“What is it?” said Susie, breathlessly.

“It is the sea,” her mother told her, “and the white sails of the ships are going out with the tide.”

“Mother, I mean never to be naughty again,” said Susie suddenly; “only I know that to-morrow I shall forget, and be as horrid as I was to-day.”

Susie was tired, and more tears seemed imminent.  The train was slowing down, and the screeching of the engine almost drowned her voice.

“Pick up the parcels, and be quite ready to jump out,” said Mrs. Beauchamp hastily.  “Susie, you must not grow perfect too suddenly; I shouldn’t know you!”

CHAPTER III.

The next day was radiantly beautiful, and Susie started well.  Directly after breakfast the four elder ones trooped down to the sands with spades and buckets, whilst Alick, left alone with nurse, waved his good-byes from the balcony.  Mrs. Beauchamp looked after them a little anxiously; but Susie in her best mood was so very trustworthy that she smoothed the anxious line out of her forehead, and turned back with a restful sigh to the empty room and the silence.

And out on the beach things went swimmingly.  They made sand castles and moats, and the rising tide flowed in just as they wished it to.  Like another Canute, Tom flung defiance to the waves, and shouted himself hoarse; and then, to his immense surprise, the little ripples swept smoothly back, and left a crumbled castle, and white foamy ridges that looked like soap.

“Come on, Susie,” he said; “it’s no fun when there’s no water in it.  Let’s go over to the rocks and look for insects.”