She was enjoying it all as only those who have been toiling in a great town can enjoy the sights and sounds of the country. The most humdrum things had an attraction for her, and when they stopped by and by for tea, at a little roadside inn, she almost wished their drive at an end, such a longing came over her to run out into the fields and just gather flowers to her heart’s content. At last, after a great deal of tea and bread and butter had been consumed, they mounted the coach again, leaving a sort of reflection of their happiness in the hearts of the people of the inn. “There’s merry-makers and merry-makers,” remarked the landlord, glancing after them; “yon’s the right sort, and no mistake.” And now Mr. Boniface began to enjoy to the full his surprise. How he laughed when they implored him to say where they were going! How triumphant he was when the driver, who was as deaf as a post, utterly declined to answer leading questions put to him by Roy! “I believe we are going to Helmstone, or some great watering-place, where we shall have to be proper and wear gloves,” said Cecil. This was received with groans. “But to get a sight of the sea one would put up with glove-wearing,” said Sigrid. “And we could, at any rate, walk out into the country, I suppose, for flowers.” Mr. Boniface only smiled, however, and looked inscrutable. And finding that they could not guess their destination in the least, they took to singing rounds, which made the time pass by very quickly. At length Frithiof started to his feet with an eager exclamation. “The sea!” he cried. And sure enough, there, in the distance, was the first glimpse of a long blue line, which made the hearts of the Norwegians throb with eager delight. “It seems like being at home again,” said Swanhild, while Frithiof seemed to drink in new life as the fresh salt wind blew once more upon him, bringing back to his mind the memory of many a perilous adventure in his free, careless boyhood. “A big watering-place,” groaned Roy. “I told you so. Houses, churches, a parade, and a pier; I can see them all.” “Where? where?” cried every one, while Mr. Boniface laughed quietly and rubbed his hands. “Over there, to the left,” said Roy. “You prophet of evil!” cried Cecil merrily; “we are turning quite away to the right.” And on they went between the green downs, till they came to a tiny village, far removed from railways, and leaving even that behind them, paused at length before a solitary farm-house, standing a little back from the road, with downs on either side of it, and barely a quarter of a mile from the sea. “How did you hear of this delightful place, father?” cried Cecil; “it is just perfect.” “Well, I saw it when you and Roy were in Norway two summers ago,” said Mr. Boniface. “Mother and I drove out here from Southborne, and took such a fancy to this farm that, like Captain Cuttle, we made a note of it, and kept it for a surprise party.”