A POOR RELATION. "When are we to have the picnic, mamma?" asked Julia at breakfast the next morning. "Any day will suit me; but as your father and Gerald will only be here for a short time, I think we must arrange to have it as early as possible the week after next." "Let us have it on Monday. Yes, Monday," cried Rupert and Julia together. "I am going out boating on Monday," said Gerald lazily. "Tuesday or Wednesday," suggested Mrs. Woburn. "I am engaged for Tuesday also, but Wednesday is clear, I believe," replied the young man in a careless manner, as if it did not signify much to him whether he formed one of the party or not. "How horrid of you to put it off so long," exclaimed his sister angrily. "I daresay Wednesday will be wet." "_Nous verrons_," he replied, as he sauntered from the room with his hands in his pockets. He looked in again at the door to say, "I shall not be back until the evening, mother;" and in another moment the banging of the front-door told them that he had left the house. "It is too bad of Gerald to go off like that the very first day he is here," said Julia. "I suppose he has taken his bicycle and gone out with his friends, the Goodes. Horrid people! Yes, there he is," she cried as Gerald and two other young men on bicycles passed the house bowing and smiling towards the window where the two girls were standing. "Gerald out with the Goodes? I wish he would choose some other companions," said Mr. Woburn, who had scarcely noticed their previous conversation. "You see how papa finds fault with him," whispered Julia to her cousin. "Ruth, I want you to come to my room for a few minutes," said Mrs. Woburn; and her niece followed her upstairs. "I should like you to try on these things and see how they fit you," she said, as she pointed to some pretty dresses spread out on the bed. There was a pale pink, trimmed with dainty white lace; a figured sateen covered with tiny rosebuds, and finished off here and there with knots and bows of rose-coloured ribbon; a simple holland dress trimmed with white braid, and a shady straw hat with bows of lace and a tiny bunch of rosebuds. Ruth gazed at the garments with admiration and astonishment, then she glanced at her own shabby print frock, blushed rosy red, and the tears began to gather in her eyes. "What is the matter, Ruth? Do you not like them?" asked her aunt kindly. "They are very pretty, and you are very kind, auntie; but I would rather not wear them," said the girl, trying hard to repress the tears of mortification that stood in her eyes. "But, my dear, they have been bought on purpose for you to wear at the sea-side. Do at least try them." "Thank you, auntie, I would much rather not do so;" and Ruth turned aside to the window, from which she could see nothing for the mist before her eyes caused by the storm of passion and pride surging within her breast.