LITMIR.BIZ

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had a pleasant jingle, and was repeated by the whole assembly with fine effect and a large volume of noise.

      "Miss Marjorie Maynard will now favor us," was the next announcement.

      "This is a poem I made up myself," said Midget, modestly, "and I think it's very nice:

      "When Kitty goes to Grandma's

      I hope she will be good;

      And be a lady-girl and do

      Exactly as she should.

      'Cause when I go to Grandma's,

      I act exceeding bad;

      I track up 'Liza's nice clean floor,

      And make her hopping mad!"

      Marjorie's poem was applauded with cheers, as they all recognized its inherent truth.

      "We next come to Miss Rosamond Maynard," King went on, "but as she has fallen asleep, I will ask that the audience kindly excuse her."

      The audience kindly did so, and as it was getting near everybody's bedtime,—at least, for children,—the whole quartette was started bedward, and went away singing:

      "Good-bye, Kitty, you're going to leave us now"—

      CHAPTER II

      TOM, DICK, AND HARRY

      "Jumping Grasshoppers! What a dandy house!"

      The Maynards' motor swung into the driveway of a large and pleasant looking place, whose lawn showed some sand spots here and there, and whose trees were tall pines, but whose whole effect was delightfully breezy and seashorey.

      "Oh, grandiferous!" cried Marjorie, echoing her brother's enthusiastic tones, and standing up in the car, better to see their new home.

      Seacote, the place chosen by Mr. Maynard for his family's summering, was on the southern shore of Long Island, not very far from Rockaway Beach. It was a sort of park or reservation in which building was under certain restrictions, and so it was made up of pleasant homes filled with pleasant people.

      Fortunately, Mr. Maynard had been able to rent the bungalow he wanted, and it was this picturesque domicile that so roused King's admiration.

      The house was long and low, and surrounded by verandas, some of which were screened by vines, and others shaded by striped awnings.

      But what most delighted the children was the fact that the ocean rolled its crested breakers up to their very door. Not literally to the door, for the road ran between the sea and the house, and a boardwalk was between the road and the sea. But not fifty feet from their front windows the shining waves were even now dashing madly toward them as if in tumultuous welcome.

      The servants were already installed, and the open doors seemed to invite the family to come in and make themselves at home.

      "Let's go straight bang through the whole house," said King, "and then outdoors afterward."

      "All right," agreed Marjorie, and in their usual impetuous fashion, the two raced through the house from attic to cellar, though there really wasn't any attic, except a sort of low-ceiled loft. However, they climbed up into this, and then down through the various bedrooms on the second floor, and back to the first floor, which contained the large living-room, a spacious hall, and the dining-room and kitchen.

      "It's all right," said King, nodding his head in approval. "Now outside, Midget."

      Outside they flew, and took stock of their surroundings. Almost an acre of ground was theirs, and though as yet empty of special interest, King could see its possibilities.

      "Room for a tennis court," he said; "then I guess we'll have a big swing, and a hammock, and a tent, and–"

      "And a merry-go-round," supplemented Mr. Maynard, overhearing King's plans.

      "No, not that, Father," said Marjorie, "but we can have swings and things, can't we?"

      "I 'spect so, Mopsy. But with the ocean and the beach, I doubt if you'll stay in this yard much."

      "Oh, that's so; I forgot the ocean! Come on, Father, let's go and look at it."

      So the three went down to the beach, and Marjorie, who hadn't been to the seashore since she was a small child, plumped herself down on the sand, and just gazed out at the tumbling waves.

      "I don't care for the swings and things," she said. "I just want to stay here all the time, and dig and dig and dig."

      As she spoke she was digging her heels into the fine white sand, and poking her hands in, and burying her arms up to her dimpled elbows.

      "Oh, Father, isn't it gee-lorious! Sit down, won't you, and let us bury you in sand, all but your nose!"

      "Not now," said Mr. Maynard, laughing. "Some day you may, when I'm in a bathing suit. But I don't care for pockets full of sand. Now, I'm going back to home and Mother. You two may stay down here till luncheon time if you like."

      Mr. Maynard went back to the house, and King and Marjorie continued their explorations. The beach was flat and smooth, and its white sand was full of shells, and here and there a few bits of seaweed, and farther on some driftwood, and in the distance a pier, built out far into the ocean.

      "Did you ever see such a place?" cried Marjorie, in sheer delight.

      "Well, I was at the seashore last year," said King, "while you were at Grandma's."

      "But it wasn't as nice as this, was it? Say it wasn't!"

      "No; the sand was browner. This is the nicest sand I ever saw. Say, Mops, let's build a fire."

      "What for? It isn't cold."

      "No, but you always build fires on the beach. It's lots of fun. And we'll roast potatoes in it."

      "All right. How do we begin?"

      "Well, we gather a lot of wood first. Come on."

      Marjorie came on, and they worked with a will, gathering armfuls of wood and piling it up near the spot they had selected for their fire.

      "That's enough," said Marjorie, for her arms ached as she laid down her last contribution to their collection.

      "You'll find it isn't much when it gets to burning. But never mind, it will make a start. I'll skin up to the house and get matches and potatoes."

      "I'll go with you, 'cause I think we'd better ask Father about making this fire. It might do some harm."

      "Fiddlesticks! We made a fire 'most every day last summer."

      And, owing to King's knowledge and experience regarding beach fires, his father told him he might build one, and to be properly careful about not setting fire to themselves.

      Then they procured potatoes and apples from the kitchen, and raced back to the beach.

      "Why, where's our wood?" cried Marjorie.

      Not a stick or a chip remained of their carefully gathered wood pile.

      "Some one has stolen it!" said King.

      "No, there's nobody around, except those people over there, and they're grown-ups. It must have been washed away by a wave."

      "Pooh, the waves aren't coming up near as far as this."

      "Well, there might have been a big one."

      "No, it wasn't a wave. That wood was stolen, Mops!"

      "But who could have done it? Those grown-up people wouldn't. You can see from their looks they wouldn't. They're reading aloud. And in the other direction, there are only some fishermen,—they wouldn't take it."

      "Well, somebody did. Look, here are lots of footprints, and I don't believe they're all ours."

      Sure enough, on the smooth white sand they could see many footprints, imprinted all over each other, as if scurrying feet had trodden all around their precious wood pile.

      "Oh, King, you're just like a detective!" cried Marjorie, in admiration. "But it's so! These

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