LITMIR.BIZ

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footprints!"

      She fitted her spring-heeled tan shoes into the prints, and proved at once that they were not hers. Nor did King's shoes fit exactly, though they came nearer to it than Marjorie's.

      "Yes, sir; some fellows came along and stole that wood. Here are two or three quite different prints."

      "Well, where do they lead to?" said practical Marjorie.

      "That's so. Let's trace them and get the wood back."

      But after leading away from them for a short distance the footprints became fainter, and in a softer bit of sand disappeared altogether.

      "Pshaw!" said King. "I don't so much care about the wood, but I hate to lose the trail like this. Let's hunt, Mopsy."

      "All right, but first, let's bury these apples and potatoes, or they'll be stolen, too."

      "Good idea!" And they buried their treasures in the nice, clean sand, and marked the place with an inconspicuous stick.

      Then they set out to hunt their lost wood. The beach, though flat and shelving at the water's edge, rose in a low bluff farther back, and this offered among its irregular projections many good hiding-places for their quarry.

      And, sure enough, after some searching, they came suddenly upon three boys who sat, shaking with laughter, upon a pile of wood.

      The two Maynards glared at them rather angrily, upon which the three again went off in peals of laughter.

      "That's our wood!" began King, aggressively.

      "Sure it is!" returned the biggest boy, still chuckling.

      "What did you bring it over here for?"

      "Just for fun!"

      "H'm, just for fun! And do you think it would be fun to carry it back again?"

      "Yep; just's lieve as not. Come on, kids!" And that remarkable boy began to pick up the sticks.

      "Oh, hold on," said King. "If you're so willing, you needn't do it! Who are you, anyway?"

      "Well," said the biggest boy, suddenly straightening himself up and bowing politely to Marjorie, "we're your neighbors. We live in that green house next to yours. And we're named Tom, Dick, and Harry. Yes, I know you think those names sound funny, but they're ours all the same. Thomas, Richard, and Henry Craig,—at your service! I'm Tom. This is Dick, and this is Harry."

      He whacked his brothers on the shoulder as he named them, and they ducked forward in polite, if awkward salutation.

      "And did you really take our wood?" said Marjorie, with an accusing glance, as if surprised that such pleasant-spoken boys could do such a thing.

      "Yes, we did. We wanted to see what sort of stuff you were made of. You know Seacote people are sort of like one big family, and we wanted to know how you'd behave about the wood. You've been fine, and now we'll cart it back where we found it. If you had got mad about it, we wouldn't touch a stick to take it back,—would we, fellows?"

      "Nope," said the other two, and the Maynards could see at once that Tom was the captain and ringleader of the trio.

      "Well," said King, judicially, "if you hadn't been the sort you are, I should have got mad. But I guess you're all right, and so you may take it back. But we don't help you do it,—see? I'm Kingdon Maynard, and this is my sister Marjorie. You fellows took our wood, and now you're going to return it. Is that right?"

      "Right-o!" said Tom. "Come on, fellows."

      The three boys flew at it, and King and Midget sat on the sand and watched them till the wood was restored to its original position.

      "All right," said King; "you boys'll do. Now, come on and roast potatoes with us."

      Thus, all demands of honor having been complied with, the five proceeded to become friends. The boys built the fire, and gallantly let Marjorie have the fun of putting the potatoes and apples in place.

      The Craig boys had nice instincts, and while they were rather rough-and-tumble among themselves, they treated King more decorously, and seemed to consider Marjorie as a being of a higher order, made to receive not only respect, but reverent homage.

      "You see, we never had a sister," said Tom; "and we're a little bit scared of girls."

      "Well, I have three," said King, "so you see I haven't such deep awe of them. But Midget won't hurt you, so don't be too scared of her."

      Marjorie smiled in most friendly fashion, for she liked these boys, and especially Tom.

      "How old are you?" she asked him, in her frank, pleasant way.

      "I'm fourteen," replied Tom, "and the other kids are twelve and ten."

      "King's fourteen,—'most fifteen," said Midget; "and I'll be thirteen in July. So we're all in the same years. I wish our Kitty was here. She's nearly eleven, but she isn't any bigger than Harry."

      Harry smiled shyly, and poked at the potatoes with a stick, not knowing quite what to say.

      "You see," King explained, "Midget is the best sort of a girl there is. She's girly, all right, and yet she's as good as a boy at cutting up jinks or doing any old kind of stunts."

      The three Craigs looked at Marjorie in speechless admiration.

      "I never knew that kind," said Tom, thoughtfully. "You see, we go to a boys' school, and we haven't any girl cousins, or anything; and the only girls I ever see are at dancing class, or in a summer hotel, and then they're all frilled up, and sort of airy."

      "I love to play with boys," said Marjorie, frankly, "and I guess we'll have a lot of fun this summer."

      "I guess we will! Are you going to stay all summer?"

      "Yes, till September, when school begins."

      "So are we. Isn't it funny we live next door to each other?"

      "Awful funny," agreed Marjorie, pulling a very black potato out of the red-hot embers. "This is done," she went on, "and I'm going to eat it."

      "So say we all of us," cried King. "One done,—all done! Help yourselves, boys!"

      So they all pulled out the black, sooty potatoes, with more delighted anticipations than would have been roused by the daintiest dish served at a table.

      "Ow!" cried Marjorie, flinging down her potato, and sticking her finger in her mouth. "Ow! that old thing popped open, and burned me awfully!"

      "Too bad, Mops!" said King, with genuine sympathy, but the Craig boys were more solicitous.

      "Oh, oh! I'm so sorry," cried Tom. "Does it hurt terribly?"

      "Yes, it does," said Midget, who was not in the habit of complaining when she got hurt, but who was really suffering from the sudden burn.

      "Let me tie it up," said Dick, shyly.

      "Yes, do," said Tom. "Dick is our good boy. He always helps everybody else."

      "But what can we tie it up with?" said Marjorie. "My handkerchief is all black from wiping off that potato."

      "I,—I've got a clean one," and Dick, blushing with embarrassment, took a neatly folded white square from his pocket.

      "Would you look at that!" said Tom. "I declare Dicky always has the right thing at the right time! Good for you, boy! Fix her up."

      Quite deftly Dick wrapped the handkerchief round Marjorie's finger, and secured it with a bit of string from another pocket.

      "You ought to have something on it," he said, gravely. "Kerosene is good, but as we haven't any, it will help it just to keep the air away from it, till you go home."

      "Goodness!" exclaimed Midget. "You talk like a doctor."

      "I'm going to be a doctor when I grow up," said Dick.

      "He is," volunteered Harry; "he cured the cat's broken leg, and he mended a bird's wing once."

      "Yes, I did," admitted Dick, modestly blushing at his achievements. "Are you going right home because of your finger?"

      "No, indeed! We never

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