Marjorie at Seacote | Page 3

page, and forgetting all else,
she became absorbed in the book at once. In a moment, the page was
turned, and Kitty read on and on, oblivious to time or place.
"Hi, there, Kitsie! Come out o' that!" cried King. "You can read all
summer,--now you must associate with your family."
"I didn't mean to," said Kitty, shutting the book quickly, and looking
round apologetically; "but it's all about a fairy godmother, and a lovely
princess lady,--oh, Mopsy, it's fine!"
A pair of little blue enamelled pins was Rosamond's present, and Kitty
pinned them on her shoulders at once, to see how they looked. All
pronounced the effect excellent, and Rosy Posy clapped her little fat

hands in glee.
"Mine's the prettiest present!" she said. "Mine's the booflest!"
"Yes, Babykins," said Kitty, "yours is the booflest,--but they're all
lovely."
The Farewell Feast included all of Kitty's favorite dishes, and as most
of them were also favorites with the other children, it was satisfactory
all round.
"You must write to us often, Kit," said King; "I gave you those writing
things so you'd be sure to."
"Yes, I will; but I don't know yet where you're all going to be."
"I don't know yet myself," said Mr. Maynard, "but it will be somewhere
near the sea, if possible. Will you like the seashore, Kiddies,--you that
are going?"
"I shall," said Marjorie, promptly. "I'll love it. May we go bathing every
day? And can I have a bathing suit,--red, trimmed with white?"
"I 'spect you can," said her mother, smiling at her. "What color do you
want, King?"
"Oh, I think dark blue would suit my manly beauty! What are you
going to have, Father?"
"I think dark blue will be our choice, my boy. It swims better than
anything else. But first we must find a roof to cover our heads. I've
about decided on one,--if I can get it. It's a bungalow."
"What's a bungalow?" asked Marjorie. "I never heard of such a thing."
"Ho, ho! Never heard of a bungalow!" said King. "Why, a bungalow is
a,--is a,----"
"Well, is a what?" asked Midget, impatiently.

"Why, it's a bungalow! That's what it is."
"Fine definition, King!" said his father. "But since you undertook to do
so, see if you can't give its meaning better than that. What is a
bungalow?"
"Well, let me see. It's a house,--I guess it's a low, one-storied house,
and that's why they call it bungalow. Is that it?"
"You're right about the one story; the rest is, I think, your own
invention. Originally, the bungalow was the sort of a house they have
in India, a one-storied affair, with a thatched roof, and verandas all
round it. But the ones they build now, in this country, are often much
more elaborate than that. Sometimes they have one story, sometimes
more. The one I'm trying to get for the summer is at Seacote, and it's
what they call a story and a half. That is, it has an upper floor, but the
rooms are under a slanting roof, and have dormer windows."
"Sounds good to me," said King. "Do you think you'll catch it, Dad?"
"I hope so. Some other person has the refusal of it, but he's doubtful
about taking it. So it may yet fall to our lot."
"I hope so!" cried Marjorie. "At the seashore for a whole summer! My!
what fun! Can we dig in the sand?"
"Well, rather, my child! That's what the sand is there for. Kitty, you
were at the seashore last summer. Did you dig in the sand?"
"Yes, every day; and it was lovely. But this year I'm glad I'm going to
Grandma's. It's more restful."
They all laughed at Kitty's desire for rest, and Marjorie said:
"I didn't have such a restful time at Grandma's. Except when I sprained
my ankle,--I rested enough then! But you won't do anything like that,
Kit!"
"I hope not, I'm sure. Nor I won't fall down the well, either!"

"Oh, we didn't fall down the well. We just went down, to get cooled
off."
"Well, I'm not going to try it. I shall sit in the tree-house and read every
afternoon, and sew with Grandma in the mornings."
"Kit, you're a dormouse," said Kingdon; "I believe you'd like to sleep
half the year."
"'Deed I wouldn't. Just because I don't like rambunctious play doesn't
mean I want to sleep all the time! Does it, Father?"
"Not a bit of it. But you children must 'like what you like' and not
comment on others' 'likes.' See?"
"Yes, sir," said King, understanding the kindly rebuke. "Hullo, Kit,
here's one of your best 'likes'! Here's pink ice-cream coming!"
This was indeed one of Kitty's dearest "likes," and as none of the
Maynards disliked it, it