Marjorie at Seacote | Page 6

so! These aren't our 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