Part 43 (1/2)

”And I,” said Maizie, ”am going to come back and take care of some of those poor little babies that play alone out on the cobble-stones.”

”We'll see,” said Mr. Bartlett. ”Time alone can tell what you two little girls will do.”

Returning to the hotel they found vehicles awaiting them. And shortly they were again on a train, speeding away.

Three hours, and they were at their destination. A short ride in an electric car, a shorter walk down a tree-lined street, and they were at the ”cottage.”

”A cottage,” cried Suzanna, ”why it's a big house!”

”Everything is called a cottage down here,” said Mrs. Bartlett.

Mr. Bartlett used the bra.s.s knocker and its echo reverberated down the street. An elderly Scotch woman, Bessie, who had been long with Mrs.

Bartlett's family, met them in the hall, her pleasant face alight with smiles. She said now:

”Everything is ready, and the trunks, I suppose, will be here within a short time.”

”What's that sound?” Suzanna asked.

”That's the ocean booming,” said Mrs. Bartlett. ”Now let's go upstairs and prepare ourselves for luncheon. Nancy will show you children your different rooms.”

So upstairs they went, Nancy in the lead. She threw open the door of the bedrooms. Suzanna and Maizie were given one from whose windows the ocean could be seen. Peter had a room all to himself, a small one with a cot which was much to his liking. ”It's like camping out,” he made himself believe. Graham occupied one next door. Little Daphne was with Mrs.

Bartlett.

”There's two closets,” cried Maizie, as she went on a tour of investigation. ”One for your clothes and one for mine. Sometimes, Suzanna,” she said, ”I can hardly believe it all yet.”

”That's the way I feel,” said Suzanna. Nancy appeared at the door bearing snowy towels which she gave to the children. ”Here, children,”

she said, ”the bath room is at the end of the hall, and you must hurry.”

So Suzanna and Maizie hurried and they were the first downstairs. The house was much more simply furnished, of course, than the big one in Anchorville, but as the children went about they found many interesting things. In one long, narrow room, the length of the first floor, was a fireplace taking up one entire end, and built of irregular stones, giving a charming effect. There were big easy chairs and sofas; tables heaped with magazines and books. On the walls were color pictures suspended by long, dim-worn chains--ocean scenes, a s.h.i.+p at sea, and over the piano, fifty years old as they discovered later, hung several faded miniatures of ladies of a long past age. Most interesting of all to Suzanna was an alb.u.m she found in an old cabinet, an alb.u.m that as you looked through it at ladies with voluminous skirts, at men with wing collars, and little girls with white pantalettes, a hidden music box tinkled forth dainty airs from a long-forgotten operetta.

In another room on the opposite side, which was entered by mounting three steps, was a large table covered with green felt and with nets stretched across it, and little b.a.l.l.s and paddles in corner pockets, and Mr. Bartlett, entering at the moment, the children learned that many happy games were played on this big table.

Later, out of this room, the children stepped upon a wide porch, and here there burst upon them a view of the ocean.

”You see,” said Mr. Bartlett, ”that those of us who go into the water may dress in bathing suits here, then put on long cloaks and run down to the beach. Then when we return, we step under a shower arrangement over there near that little house. . . .”

”Please, Mr. Bartlett,” begged Suzanna, ”don't tell us any more now. I don't think I can stand any more joy for today.”

”Well, then,” Mr. Bartlett smiled, ”let's start away for our luncheon.

We simply live in this house and take our meals at the hotel.”

And at this moment the rest of the family appearing, they all started away. A short walk brought them to the hotel where all was life and light and excitement. Children played on the wide piazzas, young girls walked about chatting merrily, and mothers and fathers sat in easy chairs reading or pleasantly regarding the children.

In the dining-room a large table had been previously ordered reserved for the Bartlett family.

”We'll have,” said Mr. Bartlett, when they were all seated, speaking to the interested waiter, ”just exactly what you think we'd like, John.”

John, who knew Mr. Bartlett well, smiled in fatherly fas.h.i.+on and disappeared. He returned shortly bearing a tray filled with just those things that children most love. There was cream soup, and salted crackers, big pitchers of milk, little hot biscuits, fresh honey, and broiled ham--pink and very delicious as was soon discovered. Then there was sweet fruit pudding with whipped cream and, of course, ice cream.