Uncle Joe smiled that specially nice smile of his back at her. “Well, I had two perfectly good reasons, Mollie,” he chuckled. Then his eyes stopped laughing, and grew quite grave all at once, and he put his hand on Aunt Mollie’s arm. “I somehow felt you might need the wanderer back for a while, when I heard about Charles, my dear. And--number two--” his eyes crinkled up at the corners again, “I’ve got a plan to propose.” Syd started to shout “Hoo-_ray_!” and stuffed a big piece of biscuit into his mouth in a hurry, remembering we weren’t to speak for another ten minutes or so yet. “Well, well! Not a comment,” Uncle Joe laughed. “Mollie, you’ve got them well trained. I suppose, then, since they can’t ask questions, I’d better end the suspense at once, so here goes! I brought the _Myra_ back especially to take a certain family not far off at the moment, on a cruise of three or four months down to the nice, hot tropics, away from snow, ice and winter worries, to search for rest and health for my brother-in-law, Charles Jennings, principally; and for the rest--” he hesitated teasingly, and glanced deliberately about the table at each of us in turn. He had to grin, then, at the expressions of our faces. Syd and Dan looked as though they’d _explode_ in another second if Aunt Mollie didn’t give in about talking, or Uncle Joe didn’t hurry and finish what he’d started to say. Even Andrée’s blue eyes were shining, and I know I felt excited the way Syd looked. “Excuse me, that wasn’t quite fair of me,” Uncle Joe apologized, still chuckling. “I was thinking we might head for the Caribbean, and make our headquarters on Sunset Island.” And then I simply couldn’t keep still another instant. I was so excited that I was trembling again. “Sunset Island,” I burst out. “Oh, Uncle Joe, it sounds like all the treasure-island stories I’ve ever read--and even nicer! What is it?” “Why, some people believe it is a treasure island,” Uncle Joe said quickly. “But I can’t guarantee that. Still, there’ll be no harm in having a hunt, of course. It’s a small island, not far from Martinique----” “Where your great-great-great-grandmother came from,” Syd interrupted breathlessly in his turn. “The one Andrée’s named for, you know.” “And who used to play with the Empress Josephine when they were children, before she _was_ Empress of France,” I supplied eagerly. “I always wished they’d named me for her instead of Andrée. She doesn’t care.” “I do, too,” Andrée said indignantly. “You always say that, Gay Annersley, just because I don’t like to read stupid old history books all day.” She pouted and her eyes filled. Crying makes me homelier than ever, because I scowl and my eyes get red, but Andrée looks like a pathetic, pink and white baby when she cries, and strangers think she must be horribly abused and will do anything to cheer her up again.