That day on the Deal Beach! How quietly happy was its seeming! How full of event, emotion, fate--was its reality! Charley and Jeannie wandered up and down the coast, filling their baskets with shells and pebbles; chasing the retiring waves as far as they dared, and scampering back, with shrieks of laughter, as the succeeding billow rolled rapidly after them; building sand-houses, and digging wells to be filled by salt water; exulting greatly when a rough coralline fragment or a jelly-fish of unusual dimensions was thrown in their way. They all lunched together, seated upon the heather-clumps, around Aunt Sarah's liberal hamper. "Sister," said Jeannie, when the edge of her seaside appetite was somewhat blunted by her repast, "I like living here better than in New York--don't you?" "It is more pleasant in summer, my dear." "But I mean that I am happier here. I wish you would write to mother and ask her to let us live here always." "But what would she do without her baby?" asked Philip, emphasizing the last word. The little lady bridled instantly. "Cousin Philip, I do wish you would never call me a 'baby' again. I am seven years and two weeks old. I could get along very well without mother for awhile. Of course, I would go over sometimes and pay her a visit and get new dresses. Shrewsbury is a nice place; I would like to buy that pretty white house next to Uncle Nathan's, and live there--sister and Charley and I--and you--if you would promise not to tease me ever." "Thank you!" said Philip, with admirable gravity, seeming not to notice Sarah's heightened color at this proposal of co-partnership. "You are very kind to include me in your household arrangements, and nothing would please me better, if I could stay here. But you know, Jeannie, my dear little cousin, that my home is far away from this quarter of the world. I have remained here too long already." There was a touch of feeling or nervousness in his voice. "I had a letter last night, reminding me that I ought to have left a week ago to join a party of friends, whom I promised to meet in New York and travel with them until the time for our return to the South." He did not look at Sarah, but she felt that the explanation was intended for her--that, whether intentionally or not, he was preparing her for a blow to heart and hope. "I shall be obliged to leave Shrewsbury and all my friends there to-morrow morning, Jeannie." The child's exclamation of dismay, and Charley's quick, mute remonstrance to his cousin, as his playfellow communicated the news to him, gave Sarah time to rally firmness and words. "This is unexpected intelligence," she said, calmly. "We shall miss you. Your kindness has, directly and indirectly, been the means of affording us much pleasure during our visit to our good aunt. It will seem dull when you are gone." There was a flash in Philip's eye that looked like pleasure--a mixture of relief and surprise, as he turned to her.