"We wouldn’t have time to pick ’em, ’cause the train doesn’t stop; it’s taking us to Rye Beach where Mother went a long time ago. Tell us about it, Mother dear," Mary Jane added. So Mrs. Merrill snuggled the tired little girl close up and told her about the time she and her brothers went to Rye Beach so long ago and how they all went in bathing in the surf when the whistle blew the temperature of the water; and what good things they had to eat at the Willow Tree Cottage and how—but there wasn’t any use talking any more, for Mary Jane was fast asleep. Mrs. Merrill glanced over at Alice who was reading a favorite book Cousin Louise had given her, then she too picked up a magazine and read as the train sped northward toward New Hampshire. It was a good thing Mary Jane had a long nap that afternoon, for when they got off at their station they found they were still a long way from Willow Tree Cottage and that there was a lot to see on the way. Several passengers got off, and the bus which met the train was filled to the last seat. First they drove along by some pretty golf links where many folks were enjoying an afternoon game; then they turned into a handsome big hotel. Mary Jane saw children running up and down the broad verandas and caught a glimpse of the ocean through the trees. "I’d like that place to live," she said to herself, "I wonder if that’s where we’re going?" But it wasn’t. Next they drove down a street where there were many private houses, in front of some of which the bus stopped to drop passengers. Mary Jane saw children playing in the grassy yards and everything looking so homelike and restful that she couldn’t help but think, "I wonder if that’s where we’re going. I’d like to have that our place." But it wasn’t. Then they drove around a corner with a flourish that almost sent Mary Jane from her seat and out through the opposite window, and drove up in front of a grand-looking hotel right close to the ocean. Folks in pretty light dresses were walking on the broad porches. Children were playing in the great sand-pile out under the trees, and young folks were having a croquet match over near the beach. "Now that must be where we’re going," thought Mary Jane. But it wasn’t.