"Oh, my dears! you don't know how glad I am that you're really alive! I began to think--oh--I don't know what I thought! And you're not rag dolls. You're heroes and heroines, every man jack of you. And I do thank you. But I never wanted to be quiet like _that_. I just didn't want to be bothered with London and tiresome grown-up people. And now let's enjoy ourselves! Shall it be rounders, or stories about cannibals?" "Rounders first and stories after," said H.O. And it was so. Mrs. Bax, now that her true nature was revealed, proved to be A1. The author does not ask for a jollier person to be in the house with. We had rare larks the whole time she stayed with us. And to think that we might never have known her true character if she hadn't been an old school friend of Mrs. Red House's, and if Mrs. Red House hadn't been such a friend of ours! "Friendship," as Mr. William Smith so truly says in his book about Latin, "is the crown of life." _THE POOR AND NEEDY_ "WHAT shall we do to-day, kiddies?" said Mrs. Bax. We had discovered her true nature but three days ago, and already she had taken us out in a sailing-boat and in a motor car, had given us sweets every day, and taught us eleven new games that we had not known before; and only four of the new games were rotters. How seldom can as much be said for the games of a grown-up, however gifted! The day was one of cloudless blue perfectness, and we were all basking on the beach. We had all bathed. Mrs. Bax said we might. There are points about having a grown-up with you, if it is the right kind. You can then easily get it to say "Yes" to what you want, and after that, if anything goes wrong it is their fault, and you are pure from blame. But nothing had gone wrong with the bathe, and, so far, we were all alive, and not cold at all, except our fingers and feet. "What would you _like_ to do?" asked Mrs. Bax. We were far away from human sight along the beach, and Mrs. Bax was smoking cigarettes as usual. "I don't know," we all said politely. But H.O. said-- "What about poor Miss Sandal?" "Why poor?" asked Mrs. Bax. "Because she is," said H.O. "But how? What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Bax. "Why, isn't she?" said H.O. "Isn't she what?" said Mrs. Bax. "What you said why about," said H.O. She put her hands to her head. Her short hair was still damp and rumpled from contact with the foaming billows of ocean. "Let's have a fresh deal and start fair," she said; "why do you think my sister is poor?" "I forgot she was your sister," said H.O., "or I wouldn't have said it--honour bright I wouldn't." "Don't mention it," said Mrs. Bax, and began throwing stones at a groin in amiable silence. We were furious with H.O., first because it is such bad manners to throw people's poverty in their faces, or even in their sisters' faces, like H.O. had just done, and second because it seemed to have put out of Mrs. Bax's head what she was beginning to say about what would we like to do.