"Because we are going to see grandpapa and Aunt Teddy, and then we are all going to the seashore." "What is ve seashore?" "The ocean, the great, broad blue water without any edge to it, where the waves keep tumbling over and over on the beach." "What's beach?" he demanded. Always used to the mountains, the phraseology of the sea was a new tongue to him. "It's the edge of the water," his mother said absently, while she tried to fold an organdie gown to the best advantage. "But you said vere wouldn't be any edge," he protested, for he was nothing if not logical, and he insisted upon logic from others. "Well, never mind now. Run away, dear, and I'll tell you about it, some other time." But Mac festooned himself across the open box couch. "No; sometime isn't ever, and I wants to hear it now. I do 'clare, mamma, you've put in my best coat." And before she could stop him, he had pounced upon it and pulled it out, upsetting a superstratum of gowns in the process. "Mac, let that be." "But I want it, mamma. I want to wear it. I look just too sweet in it." "Mac!" "Well, vat's what Lizabuf said. Will Lizabuf go too?" "No." "Who will take care of me, and put me into my coatsleeves ven?" "I shall." "I'd ravver have Lizabuf. Oh, mamma, is vat your swishy dress? It's so beautiful!" This time, Mac lost his balance and plunged headlong into the trunk. For one moment, his chubby legs waved in the air; then his mother seized him and set him down in a chair at the farther side of the room. "Now, Mac, I want you to stay there," she said with decision. There was a brief silence. Then Mac remarked,-- "You act and look awful bangy, to-day, mamma, just as if you were going to sweep rooms right away." Five days later, Mrs. Holden acknowledged to herself that she felt "bangy." It was her first long journey without her husband and, less independent than her sisters, she would have dreaded it in any case. Without Mr. Holden, the trip was an undertaking; with Mac, it was almost insupportable. She embarked with a lunch basket, with picture books and with theories. She landed, a chastened woman. Within twelve hours, the basket was empty, the picture books were in shreds, and Mac, bareheaded, coated with cinders and wreathed in smiles, was prancing up and down the car, heedless of her admonitions. By day, the other passengers petted him and encouraged him to all manner of pertnesses. At night, they murmured, not always among themselves, when he waked up and in stentorian tones demanded a drink. No child of three is altogether a desirable companion on a long journey, least of all McAlister Holden. Small wonder that it was a pale and haggard Hope who drove up to The Savins, one night in late June, while Mac was as vivacious as at the start!