"That's the way I feel," said Suzanna. Nancy appeared at the door bearing snowy towels which she gave to the children. "Here, children," she said, "the bath room is at the end of the hall, and you must hurry." So Suzanna and Maizie hurried and they were the first downstairs. The house was much more simply furnished, of course, than the big one in Anchorville, but as the children went about they found many interesting things. In one long, narrow room, the length of the first floor, was a fireplace taking up one entire end, and built of irregular stones, giving a charming effect. There were big easy chairs and sofas; tables heaped with magazines and books. On the walls were color pictures suspended by long, dim-worn chains--ocean scenes, a ship at sea, and over the piano, fifty years old as they discovered later, hung several faded miniatures of ladies of a long past age. Most interesting of all to Suzanna was an album she found in an old cabinet, an album that as you looked through it at ladies with voluminous skirts, at men with wing collars, and little girls with white pantalettes, a hidden music box tinkled forth dainty airs from a long-forgotten operetta. In another room on the opposite side, which was entered by mounting three steps, was a large table covered with green felt and with nets stretched across it, and little balls and paddles in corner pockets, and Mr. Bartlett, entering at the moment, the children learned that many happy games were played on this big table. Later, out of this room, the children stepped upon a wide porch, and here there burst upon them a view of the ocean. "You see," said Mr. Bartlett, "that those of us who go into the water may dress in bathing suits here, then put on long cloaks and run down to the beach. Then when we return, we step under a shower arrangement over there near that little house. . . ." "Please, Mr. Bartlett," begged Suzanna, "don't tell us any more now. I don't think I can stand any more joy for today." "Well, then," Mr. Bartlett smiled, "let's start away for our luncheon. We simply live in this house and take our meals at the hotel." And at this moment the rest of the family appearing, they all started away. A short walk brought them to the hotel where all was life and light and excitement. Children played on the wide piazzas, young girls walked about chatting merrily, and mothers and fathers sat in easy chairs reading or pleasantly regarding the children. In the dining-room a large table had been previously ordered reserved for the Bartlett family. "We'll have," said Mr. Bartlett, when they were all seated, speaking to the interested waiter, "just exactly what you think we'd like, John."