After breakfast Trif chanced to meet an old acquaintance on the piazza. Fenie, by a violent effort, regained her sadness and declined to meet any one. As Phil had said that ladies and children could safely go about unattended at Old Point, Trif begged Trixy to take her Aunt Fee a long walk on the beach, and to play as freely as she liked. Then Trif begged Fenie to keep dear Trixy out of doors, under the mild sun and in the invigorating air, and Fenie was glad of an excuse to get away from other people, so the couple strolled along the beach, in the direction of the lighthouse and the water battery, enjoying the strangeness of everything they saw. "What's that bird-cage on top of that funny little straight up-and-down house for?" asked Trixy, pointing to the lighthouse. "That's not a bird-cage, dear. That is the light that the Government puts in its window here, to show the sailors the way home. It burns very brightly, and all night long." "Dear me! What a big gas bill the Government must have to pay! Say, Aunt Fee, what's that big black thing on the grass, on the top of the wall of the fort?" "That's a cannon." "What is it for?" "Oh, to kill bad people with." "Gracious! Is there such lots of bad people down here as that? Papa said the place was so nice and safe." "It is safe enough, dear, for us. The bad people that are shot with cannons come here from other countries." "When do they come?" "Oh, don't ask me," said Fenie, who was trying to keep from not keeping miserable, but was not succeeding very well. "Who shall I ask?" "Oh, one of the soldiers, I suppose." Fenie sat upon a rock which formed part of a little breakwater, looked out to sea, and took a pensive attitude, while Trixy stood and stared at the cannon, and wondered, and wished she knew more about the killing of bad people by artillery. Just then Lieutenant Bruce Jermyn, of the artillery service, came from the flank of the water battery and walked toward the hotel. He was no pink-faced, slender youth, like lieutenants in most military novels, but a handsome, stout, manly-looking fellow of about thirty-five years, like hundreds of other lieutenants of our army in time of peace. Trixy saw him, hurried to him, and said: "Mr. Soldier, will you please tell me when you're going to kill some bad people with the cannon?" "Eh?" said Jermyn, taking his cigar from his lips and raising his cap. "Oh, not until they come here and insist upon being killed, I suppose." "Why? Do they insist upon bein' killed, and come here to have you do it for them?" "Um--er--well, we like to be ready, in case they should come, although we hope they'll stay away. I beg your pardon, but will you tell me your name? You look very like some one whom I used to know." "My name's Trixy Highwood, and that's Aunt Fee, sittin' on the rocks there, and----" "And her last name is?----" "Wardlow."