"But why shouldn't she have enjoyed herself? I'm sure that I'd have done the same had I been in her place. I envy her the chance of talking with a lot of clever men. Do you think I would refuse it even if I were deeply in love with some one?" "No, I suppose not; but that would be different." "How?" "Oh, you're a very decided young woman, with opinions of your own, while----" "Every woman should be as you say I am if she would have men respect her. But, Harry, what fine fellows those soldiers are! They look as if they had minds of their own, and if there's anything that a woman specially likes in a man, it is that." "Umph! I suppose you mean that young men who aren't soldiers haven't minds of their own--eh?" "Harry, I think your own mind needs additional strength at once, which it may get from sleep. Go to bed. Good night. Sleep well." Kate herself remained awake a long time, thinking about her brother's prospects, for she had been half in love several times, and been rescued by the discovery that some other man who seemed to admire her was more interesting than the man she thought herself specially fond of. She loved her brother dearly, but Harry was still young and boyish--none too much so, to be sure, for Fenie Wardlow, but how much more interesting those officers were! Her knowledge of them had been obtained during the several minutes in which she had sat at one end of the great parlor while Harry had been registering their names at the office and arranging for rooms, but she was a young woman who reached conclusions rapidly. Like most other people who lie awake late to think, Kate awoke early. She peeped through the window blinds, inhaled the fresh air, and wished herself out of doors. Dressing quickly she went upon the verandah. The sky was clear, the air balmy, and the surf rippling brilliantly and murmurously on the beach. Kate noted all this and keenly enjoyed it. Then she chanced to see, on the higher and drier sands, almost at her feet, a large straw hat under which was a small frock, two little hands and a shovel. The little figure's back was toward her, but the figure's voice was high in air, and it was singing: Half a dozen dolls; Half a dozen dolls; Half a dozen, Half a dozen, Half a dozen dolls. "'Tis Trixy Highwood!" exclaimed Kate to herself, and she hastily descended to the beach and Trixy. "Oh, Miss Trewman," shouted Trixy when she saw Kate, "don't you like to dig wells? It's awful fun. I've got this one nearly deep enough for the water to come in; as soon as it's done I'll lend you my shovel and you can dig one. Whoever digs the best one any day gets a five-cent piece from the Admiral--he comes around and looks at 'em ev'ry day. I won't mind if yours is better than mine and gets the prize."