“Oh, no,” replied the lady, “there is only one dwelling; a farmhouse with its barns and other out-houses comprises the whole place.  It is on the shore of the harbor some miles beyond Nantucket Town.  It is a pleasant spot, and I think we shall have an enjoyable time; particularly if I can persuade you all to go.”

“A regular New England clam-bake!” said Elsie, “I should really like to attend one, and am much obliged for your invitation, Mrs. Atwood; as we all are, I am sure.”

No one felt disposed to decline the invitation, and it was soon settled that all would go.

The clam-bake was to occupy only the afternoon; so they would have time to make all necessary arrangements, and for the customary surf and still baths.

Mrs. Atwood had risen to take leave.  “Ah,” she said, “I was near forgetting something I meant to say:  we never dress for these expeditions, but, on the contrary, wear the oldest and shabbiest dresses we have; considering them altogether the most suitable to the occasion, as then we need not be troubled if they should be wet with spray or soiled by contact with seaweed, grass, or anything else.”

“A very sensible custom,” Mrs. Dinsmore responded, “and one which we shall all probably follow.”

Mrs. Atwood had hardly reached the gate when Lulu, turning to her father with a very discontented face, exclaimed, “I don’t want to wear a shabby old dress!  Must I, papa?”

“You will wear whatever your Grandma Elsie or mamma directs,” he answered, giving her a warning look.  Then motioning her to come close to his side, he whispered in her ear, “I see that you are inclined to be ill-tempered and rebellious again, as I feared you would, when I learned that you had begun the day without a prayer for help to do and feel right.  Go, now, to your room and ask it.”

“You needn’t fret, Lu; you don’t own a dress that any little girl ought to feel ashamed to wear,” remarked Betty, as the child turned to obey.

“And we are all going to wear the very worst we have here with us, I presume,” added Zoe; “at least such is my intention.”

“Provided your husband approves,” whispered Edward sportively.

“Anyhow,” she answered, drawing herself up in pretended offence; “can’t a woman do as she pleases even in such trifles?”

“Ah I but it is the privileges of a child-wife which are under discussion now,”

“Now, sir, after that you shall just have the trouble of telling me what to wear,” said Zoe, rising from the couch where they had been sitting side by side; “come along and choose.”

Lulu was in the room where she slept, obeying her father’s order so far as outward actions went; but there was little more than lip-service in the prayer she offered, for her thoughts were wandering upon the subject of dress, and ways and means for obtaining permission to wear what she wished that afternoon.

By the time she had finished “saying her prayers,” she had also reached a conclusion as to her best plan for securing the desired privilege.