“I like strawberry shortcake,” went on Violet.  “It’s good and mother said they had good things in a rest’ant.  I want strawberry shortcake.”

“Well, you shall have some if we can get it,” promised Mother Bunker, for Violet was talking quite loudly, and several persons on the street, hearing her, looked down at the little girl and smiled.

“All right,” said Vi.  “I’m glad I’m going to get strawberry shortcake in the rest’ant.  What makes ’em call it a rest’ant, Daddy?  Does an ant rest there?  And why doesn’t Aunt Jo come to one an’ rest?”

“I’ll tell you about it when we get there,” said her father.

The restaurant was not far from where they were to take the boat for Atlantic Highlands, and, though it was rather early in the morning, quite a number of persons were at breakfast.

There was a smell of many things being cooked, and the rattle of dishes, and of knives, forks and spoons made such a clatter that it sounded as though every one was in a great hurry.

“Are all these people going down to the seashore like us?” asked Violet, who seemed to have many questions to ask that day.

“Oh, no,” answered her father.  “They are just hungry, and they want their breakfast.  Perhaps some of them have been traveling all night, as we were.  But come, we must find a table large enough for all of us.  I don’t believe they often have a whole family, the size of ours, at breakfast here.”

A waiter, who had seen the Bunkers come in, motioned them to follow him, and he led them to a quiet corner where there was a table with just eight chairs about it.

“Ho!  I guess this was made specially for us,” said Russ with a laugh, as he slid into his seat.

“Yes, it just seems to fit,” agreed Mr. Bunker.  “Now, Mother,” and he looked over at his wife, “you order for some of the children, and I’ll order for the others.  In that way we’ll be through sooner.”

“Have they got any strawberry shortcake?” asked Vi.  “I want some.”

“I don’t see it down on the bill of fare for breakfast,” replied her father, “but I’ll ask the waiter.”

One of the men, of whom there were many hurrying to and fro with big trays heaped high with dishes of food, came over to the Bunkers’ table.

“No, the strawberry shortcake isn’t ready until lunch,” he said.  “But you can have hot waffles and maple syrup.”

“Oh, I like them!” and Violet clapped her hands.  “I like them better than strawberry shortcake.”

“Then you may bring some,” said Mr. Bunker.  It took a little time to get just what each child wanted, and sometimes, after the order was given, one or the other of the youngsters would change.  But finally the waiter had gone back to the kitchen, to get the different things for the six little Bunkers and their father and mother.

“And now we can sit back and draw our breaths,” said Mrs. Bunker.  “My, I never saw such a hungry lot of children!  Now sit still, all of you, until I ‘count noses.’  I want to see if you’re really all here.”