“I hope so!” cried Marjorie.  “At the seashore for a whole summer!  My! what fun!  Can we dig in the sand?”

“Well, rather, my child!  That’s what the sand is there for.  Kitty, you were at the seashore last summer.  Did you dig in the sand?”

“Yes, every day; and it was lovely.  But this year I’m glad I’m going to Grandma’s.  It’s more restful.”

They all laughed at Kitty’s desire for rest, and Marjorie said: 

“I didn’t have such a restful time at Grandma’s.  Except when I sprained my ankle,—­I rested enough then!  But you won’t do anything like that, Kit!”

“I hope not, I’m sure.  Nor I won’t fall down the well, either!”

“Oh, we didn’t fall down the well.  We just went down, to get cooled off.”

“Well, I’m not going to try it.  I shall sit in the tree-house and read every afternoon, and sew with Grandma in the mornings.”

“Kit, you’re a dormouse,” said Kingdon; “I believe you’d like to sleep half the year.”

“’Deed I wouldn’t.  Just because I don’t like rambunctious play doesn’t mean I want to sleep all the time!  Does it, Father?”

“Not a bit of it.  But you children must ‘like what you like’ and not comment on others’ ‘likes.’  See?”

“Yes, sir,” said King, understanding the kindly rebuke.  “Hullo, Kit, here’s one of your best ‘likes’!  Here’s pink ice-cream coming!”

This was indeed one of Kitty’s dearest “likes,” and as none of the Maynards disliked it, it rapidly disappeared.

“Now, we’ll have an entertainment,” said King as, after dinner, they all went back to the pleasant living-room.  “As Kitty is the chief pebble on the beach this evening, she shall choose what sort of an entertainment.  Games, or what?”

“No, just a real entertainment,” said Kitty; “a programme one, you know.  Each one must sing a song or speak a piece, or something like that. I’ll be the audience, and you can all be performers.”

“All right,” said King; “I’ll be master of ceremonies.  I’ll make up the programme as I go along.  Ladies and gentlemen, our first number will be a speech by the Honorable Edward Maynard.  Mr. Maynard will please step forward.”

Mr. Maynard stepped.  Assuming a pompous air, he made a low bow, first to Kitty, and then to the others.

“My dear friends,” he said, “we are gathered here together this evening to extend our farewells and our hearty good wishes to the lady about to leave us.  Sister, thou art mild and lovely, and we hate to see thee go; but the best of friends must sever, and you’ll soon come back, you know.  Listen now to our advices.  Kitty, dear, for pity’s sake, do not tumble in the river,—­do not tumble in the lake.  Many more things I could tell you as I talk in lovely rhyme, but I think it is my duty to let others share the time.”

Mr. Maynard sat down amid great applause, and Kitty said, earnestly, “You are a lovely poet, Father.  I wish you’d give up your other business, and just write books of poetry.”