“I’m afraid, Kitsie, we wouldn’t have enough money for pink ice-cream in that case,” said Mr. Maynard, laughing.

“The next performeress will be Mrs. Maynard,” announced the master of ceremonies.

Mother Maynard rose, smiling, and with all the airs and graces of a prima donna, went to the piano.  Striking a few preliminary chords, she began to sing: 

    “Good-bye, Kitty; good-bye, Kitty; good-bye, Kitty,
      You’re going to leave us now. 
    Merrily we say good-bye,
          Say good-bye, say good-bye;
    Merrily we say good-bye
          To sister Kitty-Kit.”

This had a pleasant jingle, and was repeated by the whole assembly with fine effect and a large volume of noise.

“Miss Marjorie Maynard will now favor us,” was the next announcement.

“This is a poem I made up myself,” said Midget, modestly, “and I think it’s very nice: 

    “When Kitty goes to Grandma’s
      I hope she will be good;
    And be a lady-girl and do
      Exactly as she should. 
    ’Cause when I go to Grandma’s,
      I act exceeding bad;
    I track up ’Liza’s nice clean floor,
      And make her hopping mad!”

Marjorie’s poem was applauded with cheers, as they all recognized its inherent truth.

“We next come to Miss Rosamond Maynard,” King went on, “but as she has fallen asleep, I will ask that the audience kindly excuse her.”

The audience kindly did so, and as it was getting near everybody’s bedtime,—­at least, for children,—­the whole quartette was started bedward, and went away singing: 

    “Good-bye, Kitty, you’re going to leave us now”—­

CHAPTER II

TOM, DICK, AND HARRY

“Jumping Grasshoppers!  What a dandy house!”

The Maynards’ motor swung into the driveway of a large and pleasant looking place, whose lawn showed some sand spots here and there, and whose trees were tall pines, but whose whole effect was delightfully breezy and seashorey.

“Oh, grandiferous!” cried Marjorie, echoing her brother’s enthusiastic tones, and standing up in the car, better to see their new home.

Seacote, the place chosen by Mr. Maynard for his family’s summering, was on the southern shore of Long Island, not very far from Rockaway Beach.  It was a sort of park or reservation in which building was under certain restrictions, and so it was made up of pleasant homes filled with pleasant people.

Fortunately, Mr. Maynard had been able to rent the bungalow he wanted, and it was this picturesque domicile that so roused King’s admiration.

The house was long and low, and surrounded by verandas, some of which were screened by vines, and others shaded by striped awnings.

But what most delighted the children was the fact that the ocean rolled its crested breakers up to their very door.  Not literally to the door, for the road ran between the sea and the house, and a boardwalk was between the road and the sea.  But not fifty feet from their front windows the shining waves were even now dashing madly toward them as if in tumultuous welcome.