“You won’t have to work, old man!” Billy felt strangely stirred as she kissed him.  She watched him as he rushed away to break the news of his departure to the stolid Swedish girl in the kitchen and the colored boy at the elevator.  He jerked his little bureau open, and began to scramble among his clothes; he selected a toy for Jim and a toy for Derry, and his mother noticed that they were his dearest toys.  She took him downtown and bought him a bathing suit, and sandals, and new pajamas, and his breathless delight, as he assured sympathetic clerks that he was going down to the shore, made her realize what a lonely, uncomfortable little fellow he had been all these months.  He could hardly eat his supper that night, and had to be punished before he would even attempt to go to sleep, and the next morning he waked his mother at six, and fairly danced with impatience and anxiety as the last preparations were made.

Billy took him down to Clark’s Hills herself.  She had not notified Rachael, or answered her in any way, never questioning that Rachael would know her invitation to be accepted.  But from the big terminal station she did send a wire, and Rachael and the boys met her after the hot trip.

“Billy, it was good of you to come,” Rachael said, kissing her quite naturally as they met.

“I never thought of doing anything else,” Billy said, breathing the fresh salt air with obvious pleasure.  “I had no idea that it was such a trip.  But he was an angel—­look at them now, aren’t they cute together?”

Rachael’s boys had taken eager possession of their guest; the three were fast making friends as they trotted along together toward the old motor car that Rachael ran herself.

“It’s a joy to them,” their mother said.  “Get in here next to me, Bill; I’m not going even to look at you until I get you home.  Did you ever see the water look so delicious?  We’ll all go down for a dip pretty soon.  I live so simply here that I’m entirely out of the way of entertaining a guest, but now that you’re here, you must stay and have a little rest yourself!”

“Oh, thank you, but—­” Billy began in perfunctory regret.  Her tone changed:  “I should love to!” she said honestly.

Rachael laughed.  “So funny to hear your old voice, Bill, and your old expressions.”

“I was just thinking that you’ve not changed much, Rachael.”

“I?  Oh, but I’ve gray hair!  Getting old fast, Billum.”

“And how’s Greg?” Billy did not understand the sudden shadow that fell across Rachael’s face, but she saw it, and wondered.

“Very well, my dear.”

“Does he get down here often?  It’s a hard trip.”

“He always comes in his car.  They make it in—­I don’t know—­ something like two hours and ten minutes, I think.  This is my house, with all its hydrangeas in full bloom.  Yes, isn’t it nice?  And here’s Mary for Breckenridge’s bag.”

Rachael had got out of the car, and now she gave Billy’s boy her hand, and stood ready to help him down.