One night was spent in Philadelphia where all stopped at the Aldine and went to see “The Balkan Princess.”  Another night in New York at the Astor with “Excuse Me” to throw every one into hysterics of laughter.

And what a revelation it all was to Peggy.  What a new world she had entered.

“I didn’t know there could be anything like it,” she confided to Polly, “and oh, isn’t it splendid.  But how I wish I could just share it with everybody.”

“It seems to me you are sharing it with a good many bodies, Peggy Stewart.  What do you call ten people besides yourself?”

“Oh, I mean people who never have or see anything like it.  Like Nelly, for instance, and—­and—­oh just dozens of people who seem to go all their lives and never have any of the things which so many other people have.  I wonder why it is so, Polly?  It doesn’t seem just right, does it?”

“I wonder if you know how many people you make happy in the course of a year, Peggy Stewart.  I don’t believe you have the least idea, but it’s a pity a few of them couldn’t lift up their voices and make it known.”

“Well, I’m right thankful they can’t.  It would be awful.”

It was a glorious June afternoon when the two big touring cars swept under the porte-cochere of the Griswold Hotel at New London, and attendants hurried out to assist the new arrivals from them.  Mr. Stewart waved them aside and saying to his guests: 

“Wait here until I find out where that shack of ours is located and then we’ll go right over to it and get fixed tip as soon as possible,” he disappeared into the hotel to return a moment later with a clerk.

“This man will direct us,” and presently the cars were rolling down toward the shore road.  In five minutes they had stopped before a large bungalow situated far out on one of the rocky points commanding the entire sweep of the bay, and before them riding at anchor was the practice squadron, the good old flagship Olympia, on which Commodore Dewey had fought the battle of Manila Bay, standing bravely out from among her sister ships the Chicago, the Tonopah and the old frigate Hartford anchored along the roadstead.

“Oh, Peggy!  Peggy!  See them!  See them!  Don’t you love them, every inch of them, from the fighting top to the very anchor chains?  I do.”

“I ought to,” assented Peggy, “for Dad! loves his ship next to me I believe.”

“How could he help it?”

They were now hurrying into the cottage where Jerome and Mammy were waiting to welcome them.  A couple of servants had been sent over from the Griswold to complete the menage with Mammy and Jerome as commanders-in-chief.

It was a pretty cottage with a broad veranda running around three sides of it and built far out over the water on the front; an ideal spot for a month’s outing.

Launches were darting to and from the ships with liberty parties, often with two or three cutters in tow filled with laughing, skylarking midshipmen.  On the opposite shore where the old Pequoit House had once stood, was another landing at which many of the ships’ boats, or shore boats, were also making landings with parties which had been out to visit the ships.  The ships wore a festive air with awnings stretched above their quarter-decks and altogether it was an enchanting picture.