ts." One day Joe Doane came home from
work and found his youngest child crying because Tony Cadara wouldn't
lend him the kiddie-car. This was a reversal of things; heretofore
Cadaras had cried for the belongings of the Doanes. Joe laughed about
it, and told Edgar to cheer up, and maybe he'd have a kiddie-car himself
some day--and meanwhile he had a pa.

Agnes Cadara and Myrtie Doane were about of an age. They were in the
same class in high school. One day when Joe Doane was pulling in his
dory after being out doing some repairs on the _Lillie-Bennie_ he saw a
beautiful young lady standing on the Cadaras' bulkhead. Her back was to
him, but you were sure she was beautiful. She had the look of some one
from away, but not like the usual run of Summer folk. Myrtie was
standing looking over at this distinguished person.

"Who's that?" Joe asked of her.

"Why," said Myrtie, in an awed whisper, "it's Agnes Cadara--in her
_mourning_."

Until she turned around, he wouldn't believe it. "Well," said he to
Myrtie, "it's a pity more women haven't got something to mourn about."

"Yes," breathed Myrtie, "isn't she _wonderful_?"

Agnes's mourning had been given her by young Mrs. MacCrea who lived up
on the hill and was herself just finishing mourning. It seemed Mrs.
MacCrea and Agnes were built a good deal alike--though you never would
have suspected it before Agnes began to mourn. Mrs. MacCrea was from New
York, and these clothes had been made by a woman Mrs. MacCrea called by
her first name. Well, maybe she was a woman you'd call by her first
name, but she certainly did have a way of making you look as if you
weren't native to the place you were born in. Before Agnes Cadara had
anything to mourn about she was simply "one of those good-looking
Portuguese girls." There were too many of them in Cape's End to get
excited about any of them. One day he heard some women on the beach
talking about how these clothes had "found" Agnes--as if she had been
lost.

Mrs. MacCrea showed Agnes how to do her hair in a way that went with her
clothes. One noon when Joe got home early because it rained and he
couldn't paint, when he went up-stairs he saw Myrtie trying to do this
to _her_ hair. Well, it just couldn't be _done_ to Myrtie's hair. Myrtie
didn't have hair you could do what you pleased with. She was all red in
the face with trying, and being upset because she couldn't do it. He had
to laugh--and that didn't help things a bit. So he said