he
found that neither of the Eds was drowned.

"And now we must eat our lunch," said Mr. Rovering, when they were once
more wandering along the broad plank-walk in the broiling sun.

"And there's a superb place where we may partake of it," added his wife,
indicating the invitingly cool-looking piazza of a large hotel, which
was plentifully provided with tables and chairs, seemingly on purpose
for just such hungry lunch-laden mortals as themselves.

So they all went up the steps, and choosing a table in the shadiest
corner, they sat down, and began to unpack the basket.

Mrs. Rovering had just taken a creamcake and a box of sardines from the
centre of a lemon pie when a waiter walked up to them with a card-board
sign, which read, "Positively no picnic parties allowed in the parlors
or on the piazzas of this hotel."

Now this sudden turn of affairs was very humiliating to the Roverings,
the more so as they had all grown very hungry after their bath, and the
contents of the basket had a most inviting odor.

But there was no help for it; so the sardines and sandwiches and lemon
pie and creamcakes and all the silver-plated ware, were thrust hurriedly
back in a dreadful heap of confusion, and the four set out for the
beach, feeling sure that they would not be molested there.

However, when they sat down on the dry sand, they found it so hot, and
it flew about and into everything so easily, that they determined to
move down nearer to the water.

They had just established themselves on a cool spot, and Mrs. Rovering
was distributing supplies for the third time, while the two Eds were
busily engaged in fort-building, when Mr. Rovering suddenly cried out,
"Take care!" but before he could say of what, a big wave had dashed up
and salted the whole party, and luckily salted them only, yet enough to
convince them that the beach was not a convenient lunch table; so the
provisions being tumbled into the basket again, Mr. Rovering declared in
favor of Brighton, where the four were set down a few minutes later by
the Marine Railway.

Here they tried another hotel piazza, but the same dreadful notice
stared them in the face, and they began to fear that they would be
compelled to go home to eat their lunch, when Mr. Rovering happened to
remember having heard something about West Brighton being a resort of
"the people"; so they all bundled into a stage, at five cents a head, to
ride to the next grand division of the island.

And