"

Jack flushed with pleasure at this frank praise.

"I hope I shall," he said, "I want to be. You know my father was an
artist."

"You will be an artist and Lulu will be an authoress," said Winifred
reflectively. "I wish Betty and I could both be something nice too."

"I'm afraid I shall never be anything in particular, unless it's a
housekeeper," remarked Betty from her seat on the bathing house steps.
"I like to sweep and dust and cook better than anything else."

"You'll be a greater sewer, I think," said Winifred, with an admiring
glance at the stocking her friend was darning. "Mother says she never
saw a little girl who could sew as well as you can."

"Perhaps I shall be a trained nurse. I think I should like being a
comfort to sick people. I heard Lulu's aunt say the nurse she had when
she broke her knee was a great comfort to her."

"Miss Clark was a great comfort to us when mother was ill," said Betty;
"mother had a letter from her yesterday. What's the matter, Jack--are
mosquitoes biting?"

"No," said Jack, frowning, "it isn't the mosquitoes, it's only I don't
like to have you talk about being things when you grow up."

"Why not?" inquired Betty in astonishment.

"Because if I'm an artist I can take care of you and mother. I want you
just to be ladies."

"Well, mother's a lady, isn't she? and she works; and Lulu's aunt writes
books."

Jack looked puzzled.

"I don't know quite how to say it," he said slowly, "but I want you to
be the kind of ladies that mother was when she lived in England; the
kind that live in castles, and have parks and things. They never work,
do they?"

Both little girls laughed, and Betty said practically:

"I guess even queens work sometimes, but I know what you mean, Jack,
only I think I'd like to be a housekeeper better."

"Here comes Lulu," exclaimed Winifred, rising to meet her friend, who
came hurrying along the sand from the direction of her own home. "I've
brought some ginger-snaps," announced Lulu, when she had greeted the
others, and seated herself beside Betty on the bathing house steps. "I
thought we might be hungry before luncheon time. I could have come
before, but I was very busy writing my story. Is yours done yet,
Winifred?"

"No," said Winifred, blushing; "I don't think I can write stories very
well. When I get the ink and paper, and everything ready, I never can
think of anything to say."

"Oh, but you must go on trying," urged Lulu. "It's the ea