"Mother will be trying to make you so grown-up that we can't have any
sport at all. Besides, you are looking pale. I am sure you need exercise.
There is a crowd over there in front of the music pavilion. I will wager
a five-pound box of candy that I can beat you to it. Philip Holt will
entertain Mother. She likes him better than she does the rest of us,
anyhow, because he devotes his time to good works and to working good
people," added Tom teasingly, under his breath.

While Tom was talking Madge darted off across the sands. She never would
get over her love of running, she felt sure, until she was old and
rheumatic. The color came back to her cheeks and the laughter to her
eyes.

Tom was close behind her. "Madge Morton, you didn't give me a fair
start," he protested, "you rushed away before I was ready. I thought you
always played fair?"

Madge dropped into a walk. "I do try to, Tom," she answered more
earnestly than Tom had expected. His remark had been made only in fun.
"You believe in me, don't you, Tom?" she added pleadingly.

"Now and forever, Madge, through thick and thin," answered Tom steadily.

They had now come up nearer the crowd of people on the beach. Up on a
grand stand a band was playing an Italian waltz, and an eager crowd had
gathered, apparently to listen to the music.

But the two young people soon saw that on the hard sand a child was
dancing. Tom stopped outside the circle of watchers, but Madge went
forward into it. She had at once recognized little Tania! Eleanor had
been left on the houseboat to take care of the child, but Eleanor was now
nowhere to be seen, and her charge had wandered into mischief.

Tania was dancing in her most bewitching and wonderful fashion. Madge
could not help feeling a little embarrassed pride in her. The child was
moving like a flower swayed by the wind. She poised first on one foot,
then on the other, then flitted forward on both pointed toes, her thin,
eager arms outstretched, curving and bending with the rhythm of the
music. She wore her best white dress, the pride of her life, which
Eleanor had lately made for her. On her head she had placed a wreath of
wild flowers, which she must have woven for herself. They were like a
fairy crown on her dark head. With the love of bright colors, which she
must have inherited from some Italian ancestor, she had twisted a bright
scarlet sash about her waist.

Again Madge saw that Tania was utterly unconscious of the au