eir places in the car, they vacated
them and wandered elsewhere about the Fair grounds for a little.

Then Grandma Elsie expressed a desire to visit the building of her native
State--Louisiana--and invited all in the party to go with her and dine
there as her guests. All accepted the invitation with apparent pleasure
and immediately turned their steps thitherward.

"Where is it?" someone asked, and Harold answered: "At the northern curve
of the horseshoe formed by the State sites around the Fine Art Galleries
and just west of the Missouri building. It is not a long walk."

"Ah," exclaimed Grandma Elsie when they caught sight of their destination,
"see those trees in front laden with moss from our Southern bayous! The
sight almost carries one back to the old days at Viamede."

"Yes; that and the foliage generally, which is of the tropical order,"
remarked her father in reply; "see, the cacti are conspicuous. And I like
the simple style of the building with its galleries and verandas."

"And the site is a fine one," remarked the captain, "not far from the
cable car entrance and fronting the Art Palace."

"Shall we dine first and then look at the exhibits?" asked Grandma Elsie.
"I want to give you all a real Southern dinner, hoping it may prove
agreeable to your palates."

"I presume we can stand it for once, mother dear," returned Herbert, and
the rest of the party seemed equally willing.

They passed in and were presently regaling themselves with gumbo soup,
opossum, and various other dishes peculiar to the part of the country
represented by the building and its appurtenances, being served by cooks
and waiters directly from the plantations of the river country.

Then, having satisfied their appetites, they spent some time in examining
the relics on exhibit in the building.

One of these was a picture of the Madonna by Raphael. There was also an
exhibition of carvings done by women, which excited both admiration and
surprise, and in one of the rooms was some richly carved furniture from
the State museum at Baton Rouge, which had once belonged to Governor
Galvez.

They went next to the Florida building, which was a reproduction of old
Fort Marion, whose foundations were laid in 1620, the year of the landing
of the Pilgrims in Massachusetts.

The captain mentioned that fact, then asked: "Do you know, Grace, how long
that fort was in building?"

"No, papa," she replied, "can you tell us?"

"It took one hundre