ocked portfolio, the gift of King. There
were notepaper and envelopes and a pen and pencils and stamps and
everything to write letters with.

"I picked out all the things myself," King explained, "because it's
nicer that way than the ready furnished ones. Do you like it, Kit?"

"Yes, indeedy! And I shall write my first letter to you, because you
gave it to me."

"Oh, Kitty-Cat Kit, a letter she writ,
And sent it away, to her brother one day,"

chanted Marjorie, and, as was their custom, they all sang the song after
her, some several times over.

"Now for mine," Midget said, as Kitty slowly untied the next parcel. It
was two volumes of Fairy Tales, which literature was Kitty's favorite
reading.

"Oh, lovely!" she exclaimed. "On summer afternoons you can think of me,
sitting out in the tree-house reading these. I shall pretend I'm a Fairy
Princess. These are beautiful stories, I can see that already."

Kitty's quick eye had caught an interesting page, and forgetting all
else, she became absorbed in the book at once. In a moment, the page was
turned, and Kitty read on and on, oblivious to time or place.

"Hi, there, Kitsie! Come out o' that!" cried King. "You can read all
summer,--_now_ you must associate with your family."

"I didn't mean to," said Kitty, shutting the book quickly, and looking
round apologetically; "but it's all about a fairy godmother, and a
lovely princess lady,--oh, Mopsy, it's _fine_!"

A pair of little blue enamelled pins was Rosamond's present, and Kitty
pinned them on her shoulders at once, to see how they looked. All
pronounced the effect excellent, and Rosy Posy clapped her little fat
hands in glee.

"Mine's the prettiest present!" she said. "Mine's the booflest!"

"Yes, Babykins," said Kitty, "yours is the booflest,--but they're all
lovely."

The Farewell Feast included all of Kitty's favorite dishes, and as most
of them were also favorites with the other children, it was satisfactory
all round.

"You must write to us often, Kit," said King; "I gave you those writing
things so you'd be sure to."

"Yes, I will; but I don't know yet where you're all going to be."

"I don't know yet myself," said Mr. Maynard, "but it will be somewhere
near the sea, if possible. Will you like the seashore, Kiddies,--you
that are going?"

"I shall," said Marjorie, promptly. "I'll _love_ it. May we go bathing
every day? And can I have a bathing suit,--red, trimmed with white?"

"I 'spec