"It is," her father laughed. "So I have been informed. The houses are larger and more comfortable, they have yards of their own, and the bathhouses are built under the porch for comfort and convenience. Would you rather be comfortable or fashionable, Margy?"
"Comfortable, I guess," said Margy sensibly.
Mr. Larue and Mr. Williamson had hired the cottage and had wired ahead to have it opened and aired. It was a brown house, large and rambling and set in a garden that had been planted with many old-fashioned flowers and then left to itself. The effect was pretty, but so tangled that the paths around the house were quite over-grown. There was a porch around three sides, a fireplace in the hall, which was also the living-room and every room had an "ocean view." As Mr. Williamson said, what more could any one want?
They found the trunks had been delivered and were in the hall. But every one was too tired and too hungry to think of "dressing up."
"Let us go and get our dinners and come back and go to bed early," Mrs. Larue suggested. "Then we'll be up early to-morrow morning and accomplish wonders."
"All I wish is that Carrie Pepper could see me now," whispered Margy, a half hour later as she walked into the dining room of the large hotel.
"There's Mattie Helms!" Artie announced, in a tone that he fondly imagined was very low, but which made Mattie—across the room—look up in surprise.