The day spent at Aunt Judith's cottage had been delightful, and Harry and Leslie had been such fine playmates that Rose and Polly wished that they, too, were staying at Cliffmore.
A few days had passed since the visit, and Princess Polly, still thinking of the day at Avondale, sat stringing shells on a long rose-colored cord.
She was sitting on a low seat in the garden, her box of shells beside her. The shells were for Leslie, and Polly was selecting them with much care, that they might be of nearly the same size.
The garden was charming with its fine wall, and the lovely flowers that blossomed within its enclosure.
The house set well up on the beach, and its broad lawn and flower beds were surely safe from any encroachment by the sea, yet as a precaution, the massive wall had been built, and if by any chance a storm should drive the waves a bit too far, they would break against the wall, and then recede, leaving the garden unharmed.
The string of shells was now nearly a half yard in length, and Polly held it up for the admiration of Rose and Sprite, who had just arrived, and were running along the path.
"Oh, isn't it lovely?" said Rose, "and the colors, how nice they look, first bluish white and then cream white."
"Leslie will like that," said Sprite.
"Anyone would, they're strung so prettily."
"I've ten more shells to add to the string and then it will be all ready for Leslie. Everybody keep still until I have the ten shells in place," said Princess Polly, "and then I'll talk with you."