"Upstairs, packing."
Mac toiled up the stairs and into his mother's room.
"I fought maybe you wanted to see me," he observed. "What for you putting all vose fings into ve box?"
"Because we are going to see grandpapa and Aunt Teddy, and then we are all going to the seashore."
"What is ve seashore?"
"The ocean, the great, broad blue water without any edge to it, where the waves keep tumbling over and over on the beach."
"What's beach?" he demanded. Always used to the mountains, the phraseology of the sea was a new tongue to him.
"It's the edge of the water," his mother said absently, while she tried to fold an organdie gown to the best advantage.
"But you said vere wouldn't be any edge," he protested, for he was nothing if not logical, and he insisted upon logic from others.
"Well, never mind now. Run away, dear, and I'll tell you about it, some other time."