AND so the days danced on, each one happier than the last, and all too short for the amount of fun that had to be crammed into them. Wheeling, walking, boating, bathing, fishing, and crabbing were favorite amusements; but best of all the girls loved to play some rollicking, frolicking game that called forth peals of laughter which had no cause save sheer gladness of living.
“Let’s play hide-and-seek,” said Betty, one morning.
“All right,” said Jessie, loyally but lazily. “You go and hide and cry ‘Coop!’ and we’ll all come and find you.”
“No, I don’t mean that baby way; I mean a nice new way. I’ve invented it myself just now, and it’s gay.”
“Elucidate further,” said Marjorie, looking up from her work, which was the combing of Timmy Loo’s silvery tangled curls.
“It’s a gorgeous game,” went on Betty, “but it’s not adapted to or for dogs. If the nondescript mop in your lap goes by that name he’ll have to be buried before we can proceed.”
“Buried indeed! my own, my only Timmy Loo!” cried Marjorie, caressing the moppy mass in question. “Not that, not that, I pray you; but, if really necessary, I could secrete him with a kind neighbor until your wild project has fizzled out.”
“Well, listen, then,” said Betty. “We all hide, you know, and find each other one by one, and then the one who stays hidden longest gets a prize.”
“Beautiful—beautiful,” sighed Marguerite; “but what is the prize? Might it be worth winning?”
“The prize can be that photograph I took of you girls in your bathing-suits,” said Hester. “I’ll never be able to get another as good, and it’s so funny it’s worth having.”