TIMMY LOO.
“Oh, then it’s no fun if we can’t have the eight together,” said Helen.
“Let me snap it off,” said Aunt Molly, kindly. “I don’t know anything about a camera, but couldn’t you show me?”
“Yes, indeed,” said Hester; “that will be jolly of you—and I’ll take your picture afterward.”
So they all went down to the beach, and pictures were taken of most fantastic groups and duets and solitaires, as Millicent called them. Last but not least, they took a very fine solitaire of Timmy Loo in one of his fits of good behavior, and then Hester declared she must save the rest of her plates for another day.
“Do you know,” said Nan, in her slow, dreamy way, “if Marguerite and I are to get supper to-night, I really believe it’s time we began to think about it.”
“Oh, do something more than think about it,” groaned Betty. “I’m as hungry as if I hadn’t attended that grand and elegant dinner.”
“Are you, dear?” said Marguerite, with mock-solicitude. “Well, you shall soon be fed. Come on, Nan; the path of glory leads up to our cottage, and we must tread it like the brave heroes that we are.”
“When may we hope supper will be ready?” called out Jessie, as the Matron and the Poet wandered off.