"Why, it's a bungalow! That's what it is."
"Fine definition, King!" said his father. "But since you undertook to do so, see if you can't give its meaning better than that. What is a, bungalow?"
"Well, let me see. It's a house,—I guess it's a low, one-storied house, and that's why they call it bungalow. Is that it?"
"You're right about the one story; the rest is, I think, your own invention. Originally, the bungalow was the sort of a house they have in India, a one-storied affair, with a thatched roof, and verandas all round it. But the ones they build now, in this country, are often much more elaborate than that. Sometimes they have one story, sometimes more. The one I'm trying to get for the summer is at Seacote, and it's what they call a story and a half. That is, it has an upper floor, but the rooms are under a slanting roof, and have dormer windows."
"Sounds good to me," said King. "Do you think you'll catch it, Dad?"
"I hope so. Some other person has the refusal of it, but he's doubtful about taking it. So it may yet fall to our lot."
"I hope so!" cried Marjorie. "At the seashore for a whole summer! My! what fun! Can we dig in the sand?"
"Well, rather, my child! That's what the sand is there for. Kitty, you were at the seashore last summer. Did you dig in the sand?"
"Yes, every day; and it was lovely. But this year I'm glad I'm going to Grandma's. It's more restful."
They all laughed at Kitty's desire for rest, and Marjorie said: