"It's another door to Paradise," said Ethelwyn.
"The gold place that shows where the sun sets is another one," said Elizabeth. Then they heard their mother, who had come in quietly, and in a moment was cuddling them up in her arms.
"We've lost a lot of time, I'm afraid," said Ethelwyn after they had given her a bear hug and a kiss.
"That ocean is the prettiest thing, mother. P'raps that's the way to Paradise where father and grandfather and brother have gone."
"Yes," said their mother, helping them into their clothes. "It is one of the ways."
"Tell us about this place, please," begged Ethelwyn, "and how we happened to come to such a de-lic-ious place. Will you have to work so hard, motherdy, here? And will the little lines come between your eyes?" Whereupon Elizabeth at once abandoned to their fate, her harness garters with their many buckles, and climbed up to see. Yes, the lines had gone, and she kissed the place to make sure before she climbed down again.
"Hoty potys is the twissedest things," she remarked, worse tangled than ever.
"Hose supporters, dear child," corrected Ethelwyn with the exasperating air that always roused Beth's wrath.
"This cottage," mother hastened to say, while she untangled the buckles with one hand and buttoned Ethelwyn's waist with the other, "belongs to Mrs. Stevens and her daughter, Dorothy. I have known them for years. Recently they wrote asking me to bring you children and come to them for the summer; they, too, were lonely, and they knew that I needed rest, quiet, and time to plan for the future. There are few people living here but fisher folk—"
"Christ's people?"