"Has it any starfish and crabs in it?" asked Hal.
"No," returned Mr. Robbins, "but children can swim in it and wade on the sandy shore, and then there are sweet-smelling pine woods to play in, and your mother wants to smell those pines. Don't you think you would like to see a little more of the world, instead of going to the same place every summer?"
Lois shook her head very decidedly. "No," she replied, "for I know we shall never have such a good time as we do at the seashore."
Her father smiled. "It is never a wise plan to make up your mind not to have a good time," he said. "That is like turning a bowl upside down. Nothing can run into it, so it stays empty. Keep your bowls right side up, both of you, and you can't tell what jolly things may run into them. Hal, you remember those pictures of Indians we were looking at last night?"
Hal at once became interested. He always wanted to hear all he could about Indians.
"Well, don't you think it will be pleasant to see that country where the Indians roamed, and led their wild, free life long after they were gone from New England?"
"What do you mean by holding our bowls right side up?" asked the little boy.
"If you are hopeful and cheerful and loving every morning and all day," replied his father, "you are holding your bowl right side up."
"Do you think if I do that in Michigan an Indian might fall into it?"
His father laughed. "I think the Indians have cleared out from there; but you will see the trails they used through the woods, the places where their tents stood, the water where their canoes moved so silently, the shores where their moccasins trod so swiftly, and breathe the clear, fine air through which their wild whoops rang as they danced around the camp fire, while the smoke curled up above the tall trees."