"Yes—isn't it good? She's coming for a whole year, while uncle and aunt go out to British Columbia,—to make him well, you know."
"I wish she was a little boy," said Jackie, thoughtfully. "But if she's like you, she'll be all right, Margie. What's the other nice thing you know?"
"Oh, you must try to guess, dear! Come up in the summer-house; it's so cosy there, and I'll give you three guesses. It's something that will happen in July or August, and we are all in it, father and mother and you and Cousin Dora, and a few other people."
They strolled up to the vine-covered summer-house, and settled down on its broad seat, while Jack cudgelled his brains for an idea as to a possible good time.
"Is it a picnic?" he asked at last.
Marjorie laughed.
"Oh, ever so much better than that," she cried.
"Try again."
"Is it—is it—a visit to the seaside?"