“Good-bye, Mother,” sang Betsey, bustling back into the playroom. “Ding-ling! Hello! Give me three-five-one, please.” (This in Mr. Delight’s pleasant deep voice.)
“Hello, Mr. Betts. Can you make me a camera to take with me to the beach?”
“I can, sir. I will send it up with the suit-case, and bag, and fish-pole.” And Mr. Betts hastily got out his glue and heavy paper and thin sticks of wood, and soon finished a gentleman’s hand-bag, lettered “J. D.” (for John Darling), a tiny black camera, and a long, slender fish-pole.
“There!” said Betsey to nobody in particular. “Here is where the beach will be.” (Setting up the new cottage.) “Here is the station.” (Setting up the train of cars.) “And here are all the new things to be delivered.”
She packed them into a tiny express cart drawn by a brown horse, took a last look at the room to see that everything was ready, and went down to dinner.
“Norah,” she said, settling herself at the table all alone in the big dining-room, “I’m going to be very busy all the afternoon.”
“Are ye, me darlint!” said Norah with a smile. “And do you want anything of me?”
Betsey hesitated. “No, I guess not—unless you could find me a big shingle. Do you think you could?”
“A big shingle! I’m thinking there’s a cellar full! I’ll give ye two for a kiss!”
But as it turned out, Betsey gave two kisses to kind Norah for one shingle, and hurried back to her playroom, calling back over her shoulder, “I want the shingle for a wharf!”