"Honest?" asked Rick.
"Honest cross-my-heart!" exclaimed his sister. She was about two years younger than Rick, who was "nine-goin'-on-ten."
"Um! Well, maybe I'll come," said Rick, as if he were giving the favor, instead of getting it. "Could I bring my dog, Mazie?" he asked.
"Your dog!" exclaimed the little girl. "You hasn't got any dog, Ricky Dalton!"
"I know I haven't got one now!" he admitted, very frankly. "But maybe I'll get one. I keep on asking mother, every day, and maybe she'll let me have one after a while. You wouldn't be afraid of a dog; would you, Mazie?"
"Course not!" she answered.
"'Cause maybe I'll get Henry Blake's dog after he moves away," went on Rick. "I wish I had a dog. He could bring in chips and go to the store with me. I was down to the beach to-day, and I just wanted a dog an awful lot."
"Does dogs ever come up out of the ocean?" asked Mazie.
"Dogs come out of the ocean? Course not!" exclaimed her brother. "How could they?"
"Well, we get wood for the fire out of the ocean—it comes up on the beach," said Mazie, stopping to look at a little speck of dirt on her doll's nose. "Wood comes out of the ocean and once we got some lemons and cocoanuts—don't you 'member?"