"What is it for?"
"Oh, to kill bad people with."
"Gracious! Is there such lots of bad people down here as that? Papa said the place was so nice and safe."
"It is safe enough, dear, for us. The bad people that are shot with cannons come here from other countries."
"When do they come?"
"Oh, don't ask me," said Fenie, who was trying to keep from not keeping miserable, but was not succeeding very well.
"Who shall I ask?"
"Oh, one of the soldiers, I suppose."
Fenie sat upon a rock which formed part of a little breakwater, looked out to sea, and took a pensive attitude, while Trixy stood and stared at the cannon, and wondered, and wished she knew more about the killing of bad people by artillery.
Just then Lieutenant Bruce Jermyn, of the artillery service, came from the flank of the water battery and walked toward the hotel. He was no pink-faced, slender youth, like lieutenants in most military novels, but a handsome, stout, manly-looking fellow of about thirty-five years, like hundreds of other lieutenants of our army in time of peace. Trixy saw him, hurried to him, and said: