These exclamations burst from the lips of Belle and Bess Robinson, as the two sisters smoothed a newspaper out before their startled eyes.
“And this paper was found at the Wayside,” went on Bess. “No wonder the poor girls ran away again!”
“When we get to the cottage I am going to ask Cora all about it,” declared Belle. “It does not seem right that a newspaper should hint at anything that is not plainly stated! That about the young ladies from Chelton who rode in autos—every one will know means us.”
The girls were in the Flyaway, going along a sea cliff road, only a few miles outside of the pretty summer resort of Lookout Beach. The roaring of the ocean could be plainly heard now, the salt of the spray was in the air, and the sun glinted on the white roads. Bess and Belle, in their car, had gone on ahead, the others followed at a distance.
“Isn’t the air glorious!” cried Bess. “I am sure we are going to have a delightful time down here.”
“And wasn’t it lovely of mamma to invite the boys?” added Belle. “Of course she felt perfectly helpless with just us girls; and Jack is so resourceful!”
“Yes, I fancy it might have been rather lonely evenings without the boys. Of course we will have to stay around the cottage evenings, and with them we will have some opportunity for fun.”
“Ed says they are going to take a bungalow almost on the beach,” remarked Belle. “It will be fun to see how they keep house.”
The Flyaway dropped back nearer the little procession of other autos that now wended their way along the seaside boulevard to the peninsula that looked out over the bay, across the great noisy ocean, and out—out—it seemed almost to Eternity.
It was here, on this point of land, that the cottages were grouped, and it was this exceptional view that gave the pretty spot its name—Lookout Beach.