"Beside ourselves," added Cousin Ronald, laughing.
"Yes," she answered; "that little group yonder: a young minister and his wife and child, I suppose. And what a dear little fellow he is just about the age of our Harold, I should judge."
"Yes, mamma," chimed in the last named young gentleman, "he's a nice little boy. May I go speak to him? May I, papa?"
Permission was given and the next moment the two stood close together each gazing admiringly into the other's face.
"Papa," remarked the little stranger, looking up at his father, "I very much wish I had a face like this little boy's."
"Do you, son?" was the smiling rejoinder. "He certainly looks like a very nice little boy. Suppose you and he shake hands, Frank."
"Yes, sir," said the child, holding out a small, plump hand, "What's your name, little boy?"
"Harold Travilla, and yours is Fank?"
"Yes, Frank Daly. Don't you like this nice big boat?"
"Yes I do. Won't you come wis me and speak to my mamma and papa?"