“The Old and New” was Mrs. Kitto’s boarding-house, overlooking Santa Luzia Beach. The Old was the back part, built of brown adobe, with walls two feet thick; the New was the modern wooden front, with a breezy veranda stepping down toward the sea.
“The house puts its best foot forward,” prattled Molly, as she and Kirke and Weezy set off one morning for a lesson in swimming.
“That’s all right,” replied Kirke, “if it keeps steady on its pins.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” sniffed Weezy with disapproval. “Houses don’t have feet; and they don’t have pins.”
“No, nor soles either, you precious snip of a goosie.”
Kirke held his little sister’s hand, swinging it to and fro as they walked together across the beach.
“Are you going to squeal to-day when you go into the water? The last time you scared the swimming-master half out of his wits.”
“O Kirke, what a story!”
“I’ll leave it to Molly if the man didn’t duck.”
“You silly, silly boy! You know he ducked on purpose.”