“I wish I had something to do,” sighed Sunny Boy one warm morning.
“Find Ellen and Ralph and play with them,” suggested Mrs. Horton promptly. She was sitting in the porch swing, mending. Aunt Bessie and Miss Martinson had gone up to the city to shop.
“Their father took ’em sailing,” Sunny Boy explained disconsolately, referring to Ellen and Ralph. “I wish Daddy stayed here all the time. We could go fishing, too.”
“Well, you know what Daddy would say if he were here about little boys who are always wishing for what they have not,” said Mrs. Horton, rummaging in her stocking bag for tan cotton to darn a huge hole in one of Sunny’s socks. “You’ve ever so many pleasant things to do, dear. Don’t sit there and grumble.”
“I can’t do anything at all!” Sunny Boy was in a perverse mood. “I can’t go swimming, ’less some one is there watching me. And I can’t drive the car, ’cause nobody will teach me. An’ you sew all the time and don’t ’muse me at all!”
Sunny Boy felt so sorry for himself that two big tears ran out of his blue eyes and splashed down on Curly, asleep in his lap.
“Why Arthur Horton!” Mother’s voice was gentle. “That doesn’t sound like my little Sunny Boy. Who ever heard of amusing a laddie with a dog to romp with and the whole beautiful seashore for a playground? You and Curly run down to the beach now, and see if you can’t find some more of those shells Aunt Bessie is saving to make into souvenirs. And this afternoon we’ll go to meet their train with the car.”
“I don’t want to hunt shells,” grumbled Sunny Boy, kicking his feet against the step.
“You’ll have to go to your room and stay till lunch time if you can’t find something pleasant to do,” said Mrs. Horton, firmly. She did not look at Sunny Boy at all, but at her darning.
Sunny Boy felt as cross as two sticks. He didn’t know why, and perhaps there wasn’t any reason. If you had asked him, he would have said that every one was mean to him.