So Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax kept on down the beach, climbed the short flight of wooden steps that scaled the bulk-head in front of Captain Murray's cottage, and knocked at the door. Mrs. Murray opened it.
“Why, how do you do?” she said, with evident surprise and pleasure, as she ushered them into the sitting-room.
Hereward and Ned poked their noses in at the door, and acted as though they intended to crowd their bodies in too. One look from Mr. Fairfax seemed to change their minds, and with grave faces and limp tails they lay down on the porch instead.
“Here, Harry, bring a chair for Mrs. Fairfax,” said Mrs. Murray, “and Nan, darling, go call your father.”
This little sitting-room was the very cosiest, perhaps, that one would find from end to end of the whole Jersey shore. Cheery and cool-looking in this summer weather, with the linen floor covering and the vines at the windows, and so warm and cheery in the fall and winter, with pine logs blazing on the old brass and irons.
“Father's coming,” announced Nan, returning to the room. “And how's Regie?” asked both the children in one breath.
“Oh, he's getting along finely,” answered Mr. Fairfax.