"Ho, ho! Never heard of a bungalow!" said King. "Why, a bungalow is
a,--is a,----"

"Well, is a what?" asked Midget, impatiently.

"Why, it's a bungalow! That's what it is."

"Fine definition, King!" said his father. "But since you undertook to do
so, see if you can't give its meaning better than that. What _is_ a
bungalow?"

"Well, let me see. It's a house,--I guess it's a low, one-storied house,
and that's why they call it bungalow. Is that it?"

"You're right about the one story; the rest is, I think, your own
invention. Originally, the bungalow was the sort of a house they have in
India, a one-storied affair, with a thatched roof, and verandas all
round it. But the ones they build now, in this country, are often much
more elaborate than that. Sometimes they have one story, sometimes
more. The one I'm trying to get for the summer is at Seacote, and it's
what they call a story and a half. That is, it has an upper floor, but
the rooms are under a slanting roof, and have dormer windows."

"Sounds good to me," said King. "Do you think you'll catch it, Dad?"

"I hope so. Some other person has the refusal of it, but he's doubtful
about taking it. So it may yet fall to our lot."

"I hope so!" cried Marjorie. "At the seashore for a whole summer! My!
what fun! Can we dig in the sand?"