"Jumping Grasshoppers! What a dandy house!"

The Maynards' motor swung into the driveway of a large and pleasant
looking place, whose lawn showed some sand spots here and there, and
whose trees were tall pines, but whose whole effect was delightfully
breezy and seashorey.

"Oh, grandiferous!" cried Marjorie, echoing her brother's enthusiastic
tones, and standing up in the car, better to see their new home.

Seacote, the place chosen by Mr. Maynard for his family's summering, was
on the southern shore of Long Island, not very far from Rockaway Beach.
It was a sort of park or reservation in which building was under certain
restrictions, and so it was made up of pleasant homes filled with
pleasant people.

Fortunately, Mr. Maynard had been able to rent the bungalow he wanted,
and it was this picturesque domicile that so roused King's admiration.

The house was long and low, and surrounded by verandas, some of which
were screened by vines, and others shaded by striped awnings.

But what most delighted the children was the fact that the ocean rolled
its crested breakers up to their very door. Not literally to the door,
for the road ran between the sea and the house, and a boardwalk was
between the road and the sea. But not fifty feet from their front
windows the shining waves were even now dashing madly toward them as if
in tumultuous welcome.

The servants were already installed, and the open doors seemed to invite