"Well, I was at the seashore last year," said King, "while you were at
Grandma's."

"But it wasn't as nice as this, was it? Say it wasn't!"

"No; the sand was browner. This is the nicest sand I ever saw. Say,
Mops, let's build a fire."

"What for? It isn't cold."

"No, but you always build fires on the beach. It's lots of fun. And
we'll roast potatoes in it."

"All right. How do we begin?"

"Well, we gather a lot of wood first. Come on."

Marjorie came on, and they worked with a will, gathering armfuls of
wood and piling it up near the spot they had selected for their fire.

"That's enough," said Marjorie, for her arms ached as she laid down her
last contribution to their collection.

"You'll find it isn't much when it gets to burning. But never mind, it
will make a start. I'll skin up to the house and get matches and
potatoes."

"I'll go with you, 'cause I think we'd better ask Father about making
this fire. It might do some harm."