BARBARA YECHTON.


You could not have found anywhere two happier boys than were Charlie
and Selwyn Kingsley one Saturday morning early in June. In their
delight they threw their arms around each other and danced up and down
the piazza, they tossed their hats in the air and hurrahed, they sprang
down the stone steps two at a time, dashed about the grounds in a wild
fashion that excited their dog Fritz, and set him barking in the
expectation of a frolic, then raced across to their special chum and
playmate, Ned Petry. They arrived there almost out of breath, but with
such beaming faces that before they reached the hammock where he lay
swinging Ned called out, "Halloa! what's happened? Something good, I
know."

"We're going--" panted Charlie, dropping down on the grass beside him.

"To Europe!" supplemented Selwyn.

"No!" cried Ned, springing up. "Isn't that just jolly! When do you
sail, and who all are going? Let's sit in the hammock together. Now
tell me all about it." The three boys crowded into the hammock, and
for a few minutes questions and answers flew thick and fast.

"You know we've always wanted to go." said Charlie. Ned nodded. "And
the last time papa went he promised he'd take us the next trip, but we
didn't dream he was going this summer."

"Though we suspected something was up," broke in Selwyn, "because for
about a week past whenever Charlie and I would come into the room papa