"That so? I'm sorry, but I'm afraid she couldn't go, even if she was
here. You see, it's her last day at home, and--we--her mother and
I--that is, I don't believe she'd want to leave us to-day."

"No; no, of course not. Well, tell her we wish she might have come,
but we understand. Yes, yes," in answer to the calls from the "barge,"
"we're coming. Well, good by, Captain Dott."

"Er--good by. Er--er--don't want anything to take along, do you? A nice
box of candy, or--or anything?"

"No, I think not. We stopped at the Emporium just now, and loaded up
with candy enough to last a week. Good morning."

"How are you fixed for sun hats and things? I've got a nice line of hats
and--well, good by."

"Good by."

The "barge" moved off. Daniel, standing dejectedly in the door,
remembered his manners.

"Hope you have a nice time," he shouted. Then he turned and moved
disconsolately back to the desk. He might have expected it. It was thus
in nine cases out of ten. The Emporium, Mr. J. Cohen, proprietor, was
his undoing in this instance as in so many others. The Emporium got the
trade and he got the good bys. Mr. Cohen was not an old resident, as
he was; Mr. Cohen's daughter was not invited to picnics by the summer
people; Mrs. Cohen was not head of the sewing circle and the Chapter of