"I don't imagine there are any electric cars on the island," said
Mrs. Thayne.

"But out here is a funny little steam tram marked St. Aubin's,"
interposed Frances. "It's going somewhere. Look at the dinky cars
with a kind of balcony and that speck of an engine."

"That's a pony engine for sure," drawled Win, joining his sister
at the window. Except that he was thin and fragile no one could
have known from Win's clever, merry dark face, how greatly he was
handicapped by a serious heart trouble. But the contrast between
his tall, loosely-knit figure and Fran's compact little person
brought a wistful expression into Mrs. Thayne's observant eyes.
Win was seventeen and had never been able to play as other boys
did. Probably all his life would be different, yet he was so
plucky and brave over his limitations.

"There's the _Lydia_ down in the harbor," exclaimed Frances. "My,
didn't she wiggle around last night!"

"Lydia, Lydia, why dost thou tremble?
Answer me true.
Traveler, traveler, I'll not dissemble,
'Tis but the screw.

Lydia, Lydia, why this commotion?
Answer me quick.
Traveler, traveler, 'tis but a notion.
You must be sick!"