of the dolls, and trains, and picture-books lying all over the house--"

"But, Grandpa," said Don in a small voice, trying not to cry, "summer
will be here before we know it--you said so this morning yourself; and
Daddy says he's going north on a fishing trip--"

"--And so," added Joyce sorrowfully, "Don and I can't go to the farm and
stay with you as we did last year, and the year before last, and every
year since we can remember."

Joyce looked anxiously from one face to another. Daddy's eyes were
twinkling. Mother looked rather sorry, and so did Grandma. But she knew
at once, by the look on Grandpa's face that _he_ understood. He only
nodded his white head wisely. "I see," he said. And some way, after that,
Joyce felt that it would come out all right.

It did.

On the last morning that Grandpa and Grandma were there, Daddy said at
the breakfast table--quite suddenly, as if he had just thought of it--
"Mother, suppose we let the children choose for themselves. You and I
will go to the lake next summer, and catch the big fish; but if they
would be happier on the old farm, why--"

"Oo-oo-ooh!" cried Joyce delightedly. "Don, you and I may go to Grandpa's
house next summer, if we like!"

"How do you know?" said Don rather crossly. "Daddy hasn't said that we
could."