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Updated: June 12, 2025
"No," said Cousin Ethel, laughing; "and I don't think Atlantic City is so very far. We could go there to-day, stay over to-morrow, and back to Seacote the day after. What do you think, Jack?" "I think your plan is great! And I'm more than ready to carry it out, if these Maynards of ours agree to it." "I'd like it," declared Marjorie. "I've never been to Atlantic City."
"Don't you think this is fun, Cousin Jack?" asked Marjorie, as she watched the crowds and the lights, and Old Ocean rolling big black waves up on the shore. "Yes, Mehitabel, I think it's gay. There's a certain something at this place that you never see anywhere else." "Yes, it's quite different from Seacote, isn't it? Everybody here seems to be in a hurry."
Here's my brother King. King, this is Ruth Rowland, and what do you think? She lives in Seacote! I mean, for the summer she's staying there." "Good!" cried King. "We can play together then, after we go back." The three children rapidly became good friends, and soon Ruth proposed that they all go for a ride in a roller chair. "They have wide chairs," she said, "that will hold all three of us."
"She has some kind of a crazy notion in her head, but when she's thoroughly rested and wide awake, we can straighten it all out." The Maynards' motor was waiting at Seacote station, and after a few moments' ride, Marjorie was again in the presence of her own dear people. "Mother, Mother!" she cried, in a strange, uncertain voice, and flew to the outstretched arms awaiting her.
The Maynards' motor swung into the driveway of a large and pleasant looking place, whose lawn showed some sand spots here and there, and whose trees were tall pines, but whose whole effect was delightfully breezy and seashorey. "Oh, grandiferous!" cried Marjorie, echoing her brother's enthusiastic tones, and standing up in the car, better to see their new home. Seacote, the place chosen by Mr.
Originally, the bungalow was the sort of a house they have in India, a one-storied affair, with a thatched roof, and verandas all round it. But the ones they build now, in this country, are often much more elaborate than that. Sometimes they have one story, sometimes more. The one I'm trying to get for the summer is at Seacote, and it's what they call a story and a half.
I never danced in a place like that before, and I was a little scared at first." "You didn't look scared. You just looked lovely. What's your name? Mine's Marjorie Maynard. I live in Rockwell, when I'm home." "Mine's Ruth Rowland, and I live in Philadelphia, when I'm home. But we're spending the summer in Seacote. We just came down here for a week." "In Seacote!
In Newark they telephoned the joyful news to Mrs. Maynard, and then took the first train to Seacote. All through the two-hour ride, Marjorie slept peacefully, with her father's arm protectingly round her. The two men said little, being too thankful that their quest was successfully ended. "But I think her mind is all right," whispered Mr. Maynard, as Mr. Bryant leaned over from the seat behind.
"It was a risky way," said King, thinking it over. "Oh, I don't know. I knew, if you were the right sort, you'd take it all right; and if you weren't the right sort, we didn't care how you took it." "That's so," agreed Marjorie. Life at Seacote soon settled down to its groove, and it was a very pleasant groove. There was always plenty of fun to be had.
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