roposed Edna.

"No, indeed, that would not do at all," said Cricket, decidedly, quite
disgusted with this suggestion. "We must call the meeting first, just
as grown-up people do." For Cricket, with all her harum-scarum ways, had
a strong liking for organization.

"You're a fuss," said Edna, laughing, but yielding the point.

So at two o'clock, the three girls duly and solemnly convened behind the
rocks, where they were completely screened from observation, both from
the house, and from any one passing along the beach. All felt the
importance of the occasion, and had preternaturally grave faces.

"What do we do first?" asked Edna, uncertainly.

"I know," said Cricket, quickly. "We nominate some one for president,
and somebody seconds the motive. Papa has often told us about it, and
once I went with mamma to a club of hers. I'll nominate Eunice for
president, and you must second the motive, Edna, and then we'll vote."

"There'll be nobody to vote, but me, then," objected Eunice. "Shall I
vote for myself?"

"Might as well. You'll have to be president anyway, because you're the
oldest, and it's more appropriate. Or let's do this: You say, 'All in
favour say, aye. Contrary-minded, no,' and then we'll all vote. That's
the way they did in mamma's meeting, only, of course, there were more to
vote. Now, I nominate Eunice Ward as president of the Echo Club."

"I second the motive," said Edna, promptly, trying not to laugh.

"All in favour of my being president, say aye," said Eunice, in her
turn.

A very vigorous aye from the two others followed.

"Contrary-minded, say no."

There being nobody to say no, it was considered a unanimous election,
and Cricket so declared it, with a slight variation.

"Eunice is a _unaminous_ president," she announced.

"What is a _unaminous_ president," asked Edna.

"I don't know. It's something they always say. Now we must choose a
secretary and treasurer."

"What do they do?"

"Why, the secretary writes things," said Cricket, vaguely.

"All the stories?" said Edna, brightening. "I nominate Cricket for
secretary."

"Of course not. We each write our own stories. I mean letters and
things. Don't you know, Eunice, that Marjorie was secretary to her club
last winter, and what a lot of writing she had to do?"

"Who to?" persisted Edna. "What do they have to write letters for? We've
nobody to write letters to but Aunt Margaret and the rest."

"Not to them, of _course_," returned