the minute the
dog, held tightly in a pair of feminine arms, was emitting growls
and coughs and sand, while Madeline Fosdick and Albert Speranza were
kneeling in more sand and looking at each other.

"Oh, did he bite you?" begged Miss Fosdick.

"No . . . no, I guess not," was the reply. "I--I scarcely know yet.
. . . Why, when did you come? I didn't know you were in town."

"We came yesterday. Motored from home, you know. I--be still, Goo, you
bad thing! It was such a lovely day that I couldn't resist going for
a walk along the beach. I took Googoo because he does love it so,
and--Goo, be still, I tell you! I am sure he thinks you are a tramp, out
here all alone in the--in the wilderness. And what were you doing here?"

Albert drew a long breath. "I was half asleep, I guess," he said, "when
he broke loose at my heels. I woke up quick enough then, as you may
imagine. And so you are here for the summer? Your new house isn't
finished, is it?"

"No, not quite. Mother and Goo and I are at the hotel for a month.
But you haven't answered my question. What were you doing off here all
alone? Have you been for a walk, too?"

"Not exactly. I--well, I come here pretty often. It is one of my
favorite hiding places. You see, I . . . don't laugh if I tell you, will
you?"

"Of course not. Go on; this is very mysterious and interesting."

"Well, I come here sometimes on pleasant days, to be alone--and write."

"Write? Write poetry, do you mean?"

"Yes."

"Oh, how wonderful! Were you writing when I--when Goo interrupted you?"

"No; I had made two or three attempts, but nothing that I did satisfied
me. I had just about decided to tear them up and to give up trying for
this afternoon."

"Oh, I hope you won't tear them up. I'm sure they shouldn't be. Perhaps
you were not in a proper mood to judge, yourself."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps they might look a little less hopeless to some one
else. But that person would have to be really interested, and there are
few people in South Harniss who know or care anything about poetry."

"I suppose that is true. I--I don't suppose you would care to show them
to me, would you?"

"Why," eagerly, "would you really care to see them?"

"Indeed I should! Not that my judgment or advice is worth anything, of
course. But I am very, very fond of poetry, and to see how a real poet
wrote would be wonderful. And if I could help you, even the least little
bit, it would be such an honor."

This sort