I must let the child know, for I expect
she's lottin' on it."

The silence that followed this was broken only by the purring of Pearl
who had established herself upon a broad beam of sunshine which lay
across the ingrain carpet. Miss Mehitable was recklessly extravagant of
carpets in Mrs. Whipp's opinion. She would not allow the shutting-out of
the sunlight.

Miss Upton drank her tea busily now to conceal her desire to smile. Some
of Ben Barry's comments upon her companion returned to her irresistibly;
for she easily followed Charlotte's present mental processes.

Mrs. Whipp was in a most uncomfortable corner and her friend had driven
her into it with such bland kindness that it made the situation doubly
difficult. There was nothing Charlotte could resent in being offered a
summer of ease in the Keefe cottage; but to be confronted with the
alternatives of renouncing all right to complain of fog and storm, or
else to part from Miss Mehitable and allow her to run her own life and
notions for the whole summer, was a dilemma which drove her also to
drinking a great deal of tea, and leaving the floor to Pearl for some
minutes.

Miss Upton did not help her out, but, regaining control of her risibles,
continued to eat and drink placidly, allowing her companion to
cerebrate.

Well she knew that now was the time to defend herself from a summer of
grumbling as continuous as the swish of waves on the shore; and well she
knew also her companion's verbally unexpressed but intense devotion to
herself which made any prospect of their separation a panic. So she
waited and Pearl purred.

One Mr. Lugubrious Blue flits through the drawings of a certain famous
cartoonist. Mr. Blue's mission is to take the joy out of life and
Charlotte Whipp was his blood kin. The tip of her long nose was as
chilly as his and her gloom was similarly chronic. Miss Upton was
determined that she would not be the first to break in upon Pearl's
solo.

Finally Charlotte spoke:

"Do the Barrys have a house to the port?"

"Yes, a real cottage. The rest of us have shelters, but you can't call
'em houses."

Mrs. Whipp looked up apprehensively. "Do you mean they let in the rain?"

"Sometimes in storms," returned Miss Upton cheerfully, "but we run
around with pans and catch it."

Mrs. Whipp viewed her bread and butter gloomily, the down-drawn corner
of her one-sided mouth unusually depressed.

Miss Mehitable felt a wild desire to laugh. She wished she