eer tackle hung on the
background of seine or fish net, that almost covered one side of the
marine green walls.

"I chose this room although Benny wanted it," said Grace, "but I had
first choice, so he got an extra play room over the garage, where boys'
noise would not sound quite so telephonic," she ventured. "I wondered
why people left this sort of thing up in a summer cottage, where
usually, they say, things must be so sanitary and practical, but it
seems the boy who owned them was a Jackie, and his mother wouldn't have
the room disturbed."

"Sakes-a-live!" exclaimed Louise. "He may come in the window some night
while taking a stroll in his seaplane, Grace. Better keep a screen in
this lovely long window," she admonished.

"Oh, I shall, although I just love Jackies and intend to make a lot of
friends down at the life saving station. That is where we ought to be
able to apply some choice scouting," said Grace, rearranging a row of
green bound books, that, like everything else in the room, harmonized in
the marine effect.

"Don't go turning crabbed, or getting fishy, or even mermaiding in this
room, Grace," teased Cleo. "It is so effective I should rather fear the
effect taking root. Just look at this real little alligator and he is
actually strong enough to sit on! Did you ever see anything so cunning?"
The real little alligator or crocodile was actually standing on his
short hind legs, and in his front (shall we say paws?) he was holding a
flat piece of wood that served for the seat of the queer stool. It was
all very novel, and everyone decided "Rosabell" was one of the prettiest
cottages in Sea Crest.

"And having decided to organize the Sea Gulls," Louise remarked, "I
think this would be a particularly appropriate place to hold our
initiations."

"But I thought Cleo had formed a pirate's league?" teased Grace.
"Suppose our Captain Kidd fire-bug discovers who set off the beach
barrel fuse, and comes around for vengeance some night? Whoo-pee!" and
Grace demonstrated the revenge with an indescribable arm swing not
listed in her Swedish movements.

"I do think that is sort of queer," commented Cleo, "how that fire
started, and the way it burned. Did any one smell oil? All big
incendiary fires are oil soaked always, you know."

"It might have been oil or it might have been fish bones, but I did not
notice any pungent odor," declared Louise. "And now for _my_ cottage. I
am afraid there are no thrills left, so