omething," and
she settled down deeper in the porch cushions at "Rosabell." Also she
kicked off a new pair of pumps to remove pedal distractions. "You know
Cleo, I have heard that a lot of small fires do start up mysteriously
around here. And no one has been able to run down the fire bug. I heard
some men down at the Post Office talking about a run the fire department
had last night. Away out some place just for a chicken coop. They seemed
peeved, as Louise would say. Now I feel we have a clue in that bottle
note, but after all our other experiences perhaps it would be better for
just you and me to go at the mystery first. More hands always seem to me
like more mixups."

"Really, Grazia, you alarm me with your wisdom," replied Cleo, affixing
a very foolish giggle to the alarm signal. "I just wonder what will
happen if you go getting so mighty wise all of a sudden. But I do think
you are right just the same. Many hands mean mighty mixups. That's
alliteration. You see I'm sticking to lit."

"I wish you would stick to common sense, Cleo. I am not wishing any hard
work on the scouts for this glorious summer, but I feel, I
instinctively feel, as Julia says, there is something queer to curiosity
in the fire-bug business. Also, I have found my old Jack Tar friend,
that I promised myself when we came down. And he is captain of the Life
Saving Station just as I planned. Only--well--it really isn't essential,
but his whiskers are not quite as long as I planned them to be. But
Cleo, I want you to meet old Neptune. His name is Dave Dunham, and he
seems to love me already. Come on down and have a talk with him. He has
a place like a scene in an old fashioned drama."

"I'd love to go, Grace, and I am just keen on an ocean breeze this A. M.
So gather up your pumps, also your feet, and let us away," decided Cleo.

The weather was still cool, and true to their promise the girls were
wearing their scout uniform, all khaki, with the thin blouse, so that
running along to the life saving station they seemed quite a part of the
picture. The real marine sky--that green blue with white clouds as soft
as the very foam they roll over, gave the day a finish fit for the true
artist's eye, but Cleo and Grace did not stop to admire the tints and
tones, whether marine or general seascape.

"How cozy," whispered Cleo as they stepped into the front room of the
station, which was fitted up with such comforts as might be essential to
the life of the