did!" cried Cousin Jack from behind them. "But that house
is so overhung with creepers it makes you feel creepy anyway. I'm going
to call it Creeper Castle."

"Oh, don't!" said Marjorie. "It sounds horrid! Makes you think of
caterpillars and things like that!"

"So it does! Well, Mehitabel, you name it for us. I can't live in a
house without a name."

"I'd call it Bryant Bower. That sounds flowery and pretty."

"Just the ticket! You're a genius for names! Bryant Bower it is. What's
the name of your house,--Maynard Mansion?"

"Maynard Manor is prettier," suggested Cousin Ethel.

"So it is! Maynard Manor goes! I don't know anybody with prettier
manners than the Maynards, especially the younger generation of them,"
and though Cousin Jack spoke laughingly, there was an earnest undertone
in his voice that greatly pleased King and Marjorie.

"Hooray!" cried that hilarious gentleman, as they reached the Maynards'
veranda. "Hello, Ed. How d'ye do, Helen? Here we are! We're returning
your youngsters right side up with care. Why, look who's here!" and
catching up Rosy Posy, he tossed her high in the air, to the little
girl's great delight.

Dinner was a festive occasion indeed, and afterward they all sat on the
wide veranda and listened to the roar of the waves.

"This is a restful place," said Cousin Ethel, as she leaned back
comfortably in her wicker rocker.

"So it is," agreed her husband, "but, if you ask _me_, I think it's
_too_ restful. I like a place with some racket to it, don't you,
Hezekiah?"

This was his pet name for King, and the boy replied:

"There's fun enough here, Cousin Jack, if you make it yourself."

"That's so, is it? Well, I guess I'll try to make some. Let's see, isn't
Fourth of July next week?"

"Yes, it is," said Marjorie. "Next week, Wednesday."

"Well, that's a good day to have fun; and an especially good day for a
racket. What shall we do, kiddies?"

"Do you mean for us to choose?" asked Marjorie.

"No, Mehitabel; you suggest, and I'll choose. You think of the very
nicest sort of celebrations you know, and I'll select the nicest of them
all."

"Well," said Midget, thoughtfully, "there's a party or a picnic. How
many people do you mean, Cousin Jack? And do you mean children or
grown-ups?"

"Now I feel aggrieved, and insulted, and chagrined, and many other awful
things!" Cousin Jack looked so woe-begone that they almost thought him
in earnest. "You _know_, Mehitabel, that I'm bu