playing about in the surf, or stretched at ease
on the white sand, exchanging an apparently exhaustless flow of
light-hearted conversation relating to almost everything under the sun.
Imbued with tireless energy, their afternoons brought them fresh
entertainment in the way of long automobile rides to various points of
interest, followed by jolly little teas or dinners along the way. The
annual excursion to Picnic Hollow, which claimed the greater part of a
whole day, was also a memorable occasion. Evening, however, usually
overtook them at the cottage. By common consent they tabooed the more
formal social entertainment which the various hostelries at Wildwood
offered. Only on one occasion did they diverge from their clannish
programme in order to attend an informal hop given by Elfreda's friend,
Madge Morton, at her father's cottage.

During their stay at the Briggs' cottage the previous summer, they had
been given the opportunity of meeting this charming young girl. Shortly
after their arrival she had come over from the Morton cottage to pay
them a friendly call. Greatly attracted to her, on first meeting they
had greeted her warmly and invited her to share their good times.

Madge and Grace had a bond in common in that while Grace was preparing
to be married to Tom Gray, Madge was trying to decide whether or not she
should pledge herself to marry Tom Curtis. Before the week ended she had
confided her problem to Grace and the two girls discussed the subject
long and earnestly. Yet despite such friendly counsel as Grace felt
privileged to give, Madge could come to no definite decision.

Though five days of smiling sunshine had added immeasurably to the
welfare of the devoted company, Saturday morning dawned gray and
threatening. Before breakfast was over the ominous prediction of storm
was fulfilled. Amid reverberating peals of thunder, heavy raindrops
began to fall. They were merely the prelude to a furious downpour which
descended in silvery sheets, and fairly overflowed the discouraged
landscape. A strong wind rose, lashing the leaden expanse of sea into a
white-capped fury quite foreign to its hitherto deceitfully dimpled
aspect.

"It's a horrible day," conceded Elfreda Briggs gloomily. "We can't do
any of the things we've planned. No bathing, no motor trip, either,
unless this deluge stops, which doesn't seem likely."

"Oh, it may clear up," comforted Emma Dean. "I've seen worse days than
this suddenly brace u