ON THE WAY
“It’s a s’prise,” Sunny Boy insisted, his lower lip trembling.
Aunt Bessie and Miss Martinson were trying not to laugh. Harriet looked
completely mystified. Mr. Horton was wiping his eyes.
Sunny Boy looked at his mother. She wasn’t even smiling. Her clear,
direct gaze met his squarely.
“What’s it for, precious?” she asked quietly. “Tell us why you put it
in the lunch. You didn’t know it was stove polish, did you?”
“No, ’course not,” returned Sunny eagerly, glad to find some one
sensible enough to understand. “I thought it was lic’rish ’cause it
smelled so good when I opened the box. An’ it was on the shelf, Mother.”
“I did that closet in kind of a hurry,” admitted Harriet. “I guess
plenty of things are not in the right place. And so you thought it was
something good to eat, and we could maybe spread it on our bread, did
you, Sunny?” Harriet began to laugh. It usually took Harriet a long
time to see a joke, and when she did begin to laugh she never stopped
very quickly.
The more Harriet laughed, the funnier it seemed. Presently every one,
even Sunny Boy, was laughing with her. And by the time they had their
laugh out, and had eaten the rest of that picnic lunch, it was time,
Mr. Horton said, to think about starting again.
Lucy was at the gate as the car backed out, and she and Mr. Horton and
Sunny Boy put the bars up. She waved them good-by as they rolled down
the road.
“She’s never seen the ocean,” remarked Mrs. Horton. “I’ve her name and
address; she asked me if any one ever wanted somebody to help out down
at the Cove this summer to write her.”
“If she’s saving money for school, she might make some this summer,”
agreed Aunt Bessie thoughtfully. “We’ll remember that.”
“Has Sunny Boy ever seen the ocean?” asked Miss Martinson.
“Yes,” that small person assured her. “Twice when I don’t remember, and
twice last year. Mrs. Hadley took us down in the automobile. I went in
wading.”
Mr. Horton, whose eyes were on the road ahead, suddenly put on his
brakes and stopped the automobile.
“Can we help?” he asked.
Sunny Boy had turned in his seat to speak to Miss Martinson and so had
not seen the car ahead of them. Two men were working over the engine,
and a lady and a little girl sat in the back.
“We’re stumped,” said one of the men with a smile. “Been here half an
hour.”
Mr. Horton jumped out and went over to them.
Sunny Boy, curled up in the seat, smiled vaguely at the little girl,
who smiled back. Somewhere, hidden in the trees along the roads,
insects were humming. A faint wind rustled the dry, dusty grass. The
engine of the other car started chugging with a gay, determined sound.
Mr. Horton shook hands with the men and came back to the car.
“Mother,” he said carelessly, putting his tools away in the box, “I
think some one is going to sleep.”
Sunny wondered who was going to sleep, and who was lifting him over the
back of the seat, and whose lap was so soft—and why—and what—and then—
“Well, precious, you’ve had a nice little nap. We’re almost at Nestle
Cove. Sit up, and smell the salt in the air,” said Mrs. Horton.
Sunny Boy rubbed his eyes. He had been asleep.
“Harry,” Mrs. Horton leaned forward, and touched her husband’s arm.
“There’s a little inn; couldn’t we stop there a minute? We’d like to
look half-way presentable when we go through the town. Every one will
be out on the porches, you know.”
“And my hair’s a sight,” declared Aunt Bessie positively.
“I _would_ like to wash my face,” announced Miss Martinson.
“Old man, what do you want to do?” asked Mr. Horton, turning the car
into the pretty white driveway bordered on either side with dazzling
white clam shells.
“I could eat,” ventured Sunny Boy cautiously.
“My sentiments exactly,” agreed his father.
“But we’ll have an early supper,” protested Mrs. Horton. “I’d rather
you waited, Sunny Boy. The time won’t seem long.”
“Well, but, Mother, couldn’t I have an ice-cream cone?” asked Sunny
Boy. “Time is quicker when you have a cone.”
“Yes, Mother,” teased Mr. Horton. “Time is ever so much quicker when we
have a cone. Please, Mother?”
Mrs. Horton laughed.
“We’ll all have cones,” she decided. “First we’ll get tidied up, and
then we ladies will sit down a minute on this charming front porch and
rest, and you and Sunny Boy may bring us the cones.”
So they all went upstairs and a lovely little old lady with red cheeks
and white, white hair, brought them clean towels and warm water,
and showed them into a tiny bedroom with pretty chintz curtains and
furniture to match.
Sunny was ready first and he came downstairs to find Daddy awaiting him.
“And now we can buy the cones,” they both said happily.
“How did you know the kind we liked?” asked Aunt Bessie, when they came
up the steps a few minutes later. She and Miss Martinson and Mother
were rocking in a nice little row.
“They only had vanilla,” answered Sunny Boy, matter-of-factly. “Where’s
Harriet?”
“She’s telephoning for an ice-man,” said Mrs. Horton. “Isn’t she good,
Harry? She wanted us to have ice to-night, and the proprietor of the
inn gave her the name of the man in town who sells ice. We’d better
hurry, or we’ll find it melting on our front doorstep.”
Harriet came out in time to get her ice-cream cone, and then they went
back to the automobile again and got in.
“Smell the ocean now?” said Mr. Horton, as he turned the car around.
“We’re going through the town now, Sunny Boy. You look about and decide
what you want to do when I come down again and we come over for a
little fun.”
Sunny watched with interest. First they went through very clean,
straight streets, with small square lawns before the houses—“like
little green pocket-handkerchiefs”—Aunt Bessie declared. Nearly every
house had a porch, and on every porch were groups of ladies, dressed in
white, knitting or sewing or just talking. Children played croquet on
the lawns, or sat in swings.
“He has a pail,” said Sunny, pointing to a little bare-footed boy
coming up the street swinging a spade and shovel.
“Mercy, isn’t he sunburned!” cried Aunt Bessie. “Sunny Boy, I hope
you’ll be more respectful to your nose!”
From the straight, clean streets, the automobile turned into a wider
thoroughfare, with nothing but stores on either side.
“I see the ocean!” Sunny Boy stood up in the car and shouted.
Sure enough, if one looked down the street straight ahead there was
dark blue water, tossing in the sun.
“There’s where you can buy your pail and shovel,” said Harriet,
pointing out a one-story shop with tin pails and shovels hanging up in
its doorway.
“See all the children,” said Sunny Boy suddenly. “Are they going to the
movies? And oh, look, Daddy!”
“Well, what do you know about that!” and Mr. Horton slowed down the
car in surprise.
“That” was a merry-go-round on a vacant lot next to a brown frame
building marked “Post-office.” The organ was playing merrily and the
children on the prancing animals waved gayly to Sunny Boy as they spun
round. A crowd of youngsters, tickets in hand, stood awaiting their
turn.
“Let’s go on it,” suggested Sunny.
“Not this afternoon,” replied his father. “You see, I think we really
should get to where we are going first, don’t you? I understand the ice
is likely to melt and drown the whole house if we don’t hurry.”
“And it’s five now,” said Mrs. Horton, glancing at the pretty watch on
her wrist. “You’ll have plenty of chances to ride this summer, Sunny.”
And when Sunny Boy saw the sea on the other side of the road he quickly
forgot the merry-go-round.
Nestle Cove was really divided into three parts. There was the town,
through which they had just passed; there was a beautiful stretch of
shore road, with the ocean on one side and sand dunes, with dark pines
back of them, on the other; and then the road led into the bungalow
colony where the cottage Aunt Bessie and Miss Martinson had rented
stood.
“We’re some distance from the town,” Aunt Bessie remarked, as they saw
the roofs of the bungalows and cottages beginning to appear; “but this
is one reason Betty and I liked it. There’s a jitney that runs every
half hour anyway.”
Sunny was watching the waves that ran up the beach almost to the edge
of the road, but never quite; always they seemed to think better of it
and go rushing back into the sea again.
“I see shells,” he remarked, standing up to see better. “An’ pebbles
and fringe—”
“Seaweed,” corrected Mrs. Horton. “Oh, you’ll have the best of times,
dear. And you’ll have Daddy to play with all day to-morrow. Think of
that!”
Mr. Horton looked back at Aunt Bessie.
“How does one know one’s new house?” he inquired seriously.
Aunt Bessie stared, then laughed.
“I haven’t the slightest idea how it looks,” she confessed. “I’ve seen
it only once, and Betty never has. I think it was shingled and painted
green.”
“There’s the ice-man,” said Sunny placidly. “He’s going in our house.”
And so it proved. Harriet had given the ice-man the address, and he had
found the house without a bit of trouble. Aunt Bessie’s key fitted the
front door, and that was another sign they had found the right house.
And before they had taken off their hats, the wife of the owner came in
to explain that she had had the windows up all day so that the place
would be cool and airy for them; and then they knew they had the right
bungalow.
“Why is it a bungalow?” asked Sunny, out in the small garage at the
back of the house, where he had gone to help his father put up the car.
“That’s the name of it,” said Mr. Horton, busy with folding and putting
away the robes and curtains.
“Is a bungalow a house?” persisted Sunny.
“Yes,” answered Mr. Horton. “When all the rooms are on one floor, it is
called a bungalow. You’ll like sleeping on the first floor, Sunny Boy;
we can fall out of the window for an early swim and no one will miss
us. And now let’s go in and offer to set the table for supper. Perhaps
we can hurry things up.”