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"But I thought we—we would have lovely auto trips," stammered her mother apologetically. "Take them from here, you know, and stay overnight at hotels around. I've always wanted to do that; and we can now, dear."

"Auto trips! Pooh!" shrugged Elizabeth. "Why, mumsey, we're going to

the shore for July, and to the mountains for August. You and daddy and

I. And Fred's going, too, only he'll be at the Gaylord camp in the

Adirondacks, part of the time."

"Is that true, Fred?" James Blaisdell's eyes, fixed on his son, were half wistful, half accusing.

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Fred stirred restlessly.

"Well, I sort of had to, governor," he apologized. "Honest, I did. There are some things a man has to do! Gaylord asked me, and—Hang it all, I don't see why you have to look at me as if I were committing a crime, dad!"

"You aren't, dear, you aren't," fluttered Fred's mother hurriedly; "and

I'm sure it's lovely you've got the chance to go to the Gaylords' camp.

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And it's right, quite right, that we should travel this summer, as

Bessie—er—Elizabeth suggests. I never thought; but, of course, you

young people don't want to be hived up in Hillerton all summer!"

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"Bet your life we don't, mater," shrugged Fred, carefully avoiding his father's eyes, "after all that grind."

"GRIND, Fred?"

But Fred had turned away, and did not, apparently, hear his father's grieved question.

Mr. Smith learned all about the vacation plans a day or two later from

"Yep, we're all goin' away for all summer," he repeated, after he had told the destination of most of the family. "I don't think ma wants to, much, but she's goin' on account of Bess. Besides, she says everybody who is anybody always goes away on vacations, of course. So we've got to. They're goin' to the beach first, and I'm goin' to a boys' camp up in Vermont—Mellicent, she's goin' to a girls' camp. Did you know that?"

Mr. Smith shook his head.