Almost an acre of ground was theirs, and though as yet empty of special interest, King could see its possibilities.
"Room for a tennis court," he said; "then I guess we'll have a big swing, and a hammock, and a tent, and----" "And a merry-go-round," supplemented Mr.Maynard, overhearing King's plans.
"No, not that, Father," said Marjorie, "but we _can_ have swings and things, can't we ?" "I 'spect so, Mopsy.

But with the ocean and the beach, I doubt if you'll stay in this yard much." "Oh, that's so; I forgot the ocean! Come on, Father, let's go and look at it." So the three went down to the beach, and Marjorie, who hadn't been to the seashore since she was a small child, plumped herself down on the sand, and just gazed out at the tumbling waves.
"I don't care for the swings and things," she said.

"I just want to stay here all the time, and dig and dig and dig." As she spoke she was digging her heels into the fine white sand, and poking her hands in, and burying her arms up to her dimpled elbows.
"Oh, Father, isn't it gee-lorious! Sit down, won't you, and let us bury you in sand, all but your nose!" "Not now," said Mr.Maynard, laughing.

"Some day you may, when I'm in a bathing suit.

But I don't care for pockets full of sand.