great pink blossom whose stem was carefully divested of every thorn.
The subject of the evening was, by Rob’s choice, the shell-fish found along the shore; and the boys entered into it with an enthusiasm that moved Bess to suggest,—
“You boys seem so interested in animals and things of that kind, why don’t you start a museum of specimens?”
“What should we get to put in it?” asked Phil, as, with both hands behind him, he endeavored to crack a nut without being caught in the act. A click of the shell betrayed him, and he blushed furiously, as Bess raised her eyebrows at him, while Rob answered promptly,—
“Oh, bugs and butterflies.”
And Sam added,—
“Stones and shells.”
“Want any snakes?” asked Ted wickedly.
“Never!” replied Bess with fervor. “I don’t want anything alive. I only meant moths and butterflies, or perhaps pressed flowers and curious stones and shells, that would help us understand the world we live in, and teach
