Old Mr. King, as young as any one, started out on the promenade
on the undulating terrace at the top of the Dunes, followed by the rest
of his party.
Down below ran a level road. "There is the Boulevard," said Grandpapa.
"See, child," pointing to it; but Phronsie had no eyes for anything but
the hundreds and hundreds of Bath chairs dotting the sands.
"Oh, Grandpapa, what are they?" she cried, pulling his hand and
pointing to them.
"Those are chairs," answered Mr. King, "and by and by we will go down
and get into some of them."
"They look just like the big sunbonnets that Grandma Bascom always wore
when she went out to feed her hens, don't they, Jasper?"
"Precisely," he said, bursting into a laugh. "How you always do see
funny things, Polly."
"And see what queer patches there are all up and down the sides of some
of them," cried Polly. "Whatever can they be, Jasper?"
"Oh, those are the advertisements," said Jasper. "You'll find that
everything is plastered up in that way abroad."
"Just as the omnibuses in London are all covered over with posters,"
said Polly; "weren't they funny, Jasper?"
"Yes, indeed,--'Lipton Teas,'--I got so tired of that. And these,--cocoa
or chocolate. You know Holland is full of manufactories of it."
"And isn't it good?" cried Polly, smacking her lips, as she had feasted
on it since their arrival in Holland, Grandpapa considering it
especially good and pure.
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