It was a lovely spring day—very lovely at Viamede, where Mrs. Travilla—or Grandma Elsie, as some of her young friends loved to call her—was seated under the orange trees on the flower-bespangled lawn, with her father and his wife, her cousins, Mr. Ronald Lilburn and Annis, his wife, her children, and some of the more distant relatives and friends gathered about her or wandering here and there at some little distance on the same beautiful lawn.

“What a beautiful place this is!” exclaimed Zoe, breaking a pause in the conversation.

“Yes,” said her husband, “but I am thinking it is about time we returned to our more northern homes.”

“I think it is,” said his grandfather, Mr. Dinsmore.

“I also; I feel as if I had been neglecting my business shamefully,” sighed Chester.

At that Dr. Harold shook his head smilingly. “Don’t let conscience reproach you, Chester, for what has probably saved you from invalidism and perhaps prolonged your life for years.”

“Well, cousin doctor, you will surely admit that I am well enough to go back to work now?” laughed Chester.

“Perhaps; but wait a little till you hear a plan I have to propose. Mother,” he went on, turning to her, “I met a gentleman yesterday who has just returned from California, which he pronounces the loveliest, most salubrious section of our country, and what he had to say of its climate and scenery has aroused in me a strong desire to visit it, taking you all with me—especially those of our party who are my patients.”

“Hardly at this time of year; though, I suppose, Harold,” she replied, giving him a look of loving appreciation, “it would seem wiser to move in a northerly direction before the summer heats come on.”

“Well, mother, this gentleman says the summers there are really more enjoyable than the winters, and the map shows us that Santa Barbara is a few degrees farther north than we are here, and San Francisco some few degrees north of that. It is not a tropical, but a semi-tropical climate, and for every month in the year you need the same sort of clothing that you wear in New York or Chicago in the winter. He tells me that for two-thirds of the year the weather is superb—the heat rare above 68 degrees and almost always tempered by a refreshing breeze from the ocean or the mountains. Sometimes there are fogs, but they don’t bring with them the raw, searching dampness of our eastern ones. Indeed, from all I have heard and read of the climate I think it would be most beneficial for these patients of mine,” Harold concluded, glancing smilingly from one to another.

“And a most enjoyable trip for us all, I have no doubt,” said Captain Raymond.

“How about the expense?” queried Chester.

“Never mind about that,” said the captain. “I claim the privilege of bearing it for the party. How many will go?”

“The Dolphin could hardly be made to hold us all, papa,” laughed Grace.

“No; nor to cross the plains and mountains,” returned her father with an amused smile. “We would go by rail and let those who prefer going home at once do so in our yacht.”

At that Edward Travilla, standing near, looked greatly pleased. “That is a most kind and generous offer, captain,” he said, “and I for one shall be very glad to accept it.”

“We will consider that you have done so,” returned the captain, “and you can begin engaging your passengers as soon as you like. But I am forgetting that I should first learn how many will accept my invitation for the land trip. Grandpa and Grandma Dinsmore, you will do so, will you not? And you, mother, Cousin Ronald and Cousin Annis?”

There was a slight demur, a little asking and answering of questions back and forth, which presently ended in a pleased acceptance of the captain’s generous invitation by all who had come with him in the Dolphin—Violet, his wife, with their children, Elsie and Ned; his older daughters, Lucilla and Grace, with Chester, Lucilla’s husband, and Grace’s lover, Dr. Harold Travilla; Evelyn, Max’s wife, and last but not least in importance, Grandma Elsie, Mr. and Mrs. Dinsmore—her father and his wife—and the cousins—Mr. Ronald Lilburn and Annis, his wife.

All had become greatly interested, and the talk was very cheery and animated. Different routes to California were discussed, and it was presently decided to go by the Southern Pacific, taking the cars at New Orleans—and that they would make an early start, as would those who were to return home in the Dolphin.

“May I take my Tiny along, papa?” asked Elsie, standing by his side with the little monkey on her shoulder.

“I think not, daughter,” he replied; “she would be very apt to get lost while we are wandering about in that strange part of the country.”

“Then I suppose I’ll have to leave her here till we come back; and do you think any of the servants can be trusted to take good care of her and not let her get lost in the woods, papa?” asked the little girl in tones quivering with emotion.

“If you will trust me to take care of her she can go home with us in the yacht and live at Ion till you come for her,” said Zoe. Then, turning to Ned, who was there with his pet: “And I make you the same offer for your Tee-tee,” she added, “for, of course, if Elsie’s can’t be trusted to go to California, neither can yours.”

“Thank you, Aunt Zoe,” both children answered, but in tones that told of regret that even for a time they must resign the care of their pets to another.

“And we’ll have Tiny and Tee-tee in the yacht with us. How nice that will be!” exclaimed little Eric Leland. “They are fine, amusing little fellows, and you may be sure, Elsie and Ned, that we will take good care of them.”

“And be willing to give them back to us when we get home?” asked Elsie.

“Honest enough to do so, I hope, whether we’re willing or not,” laughed Eric.

“Yes, of course we would,” said his sister, Alie, “for we are honest folks; but I’m glad we can have the cute little monkeys with us even for awhile.”

“On the yacht you will, but I think we’ll have them at Ion after we get home,” said Lily Travilla, the little daughter of Edward and Zoe, “because it’s papa and mamma who have promised to take care of them.”

“Yes,” said Elsie, “and I’m sure Uncle Edward and Aunt Zoe will be good to them—so good that I’m most afraid they’ll grow fonder of them than of Ned and me.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think there is any danger of that,” said Zoe, “and if they should, you can soon win their hearts back again by your love and kindness.”

“Oh, I do believe we can, Aunt Zoe; for the dear little things love us now, I’m sure,” cried Elsie, giving Tiny a hug and a loving pat.

But the older people were chatting about the necessary preparations for the journey, and the children grew quiet to listen. Their plans were laid in a few moments, and within twenty-four hours all embarked for New Orleans, in the same boat, and on reaching that city the two companies parted, Edward and his charges starting eastward in the Dolphin, Captain Raymond and his taking a westward-bound train on the Southern Pacific.

The little company, especially the younger ones, were in fine spirits; they were pleasant companions for each other, the weather was fine, and the prospect of sight-seeing before them quite delightful. The children had many questions to ask about what they should see in California, which the older people, especially their father, were kindly ready to answer.

“At what place will we stop first, papa?” asked Elsie.

“At Coronado Beach, which is not very far from Los Angeles. We will take rooms at the Hotel del Coronado, which is an immense building, yet very homelike and delightful. It has an inner court, with trees, flowers and vines, and around that court many suites of rooms, each with its own bath and sitting-room, so that a party of guests such as ours can be very comfortable and as private as they please.”

“And if they don’t want to be very private I suppose they can mingle with other folks, can’t they, papa?” asked Ned.

“Yes, indeed; there is almost every kind of amusement that is found elsewhere. Probably fishing and yachting, walking and driving along the beach, will suit us as well or better than anything else; there is a drive of twelve miles along the beach at low tide.”

“But I fear we will find it too warm for outdoor sports at this time of year,” remarked Mrs. Dinsmore.

“No, grandma, I think not,” said Dr. Harold. “I have been told the summer climate is better than the winter—never too warm for comfort, dry and tempered as it is by the ocean breeze. You do not find there the raw, searching dampness felt at Eastern seaside resorts; but I’m told it is too cold for the comfort of invalids during the March rains. They are happily over now, and I think that even our invalids will find the weather comfortably warm.”

“And comfortably cool?” queried his mother, giving him a proudly affectionate look and smile.

“I think the ocean breeze will make it that, mother,” he answered, returning her smile with one as full of affection as her own.

“I do believe we are going to have a delightful time,” exclaimed Lucilla in joyous tones; “everything will be so new and fresh—lovely scenery, beautiful plants and flowers, and the climate all that one could desire.”

“Well, I hope you will not be disappointed, daughter,” the captain said; “but California is not heaven and you must expect some unpleasantnesses.”

“I hope there won’t be sicknesses,” said Grace.

“No,” said Evelyn sportively, “we must all try to keep well that our good doctor may not be robbed of his vacation.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Raymond,” said Harold, with a bow and smile, “I sincerely hope you will all keep well for your own sakes more than mine.”

“You may be sure we will all do our best in that line, Harold, and even more for our own sakes than for yours,” laughed his sister, Violet.

“I hope so,” he returned. “Having persuaded you all to take the trip I am extremely desirous that it may prove beneficial.”

They had been talking during a pause in the movement of the train, and now, as it started on again, they relapsed into silence.