They had gone to the seashore, an unusual, and welcome, day trip.
Papa didn't ordinarily take time off from work, and it was expensive to ride on the train, but he had come home in good spirits declaring that it was "someone's birthday, I wonder whose?
" and Helena had clapped her hands, saying "Mine, Papa, mine," until Mama had shushed her for shouting. Charles had sulked.
Papa hadn't taken a day from work to take them to the seashore for his birthday, but Charles' birthday was in February, not in September when it was still nice enough to walk along the beach,
if not venture out into the ocean.
Very early the next morning they had gone to the station, Helena still half-asleep and thinking the seashore didn't sound nearly as inviting as it had yesterday.
Papa carried a hamper filled with food, Charles labored with a couple of blankets rolled tightly and tied with string, while Mama held baby Robert, or Bob as the family was already calling him,
to her chest, who was waving his arms as if he were excited at the prospect of seeing the ocean for the first time.
Although Helena had intended to stay awake to watch all the people in their car and to wonder about where they were going and where they had come from,
the rocking of the train lulled her to sleep, and Papa had had to shake her shoulder to wake her at their stop.
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