136 ROUND ABOUT CHICAGO 



fences that some one, for some unknown reason, 

 has put around the lots. I can never see bouncing- 

 Betty without visions and odors of warm brown 

 acres, with a quiet white farmhouse and its ram- 

 bling garden in their midst. 



There are other surprises down by the lake. 

 Back from the road that fronts the most fash- 



ionable of hotels, is a waste of forbidding sand, 

 and no one ventures there. But beyond and 

 through it, is a bit of curving beach, hard and 

 pebbly, with one or two stranded drift logs to 

 lean against. If you listened you could hear the 

 voices of the promenaders at the hotel and the 

 tooting automobiles on their way to the park. 

 But your back is to all such, and your eyes face 

 the swinging curve of the wave-lapped bay and 



