"Papa, may I drive?" asked Marian in her quiet way. Receiving consent,
she took the reins. Dolly soon noticed a difference in drivers.
Presently she went so fast, that she satisfied even Beth as to speed.

"Look at the river," cried Beth. They were driving under great,
over-arching trees. To the right of them, between the openings of the
trees, the glorious St. Johns was to be seen gleaming under the
brilliant tropical sun.

"That's a beautiful hammock yonder," said Mr. Davenport.

Beth could see no hammock. There was a wonderful, intricate growth of
shrubs, trees, and vines which formed an almost impenetrable mass of
green, but no hammock.

"Where is it?" she asked. "It seems a very queer place for a hammock."

Mr. Davenport laughed at her, and explained that such a mass of green
is called a hammock in Florida, not hummock as in the North.

Very soon they were past the swamps. The banks of the river grew
higher and nice houses were to be seen on either side of the road.

Dolly, of her own accord, turned in at the gate of an unusually
beautiful place. There are no fine lawns in Florida. In this case,
the lack of such green was made up by a waving mass of blooming
cardinal phlox, behind which was an orange grove in full bearing. In
the well-cultivated grounds there were many inviting drives through
avenues of trees.