Saturday was hailed with delight by the four Maynards.
Now that school had begun, a whole playday meant more than it did in vacation time, when all days were playdays.
It was a glorious September day, and as it was an early autumn, many leaves had fallen and lay thick upon the ground.
"I know what to do," said Marjorie, as directly after breakfast they put on hats and coats for outdoor play of some sort. "Let's make leaf-houses."
"All right," said Kingdon, "and let's telephone for the others."
"The others" always meant the two Fultons and Kitty's friend, Dorothy Adams.
Rosy Posy was too little to have a special chum, so Boffin was her companion.
Leaf-houses was a favorite game with all ofthem, and soon the three guests came skipping through the gate.
The leaves had been raked from the lawn, but down in the orchard they were on the ground like a thick carpet. The orchard had many maples and elms, as well as fruit trees, so there were leaves of all sorts.
"Isn't it fun to scuffle through 'em!" said Marjorie, as she led the way, shuffling along, almost knee-deep in the brown, dry leaves.
"More fun to roll!" cried Dick, tumbling down and floundering about.
Down went Rosy Posy in imitation of Dick's performance, and then they all fell into the leaves, and burrowed about like rabbits.
Presently Marjorie's head emerged like a bright-eyed turtle poking out from its shell, and shaking the dead leaves out of her curls, she said: "Come on, let's make houses. King, won't you and Dick get some rakes?"
The boys flew off to the toolhouse, and came back with several rakes, both wood and iron ones.
"Here's all we can find," said King. "Some of us can rake, and some can build things."
They all set to work with a will, and soon twohouses were in process of construction.
These houses were, of course, merely a ground plan, and long, low piles of leaves divided the rooms. Openings in these partitions made doors, and the furniture was also formed of heaps of leaves. A long heap was a sofa, and a smaller heap a chair, while a round, flat heap was a table.
King, Gladys, and Dorothy were one family, while Dick, Marjorie, and Kitty were the other.
Rosy Posy was supposed to be an orphan child, who lived with one family or the other in turn, as suited her somewhat fickle fancy.
In each family the children represented father, mother, and daughter, and they were pleasantly neighborly, or at odds with each other, as occasion required.
To-day the spirit of adventure was strong in Marjorie, and she decreed they should play robbers.
This was always a good game, so they all agreed.
"First, King's family must be robbed," said Midget; "and then, after you catch us, you rob us."
The burglaries were thus amicably planned, andKingdon and his family, lying on leaf-couches, fell into a deep, but somewhat noisy slumber. Indeed, their snoring was loud enough to frighten away most robbers.
Rosy Posy didn't count in this game, so she was allowed to wander in and out of either house.
When the Kingdon family wereverysound asleep, the Dick family crept softly in through the open doors, and endeavored to steal certain valuable silver from the sideboard. This silver was admirably represented by chips and sticks.
Dick and Marjorie had secured their booty and were carefully sneaking away when King awoke, and with a howl pounced upon Kitty, who was still industriously stealing silver.
This, of course, was part of the game, and Dick and Midget wrung their hands in despair as they saw their daughter forcibly detained by the master of the house.
Then Gladys and Dorothy were awakened by the noise, and added their frightened screams to the general hullaballoo.
Kitty was bound hand and foot in the very dining-room where the silver had been, and Kingwent valiantly out to hunt the other marauders. Then the game was for King and his family to try to catch Dick and Midget, or for Kitty's parents to release her from her bondage.
At last, as King and Gladys were both engaged in chasing Dick, Marjorie found an opportunity to free Kitty, and then the game began again, the other way round.
At last they tired of hostilities and agreed to rebuild their houses, combining them in one, and calling it a big hotel.
"Or a clubhouse," said King, who had recently visited one with his father, and had been much impressed.
"Clubhouses are grand," he said. "They have porches, and swimming-pools, and gyms, and dining-rooms, and everything!"
So the architecture was changed, and soon a fine clubhouse was outlined in leafy relief.
"Then if this is a clubhouse, we're a club," said Kitty, thoughtfully.
"Oh, let's be a club!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Clubs are lots of fun. I mean children's clubs—not big ones like father's."
"What do clubs do?" asked Dorothy, who hada wholesome fear of some of the Maynards' escapades.
"Why, we can do anything we want to, if we're a club," said Dick. "I think it would be fun. What shall we do?"
"Let's cut up jinks," said Marjorie, who was especially energetic that day.
"And let's call it the Jinks Club," suggested Gladys.
"Goody! Goody!!" cried Midge. "Just the thing, Glad! And then we can cut up any jinks we want to,—as long as they're good jinks," she added, thoughtfully.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded King.
"Well, you see, last summer at Grandma's, she told me there were good jinks and bad jinks. She meant just plain fun, or real mischief. And I promised I'd cut up only good jinks."
"All right," said Dick, "I'll agree to that. We just want to have fun, you know; not get into mischief."
So, as they were all agreed on this, the Jinks Club was started.
"I'll be president," volunteered Marjorie.
"Does somebody have to be president?" askedGladys. "And does the president have all the say?"
"Let's all be presidents," said King. "I know clubs usually have only one; but who cares? We'll be different."
"All right," said Marjorie. "And, anyway, we won't need a secretary and treasurer and such things, so we'll each be president. I think that will be more fun, too."
"Me be president," announced Rosy Posy, "an' Boffin be a president, too."
"Yes," said King, smiling at his baby sister, "you and Boff and all the rest of us. Then, you see, we can all make rules, if we want to."
"We don't need many rules," said Dick. "Just a few about meetings and things. When shall we meet?"
"Every day after school, and every Saturday," said Marjorie, who was of a whole-souled nature.
"Oh, no!" said Gladys. "I know Mother won't let me come as often as that."
"Don't let's have special times," said King. "Just whenever we're all together, we'll have a meeting."
This was agreed to, but Marjorie didn't seemquite satisfied.
"It doesn't seem like a real club," she said, "unless we have dues and badges and things like that."
"Huh, dues!" said King. "I want to spend my money for other things besides dues to an old club! What would we do with the dues, anyway?"
"Oh, save them up in the treasury," said Marjorie, "until we had enough to go to the circus, or something nice like that."
This sounded attractive, and King reconsidered.
"Well, I don't mind," he said. "But I won't give all my money. I have fifty cents a week. I'll give ten."
"So will I," said Dick, and the others all agreed to do the same.
Of course, Rosy Posy didn't count, so this made sixty cents a week, and furthermore it necessitated a treasurer.
"Let's each be treasurer," said King, remembering how well his presidential plan had succeeded.
"No," said Midget; "that's silly. I'll betreasurer, and I'll keep all the money safely, until we want to use it for something nice."
"Yes, let's do that," said Gladys. "Mopsy's awfully careful about such things, and she'll keep the money better than any of us. I haven't mine here now; I'll bring it over this afternoon."
"I don't care much about the money part," said King. "I want to cut up jinks. When do we begin?"
"Right now!" said Marjorie, jumping up. "The first jink is to bury King in leaves!"
The rest caught the idea, and in a moment the luckless Kingdon was on his back and held down by Dick, while the girls piled leaves all over him. They left his face uncovered, so he could breathe, but they heaped leaves over the rest of him, and packed them down firmly, so he couldn't move.
When he was thoroughly buried, Marjorie said: "Now we'll hide. Don't start to hunt till you count fifty, King."
"One, two, three," began the boy, and the others flew off in all directions.
All except Rosy Posy. She remained, and, patting King's cheek with her fat little hand, said: "Me'll take care of you, Budder. Don't ky."
"All right, Baby,—thirty-six, thirty-seven,thirty-eight,—take that leaf out of my eye! thirty-nine, forty—thank you, Posy."
A minute more, and King shouted "Fifty! Coming, ready or not!" and, shaking himself out of his leaf-heap, he ran in search of the others. Rosy Posy, used to being thus unceremoniously left, tumbled herself and Boffin into the demolished leaf-heap, and played there contentedly.
King hunted for some minutes without finding anybody. Then a voice right over his head said, "Oo-ee!"
He looked up quickly, but saw only a tree which had not yet shed its foliage, and who was up there he could not guess from the voice.
If he guessed wrong, he must be "It" over again, so he peered cautiously up into the branches.
"Who are you?" he called.
"Oo-ee!" said a voice again, but this time it sounded different.
"Here goes, then," said King, and he swung himself up into the lower branches, keeping sharp watch lest his quarry elude him, and slip down the other side.
But once fairly up in the tree, he found thewhole five there awaiting him, and as they all dropped quickly to the ground, and ran for "home" he had to jump and follow, to get there first himself.
The jolly game of Hide-and-Seek lasted the rest of the morning, and then the little guests went home, promising to come back in the afternoon and bring their contributions to the treasury of the "Jinks Club."
The afternoon meeting found the Maynards in spandy-clean clothes, sitting on the side veranda.
"Mother says we're not to romp this afternoon," explained Marjorie. "She says we may swing, or play in the hammock, or on the lawn, but we can't go to the orchard."
"All right," said good-natured Dick; "and, say, I've been thinking over our club, and I think we ought to be more like a real club. Why not have regular meetings, and have programmes and things?"
"Oh!" groaned King. "Speak pieces, do you mean?"
"No; not that. We get enough of speaking pieces, Friday afternoons, in school. I mean,—oh, pshaw, I don't know what I mean!"
"You mean read minutes, and things like that,"suggested Marjorie, helpfully.
"Yes," said Dick, eagerly, "that's just what I mean."
"All right," said Marjorie, "I'll be secretary, and write them."
"Now, look here, Midge," said Kingdon, "you can't be everything! You want to be president and treasurer and secretary and all. Perhaps you'd like to be all the members!"
"Fiddlesticks, King!" said Marjorie; "nobody else seems to want to be anything. Now, I'll tell you what, let's have six things to be,—officers, you know, and then we'll each be one."
"That's a good way," said Gladys. "You be treasurer, Marjorie, 'cause you're so good at arithmetic, and you can take care of our money. Dick can be secretary, 'cause he writes so well."
"I will," said Dick, "if King will be president. He's best for that,—and then, Gladys, you can be vice-president."
"What can Dorothy and I be?" asked Kitty, who didn't see many offices left.
Marjorie considered. "You can be the committee," she said, at last. "They always have a committee to decide things."
This sounded pleasing, and now all were satisfied.
"Well, if I'm treasurer," said Marjorie, "I'll take up the collection now."
Promptly five dimes were handed to her, and, adding one of her own, she put them all into a little knitted silk purse she had brought for the purpose.
"Is there any further business to come before this meeting?" asked the President, rolling out his words with great dignity, as befitted his position.
"No, sir," said Kitty; "I'm the committee to decide things, and I say there isn't any more business. So what do we do next?"
"I'll tell you!" cried Midget, in a sudden burst of inspiration; "let's go down to Mr. Simmons' and all have ice-cream with our money in the treasury. I'll ask Mother if we may."
"But, Mopsy!" cried King, in surprise. "I thought we were to save that to go to the circus."
"Oh, pshaw! Father'll take us to the circus. Or we can save next week's money for that. But,truly, I feel like cutting up jinks, and we can't play in the orchard, and it would be lots of fun to go for ice-cream, all together."
"It would be fun," said Dick; and then they all agreed to Marjorie's plan.
Mrs. Maynard listened with amusement to the story, and then said they might go if they would behave like little ladies and gentlemen and return home inside of an hour.
Off they started, and a more decorous-looking crowd than the Jinks Club one would not wish to see!
Mr. Simmons' Ice-Cream Garden was a most attractive place.
It was a small grove, by the side of a small stream, and the tables were in a sort of pavilion that overlooked the water.
The children were welcomed by the good-natured old proprietor, who had served his ice-cream to their parents when they were children.
"And what kind will you have?" asked Mr. Simmons, after they were seated around a table.
This required thought, but each finally chose a favorite mixture, and soon they were enjoyingthe pink or white pyramids that were brought them.
"I do think the Jinks Club is lovely," said Kitty, as she gazed out over the water and contentedly ate her ice-cream.
"So do I," said Dorothy, who always agreed with her adored chum, but was, moreover, happy on her own account.
"I shall write all this up in the minutes!" declared Dick. "And when shall we have our next meeting?"
"Next Saturday," said Kitty. "I'm the committee, and I decide things."
"So do I," said Dorothy, and they all agreed to meet the next Saturday morning.
"Whatisthe matter, Midge?" said her father, "You sigh as if you'd lost your last friend."
The family were in the pleasant living-room one evening, just after dinner.
All, that is, except Rosy Posy, who had gone to bed long ago. Kingdon was reading, and Kitty was idly playing with the kitten, while Marjorie, her head bent over a book on the table, was abstractedly moving her lips as if talking to herself.
"Oh, Father! it's this horrid old spelling lesson. I justcan'tlearn it, and that all there is about it!"
"Can't learn to spell? Bring me your book, and let me have a look at it."
Very willingly Marjorie flew to her father's side, and, big girl though she was, perched herself on his knee while she showed him the page.
"Just look! There's 'deleble' spelled with ane, and 'indelible' with an i! Why can't they spell them alike?"
"I think myself they might as well have done so," said Mr. Maynard, "but, since they didn't, we'll have to learn them as they are. Where is your lesson?"
"All that page. And they're fearfully hard words. And words I'll never use anyway. Why would I want to use 'harassed' and 'daguerreotype' and 'macaroni' and such words as those?"
Mr. Maynard smiled at the troubled little face.
"You may not want to use them, dearie, but it is part of your education to learn to spell them. Come, now, I'll help you, and we'll soon put them through. Let's pick out the very hardest one first."
"All right; 'daguerreotype' is the hardest."
"Oh, pshaw, no! That's one of the very easiest. Just remember that it was a Frenchman named Daguerre who invented the process; then you only have to add 'o' and 'type,' and there you are!"
"Why, thatiseasy! I'll never forget that. 'Macaroni' is a hard one, though."
"Why?"
"Oh, because I always put two c's or two r's ortwo n's in it."
"Ho, that makes it easy, then. Just remember that there isn't a double letter in it, and then spell it just as it sounds. Why, macaroni is so long and thin that there isn't room for a double letter in it."
"Oh, Father, you make it so easy. Of course I'll remember that, now."
Down the long list they went, and Mr. Maynard, with some little quip or quibble, made each word of special interest, and so fixed it in Marjorie's memory. At the end of a half-hour she was perfect in the lesson, and had thoroughly enjoyed the learning of it.
"I wish you'd help me every night," she said, wistfully. "All this week, anyway. For there's to be a spelling-match on Friday, between our class and Miss Bates' class, and we want to win. But I'm such a bad speller, nobody wants to choose me on their side."
"They don't, don't they? Well, I rather think we'll change all that. You and I will attack Mr. Speller every evening, and see if we can't vanquish him."
"I think we can," said Marjorie, her eyessparkling. "For it's only some few of those catchy words that I can't seem to learn. But after you help me they all seem easy."
So every night that week Midge and her father had a spelling-class of their own, and fine work was accomplished.
The spelling-match was to be on Friday, and Thursday night they were to have a grand review of all the lessons. Marjorie brought home her schoolbooks on Thursday, and left them in the house while she went out to play. But when she came in to get ready for dinner, her mother was dressing to go out.
"Where are you going, Mother?" said Marjorie, looking admiringly at her mother's pretty gown.
"We're going to Mrs. Martin's to dinner, dearie. She invited us over the telephone this morning. There's a very nice dinner prepared for you children, and you must have a good time by yourselves, and not be lonesome. Go to bed promptly at nine o'clock, as we shall be out late."
"Is father going, too?" cried Marjorie, aghast.
"Yes, of course. You may fasten my glove,Midget, dear."
"But I want father to help me with my spelling."
"I thought about that, Mops," said her father, coming into the room. "And I'm sorry I have to be away to-night. But I'll tell you what we'll do. When is this great spelling-match,—to-morrow?"
"Yes, to-morrow afternoon."
"Well, you study by yourself this evening, and learn all you can. Then skip to bed a bit earlier than usual, and then hop up early to-morrow morning. You and I will have an early breakfast, at about seven o'clock. Then from half-past seven to half-past eight I'll drill you in that old speller till you can spell the cover right off it."
"All right," said Marjorie. "It's really just as well for me to study alone to-night, and then you can help me a lot to-morrow morning. But won't it make you too late going to business?"
"No, I'll take a half-hour off for your benefit. If I leave here by half-past eight that will do nicely, and that's about the time you want to go to school."
So the matter was settled, and Mr. and Mrs.Maynard drove away, leaving the three children to dine by themselves. The meal was a merry one, for when thus left to themselves the children always "pretended."
"I'm a princess," said Marjorie, as she seated herself in her mother's place. "These dishes are all gold, and I'm eating birds of paradise with nectarine sauce."
Even as she spoke, Sarah brought her a plate of soup, and Midge proceeded to eat it with an exaggerated air of grandeur, which she thought befitted a princess.
"I'm not a prince," said Kingdon. "I'm an Indian chief, and I'm eating wild boar steak, which I shot with my own trusty bow and arrows."
"I'm a queen in disguise," said Kitty. "I'm hiding from my pursuers, so I go around in plain, dark garbs, and no one knows I'm a queen."
"How do we all happen to be dining at one table?" asked Marjorie.
"It's a public restaurant," said King. "We all came separately, and just chanced to sit at the same table. May I ask your name, Madam?"
"I'm the Princess Seraphina," said Marjorie,graciously. "My home is in the sunny climes of Italy, and I'm travelling about to see the world. And you, noble sir, what is your name?"
"I am Chief Opodeldoc, of the Bushwhack Tribe. My tomahawk is in my belt, and whoever offends me will add his scalp to my collection!"
"Oh, sir," said Kitty, trembling; "I pray you be not so fierce of manner! I am most mortal timid."
Kitty had a fine dramatic sense, and always threw herself into her part with her whole soul. The others would sometimes drop back into their every-day speech, but Kitty was always consistent in her assumed character.
"Is it so, fair Lady?" said King, looking valiant. "Have no fear of me. Should aught betide I will champion thy cause to the limit."
"And mine?" said Marjorie. "Can you champion us both, Sir Opodeldoc?"
"Aye, that can I. But I trust this is a peaceful hostelry. I see no sign of warfare."
"Nay, nay, but war may break out apace. Might I enquire your name, fair lady?"
"Hist!" said Kitty, her finger on her lip, andlooking cautiously about, "I am, of a truth, the Queen of—of Macedonia. But disguised as a poor waif, I seek a hiding-place from my tormentors."
"Why do they torment you?"
"'Tis a dark secret; ask me not. But tell of yourself, Princess Seraphina. Dost travel alone?"
"Yes; with but my suite of armed retainers. Cavalrymen and infantry attend my way, and twelve ladies-in-waiting wait on me."
"A great princess, indeed," said King, in admiration. "We are well met!"
"Methinks I am discovered!" cried Kitty, as Sarah approached her with a dish of pudding. "This damsel! She is of my own household. Ha! Doth she recognize me?"
Although used to the nonsense of the children, Sarah couldn't entirely repress a giggle as Kitty glared at her.
"Eat your dinner, Miss Kitty," she said, "an' don't be afther teasin' me."
"Safe!" exclaimed Kitty. "She knows me not! 'Kitty' she calls me! Ha!"
The play went on all through the meal, for theMaynards never tired of this sort of fun.
"I'm going out for a few minutes," said King, as they at last rose from the table. "Father said I might go down to Goodwin's to get slides for my camera. I won't be gone long."
"All right," said Marjorie, "I'm going to study my spelling. What are you going to do, Kit?"
"I'm going up to the playroom. Nannie is going to tell me stories while she sews."
So Marjorie was alone in the living-room as she took up her school-bag to get her spelling-book from it. To her dismay it was not there! The book which she had mistakenly brought for her speller was her mental arithmetic; they were much the same size, and she often mistook one for the other.
But this time it was a serious matter. The spelling-match was to be the next day, and how could she review her lessons without her book?
Her energetic mind began to plan what she could do in the matter.
It was already after seven o'clock, quite toolate to go to the schoolhouse after the missing book. If King had been at home she would have consulted him, but she had no one of whom to ask advice.
She remembered what her father had said about getting up early the next morning, and she wondered if she couldn't get up even earlier still, and go to the schoolhouse for the book before breakfast. She could get the key from the janitor, who lived not far from her own home.
It seemed a fairly feasible plan, and, though she would lose her evening's study, she determined to go to bed early, and rise at daybreak to go for the book.
"I'll write a note to mother," she thought, "telling her all about it, and I'll leave it on her dressing-table. Then, when she hears me prowling out at six o'clock to-morrow morning, she'll know what I'm up to."
The notion of an early morning adventure was rather attractive, but suddenly Marjorie thought that she might not be able to get the key from the janitor so early as that.
"Perhaps Mr. Cobb doesn't get up until seven or later, and I can't wait till then," she pondered."I've a good notion to go for that key to-night. Then I can go to the schoolhouse as early as I choose in the morning without bothering anybody."
She rose and went to the window. It was quite dark, for, though the streets were lighted, the lights were far apart, and there was no moon.
Of course, Marjorie never went out alone in the evening, but this was such an exceptional occasion, she felt sure her parents would not blame her.
"If only King was here to go with me," she thought. But King was off on his own errand, and she knew that when he returned he would want to fix his camera, and, anyway, it would be too late then.
Mr. Cobb's house was only three blocks away, and she could run down there and back in ten minutes.
Deciding quickly that she must do it, Marjorie put on her coat and hat and went softly out at the front door. She felt sure that if she told Nurse Nannie or Kitty of her errand, they would raise objections, so she determined to steal off alone. "And then," she thought, "it will be funto come home and ring the bell, and see Sarah's look of astonishment to find me at the door!"
It was a pleasant night, though cool, and Marjorie felt a thrill of excitement as she walked down the dark path to the gate, and then along the street alone.
In a few moments she reached Mr. Cobb's house, and rang the doorbell. Mr. Cobb was not at home, but when Mrs. Cobb appeared at the door, Marjorie made known her errand.
"Why, bless your heart, yes, little girl," said the kindly disposed woman. "I'll let you take the key, of course. Mr. Cobb, he always keeps it hangin' right here handy by. So you're goin' over to the school at sun-up! Well, well, you've got spunk, haven't you, now? And don't bother to bring 't back. Mr. Cobb, he can stop at your house for it, as he goes to the school at half-past seven. Mebbe he'll get there 'fore you do, after all. I dunno if you'll find it so easy to wake up at six o'clock as you think."
"Oh, yes I will, Mrs. Cobb," said Midget. "I'm going to set an alarm clock. The only trouble is that will awaken my sister, too. But I 'spectshe'll go right to sleep again. You see it's averyimportant lesson, and Imusthave that book."
"All right, little lady. Run along now and get to bed early. Are you afraid? Shall I walk home with you?"
"Oh, no, thank you. It's only three blocks, and I'll run all the way. I'm ever so much obliged for the key."
"Oh, that's all right. I'm glad to accommodate you. Good-night."
"Good-night, Mrs. Cobb," said Marjorie, and in another moment the gate clicked behind her.
As she reached the first turning toward her own home, she looked off in the other direction, where the schoolhouse stood. It was several blocks away, and Marjorie was thinking how she would run over there the next morning. And then a crazy thought jumped into her brain. Why not go now? Then she could study this evening, after all. It was dark, to be sure, but it was not so very late,—not eight o'clock yet.
The thought of entering the empty schoolhouse, alone, and in utter darkness, gave her a thrill of fear, but she said to herself:
"How foolish! There's nothing to be afraid ofin an empty schoolhouse. I can feel my way to our classroom, and the street lights will shine in some, anyway. Pooh, I guess I wouldn't be very brave if I was afraid of nothing! And just to think of having that book to-night! I can get it and be back home in twenty minutes. I believe I'll do it!"
Marjorie hesitated a moment at the corner. Then she turned away from her home and toward the schoolhouse, and took a few slow steps.
"Oh, pshaw!" she said to herself. "Don't be a coward, Marjorie Maynard! There's nothing to hurt you, and if you scoot fast, it won't take ten minutes to get that book."
In a sudden accession of bravery, Marjorie started off at a brisk pace.
As she went on, her courage ebbed a little, but a dogged determination kept her from turning back.
"I won't be a baby, or a 'fraid cat!" she said angrily, to herself. "I'm not doing anything wrong, and there's no reason at all to be frightened. But I do wish it wasn't so dark."
The part of town where the school stood was less thickly settled than where Marjorie lived, andshe passed several vacant lots. This made it seem more lonely, and the far-apart street lights only seemed to make darker the spaces between.
But Marjorie trudged on, grasping the key, and roundly scolding herself for being timid.
When at last she stood on the stone steps of the schoolhouse, her courage returned, and, without hesitation, she thrust the key in the lock of the door.
It turned with a harsh, grating sound, and the little girl's heart beat rapidly as she pushed open the heavy door. The hall was as black as a dungeon, but by groping around she found the banister rail, and so made her way upstairs.
Her resolution was undaunted, but the awful silence of the empty, dark place struck a chill to her heart. She ran up the stairs, and tried to sing in order to break that oppressive silence. But her voice sounded queer and trembly, and it made echoes that were worse than no sound at all.
She had to go up two flights of stairs, and as she reached the top of the second flight she wasnear her own classroom. As she turned the doorknob, the street door, downstairs, which she had left open, suddenly slammed shut with a loud bang. The sound reverberated through the building, and Midget stood still, shaking with an unconquerable nervous dread. She didn't know whether the door blew shut or had been slammed to by some person. She no longer pretended to herself that she was not frightened, for she was.
"I know I'm silly," she thought, as two big tears rolled down her cheeks, "but if I can just get that book, and get out of here, won't I run for home!"
Feeling her way, she stumbled into the classroom. A faint light came in from the street, but not enough to allow her to distinguish objects clearly. Indeed, it cast such wavering, ghostly shadows that the total darkness was preferable.
Counting the desks as she went along, she came at last to her own, and felt around in it for her speller.
"There you are!" she exclaimed, triumphantly, as she clutched the book. And somehow the feeling of the familiar volume took away some of the loneliness.
But her trembling fingers let her desk-cover fallwith another of those resounding, reëchoing slams that no one can appreciate who has not heard them under similar circumstances.
By this time Marjorie was thoroughly frightened, though she herself could not have told what she was afraid of. Grasping the precious speller, she started, with but one idea in her mind,—to get downstairs and out of that awful building as quickly as possible.
She groped carefully for the newel-post, for going down was more dangerous than coming up, and she feared she might fall headlong.
Safely started, however, she almost ran downstairs, and reached the ground floor, only to find the front door had a spring-lock, which had fastened itself when the door banged shut.
Marjorie's heart sank within her when she realized that she was locked in the schoolhouse.
She thought of the key, but she had stupidly left that on the outside of the door.
"But anyway," she thought, "I don't believe you have to have a key on the inside. You don't to our front door at home. You only have to pull back a little brass knob."
The thought of home made a lump come intopoor Marjorie's throat, and the tears came plentifully as she fumbled vainly about the lock of the door.
"Oh, dear," she said to herself, "just s'pose I have to stay here all night. Iwon'tgo upstairs again. I'll sit on the steps and wait till morning."
But at last something gave way, the latch flew up, and Marjorie swung the big door open, and felt the cool night air on her face once more.
It was very dark, but she didn't mind that, now that she was released from her prison, and, after making sure that the door was securely fastened, she put the key safely in her pocket, and started off toward home.
The church clock struck eight just as she reached her own door, and she could hardly believe she had made her whole trip in less than an hour. It seemed as if she had spent a whole night alone in the schoolhouse. She rang the bell, and in a moment Sarah opened the door.
"Why, Miss Marjorie, wherever have you been?" cried the astonished maid. "I thought you was up in your own room."
"I've been out on an errand, Sarah," answeredMidge, with great dignity.
"An errand, is it? At this time o' night! I'm surprised at ye, Miss Marjorie, cuttin' up tricks just because the folks is away."
"Hello, Mopsy!" cried Kingdon, jumping downstairs three at a time. "What have you been up to now, I'd like to know."
"Nothing much," said Marjorie, gaily. Her spirits had risen since she found herself once again in her safe, warm, light home. "Don't bother me now, King; I want to study."
"Mother'll study you when she knows that you've been out walking alone at night."
"I don't want you to tell her, King, because I want to tell her myself."
"All right, Midge. I know it's all right, only I think you might tell me."
"Well, I will," said Midget, in a sudden burst of confidence.
Sarah had left the room, so Marjorie told King all about her adventure.
The boy looked at her with mingled admiration and amazement.
"You do beat all, Mopsy!" he said. "It wasright down plucky of you, but you ought not to have done it. Why didn't you wait till I came home, and I would have gone for you."
"I didn't mean to go, you know, at first. I just went all of a sudden, after I had really started to come home. I don't think Mother'll mind, when I explain it to her."
"You don't, hey? Well, just you wait and see!"
It was not easy to settle down to studying the speller, after such an exciting adventure to get it, but Marjorie determinedly set to work, and studied diligently till nine o'clock, and then went to bed.
Next morning her father awakened her at an early hour, and a little before seven father and daughter were seated at a cozy littletête-à-têtebreakfast.
At the table Marjorie gave her father a full description of her experiences of the night before.
Mr. Maynard listened gravely to the whole recital.
"My dear child," he said, when she finished the tale, "you did a very wrong thing, and I must say I think you should have known better."
"But I didn't think it was wrong, Father."
"I know you didn't, dearie; but you surely know that you're not allowed out alone at night."
"Yes; but this was such a very unusual occasion, I thought you'd excuse it. And, besides King was out at night."
"But he's a boy, and he's two years older than you are, and then he had our permission to go."
"That's just it, Father. I felt sure if you had known all about it, you would have given me permission. I was going to telephone and ask you if I might go to Mr. Cobb's, and then I thought it would interrupt the dinner party. And I didn't think you'd mind my running around to Mr. Cobb's. You know when I went there, I never thought of going to the schoolhouse last night."
"How did you come to think of it?"
"Why, I wanted my speller so much, and when I saw the schoolhouse roof sticking up above the trees, it made me think I could just as well run over there then, and so have my book at once."
"And you had no qualms of conscience that made you feel you were doing something wrong?"
"No, Father," said Marjorie, lifting her clear,honest eyes to his. "I thought I was cowardly to be so afraid of the dark. But I knew it wasn't mischief, and I didn't think it was wrong. Why was it wrong?"
"I'm not sure I can explain, if you don't see it for yourself. But it is not right to go alone to a place where there may be unseen or unknown dangers."
"But, Father, in our own schoolhouse? Where we go every day? What harm could be there?"
"My child, it is not right for any one to go into an untenanted building, alone, in the dark. And especially it is not right for a little girl of twelve. Now, whether you understand this or not, you must remember it, andneverdo such a thing again."
"Oh, Father, indeed I'll never forget that old speller again."
"No; next time you'll do some other ridiculous, unexpected thing, and then say, 'I didn't know it was wrong.' Marjorie, you don't seem to have good common-sense about these things."
"That's what grandma used to say," saidMidge, cheerfully. "Perhaps I'll learn, as I grow up, Father."
"I hope you will, my dear. And now, I'm not going to punish you for this performance, for I see you honestly meant no wrong, but I do positively forbid you to go out alone after dark without permission; no matterwhatmay be the exceptional occasion. Will you remember that?"
"Yes, indeed! That isn't hard to remember. And I've never wanted to before, and I don't believe I'll ever want to again, until I'm grown up. Do you?"
"You're a funny child, Midget," said her father, looking at her quizzically. "But, do you know, I rather like you; and I suppose you get your spirit of adventure and daring from me. Your Mother is most timid and conventional. What do you s'pose she'll say to all this, Mopsy mine?"
"Why, as you think it was wrong, I s'pose she'll think so, too. I justcan'tmake it seem wrong, myself, but as you say it was, why, of course it must have been, and I promise never to do it again. Now, if you've finished your coffee, shall we begin to spell?"
"Yes, come on. Since you have the book, wemust make the most of our time."
An hour of hard work followed. Mr. Maynard drilled Marjorie over and over on the most difficult words, and reviewed the back lessons, until he said he believed she could spell down Noah Webster himself.
"And you must admit, Father," said Marjorie, as they closed the book at last, "that it's a good thing I did get my speller last night, for I had a whole hour's study on it, and besides I didn't have to go over there for it this morning."
"It would have been a better thing, my child, if you had remembered it in the first place."
"Oh, yes, of course. But that was a mistake. I suppose everybody makes mistakes sometimes."
"I suppose they do. The proper thing is to learn by our mistakes what is right and what is wrong. Now the next time you are moved to do anything as unusual as that, ask some one who knows, whether you'd better do it or not. Now, here's Mother, we'll put the case to her."
In a few words, Mr. Maynard told his wifeabout Marjorie's escapade.
"My little girl!" cried Mrs. Maynard, catching Marjorie in her arms. "Why, Midget, darling, howcouldyou do such a dreadful thing? Oh, thank Heaven, I have you safe at home again!"
Marjorie stared. Here was a new view of the case. Her mother seemed to think that she had been in danger rather than in mischief.
"Oh," went on Mrs. Maynard, still shuddering, "my precious child, alone in that great empty building!"
"Why, Mother," said Marjorie, kissing her tears away, "that was just it. An empty building couldn't hurt me! Do you think I was naughty?"
"Oh, I don't know whether you were naughty, or not; I'm so glad to have you safe and sound in my arms."
"I'll never do it again, Mother."
"Do it again? Well, I rather think you won't! I shall never leave you alone again. I felt all the time I oughtn't to go off and leave you children last night."
"Nonsense, my dear," said Mr. Maynard, "thechildren must be taught self-reliance. But we'll talk this matter over some other time. Marjorie, you'll be late to school if you're not careful. And listen to me, my child. I don't want you to tell any one of what you did last evening. It is something that it is better to keep quiet about. Do you understand? This is a positive command. Don't ask me why, just promise to say nothing about it to your playmates or any one. No one knows of it at present, but your mother, Kingdon, and myself. I prefer that no one else should know. Will you remember this?"
"Yes, Father; can't I just tell Gladys?"
Mr. Maynard smiled.
"Marjorie, you are impossible!" he said. "Now, listen! I said tellno one! Is Gladys any one?"
"Yes, Father, she is."
"Very well, then don't tell her. Tell no one at all. Promise me."
"I promise," said Midget, earnestly, and then she kissed her parents and ran away to school.
Kingdon had also been bidden not to tell ofMarjorie's escapade, and so it was never heard of outside the family.
When it was time for the spelling-match, Marjorie put away her books, and sat waiting, with folded arms and a smiling face.
Miss Lawrence was surprised, for the child usually was worried and anxious in spelling class.
Two captains were chosen, and these two selected the pupils, one by one, to be their aids.
Marjorie was never chosen until toward the last, for though everybody loved her, yet her inability to spell was known by all, and she was not a desirable assistant in a match.
But at last her name was called, and she demurely took her place near the foot of the line on one side.
Gladys was on the other side, near the head. She was a good speller, and rarely made a mistake.
Miss Lawrence began to give out the words, and the children spelled away blithely. Now and then one would miss and another would go above.
To everybody's surprise, Marjorie began to work her way up toward the head of her line. She spelled correctly words that the others missed, and with a happy smile went along up the line.
At last the "spelling down" began. Thismeant that whoever missed a word must go to his seat, leaving only those standing who did not miss any word.
One by one the crestfallen unsuccessful ones went to their seats, and, to the amazement of all, Marjorie remained standing. At last, there were but six left in the match.
"Macaroni," said Miss Lawrence.
"M-a-c-c-a-r-o-n-i," said Jack Norton, and regretfully Miss Lawrence told him he must sit down.
Three more spelled the word wrongly, and then it was Marjorie's turn:
"M-a-c-a-r-o-n-i," said she, triumphantly, remembering her father's remark that there were no double letters in it.
Miss Lawrence looked astounded. Now there were left only Marjorie and Gladys, one on either side of the room. It was an unfortunate situation, for so fond were the girls of each other that each would almost rather fail herself than to have her friend fail.
On they went, spelling the words as fast as Miss Lawrence could pronounce them.
Finally she gave Gladys the word "weird."
It was a hard word, and one often misspelled by people much older and wiser than these children.
"W-i-e-r-d," said Gladys, in a confident tone.
"Next," said Miss Lawrence, with a sympathetic look at Gladys.
"W-e-i-r-d," said Marjorie, slowly. Her father had drilled her carefully on this word, bidding her remember that it began with two pronouns: that is, we followed by I. Often by such verbal tricks as this he fastened the letters in Marjorie's mind.
The match was over, and Marjorie had won, for the first time in her life.
Gladys was truly pleased, for she would rather have lost to Marjorie than any one else, and Miss Lawrence was delighted, though mystified.
"I won! I won!" cried Marjorie, as she ran into the house and found her mother. "Oh, Mother, I won the spelling-match!Now, aren't you glad I went after my book?"
"I'm glad you won, dearie; but hereafter I want you to stick to civilized behavior."
"I will, Mother! I truly will. I'm so glad Iwon the match, I'll stick to anything you say."
"Well, my girlie, just try to do what you think Mother wants you to, and try not to make mistakes."