"It's perfectly fine, Glad; I think it will be the most fun ever. How many are you going to have?"
"About thirty, Mother says. I can't ask Kitty, and Dorothy Adams. All on the list are about as old as we are."
"Kitty'll be sorry, of course; but I don't believe mother would let her go in the evening, anyway. She's only nine, you know."
The two friends, Marjorie and Gladys, were on their way to school, and Gladys was telling about a Hallowe'en party she was to have the following week. The party was to be in the evening, from seven till nine, and, as it was unusual for the girls to have evening parties, they looked forward to this as a great occasion. Nearly all of the children who were to be invited went to the same school that Gladys did, so she carried theinvitations with her, and gave them around before school began.
The invitations were written on cards which bore comical little pictures of witches, black cats, or jack-o'-lanterns, and this was the wording:
Though the weather's bad or pleasant,You're invited to be presentAt Miss Gladys Fulton's homeOn Hallowe'en. Be sure to come.Please accept, and don't decline;Come at seven and stay till nine.
Though the weather's bad or pleasant,You're invited to be presentAt Miss Gladys Fulton's homeOn Hallowe'en. Be sure to come.Please accept, and don't decline;Come at seven and stay till nine.
Needless to say these cards caused great excitement among the favored ones who received them.
Boys and girls chattered like magpies until the school-bell rang, and then it was very hard to turn their attention to lessons.
But Marjorie was trying in earnest to be good in school, and not get into mischief, so she resolutely put her card away in her desk, and studied diligently at her lessons.
Indeed, so well did she study that her lesson was learned before it was time to recite, and she had a few moments' leisure.
She took out her pretty card to admire itfurther, and she scrutinized closely the funny old witch riding on a broomstick, after the approved habit of witches.
The witch wore a high-peaked black hat, and her nose and chin were long and pointed.
Suddenly the impulse seized Marjorie to make for herself a witch's hat.
She took from her desk a sheet of foolscap paper. But she thought a white hat would be absurd for a witch. It must be black. How to make the paper black was the question, but her ingenuity soon suggested a way.
She took her slate sponge, and dipping it in the ink, smeared it over the white paper.
This produced a grayish smudge, but a second and third application made a good black.
The process, however, of covering the whole sheet of paper with ink was extremely messy, and before it was finished, Marjorie's fingers were dyed black, and her desk was smudged from one end to the other.
But so interested was she in making a sheet of black paper that she paid no heed to the untidiness.
Gladys, who had turned her back on Marjorie,in order to study her lesson without distraction, turned round suddenly and gave an exclamation of dismay. This startled Marjorie, and she dropped her sponge full of ink on her white apron.
She straightened herself up, with a bewildered air, aghast at the state of things, and as her curls tumbled over her forehead, she brushed them back with her inky hands.
This decorated her face with black fingermarks, and several of the pupils, looking round at her, burst into incontrollable laughter.
Midget was usually very dainty, and neatly dressed, and this besmeared maiden was a shock to all beholders.
Miss Lawrence turned sharply to see what the commotion might be, and, when she saw the inky child, she had hard work to control her own merriment.
"Whatisthat all over you, Marjorie?" she said, in as stern tones as she could command.
"Ink, Miss Lawrence," said Midget, demurely, her simple straightforward gaze fixed on her teacher's face. This calm announcement of a fact also struck Miss Lawrence ludicrously, but she managed to preserve a grave countenance.
"Yes, I see it's ink. But why do you putit on your face and hands and apron?"
"I don't know, Miss Lawrence. You see, I was using it, and somehow it put itself all over me."
"What were you doing with it?" Miss Lawrence was really stern now, for she had advanced to Marjorie's desk, and noted the sponge and paper.
"Why, I was just making some white paper black."
"Marjorie, you have been extremely naughty. What possessed you to ink that large sheet of paper?"
"I wanted to be a witch," said Marjorie, so ruefully that Miss Lawrence had to laugh after all.
"Youareone, my child. You needn't ever make any effort in that direction!"
"And so," went on Midget, cheered by Miss Lawrence's laughing face, "I thought I'd make me a witch's hat, to wear at recess. Truly, I wasn't going to put it on in school. But I had my lessons all done, and so——"
But by this time the whole class was in a gale.
The inky little girl, so earnestly explaining why she was inky, was a funny sight, indeed. And, asthey laughed at her, some big tears of mortification rolled down her cheeks.
These she furtively wiped away with her hand, and it is needless to say that this added the finishing touch to the smudgy black and white countenance.
Miss Lawrence gave up. She laughed until the tears ran down her own cheeks, for Marjorie was really crying now, and her little handkerchief only served to spread the inky area around her features.
"My dear child," said the teacher, at last, "I don't know exactly what to do with you. I can't wash that ink from your face, because it won't come off with only cold water. You must go home, and yet you can't go through the streets that way. But I have a brown veil I will lend you. It is fairly thick, and will at least shield you from observation."
So Miss Lawrence took Marjorie to the cloak-room, arrayed her in her own hat and her teacher's veil, and then went with the little girl downstairs to the front door. On the way she talked to her kindly, but she did not attempt to gloss over her naughty deed.
"I am sending you home, Marjorie," she said,"because you are not fit to stay here. If you were, I should keep you in, and punish you. You surely knew it was wrong to spill ink all over everything. You have ruined your desk, to say nothing of your clothes and your own belongings."
"I'm so sorry, Miss Lawrence," said penitent Midget. "I just tried to be good this morning. But I happened to think what fun it would be to have a big, high-peaked witch's hat to prance around in at recess; and I thought I could make the paper black without such a fuss."
"Well," said Miss Lawrence, with a sigh, "I don't know what to say to you. Go home now, and tell your mother all about it. I'll leave the matter of punishment in her hands. I'm sure you didn't mean to do wrong,—you never do,—but, oh, Marjorie, itwaswrong!"
"Yes, it was, Miss Lawrence, and I'm awful sorry. I do hope Mother will punish me."
Marjorie's hope was so funny that Miss Lawrence smiled, as she kissed the stained little face through the sheltering veil, and then Midget trudged off home, thinking that as Miss Lawrencehad kissed her, she hadn't been so very bad, after all.
"Whatisthe matter, child?" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, as Marjorie marched into her mother's room. "Why have you that thing on your head, and why are you home from school at this hour?"
Midget couldn't resist this dramatic situation.
"Guess," she said, blithely. Her inky hands were in her coat pockets, her apron was covered by her outer garment, and her face was obscured by the thick brown veil.
"I can't guess just what's the trouble," said her mother, "but I do guess you've been getting into some mischief."
Marjorie was disappointed.
"Oh," she said, "I thought you'd guess that I've broken out with smallpox or measles or something!"
Mrs. Maynard was preoccupied with some intricate sewing, and did not quite catch the first part of Marjorie's remark. But the last words sent a shock to her mother-heart.
"What!" she cried. "What do you mean? Smallpox! Measles! Has it broken out in the school? Take off that veil!" As she spoke, Mrs.Maynard jumped up from her chair, and ran to her daughter with outstretched arms.
This was more interesting, and Midget danced about as she turned her back to her mother to have the veil untied.
With trembling fingers Mrs. Maynard loosened the knot Miss Lawrence had tied, and hastily pulled off the veil. Meantime, Midget had thrown off her coat, and stood revealed in all her dreadful inkiness.
The saucy, blackened face was so roguishly smiling, and Mrs. Maynard was so grateful not to see a red, feverish countenance, that she sat down in a chair and shook with laughter.
This was just what Marjorie wanted, and, running to her mother's side, she laughed, too.
"Get away from me, you disreputable individual," said Mrs. Maynard, drawing her pretty morning dress away from possible contamination.
"Oh, Mothery, it's all dry now; it can't hurt you a bit! But isn't it awful?"
"Awful! You scamp, what does it mean?"
"Why, it's ink, Mother, dear; and do you s'pose it will ever come off?"
"No, I don't! I think it's there for the restof your life. Is that what you wanted?"
"No. Not for my whole life. Oh, Mother, can't you get it off with milk, or something?"
Marjorie had seen her mother try to take ink-stains out of white linen with milk, and, though the operation was rarely entirely successful, she hoped it would work better on her own skin.
"Milk! No, indeed. Pumice stone might do it, but it would take your skin off, too. Tell me all about it."
So the inky little girl cuddled into her mother's arms, which somehow opened to receive the culprit, and she told the whole dreadful story. Mrs. Maynard was truly shocked.
"I don't wonder Miss Lawrence didn't know what to do with you," she said; "for I'm sure I don't, either. Marjorie, youmusthave known you were doing wrong when you began that performance. Now, listen! If somebody had told you of another little girl who cut up just such a prank, what would you have said?"
"I'd have said she ought to know better than to fool with ink, anyway. It's the most get-all-overy stuff."
"Well, why did you fool with it, then?"
"Well, you see, Mother, I did know it was awful messy, but that know was in the back of my head, and somehow it slipped away from my memory when the thought that I wanted a witch hat came and pushed it out."
"Now, you're trying to be funny, and I want you to talk sensibly."
"Yes'm, I am sensible. Honest, the thought about the witch hat was so quick it pushed everything else out of my mind."
"Even your sense of duty, and your determination to be a good little girl."
"Yes'm; they all flew away, and my whole head was full of how to make the white paper black. And that was the only way I could think of."
"Well, have your thoughts that were pushed out come back yet?"
"Oh, yes, Mother; they came back as soon as I found myself all inky."
"Then, if they've come back, you know you did wrong?"
"Yes, I do know it now."
"And you know that little girls who do wrong have to be punished?"
"Ye-es; I s'pose I know that. How are yougoing to punish me?"
"We must discuss that.Ithink you deserve a rather severe punishment, for this was really, truly mischief. What do you think of staying home from Gladys' Hallowe'en party as a punishment?"
"Oh, Moth-er May-nard! You justcan'tmeanthat!"
"I'm not sure but I do. Youmustlearn, somehow, Midget, that if you do these awful things, you must have awful punishments."
"Yes, but to stay home from Gladys' party! Why, those horrid, cruel people in the history book couldn't get up a worse punishment than that! Mother, say you don't mean it!"
"I won't decide just now; I'll think it over. Meantime, let's see what we can do toward cleaning you up."
The process was an uncomfortable one, and, after Marjorie's poor little face and hands had gone through a course of lemon juice, pumice stone, and other ineffectual obliterators, she felt as if she had had punishment enough.
And the final result was a grayish, smeared-looking complexion, very different from her own usual healthy pink and white.
Greatly subdued, and fearful of the impending punishment, Marjorie lay on a couch in her mother's room, resting after the strenuous exertions of her scrubbing and scouring.
"I do think I'm the very worst child in the whole world," she said, at last. "Isn't it surprising, Mother, that I should be so bad, when you're so sweet and good? Do you think I take after Father?"
Mrs. Maynard suppressed a smile.
"Wait till Father comes home, and ask him that question," she said.
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard talked over Marjorie's latest prank, and concluded that it would indeed be too great a punishment to keep her at home from the Hallowe'en party.
So her punishment consisted in being kept at home from the Saturday meeting of the Jinks Club.
This was indeed a deprivation, as the members of the club were to plan games for the party, but still it was an easier fate to bear than absence from the great event itself.
Marjorie was so sweet and patient as she sat at home, while King and Kitty started off for the Jinks Club, that Mrs. Maynard was tempted to waive the punishment and send her along, too.
But the mother well knew that what she was doing was for her child's own good, and so shestifled her own desires, and let Marjorie stay at home.
Midget was restless, though she tried hard not to show it. She fed the gold-fish, she read in her book of Fairy Tales, she tried amusements of various sorts, but none seemed to interest her. In imagination she could see the rest of the Jinks Club seated in the bay at Dorothy Adams', chattering about the party.
"Oh, hum," sighed Marjorie, as she stood looking out of the playroom window, "I do believe I'll never be naughty again."
"What's 'e matter, Middy?" said Rosy Posy, coming along just then. "Don't you feels dood? Want to p'ay wiv my Boffin Bear?"
Marjorie took the soft, woolly bear, and somehow he was a comforting old fellow.
"Let's play something, Rosy Posy," she said.
"Ess; p'ay house?"
"No; that's no fun. Let's play something where we can bounce around. I feel awful dull."
"Ess," said Rosy Posy, who was amiable, but not suggestive.
"Let's play I'm a hippopotamus, and you're alittle yellow chicken, and I'm trying to catch you and eat you up."
Down went Rosy Posy on all-fours, scrambling across the floor, and saying, "Peep, peep"; and down went Marjorie, and lumbered across the floor after her sister, while she roared and growled terrifically.
Mrs. Maynard heard the noise, but she only smiled to think that Marjorie was working off her disappointment that way instead of sulking.
Finally the hippopotamus caught the chicken, and devoured it with fearful gnashing of teeth, the chicken meanwhile giggling with delight at the fun.
Then they played other games, in which Boffin joined, and also Marjorie's kitten, Puff. The days, of late, had been such busy ones that Puff had been more or less neglected, and as she was a socially inclined little cat, she was glad to be restored to public favor.
And so the long morning dragged itself away, and at luncheon-time the Jinks Club sent its members home.
The Maynards were always a warm-hearted, generous-minded lot of little people, and, far fromteasing Marjorie about her morning at home, King and Kitty told her everything that had been discussed and decided at the Jinks Club, and brought her the money contributed by the members.
So graphic were their descriptions that Marjorie felt almost as if she had been there herself; and her spirits rose as she realized that her punishment was over, and in the afternoon she could go over to Gladys', and really help in the preparations for the party.
At last the night of the great occasion arrived.
Then it was Marjorie's turn to feel sorry for Kitty, because she was too young to go to evening parties. But Mr. and Mrs. Maynard had promised some special fun to Kitty at home, and she watched Midget's preparations with interest quite untinged by envy.
Kingdon and Marjorie were to go alone at seven o'clock, and Mr. Maynard was to come after them at nine.
"But Gladys said, Mother," said Midge, "that she hoped we'd stay later than nine."
"I hope you won't," said Mrs. Maynard. "You're really too young to go out at night anyway, but as it's just across the street, I trustyou'll get there safely. But you must come home as soon as Father comes for you."
"Yes, if he makes us," said Marjorie, smiling at her lenient father, who was greatly inclined to indulge his children.
"If you're not back as soon as I think you ought to be, I shall telephone for you," said Mrs. Maynard; but Marjorie knew from her mother's smiling eyes that she was not deeply in earnest.
Midget had on a very pretty dress of thin white muslin, with ruffles of embroidery. She wore a broad pink sash, and her dark curls were clustered into a big pink bow, which bobbed and danced on top of her head. Pink silk stockings and dainty pink slippers completed her costume, and her father declared she looked good enough to eat.
"Eat her up," said Rosy Posy, who was ecstatically gazing at her beautiful big sister. "Be a hippottymus, Fader, an' eat Mopsy all up!"
"Not till after she's been to the party, Baby. They'll all be expecting her."
Kingdon, quite resplendent in the glory of his first Tuxedo jacket, also looked admiringly at his pretty sister.
"You'll do, Mops," he said. "Come on, let'sgo. It's just seven."
Mrs. Maynard put a lovely white, hooded cape of her own round Marjorie, and carefully drew the hood up over her curls.
"See that your bow is perked up after you take this off," said the mother, as a parting injunction, and then the two children started off.
The parents watched them from the window, as they crossed the street in the moonlight, and Mrs. Maynard sighed as she said, "They're already beginning to grow up."
"But we have some littler ones," said her husband, gaily, as he prepared for a game of romps with Kitty and Rosy Posy.
When King and Marjorie rang the bell at Gladys Fulton's, the door opened very slowly, and they could hear a low, sepulchral groan.
Midge clung to her brother's arm, for though she knew everything was to be as weird and grotesque as possible, yet it was delightful to feel the shudder of surprise.
As the door opened further, they could see that the house was but dimly lighted, and the hall was full of a deep red glow. This was caused by putting red shades on the lights and standing a semi-transparent red screen before the blazing wood-fire in the big fireplace.
The groan was repeated, and then they realized that it said, "Welcome, welcome!" but in such a wailing voice that it seemed to add to the gloom. The voice proceeded from a figure draped in a white sheet.
"Hello, Ghost!" said King, who knew that Dick Fulton himself was wrapped in the sheet.
"O-o-o-o-ugh!" groaned the ghost.
"You don't seem to feel well," said Marjorie, giggling. "Poor Ghost, why don't you go to bed?"
But before the ghost could speak again, a gorgeous witch came prancing up, carrying a broomstick wound with red ribbons. The witch was all in red, with a tall peaked hat of red, covered with cabalistic designs cut from gilt paper and pasted on. She groaned and wailed, too, and then spoke in a rapid and unintelligible jargon.
The Maynards knew that this witch was Gladys, but some of the guests did not know it, and were greatly mystified.
A few older persons, whom Mrs. Fulton hadinvited to help entertain the children, were stationed in the various rooms. Dressed in queer costumes, they played bits of weird music on the piano, or struck occasional clanging notes from muffled gongs.
All of this greatly pleased Marjorie, who loved make-believe, and she fell into the spirit of the occasion, and went about on tiptoe with a solemn, awed face. Indeed she made the ghosts and witches laugh in spite of their wish to be awesome. The rooms were decorated to befit the day, and great jack-o'-lanterns grinned from mantels or brackets. Autumn leaves were in profusion, and big black cats cut from paper adorned the walls.
Soon the party were all assembled, and then the games began.
First, all were led out to the kitchen, which was decorated with ears of corn, sheaves of grain, and other harvest trophies.
On a table were dishes of apples and nuts, not for eating purposes, but to play the games with.
There were several tubs half filled with water,and in these the young people were soon "bobbing for apples." On the apples were pinned papers on which were written various names, and the merry guests strove to grasp an apple with their teeth, either by its stem or by biting into the fruit itself. This proved to be more difficult than it seemed, and it was soon abandoned for the game of apple-parings. After an apple was pared in one continuous strip, the paring was tossed three times round the head, and then thrown to the floor. The initial it formed there was said to represent the initial of the fate of the one who threw it.
"Pshaw!" said Marjorie, as she tried for the third time, "it always makes E, and I don't know anybody who begins with E."
"Perhaps you'll meet some one later," said Mrs. Fulton, smiling. "You're really too young to consider these 'fates' entirely trustworthy."
Then they all tried blowing out the candle. This wasn't a "Fate" game, but there were prizes for the successful ones.
Each guest was blindfolded, led to a table where stood a lighted candle, turned round three times,and ordered to blow it out. Only three attempts were allowed, and not everybody won the little witches, owls, black cats, bats, and tiny pumpkins offered as prizes.
Marjorie, though securely blindfolded, was fortunate enough to blow straight and hard, and out went the candle-flame. Her prize was a gay little chenille imp, which she stuck in her hair with great glee.
Then they all went back to the drawing-room, where a pretty game had been arranged during their absence.
From the chandelier was suspended a large-sized "hoople" that had been twisted with red ribbon. From this at regular intervals hung, by short ribbons, candies, cakes, apples, nuts, candle ends, lemons, and sundry other things.
The children stood round in a circle, and the hoop was twisted up tightly and then let to untwist itself slowly. As it revolved, the children were to catch the flying articles in their teeth. Any one getting a lemon was out of the game. Any one getting a candle end had to pay a forfeit, but those who caught the goodies could eat them.
Next, after being seated round the room, eachchild was given a spoon.
Then a dish of ice-cream was passed, of which each took a spoonful and ate it. In the ice-cream had previously been hidden a dime, a ring, a thimble, a button, and a nutmeg. Whoever chanced to get the ring was destined to be married first. Whoever took the dime was destined to become very wealthy. The thimble denoted a thrifty housewife; the button, a life of single blessedness; and the nutmeg, a good cook.
Shouts of laughter arose, as they learned that Kingdon would be an old bachelor, and doubts were expressed when Gladys triumphantly exhibited the nutmeg.
"You can't ever learn to cook!" cried Dick. "You're too much of a butterfly."
"Good cooks make the butter fly," said Kingdon, and then they all laughed again. Indeed, they were quite ready to laugh at anything. For a Hallowe'en party is provocative of much merriment, and the most nonsensical speeches were applauded.
They popped corn, and they melted lead, andthey roasted chestnuts, and then some more difficult experiments were tried.
Harry Frost and Marjorie were chosen to "Thread the Needle."
Each held a cupful of water in the left hand, and in the right hand Harry held a good-sized needle, while Marjorie held a length of thread. She tried to get the thread through the needle, and he tried to help, or at least not hinder her; but all the time both must have a care that no drop of water was spilled from their cups.
The tradition was that if they succeeded in threading the needle within a minute they were destined for each other; but as they couldn't do it, Harry bade her a laughing farewell, and offered the thread to Gladys. They were no more successful, and the game was abandoned as being too difficult.
Nutshell boats was a pretty game. The tiny craft, made of English walnut shells, with paper sails, had been prepared beforehand, and the guests wrote their names on the sails, then loaded each boat with a cargo of a wish written on a slip of paper.
The boats were then set afloat in a tub of water,and by gently blowing on them their owners endeavored to make them go ashore, or rather to the side of the tub. As one hit the wood it was taken out, and the owner joyfully announced that his or her wish would come true, but many of them stayed stubbornly in mid-ocean and refused to land. The unfortunate owners condoled with each other on their hard fate.
The merry games being over, all went to the dining-room for the feast that was spread there.
The children were paired off, and, while Mrs. Fulton played stirring strains on the piano, they marched around the rooms, and so out to the dining-room.
The elaborately decorated table called forth shouts of joy, and soon all were seated in chairs round the room, enjoying the good things.
On the table were jack-o'-lanterns made not only of pumpkins, but of squashes, turnips, and even of big red or green apples.
Candles were burning in all of these, and standing about the table were queer little gnomes and witches, made of nuts, or of dried prunes. Theselittle figures were souvenirs, and were distributed to all the guests. The ice-cream was in the form of little yellow pumpkins, and proved to taste quite as good as it looked. There were also more substantial viands, such as nut sandwiches, apple salad, pumpkin pie, and grape jelly. Everything had some reference to Hallowe'en or to Harvest Home, and the children were not too young to appreciate this.
Supper was just about over when Mr. Maynard came after his children.
"Oh, Father," cried Marjorie, "you said you wouldn't come till nine o'clock!"
"But it's quarter-past nine now, my daughter."
"Itcan'tbe!" exclaimed Midge, greatly surprised; and everybody said, "Is it, really?"
"But we must have one merry round game before we part," said Mrs. Fulton, and, though several parents had arrived to take their little ones home, they all agreed to wait ten minutes more.
So they had a rollicking game of "Going to Jerusalem," and then the party was over.
Marjorie said good-night politely to Mrs. Fulton and the other grown-ups who had entertainedthem, making her pretty little bobbing courtesy, as she had been taught to do.
Kingdon said good-night in his frank, boyish way, and then they went for their wraps.
"Oh, Father," said Midget as they crossed the street to their own home, "it was the very loveliest party! Can't I sit up for a while and tell you every single thing that happened?"
"I'd love to have you do that, Mopsy Midget; in fact, I can scarcely wait till morning to hear about it all. But it is my duty as a stern parent to order you off to bed at once. Little girls that wheedle fond fathers into letting them go to evening parties must be content to scoot for bed the minute they get home."
"All right, then, Father, but do get up early in the morning to hear all about it, won't you?"
"I'll guarantee to get up as early as you do, Sleepyhead," said Mr. Maynard, for Marjorie was yawning as if the top of her head was about to come off.
Mrs. Maynard accompanied the little girl to her bedroom, but Midge was too tired to do more than tell her mother that it was the most beautifulparty in the world, and that next day she should hear all about it.
"I can wait, little girl," said Mrs. Maynard, as she tucked Midget up and kissed her good-night, but the exhausted child was already in the land of dreams.
"Marjorie," said her mother, one Saturday morning, "I expect Mrs. Harrison to spend the day. She will bring her little baby with her, and I want you to stay at home, so that you can wheel the baby about if she asks you to do so."
"I will, Mother. The Jinks Club meets here this afternoon anyway, and this morning I'll stay at home. Can't I ask Gladys to come over? We'd love to take care of the baby together."
"Yes, have Gladys if you like. I don't mind."
Mrs. Maynard went off to look after housekeeping affairs, and Marjorie ran over to ask Gladys to come and spend the morning.
The two girls were sitting on a bench under a tree on the front lawn, when they saw Mrs. Harrison come in at the gate. She was wheeling her baby-carriage, and Marjorie ran to meet her.
"How do you do, Mrs. Harrison?" she said."Mother is expecting you. Come right on up to the house. Mayn't I wheel Baby for you?"
"I wish you would, my dear. I gave nurse a holiday, but I didn't realize how tiresome that heavy carriage is, after wheeling it so many blocks."
Marjorie pushed the little coach, while Gladys danced alongside, talking to the winsome baby.
"What's her name, Mrs. Harrison?" she said.
"Oh!" replied the young mother, "she has the dignified name of Katharine, but we never call her that. I'm ashamed to say we call her Totty."
"I think Totty is a lovely name," said Midget. "It makes me think of Dotty, a baby who lives about a block away from us. She's just the same size as this baby."
"Probably she's older, then," said Mrs. Harrison, complacently; "Totty's just a year old, but she's much larger than most children of that age."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Midget, wagging her head wisely, though she really knew little about the comparative sizes of infants. Mrs. Maynard awaited them at the front door, and the procession arrived with a flourish.
"Here we are, Mother," announced Marjorie,and she and Gladys lifted baby Totty out of her nest of pillows and knit afghans.
"Why, how handy you are, child," said Mrs. Harrison. "But give her to me now, and I'll look after her."
Marjorie handed the pretty burden over, and said:
"But mayn't we take her out for a ride, Mrs. Harrison? I'm sure she ought to be out in the fresh air this morning."
"I'll see about it later," said Totty's mother, and then she went into the house with her hostess, and the girls ran away to play.
But an hour later, Mrs. Maynard called Marjorie, and said she might take the baby for a ride.
Gleefully, Marjorie and Gladys ran into the house.
They helped arrange Miss Totty's coat and cap, and so merry were they that the baby laughed and crowed, and made friends at once.
"How she takes to you!" said Mrs. Harrison. "Sometimes she is afraid of strangers, but she seems to love you."
"'Cause I love her," said Midge; "she's a sweetbaby, and so good. Shall I bring her in if she cries, Mrs. Harrison?"
"Yes; but she won't cry. She's more likely to go to sleep."
The little lady was tucked into her carriage; white mittens on her tiny hands, and a white veil over her rosy face.
"Does she need the veil?" asked Mrs. Maynard, doubtfully. "It isn't cold to-day."
"No," said Mrs. Harrison; "but the breeze is brisk; and she's used to a light veil. I think she'd better wear it."
"How far can we go?" asked Marjorie, as the preparations were completed.
"Stay in the yard, mostly," said her mother. "If you go out in the street, don't go more than two blocks away."
"All right, we won't," said Marjorie. "Come on, Glad." The two little girls started off with the baby-carriage.
"She's a careful child," said Mrs. Harrison, as she noticed Marjorie turn a corner with precision.
"Yes," said Mrs. Maynard. "And she's devoted to children. You need have no fear of Totty."
"Oh, I haven't," said Mrs. Harrison, and thenthe two friends returned to the house, and sat down for a long chat.
The girls had a fine time with the baby. They rolled the carriage carefully, pausing now and then to present their little guest with a bright autumn leaf, or a big horse-chestnut, which they picked up from the ground.
"Let's pretend she's an infant princess, and we're kidnapping her," said Marjorie.
"All right; what's her name?"
"Princess Petronella," said Marjorie, promptly, using a favorite name of hers.
"I don't think much of that," said Gladys; "I like Ermyntrude."
"Both, then," said Marjorie; for this was a way they often settled their differences. "Her name is Princess Ermyntrude Petronella; and we call her Ermyn Pet for short."
"But we ought to call her Princess," objected Gladys.
"Well, we will. But remember we're kidnapping her for a great reward. Hist! Some one cometh!"
They hustled the carriage behind a greatpine-tree, in pretended fear of a pursuer, though no one was in sight.
"How much shall we charge for ransom?" asked Gladys, in the hollow voice that they always used in their make-believe games.
"A thousand rubbles," answered Marjorie; "and unless the sum is forthcoming ere set of sun, the Princess shall be,—shall be——"
Marjorie hesitated. It seemed dreadful to pronounce fate, even in make-believe, on that dimpled, smiling bit of humanity.
"Shall be imprisoned," suggested Gladys.
"Yes, imprisoned in an enchanted castle."
Totty crowed and gurgled, as if greatly pleased with her destiny, and the girls wheeled her along the path to the gate.
"She reminds me so much of Dotty Curtis," said Midget. "Let's go down that way and see if Dotty's out. Mother said we could go two blocks."
On they went, crossing the curbs with great care, and soon turned in at Mrs. Curtis' house.
Sure enough, there was the nurse wheeling the Curtis baby around the drive.
"Good-morning," said Marjorie, who wasfriendly with Nurse Lisa. "How is Dotty to-day?"
"She's well, Miss Marjorie," replied Lisa; "and who's the fine child with you?"
"This is little Totty Harrison; and I think she looks like Dot. Let's compare them."
The veils were taken off the two children, and sure enough they did look somewhat alike.
"They're both darlings," said Marjorie, as she gently replaced Totty's veil. "Lisa, won't you let Gladys wheel Dotty for awhile, and I'll wheel Totty. That would be fun."
"I'll willingly leave her with you for a bit, Miss Gladys. I've some work to do in the house, and if you'll keep baby for a few minutes it would be a great thing for me. Mrs. Curtis is out, but I know she'd trust you with the child, if the other lady does. But don't go off the place."
"No," said Marjorie; "this place is so big there's room enough anyway. I promise you we won't go outside the gates, Lisa."
"Isn't this fun?" cried Marjorie, as Lisa went away. "Now, we have two kidnapped princesses. Or shall we play house with them?"
"No, let's have them princesses. Now you canname yours Petronella, and I'll name mine Ermyntrude."
This momentous question settled, the game went on. They pretended that the princesses were anxious to get back to their respective homes, and that they must resort to bribery and strategy to keep them contented.
"Nay, nay, Princess Petronella," Marjorie would say; "weep not for friends and family. I will take you to a far better place, where flowers grow and birds sing and—and——"
"And gold-fish swim," went on Gladys, who always followed Marjorie's lead, "and roosters crow—cock-a-doodle-doo!!"
This climax, accompanied as it was by Gladys' flapping her arms and prancing about, greatly delighted both princesses, and they laughed and clamored for more.
"Aren't they dears!" exclaimed Marjorie, as she looked at the two pretty babies. "Methinks no ransom is forthcoming. Must we resort to our dire and dreadful doom?"
"Aye, aye!" said Gladys. "To the enchanted castle with the fatal victims."
So long as the girls used tragic-sounding wordsthey didn't always care whether they made sense or not.
"On, on, then!" cried Midget. "On, on! To victory, or defeat!"
Each pushing a carriage, they ran down the long drive, across the wide lawn, and paused, flushed and breathless, at a rustic summer-house.
Into the arbor they pushed the two coaches, and then dropped, laughing, on the seats.
The babies laughed, too, and both Dotty and Totty seemed to think that to be a captive princess was a delightful fate. The girls sat still for awhile to rest, but the game went on.
"Shall it be the donjon keep?"
"Nay, not for these, so young and fair," answered Gladys. "Let's chain them with rose garlands to a silken couch."
"Huh!" said Marjorie, "that's not a dire fate. Let's do something that's more fun. Oh, Glad, I'll tell you what! Let's exchange these babies! That's what they always do in tragedies. Listen! We'll put Dotty's hood on Totty, and Totty's cap on Dotty. And change their coats, too!"
"Yes, and veils; oh, Mops! What fun! If we change their coats quickly they won't catch cold."
"Cold, pooh! It's as warm as summer."
It wasn't quite that, but it was a lovely, sunshiny day in early October, and, after running, it seemed quite warm to the girls.
Following out their project, they quickly exchanged the babies' wraps.
By this time both little ones were growing sleepy, and were in a quiet, tractable frame of mind.
"Their little white dresses are almost alike, anyway," said Gladys, as she took off Totty's coat.
"Oh, well, we wouldn't think of changing their dresses," said Mopsy; "but let's change their little shoes. I'd like to see Totty in those cunning ankle-ties."
"And I'd like to see Dotty in those pretty blue kid shoes."
"Of course, we'll change them right back, but I just want to see how they look."
Soon the transformation was complete. To all outward appearance of costume, Dotty was Totty, and Totty was Dotty. Even the veils were changed, as one was of silk gauze, the other of knitted zephyr.
Then, not in their own, but in each other's carriage, the reversed princesses nodded and beamed at their captors.
"Now, you push that carriage, and I'll push this," said Marjorie, taking hold of the carriage she had pushed all the time, though now it had the other baby in it.
"All right," said Gladys, "let's go round by the garden."
Slowly now, the girls went round by the large well-kept kitchen garden, and then through the flower gardens back to the front lawn.
"Why," said Marjorie, suddenly, "both these children are asleep!"
"Mrs. Harrison said Totty would go to sleep," said Gladys. "I guess all babies go to sleep about this time in the morning. It seems too bad to wake them up to change their coats back again, but I think we ought to take Totty back, don't you?"
"Yes, I do. Suppose we leave the coats and caps as they are, and then afterward we can bring back Dotty's things and get Totty's."
"Here you are!" cried Lisa, coming to meet them at the front door. "You're good little girls to mind the baby for me. I'll take her now, and I thank you much."
As Lisa spoke, she took hold of the Curtis carriage, which contained the Harrison baby.
"Ah, she's asleep, bless her heart!" she exclaimed, looking at the closed eyes, almost hidden by the white veil. "I'm glad she's getting a fine nap. Run along now with your own baby."
Partly confused by Lisa's quick and peremptory dismissal, and partly impelled by a sudden mischievous idea, Marjorie smiled a good-bye, and began trundling the other carriage toward the gate.
"Why, Midge!" whispered Gladys, aghast. "We've got the wrong baby! This is Dotty Curtis!"
"Keep still!" whispered Marjorie. "I know it. But it's a good joke on that snippy Lisa."
"She wasn't snippy."
"Yes, she was; she said 'Run along now, little girls,' after we've been helping her all the morning. She's going to let the baby stay asleep in the carriage, and she won't know it till she wakes up."
"Who won't? The baby?"
"No, Lisa. And then she'll be scared, and it will serve her right."
"But what about Mrs. Harrison? You don'twant to scare her."
"That's just the thing," explained Marjorie. "I want to see if she'll know the difference in the babies. They say mothers can always tell their own children. Now we'll see."
"It's a great joke," said Gladys, giggling. "But suppose they never find it out, and the children live with their wrong mothers all their lives!"
"Don't be silly," said Marjorie.