"It was February fourteenth, and the postman's rat-a-tatMade two hearts in Slocum Pocum beat a feverish pit-patThomas and Thomasina each in turn rushed doorwards andSnatched their respective missives from the post's extended hand;And the postman, wicked rascal, slowly winked the other eye,And said: 'Seems to me the old folks is a gettin' pretty spry.'
"They tore the letters open. 'What is this? Rejected! Spurned!'Both thought the cards before them were their valentines returned.And Thomas went to Africa, and Thomasina to Rome;And other tenants came to fill each small deserted home.So no more in Slocum Pocum may we hope again to seePoor Mr. Thomas Todgers and poor Thomasina Tee."
"That's awfully funny," said Delight, as Miss Hart finished reading, "butI should think they would have known they got each other's valentine."
"I shouldn't," said Midge, who entered more into the spirit of the story; "they didn't know each other sent any, so each thought their own was returned. Besides, if they hadn't thought so, there wouldn't have been any story."
"That's so," said Delight, who usually agreed with Marjorie, finally.
The postman brought lots of valentines for the two little girls. Delight's were almost all from her friends in New York, although some of the Rockwell young people had remembered her too.
Marjorie's were nearly all from Rockwell, and though there were none from any of her family, that did not bother her, for she knew they would come in the afternoon for the "party."
At four o'clock the "party" came. Midget and Delight, watching from the window, saw James and Thomas come across the street, bringing between them a great big something, all wrapped in white tissue paper. They left their burden, whatever it was, on the porch, rang the door-bell, and went away.
The children flew to the door, and, with the help of Mary and Miss Hart, they brought the big thing in.
Though bulky, it was not heavy, and they set it in the library and proceeded to take off the wrappings. As the last sheet of tissue paper was removed, shrieks of admiration went up from the girls, and Mrs. Spencer came running in to see what the excitement was about.
She saw a large heart, about five feet high, made on a light wood frame, which was covered with red crépe paper. It was bordered with red and white gilt flowers, also made of paper, and at the top was a big bow of red ribbon, with long fluttering streamers. On top of the heart, of eithershoulder, sat two beautiful white doves which were real doves, stuffed, and they held in their beaks envelopes, one marked Delight and one Marjorie.
The whole affair had a back stay, and stood up on the floor like an easel. The paper that covered the heart was put on in folds, like tucks upside down, and in the folds were thrust many envelopes, that doubtless contained valentines. Between and among these were little cupids and doves fastened on, also nosegays of flowers and fluttering ribbons, and hearts pierced with darts, and the whole effect was like one great big valentine.
Before touching the envelopes, Delight and Marjorie sat on the floor, their arms round each other, and gazed at the pretty sight.
"Did your father make it?" asked Delight.
"He planned it, I'm sure," replied Marjorie. "But they all helped makeit, I know. I suppose Father had the frame made somewhere, then he andMother covered it, and Kit and King helped make the flowers and things.Oh, I wish I'd been there!"
"Then they wouldn't have made it!" said Delight, quickly, and Midge laughed, and said:
"No, I suppose not. Well, shall we begin to read the valentines?"
"Yes, but let's take them out slowly, and make it last a long while."
"Yes, for this is our 'party,' you know. Oh, see, these envelopes in the doves' bills say on them, 'To be opened last.' So we'll begin with these others. You take one with your name on, first."
So Delight pulled out an envelope that was addressed to her.
It contained a valentine of which the principal figure was a pretty little girl, something like Delight herself. Inside was written:
"Flossy Flouncy, fair and fine,Let me be your Valentine.Here's my heart laid at your feet,Flossy Flouncy, fair and sweet."
"I know King wrote that!" cried Midget; "he always calls you FlossyFlouncy. You don't mind, do you?"
"No, indeed! I think it's fun. I'm going to call him Old King Cole. That is, if I ever see him again."
"Oh, pshaw! We'll be out of this prison next week. The doctor said so.And you must come and make me a visit to even things up."
"Mother wouldn't let me go to your house to stay, I'm sure; but I can go over afternoons or Saturdays."
"Yes, and you'll get to know King better. He's an awful nice boy."
"I'm sure he is. Now you take a valentine."
Midget pulled out the biggest one that was addressed to her. It held a beautiful, large valentine, not home-made, but of most elaborate design.
On its back, though, was a verse written, that Midge knew at once was done by her father. It said:
"Marjorie Midget Mopsy Mops,I have looked through all the shops,Searching for a ValentineGood enough for Midget Mine.This is the best that I could do,So here it is with my love so true."
"Isn't it a beauty!" cried Midge; "I never had such a handsome one before. See how the flowers are tied with real ribbons, and the birds hop in and out of their cages."
"It's splendid!" said Delight, "and here's a big one for me too!"
She pulled out a large envelope, addressed to herself, and found a valentine quite as beautiful as Marjorie's and almost exactly like it. It was from her father, and as Mr. Spencer didn't have the knack of rhyming as well as Mr. Maynard, he had written on the back:
"Dear Delight,I can't write,But I send youAffection true,Yankee Doodle Doo!"
"I think that's funny!" cried Marjorie. "I love funny valentines."
"So do I," agreed Delight; "and I didn't know father could make rhymes as well as that. He must have learned from your father."
"I 'spect he did. Everybody makes verses at our house."
Marjorie smiled to think of the grave and dignified Mr. Spencer learning to write funny rhymes, but she was glad Delight had a big valentine like hers.
Then they pulled out the others, by turns. Some were lovely ones that had been bought; some were home-made ones; some were funny, but the funny ones were home-made, they were not the dreadful things that are called "comic" valentines.
Then there were valentines from Gladys and her brother Dick, which had been delivered by the postman at Marjorie's home, and sent over with the others. There was one from each of the home servants, who were all fond of Midget, and glad to send her a token of remembrance. And among the best of all were valentines from Grandma Sherwood and Uncle Steve.
Uncle Steve was especially clever at writing verses, and he sent several valentines to both the girls.
One bore a picture of two weeping maidens, behind barred windows in a castle tower. The verses ran thus:
"Two Princesses locked in a tower,Alas, alas for they!I would they need not stay an hour,Nor yet another day.But to a lovely rosy bowerThe two might fly away.
"I would I were a birdie fleetThat I might wing a flight,And bear to them a message sweetEach morning, noon and night.Twould be to me a perfect treatTo see their faces bright.
"But, no, in their far home they stay,And I must stay in mine;But though we are so far awayOur thoughts we may entwine.And I will send this little layFrom your fond
"That's lovely," said Delight, "and it's for me as much as you. What jolly relatives you have."
"Oh, Uncle Steve is wonderful. He can do anything. Sometime perhaps you can go to his house with me, then you'll see. Oh, here's a pretty one, listen."
Midge read aloud:
"What is a Valentine? Tell me, pray.Only a fanciful roundelayBearing a message from one to another(This time, to a dear little girl from her mother).Message of love and affection true;This is a Valentine, I LOVE YOU!"
"That's sweet. Did your mother write it?"
"Yes, Mother makes lovely poetry. Here's a ridiculous one from Kit."
"Marjorie, Parjorie, Pudding and Pie,Hurry up home, or I'll have to cry.Since you've been gone I've grown so thinI'm nothing at all but bone and skin.So hurry up home if you have any pityFor your poor little lonesome sister
"Why, I thought people never signed valentines," said Delight, laughing at Kitty's effusion.
"They don't, real ones. But of course these are just nonsense ones, and anyway I know Kit's writing, so it doesn't matter."
There were lots of others, and through Marjorie, naturally, had more than Delight, yet there were plenty for both girls, and set out on two tables they made a goodly show. Miss Hart was called in to see them, but she answered that she was busy in the dining-room just then, and would come in a few moments.
The big heart that had held the valentines was not at all marred, but rather improved by their removal, and, the girls admired it more than ever.
"But we haven't taken the last ones yet," said Delight, looking at the two envelopes in the bills of the doves. They took them at the same time, and opened them simultaneously.
Each contained a valentine and a tiny parcel. The valentines were exactly alike, and their verses read the same:
"This is a Ring Dove, fair and whiteThat brings this gift to you to-night.But why a Ring Dove, you may ask;The answer is an easy task.Look in this tiny box and seeWhat has the Ring Dove brought to thee!"
Eagerly the girls opened the boxes, and inside, on a bit of cotton wool, lay two lovely rings exactly alike. They were set with a little heart made of tiny pearls and turquoises, and they just fitted the fingers of the two little girls.
"Aren't they exquisite!" cried Delight, who loved pretty things.
"Beautiful!" agreed Midge, who thought more of the ring as a souvenir. "We can always remember to-day by them. I suppose your father sent yours and my father sent mine."
"Yes, of course they did. Oh, Miss Hart, do look at our rings and valentines!"
Miss Hart came in, smiling, and proved an interested audience of one, as she examined all the pretty trifles.
"And now," said Miss Hart, at last, "there's more to your valentine party. Will you come out to the dining-room and see it?"
Wondering, the two girls followed Miss Hart to the dining-room, and fairly stood still in astonishment at the scene. As it was well after dusk now, the shades had been drawn, and the lights turned on. The table was set as if for a real party, and the decorations were all of pink and white.
Pink candles with pretty pink shades cast a soft light, and pink and white flowers were beautifully arranged. In the centre was a waxen cupid with gilt wings, whose outstretched hands bore two large hearts suspended by ribbons. These hearts were most elaborate satin boxes, one having Marjorie on it in gilt letters and the other Delight. As it turned out, they were to be kept as jewel boxes, or boxes for any little trinkets, but now they were filled with delicious bon-bons, the satin lining being protected by tinfoil and lace paper.
The table was laid for four, and at each place was a valentine.
Mrs. Spencer and Miss Hart took their seats, but, at first, the girls were too bewildered to understand.
"It's your party, Marjorie," said Miss Hart, smiling. "Your father and mother sent it all over,—everything, even the candles and flowers. All we've done is to arrange it on the table. So you must sit at the head, as you're hostess."
So Midget took her place at the head of the table, with Delight opposite.
Each person had a parcel at their plate, daintily tied up in pink paper and white ribbon, and sealed with little gold hearts.
Mrs. Spencer said they would not open these until after the feast, so after they had looked a few moments longer on the pretty things all about the table, Mary brought in the first course, and the party began.
First there was fruit, and this consisted of a slice of pineapple cut in a heart shape, and surrounded on the plate by strawberries and candied cherries. This dainty arrangement, on lace paper, was so pretty that Delight said it was too bad to disturb it.
"It's too good not to be disturbed," said Marjorie, and as it was really dinner time, and the girls were hungry, the lovely fruit course soon disappeared.
"This isn't dinner," said Mrs. Spencer, "it's a party supper. Your party, you know, Marjorie."
"Yes'm; I didn't see how Father could send me a party without people. But he did his part, didn't he?"
"Yes, indeed; and we're doing ours. We've all the people that we can have, and so we'll make the best of it."
"I think it's a lovely party," said Delight, "the best one I ever went to. Oh, what are these?"
For Mary was just passing the most fascinating looking dish. It was oyster croquettes, carefully moulded in heart shapes, accompanied by French fried potatoes also cut into little hearts.
"Ellen cut these, I know she did," said Marjorie. "She's such a clever cook, and she loves to make fancy things."
"Your mother is very fortunate with her servants," said Mrs. Spencer, with a little sigh.
And then came lovely brown bread sandwiches, of course they were heart shaped too, and Marjorie declared she'd have heart-disease if these things kept on!
But they did keep on. Next came jellied chicken that had been moulded in heart forms, and lettuce salad with red hearts cut from beets among the crisp yellow leaves.
Then came dessert, and it was a bewildering array of heart ice creams, and heart cakes, and heart bon-bons, and heart shaped forms of jelly.
"Only one of each, to-night," said Mrs. Spencer, smiling. "I don't want two invalids for valentines, I can assure you."
So lots of the good things were left over for next day, and Marjorie remarked that she thought the next day's feast was always about as much fun as the party any way.
"Now for our presents," said Delight, as the last plates were removed, and they sat round the table still feasting their eyes on the pretty trinkets that decorated it.
So Mrs. Spencer opened her parcel first.
She found a silver photograph frame shaped like a heart. Of course, Mr.Spencer had sent it, and the pretty card with it read:
"As at my verse I'm sure you'd sniff,I simply send this little gift.
The Spencers seemed to think this a fine poem but Marjorie secretly wondered if a grown-up man could think those words rhymed!
Miss Hart opened her box next, and found a heart-shaped filigree gold brooch of great beauty. The Maynards had sent her this, not only as a valentine, but as a token of gratitude for her kindness to Marjorie.
These verses were written on a fancy card:
"Hearts to Miss HartSo I bring you a heart.Your name is fineFor a Valentine.Though this trinket smallCan't tell you all'Twill give you a hintThat hearts are not flint;And when this one of goldOur good wishes has told,May it brightly shineAs your valentine."
"It's just a darling!" exclaimed Miss Hart, looking at the welcome gift."Your parents are too good to me, Marjorie."
"I'm glad of it," said Midge, simply, "you're too good to me!"
She smiled at Miss Hart, and then she and Delight opened their boxes together.
Their gifts were just alike, and were pink and gold cups and saucers. The china and decoration were exquisite, and both cup and saucer were heart shaped. Not the most convenient shape to drink from, perhaps, but lovely for a souvenir of Valentine's Day.
Then they took the boxes held out by the wax cupid, and admired the tufted satin and the painted garlands.
"Let's take the candies out and put them in other boxes," said Delight, "so there'll be no danger of getting a bit of chocolate on the satin."
This was a good idea, and then they took all the pretty ornaments into the library and set them around on tables.
"It's like Christmas," said Delight, with a little sigh of happiness. "I do love pretty things."
"Then you ought to be happy now," said Miss Hart, "for I never saw such an array of favors."
And indeed the room looked like a valentine shop, with its flowers and gifts and cupids and valentines, and the big heart standing in front of the mantel.
Then Miss Hart spent the evening playing games with the children, and after an enthusiastic telephone conversation with the people opposite, Marjorie and Delight went upstairs, agreeing that nobody had ever had such a lovely Valentine party.
At last the day came when Marjorie was allowed to go home.
Doctor Mendel had had a most thorough fumigation and disinfection, and all danger was over. The little boy was convalescent, and there was no longer any reason why Midget or Mr. Spencer should be exiled from their homes.
And so, liberated from her prison, Midget flew, across the street, and into the arms of her waiting family.
"Mother first!" she cried, as they all crowded round, but so mixed up did the Maynards become, that it was one grand jumble of welcoming hugs and kisses.
"Oh, I'msoglad to be home again," Marjorie cried, as she looked about the familiar living-room. "It seems as if I'd been away years."
"Seems so to me, too," said Kitty, who had greatly missed her sister."Mother, aren't we going to celebrate Mopsy's coming home?"
Now "celebration" in the Maynard household, always meant dress-up frocks, and ice cream for dessert.
"Of course," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling; "fly upstairs, girlies, and get into some pretty dresses, and then fly down again, for father's coming home early."
So Midge and Kitty flew, and King scampered to his room also, and Mrs. Maynard gave the baby over to Nurse Nannie for a clean frock, while she herself telephoned for the ice cream. And to the order she added cakes and candied fruits and other dainties, until it bade fair to be a celebration feast indeed.
Marjorie, delighted to be in her own room once more, chattered rapidly, as she and Kitty dressed, and tied ribbons, and hooked waists for each other.
"Delight is an awfully nice girl, Kitsie," she was saying. "I didn't like her so much at first, but as we were together so much I grew to like her better."
"Is she as nice as Gladys?"
"In some ways she is. She's more fun than Glad about playing games. She loves to play pretend, and Gladys wasn't much good at that. But, of course, I'm more fond of Glad, she's my old friend. Delight is nice for a neighbor though."
Dressed in a white serge, with pipings and bows of scarlet velvet, her cheeks glowing red with the joyous excitement of getting home, and her eyes dancing with happiness, Marjorie flew downstairs just in time to tumble into the arms of her father, who was entering the hall door.
"Why, bless my stars!" he exclaimed; "who in the world is this?"
"Your long-lost daughter!" said Midge, nestling in his big, comfortable embrace.
"No! Can it be? This great big girl! Why, how you've grown! And yet,—yes, it is! my own Marjorie Mischief Mopsy Midget Maynard! Well, Iamglad you're back where you belong!"
"So'm I! I tell you Father Maynard, it was awful hard to stay away so long."
"I know it, girlie, and I hope it won't happen again. But you know, 'into each life some rain must fall.'"
"And I did have a good time, too," went on Midge. "Isn't it funny,Father, how you can have a good time and a bad time both at once."
"Quite comic, I should say. Now, let me get my coat off, and then we'll talk matters over."
Marjorie skipped into the living-room, and plumped herself down on the sofa. Kitty and King sat close on either side, and Rosy Posy climbed into her lap and lovingly patted her face.
The four made a pretty group, and as Mrs. Maynard came in and saw them, she said:
"Well, I'm glad my quartette is whole again; it's been broken so long."
The dinner was a celebration for fair. Aside from the delicious things to eat, everybody was so gay and glad over Marjorie's return, that all was laughter and jollity.
"How different our two families are," said Midge, thoughtfully; "here we are having such fun and frolic, and the Spencers are just having an every-day, quiet dinner."
"Aren't they glad the sickness is all over?" asked Kitty.
"Yes, of course. But they never 'celebrate.' I guess they don't know how very well. And Mrs. Spencer is very quiet. Much noise makes her head ache."
"Mr. Spencer was awful quiet, too," said King. "He hardly ever laughed all the time he was here. Except the night we wrote the valentines. Then he laughed, cause we made him write poetry and he couldn't."
"Well, they're nice people," said Midge, "but awful different from us.I'm glad I'm a Maynard!"
"I'm glad you are!" said her father.
The next day Mrs. Maynard announced her intention of going over to seeMrs. Spencer, and thanking her for her care of Marjorie.
"But it does seem funny," said Midge, "to thank her for keeping me there, when I couldn't possibly get away! But she was good to me, though really she didn't pay very much attention to me. But I s'pose that was 'cause she was so bothered about the little sick boy. But, Mother, do thank Miss Hart, too. She was lovely; and she put herself out lots of times, to make it pleasant for Delight and me. Give her plenty of thanks, will you, Mother?"
"Yes, Midget; and what about Delight?"
"Oh, yes, thank her too. She was kind and pleasant,—only,—well, it seems mean to say so,—but, Mother, she is a little selfish. I didn't mind, really; only I don't think it's quite nice to be selfish to a guest."
"Perhaps not, Mar; one; but neither is it nice to criticise your little hostess."
Marjorie flushed. "I didn't mean to, Mother," she said; "but I thought it didn't count when I'm just talking to you."
"That's right, dearie; always say anything you choose to Mother, but don't criticise Delight to anybody else."
"No, Mother, I won't," and Midge gave her mother one of her biggest "bear-hugs" and then wandered off in search of Kitty.
"What are you doing, Kit?" she said, as she found her sister sitting on the big hall settle, looking out of the window.
"Waiting for Dorothy. She's coming this afternoon, and we're going to play paper dolls."
Marjorie must have looked a little disappointed, for Kitty said:
"Say, Mops, why don't you take Delight for your friend in Glad's place?It's so nice to have a friend all your own."
"I know it is, Kit," and Midget sat down beside her sister, "but somehow it seems sort of mean to put anybody in Gladys's place."
"Oh, pshaw! it doesn't either. And when Glad is so far away, too. She doesn't even write to you, does she?"
"She sent me a valentine."
"Well, but when has she written?"
"Not for a long time. But that doesn't matter. She's my friend, and I'm not going to put anybody else in her place."
Kitty grew exasperated at this foolishness, as it seemed to her, and said:
"Well, then don't put her in Glad's place. Keep her old place empty. But take Delight as a sort of, what do you call it? Substitute friend, and let her come over here to play, same as Dorothy comes to play with me."
"I'd like to do that," said Midge. "I'm awfully glad to have Delight with me, and I know she likes me."
"Then go and telephone her now. Ask her to come over, and play."
"No, not now, 'cause mother is over there, and I'd rather wait till she comes home. Let's all play together to-day."
"All right; here comes Dorothy now."
Dorothy Adams came in, very glad to see Midget again, whom she liked almost as much as she did Kitty. She took off her things, and the girls drifted into the living-room, where King sat reading.
He had a band of red ribbon round his head, in which were stuck a dozen large turkey feathers, giving him a startling appearance.
"What's the feathers for?" asked Dorothy, looking at the boy in amazement.
"Why, you see, I'm reading one of Cooper's stories," King explained, "andI can sort of feel the Indian part of it better if I wear some feathers."
"Come on and play," said Midget; "shall we play Indians?"
"No," said Kitty, promptly, "it's too rough and tumbly when we play it in the house. Let's play a pretend game."
"Aren't we going to have the Jinks Club any more?" asked Dorothy. "We haven't had it since the Fultons went away."
"Too few of us," said King; "we four, that's all."
"We might ask Delight to belong," said Marjorie, "she can cut up jinks when she feels like it."
"All right, do;" said King, "let's have Flossy Flouncy; and I'll ask Flip Henderson, he's heaps of fun. Then we'll have six, just like we had before."
"I don't like to put people in the Fultons' place," said Marjorie, dubiously.
"Now, look here, Midge, that's silly!" said King. "We can't help it that the Fultons moved away, but that's no reason we shouldn't have anybody to play with. Let's telephone for our two new members right now, and begin the club all over again."
After a little more argument Marjorie consented, and she telephoned for Delight to come over, and then King telephoned for Frederick Henderson, better known by the more euphonious name of Flip. Both accepted, and in less than half an hour the Jinks Club was in full session. The new members had been elected by the simple process of telling them that they were members, and they gladly agreed to the rules and regulations of the somewhat informal club.
"We just cut up jinks," exclaimed Marjorie, "but they have to be good jinks, for bad jinks are mischief, and we try to keep out of that."
"It sounds lovely," said Delight; "I always wanted to belong to a club, but I never have before. Can't we cut up a jink, now?"
"You must say 'cut up jinks,' Flossy Flouncy," said King, smiling at the pretty, eager face. "You can't cut 'em by ones."
"Well, cut some, and show me how."
"I believe you think we cut 'em with scissors, like paper dolls," saidMarjorie, laughing.
She was really very glad to have Delight with her again, for she had become more attached than she realised to the little girl during their fortnight together.
"Show me," repeated Delight, with an air of willingness to learn.
"All right; let's have a good one. What shall it be, Mops?"
King looked at his sister with such evident faith in her power of inventiveness, that the others all looked at her too. Marjorie looked round the room.
"I'll tell you!" she cried, as a brilliant idea came to her, "we'll play auction."
"Hooray!" cried King, grasping the plan at once. "Sell everything we can move."
"Yes," cried Mops. "Where is the auction room?"
"This end of the room is the auction room," King, indicating nearly half of the long living-room. "Now, Flip and I are auctioneers and you ladies are in reduced poverty, and have to bring your household goods to be sold."
Delight and Kitty at once saw dramatic possibilities, and flew to dress for their parts. An afghan for a shawl, and a tidy for a bonnet, contented Kitty, but on Delight's head went a fluffy lamp mat, stuck through with four or five of the turkey quills discarded from King's head-dress.
Mops and Dorothy followed this lead, and soon four poverty-stricken ladies, carrying household treasures, timidly entered the auction-room.
"What can I do for you, madam?" said King, as Delight showed him a bronze statuette.
"I have lost all my fortune, sir," responded Delight, sobbing in a way that greatly pleased her hearers; "and I fear I must sacrifice my few remaining relics of my better days."
"Ah, yes, madam. Sorry to hear of your ill luck. Just leave the statuette, ma'am, we have an auction to-morrow or next week, and we'll get what we can for it."
"It's a priceless work of art," said Delight, still loudly weeping, "andI don't want less than five thousand dollars for it."
"Five thousand dollars, madam! A mere trifle for that gem! I'll get ten thousand for you, at least!"
"Ten thousand will do nicely," said Delight, giggling at last at King's pompous air.
Then Marjorie came bringing a large frilly sofa pillow.
"This is my last pillow," she said, in quavering tones. "I shall have to sleep on a brickbat tonight; but I must have bread for my children to eat. There are seven of them, and they haven't had a mouthful for two weeks."
"Oh, that's nothing!" responded Flip, airily. "Children ought not to be fed oftener than every three weeks anyway. I hate over-fed children. It makes them so cross."
"So it does," agreed Kitty. "But my children are never cross, 'cause I feed them on honey. I've brought a bust of Dante to have sold by auction. It's a big one, you see, and ought to bring a good price."
"Yes, it will, madame, I'm sure. Haven't you anything more to leave?"
"Yes, here's an umbrella, and a waste basket, and some books. They're all valuable but I have so much treasures in my house, I don't need these."
"Hurry up," put in Dorothy, "and give me a chance. I've brought these pictures," showing some small ones she had lifted from their nails in the wall, "and also this fine inkstand. Look out and don't spill the ink Also here's a vase of flowers, flowers and all. Look out and don't spill the water."
"You seem to bring spilly things, ma'am," said King, taking the goods carefully. "But we'll sell them."
Each girl trudged back and forth a few times until most of the portable things in the room were piled up on the table and sofa at the end where the boys were, and then the auction was prepared.
The boys themselves had taken down many of the larger pictures from their hooks, and the room looked, on the whole, as if a cyclone had struck it.
"They ought to be numbered," said Flip, stepping gingerly about among the things.
"Hold on a minute! I've got it!" shouted King, and rushed upstairs at top speed.
He returned with a large calendar, two or three pairs of scissors and a paste-pot.
"Cut 'em out," he directed, giving each girl a page of the calendar.
The numbers were large, more than an inch square, and soon lots of them were cut out. These, the boys pasted on all the goods for sale, making them look like real auction goods.
"Won't it hurt the things?" asked Delight, who was not used to such high-handed performances.
"'Course not! They'll wash right off. Now the auction will begin. Now, you must be rich ladies, different ones, you know."
"Here you are!" cried King, who was auctioneer by common consent; "here you are! number 24! a fine large statuette by one of the old masters. What am I bid for this?"
"Fifty cents," said Dorothy.
"Fifty cents! Do you mean to insult me, madame! Why, some old masters sell as high as fifty dollars, I can tell you! Who will bid higher?"
"One hundred dollars!" called out Delight, and the bronze statuette was declared her property.
Then other goods were put up, and, in order to make the play progress more quickly, two auctioneers were set to work, and King and Flip were both calling their wares and the bids at once.
Naturally, the bidders grew very excited. A large picture was hotly contested, Kitty bidding against Delight, while on the other block, the big inkstand was being sold. Somehow the wire of the picture became tangled round the auctioneer's foot, he stepped back and bumped into the other auctioneer who lost his balance, and fell over, inkstand and all. The heavy inkstand fell on the picture, breaking the glass, and soaking the paper engraving with ink. Much of the ink, too, went on Flip, who grabbed for it in a vain endeavor to save the situation.
The two boys laughingly straightened themselves out of their own mix up, but their laughter ceased when they saw that real damage had been done.
"Oh, dear!" said Marjorie, "this is a bad jinks after all!"
"Never mind, Mopsy," said King, magnanimously, "it wasn't your fault. It was mine."
"No, it was mine," said Midge, "for I proposed playing auction. I might have known we'd play it too hard."
"Never mind," said Kitty, "the company didn't have anything to do with the trouble, and we mustn't make them feel bad."
"I did," said Dorothy, "I brought the inkstand to the auction. I ought to have known better."
"Never mind who's to blame," said King, "let's straighten things out. The game is over."
Good-naturedly, they all went to work, and soon had everything back in its place. The broken and spoiled picture was stood behind the sofa, face to the wall, to be confessed to mother later.
"Now we're all in shape again," said King, looking proudly about the cleared up room. "Any nice little jinks to eat, Midgie?"
"I'll ask Sarah. She'll find something."
She did, and soon a large tray of cookies and lemonade refreshed the members of the Jinks Club, after which the visiting members went home.
"I want to own up, Mother," said King, as Mrs. Maynard came into the room, just before dinner time.
"Well, King, what have you been doing now?"
Mrs. Maynard's face expressed a humorous sort of resignation, for she was accustomed to these confessions.
"Well, you see, Mothery, we had the Jinks Club here to-day."
King's voice was very wheedlesome, and he had his arm round his mother's neck, for he well knew her affection for her only son often overcame her duty of discipline.
"And the Jinksies cut up some awful piece of mischief,—is that it?"
"Yes, Mother; but it's a truly awful one this time, and I'm the one to blame."
"No, you're not!" broke in Marjorie; "at least, not entirely. I proposed the game."
"Well," said Mrs. Maynard, "before you quarrel for the honor of this dreadful deed, suppose you tell me what it is."
For answer, King dragged the big picture out from behind the sofa, andMrs. Maynard's smile changed to a look of real dismay.
"Oh, King!" she said; "that's your father's favorite engraving!"
"Yes'm, I know it. That's the awfullest part of it. But, Mother, it was an accident."
"Ah, yes, but an accident that ought not to have happened. It was an accident brought about by your own wrong-doing. What possessed you to take that great picture down from the wall, andwhydid you splash ink on it?"
So then all the children together told the whole story of the auction game.
"But it was lots of fun!" Marjorie wound up, with great enthusiasm."Delight is grand to play games with. She acts just like a grown-up lady.And Flip Henderson is funny too."
"But Midget," said her mother, "I can't let you go on with this JinksClub of yours, if you're always going to spoil things."
"No, of course not. But, Mother, I don't think it will happen again. And anyway, next time we're going to meet at Delight's."
"That doesn't help matters any, my child. I'd rather you'd spoil my things than Mrs. Spencer's,—if spoiling must be done. Well, the case is too serious for me. I'll leave the whole matter to your father,—I hear him coming up the steps now."
Soon Mr. Maynard entered the room, and found his whole family grouped round the ruined picture.
"Wowly—wow-wow!" he exclaimed. "Has there been an earthquake? For nothing else could wreck my pet picture like that!"
"No, Father," said King; "it wasn't an earthquake. I did it,—mostly. We were playing auction, and my foot got tangled up in the picture wire, and the inkstand upset, and smashed the glass, and—and I'm awful sorry."
King was too big a boy to cry, but there was a lump in his throat, as he saw his father's look of real regret at the loss of his valued picture.
"Tell me all about it, son. Was it mischief?"
"I'm afraid it was. But we took all the things in the room to play auction with, and somehow I took that down from the wall without thinking. And, of course, I didn't know it was going to get broken."
"No, King; but if you had stopped to think, you would have known that itmightget broken?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then it would have been wiser and kinder to leave it upon the wall, out of harm's way?"
"Yes, Father; much better. I didn't think. Oh,—I know that's no excuse, but that's,—well, it's the reason."
"And a very poor reason, my boy. The worthwhile man is the man who thinks in time. Thinking afterward doesn't mend broken things,—or take out inkstains. Of course, the broken glass is a mere trifle, that could have been easily replaced. But the engraving itself is ruined by the ink."
"Couldn't it be restored?" asked King, hopefully. He was not quite certain what "restored" meant, but he knew his father had had it done to some pictures.
Mr. Maynard smiled. "No, King, a paper engraving cannot be restored. What is that number pasted on it for?"
"We numbered all the things, so as to make it like a real auction," saidMarjorie.
Mr. Maynard glanced round the room.
"You rascally children!" he cried; "if you haven't stuck papers on all the vases and bric-a-brac in the room! And on this tree-calf Tennyson, as I live! Oh, my little Maynards! Did anybody ever have such a brood as you?"
Mr. Maynard dropped his head in his hands in apparent despair, but the children caught the amused note in his voice, and the twinkle in his eye, as he glanced at his wife.
"Well, here you are!" he said, as he raised his head again, "for a punishment you must get all those numbers off without injury to the things they're pasted on. This will mean much care and patience, for you must not use water on books or anything that dampness will harm. Those must be picked off in tiny bits with a sharp penknife."
"Oh, we'll do it, Father!" cried Marjorie, "and we'll be just as careful!"
"Indeed you must. You've done enough havoc already. As to the picture, King, we'll say no more about it. You're too big a boy now to be punished; so we'll look upon it as a matter between man and man. I know you appreciate how deeply I regret the loss of that picture, and I well know how sorry you feel about it yourself. The incident is closed."
Mr. Maynard held out his hand to his son, and as King grasped it he felt that his father's manly attitude in the matter was a stronger reproof and a more efficacious lesson to him than any definite punishment could be.
After dinner the three children went to work to remove the pasted numbers.
A few, which were on glass vases, or porcelain, or metal ornaments, could be removed easily by soaking with a damp cloth; but most of them were on plaster casts, or polished wood, or fine book bindings and required the greatest care in handling.
When bed-time came the task was not half finished, and Marjorie's shoulders were aching from close application to the work.
"Sorry for you, kiddies," said Mr. Maynard, as they started for bed, "but if you dance, you must pay the piper. Perhaps a few more evenings will finish the job, and then we'll forget all about it."
Mr. Maynard, though not harsh, was always firm, and the children well knew they had the work to do, and must stick patiently at it till it was finished.
"Good-night, Father," said King, "and thank you for your confidence in me. I'll try to deserve it hereafter."
"Good-night, my boy. We all have to learn by experience, and when you want my help, it's yours."
The straightforward glance that passed between father and son meant much to both, and King went off to bed, feeling that, if not quite a grown man, he was at least a child no longer in his father's estimation.
After the children had gone, Mr. Maynard picked out the most delicate or valuable of the "auction" goods, and began himself to remove the pasted numbers.
"Partly to help the kiddies," he said to his wife, "and partly because I know they'd spoil these things. It's all I can do to manage them successfully myself."
Next morning at breakfast Mrs. Maynard said; "Well, Midget, now you're at home again, what about starting back to school?"
"Oh, Mother!" said Marjorie, looking disconsolate. And then, for she did not want to be naughty about it, she added: "All right; I s'pose I must go, so I will. But as to-day's Friday I can wait till Monday, can't I?"
Mrs. Maynard smiled. "Yes, I think you may till Monday, if you want to.But are you sure you want to?"
"'Deed Iamsure!"
"And nothing would make you want to go to-day, instead of waiting tillMonday?"
"No,ma'am! no-thing!" and Midget actually pounded the table with her knife-handle, so emphatic was she.
"You tell her, Fred," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling at her husband.
"Well, Madcap Mopsy," said her father, "try to bear up under this new misfortune; your mother and I have planned a plan, and this is it. How would you like it, instead of going to school any more,—I mean to Miss Lawrence,—to go every day to lessons with Delight and Miss Hart?"
Marjorie sat still a minute, trying to take it in. It seemed too good to be true.
Then dropping her knife and fork, she left her chair and flew round to her father's place at table.
Seeing the whirlwind coming, Mr. Maynard pushed back his own chair just in time to receive a good-sized burden of delighted humanity that threw itself round his neck and squeezed him tight.
"Oh, Father, Father, Father! do you really mean it? Not go to school any more at all! And have lessons every day with that lovely Miss Hart, and my dear Delight? Oh, Father, you'resucha duck!"
"There, there, my child! Don't strangle me, or I'll take it all back!"
"You can't now! You've said it! Oh, I'm so glad! Can I start to-day?"
"Oho!" said Mrs. Maynard; "who was it that saidnothingcould make her want to go to-day instead of Monday?"
Marjorie giggled. "But who could have dreamed you meant this?" she cried, leaving her father and flying to caress her mother. "Oh, Mumsie, won't it be lovely! Oh, I amsohappy!"
"If not, you're a pretty good imitation of a happy little girl," said her father; "and now if you'll return to your place and finish your breakfast, we'll call it square."
"Square it is, then," said Marjorie, skipping back to her place; "Kit, did you ever hear of anything so lovely!"
"Never," said Kitty, "for you. I'd rather go to school and be with the girls."
"I didn't mind when Gladys was here, but I've hated it ever since I was alone. But to study with Miss Hart,—oh, goody! Is she willing, Mother?"
"Of course, I've discussed it with her and with Mrs. Spencer. Indeed, Mrs. Spencer proposed the plan herself, when I was over there yesterday. She and Miss Hart think it will be good for Delight to have some one with her. So, Midge, you must be a good girl, and not teach Delight all sorts of mischief."
"Oh, yes, Mother, I'll be so good you won't know me. Can I start to-day?"
"Yes, if you're sure you want to."
"Want to? I just guess I do!" and Midget danced upstairs to dress for "school."
The plan worked admirably. Miss Hart was not only a skilled teacher, but a most tactful and clever woman, and as she really loved her two little pupils, she taught them so pleasantly that they learned without drudgery.
As the clock hands neared nine every morning, there were no more long drawn sighs from Marjorie, but smiles and cheery good-byes, as the little girl gaily left the house and skipped across the street.
The daily association, too, brought her into closer friendship withDelight, and the two girls became real chums. Their natures were sodifferent, that they reacted favorably on one another, and under MissHart's gentle and wise guidance the two girls improved in every way.
It was one day in the very last part of February that Midge came home to find a letter for her on the hall table.
"From Gladys," she cried and tore it open.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I didn't think! Miss Hart told me never to open a letter with my finger, but to wait till I could get a letter-opener. Well, it's too late now, I'll remember next time."
She looked ruefully at the untidy edges of the envelope, but pulled the letter out and began to read it.
"I'm coming to see you, that is, if you want me to. Father has to go East, and he will leave me at your house while he goes to New York. I will get there on Friday and stay four days. I will be glad to see you again.
"Sincerely yours,
Marjorie smiled at the stiff formal letter, which was the sort Gladys always wrote, and then she went in search of her mother.
"Gladys is coming on Friday," she announced.
"That's very nice, my dear," said Mrs. Maynard; "you'll be so glad to see her again, won't you?"
"Yes," said Midget, but she said it slowly, and with a troubled look in her eyes.
"Well, what is it, dear? Tell Mother."
"I don't know exactly,—but somehow I'm not so awfully pleased to have Gladys come. You see, she may not like Delight, and I want them to like each other."
"Why do you want them to?"
"Whydo I? Mother, what a funny question! Why, I want them to like each other because I like them both."
"But you don't seem anxious lest Delight won't like Gladys."
"Oh, of course she'll like her! Delight is so sweet and amiable, she'd like anybody that I like. But Gladys is,—well,—touchy."
"Which do you care more for, dearie?"
"Mothery, that's just what bothers me I'm getting to like Delight better and better. And that doesn't seem fair to Gladys, for she's my old friend, and I wouldn't be unloyal to her for anything. So you see, I don't know which I like best."
"Well, Marjorie, I'll tell you. In the first place, you mustn't take it so seriously. Friendships among children are very apt to change when one moves away and another comes. Now both these little girls are your good friends, but it stands to reason that the one you're with every day should be nearer and dearer than one who lives thousands of miles away. So I want you to enjoy Delight's friendship, and consider her your dearest friend, if you choose, without feeling that you are disloyal to Gladys."
"Could I, Mother?"
"Certainly, dear. That is all quite right. Now, when Gladys comes, for a few days, you must devote yourself especially to her, as she will be your house-guest; and if she and Delight aren't entirely congenial, then you must exclude Delight while Gladys is here. You may not like to do this, and it may not be necessary, but if it is, then devote yourself to Gladys' pleasure and preferences, because it is your duty. To be a good hostess is an important lesson for any girl or woman to learn, and you are not too young to begin."
"Shall I tell Delight I'm going to do this?"
"Not before Gladys comes. They may admire each other immensely; then there will be no occasion to mention it. When is Gladys coming?"
"On Friday. That's only three days off."
"Then we must begin to plan a little for her pleasures. As she will only be here four days, we can't do very much. Suppose we have a little party Saturday afternoon, then she can meet all her Rockwell friends."
"Yes, that will be lovely. And I do hope she and Delight will like each other."
"Why of course they will, Midget. There's no reason why they shouldn't."
Gladys came Friday afternoon and Marjorie welcomed her with open arms, truly happy to see her friend again.
"Tell me all about your new home, Glad," said Midge, as the two settled themselves on either end of the sofa for a chat.
"Oh, it's just lovely, Mops. It's like summer all the time. And the flowers are in bloom all about, and the birds sing in the trees, and everybody wears white dresses and summer hats even in February."
"Thatislovely. And is your father getting better?"
"Yes, some better. He justhadto come to New York on some business, but the doctor said he must not stay but a few days. So we have to start back on Tuesday."
"It's a shame. I wish you could stay longer."
"So do I. But I'm glad to go back, too. I go to a lovely school there, and I know the nicest girls and boys."
"Nicer than Rockwell children?"
"Oh, I don't know. Yes, I guess so. My most intimate friend is a lovely girl. Her name is Florence Lawton. Isn't that a pretty name?"
"Why, Gladys Fulton! I'm your most intimate friend! Do you like her better than me?"
Gladys' eyes opened wide.
"Midget Maynard," she said, "what do you mean? Of course you were my best friend here, but when I'm out there don't you s'pose I've got to have somebody else to play with and to tell secrets to?"
Somehow this idea made Midget's heart lighter. It justified her in takingDelight as a chum in Gladys' place.
"Yes, of course," she responded. "Our letters don't seem to amount to much, do they, Glad?"
"No, I'm no good at all at writing letters. Don't you have any chum in my place, Mopsy?"
"Why, yes, I s'pose I do," said Marjorie, slowly, for it was just beginning to dawn on her that Delighthadtaken Gladys' place. "I'm awfully good friends with Delight Spencer, who lives in the house you used to live in."
"Delight! what a pretty name."
"Yes, and she's an awfully pretty girl. You'll see her while you're here, of course."
Very soon the first strangeness of the reunion was over, and the two were chatting away as gaily as if they had never been separated.
Then Delight came over. She had promised Marjorie she'd come over to see Gladys, but she came rather unwillingly. The truth is, she felt a little jealous of Marjorie's older friend, and was not prepared to like her.
Delight was dressed in some of her prettiest clothes, and the big black velvet hat on her fair golden hair made a lovely picture.
Gladys thought she was beautiful, and welcomed her warmly, but Delight, when introduced, seemed to shrink back into herself and sat stiffly on the edge of a chair, holding her muff and saying nothing.
"Oh, Delight," cried Midget, "don't act like that. Take off your things, and let's play."
"No, I can't stay but a few minutes," said Delight, primly.
She sat there, looking very uncomfortable, and though Midge and Gladys tried to make her more chummy, they didn't succeed.
Finally, Delight rose to go, and as Gladys didn't care much for such a spoil sport, she said nothing to detain her. Midget went to the door with her, and as Delight went out she turned to Midge, with her eyes full of tears, and said: "You like her better than you do me, so I'll go."
"Go on, then," said Marjorie, utterly exasperated by such foolishness, as she considered it.
"What ails her?" said Gladys, as Marjorie returned.
"Why, I suppose it's because you're here. She never acted that way before. You see, she's a spoiled child, and she always wants everything her own way. It's awfully funny, Gladys, but I thought maybe you wouldn't like her and here it's the other way about!"
"Oh, I like her, or at least I would if she'd let me. I think she's the prettiest girl I ever saw. Don't you?"
"Yes, I do. And she's awfully nice, too, if she didn't have this tantrum about you."
"Oh, well, she'll get over it," returned Gladys; "I shan't be here long, anyway."
The day after Gladys' arrival was the first Saturday in March.
First Saturdays were usually "Ourdays," when Mr. Maynard took a whole day from his business and devoted it to the entertainment of his children.
It was King's turn to choose how the day should be spent, but, as a party in honor of Gladys had been arranged for the afternoon, there was only the morning to choose for.
They were all discussing the matter the night before, and King kindly offered to give his turn to one of the girls, that they might choose something to please Gladys.
"No, indeed," said Midget. "We like boys' fun as well as girls' fun; so you choose ahead, King."
"All right, then. If you girls agree, I'd like to build a snow fort. This is a jolly deep snow, the best we've had this winter, and likely the last we'll have. Father's a jim dandy at snow games, and we could have an out-of-door frolic in the morning, and then Glad's party in the house in the afternoon."
"Goody! I say yes to that," cried Midget.
"I too," said Gladys. "We don't have any snow in California, and I don't know when I'll see any again."
"I'm satisfied," said Kitty, "can I ask Dorothy over?"
"Yes," said Mr. Maynard; "ask anybody you choose."
So next morning, soon after breakfast, the children put on all the warmest wraps they could find, and in tam o'shanter caps, tippets, mittens and leggings, started out for their Ourday fun.
The snow was more than a foot deep all over the great lawn, and Mr. Maynard selected a fine place for a fort. He taught the boys,—for King had asked Flip to come over,—how to cut and pack great blocks of solid snow, and the girls he showed how to make balls and cones for decoration.
Once Midget caught sight of Delight peeping across at them from behind a curtain. "I'm going over to ask her to come," she said; "I didn't ask her before, because I thought she wouldn't come. But, I believe she will."
So Midge scampered across the street and rang the Spencer's door bell.
"Won't you come over?" she said, as soon as she saw Delight. "It's anOurday, and we're having such fun!"
"No, thank you," said Delight; "you don't need me when you have Gladys."
"Don't be silly!" said Midget. "What's the reason I can't play with you both? Come on."
"Oh, I don't want to come," said Delight pettishly. "Go on back."
So Marjorie went back, alone, walking slowly, for she couldn't understandDelight's behavior.
But once again in the fun of the snow play, she forgot all about her ill-natured little neighbor.
They built a grand fort, with a flag waving from its summit, and then with soft snowballs for ammunition, they chose sides and had the merriest kind of a battle. Afterward they built a snow man and a snow woman.
These were of heroic size, so big that Mr. Maynard had to climb a step-ladder to put their heads in place.
The man, according to the time-honored tradition of all snow men, wore a battered old high hat, and had a pipe in his mouth, while the old woman wore a sun bonnet and checked apron.
They were comical figures, indeed, and when they were completed it was time to go in to luncheon, and Dorothy and Flip scampered for their homes.
"Now, gentlemen of the jury," said Mr. Maynard, at the lunch table, "as we have still two good hours before it's time to array ourselves in purple and fine linen for the party, suppose we continue our outdoor sports and go for a sleigh ride? It's up to you, King."
"Fine!" agreed King. "If it suits the ladies of the castle."
"It do," said Kitty; "the ladies fair would fain go for a sleigh ride.May I ask Dorothy?"
"Not this time, Kittums," said her father. "I've ordered a big double sleigh, and we'll just fill it comfortably."
And so they did, with Mr. and Mrs. Maynard on the wide back seat and Rosy Posy between, them; Midget, Gladys, and Kitty facing them, and King up on the box with the driver.
A span of big powerful horses took them flying over the snow, and the crisp, keen air made their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright.
It was a fine sleigh ride, and the jingling bells made a merry accompaniment to the children's chatter and laughter.
"Ice cream, Kitty?" asked her father as they entered a small town, and drew up before the funny little inn that was its principal hostelry—
"No, sir!" said Kitty, whose teeth were chattering, "it's too cold!"
"Well, I never expected to live long enough to hear Kitty say no to ice cream!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard in surprise.
"It's a cold day when that happens, isn't it Kit?" asked her father."Well, jump out then, and stamp your toes, and thaw your ears."
They all went into the little inn, and warmed themselves by the fire, and had a drink of hot milk or hot soup, as they preferred, and then bundled back into the sleigh for the homeward ride.
"I'm not cold now," said Kitty, cuddling into the fur robes.
The horses dashed back again over the snow, and soon after three o'clock they were at home.
The party was at four, so there was ample time to get ready.
"What kind of a party is it to be father?" asked Midge. "Any special kind?"
"Special kind?" said Mr. Maynard; "I should say so! It's an animal party, to be sure!"
"An animal party?" said Gladys, to Midge, as they went upstairs to dress; "what does he mean?"
"I don't know. You never can tell what Father's going to do. Especially on an Ourday. He always gets up lovely things for Ourdays."
"He's a jolly man," said Gladys; "I never saw anybody like him."
"Nor I either," agreed Midge; "I think he's just perfect."
The little girls all wore white dresses, each with a different colored ribbon, and were all ready, and sitting in state, at ten minutes before the hour appointed for the party.