CHAPTER VILETTERS AND CARDS

“It’sawful to have Father and Mother away so long, but it’s lovely to get their letters,” said Marjorie, as Sarah brought in a big budget of mail that the postman had just brought. The Maynards were at breakfast, and as King distributed the various letters, postcards, and parcels, there proved to be something for everybody at the table.

Mr. and Mrs. Maynard were now in Florida, and they sent many souvenirs of their trip.

Marjorie had a silver teaspoon, King a book-mark, Kitty a pin-tray, and Rosy Posy a queer little doll, all of which were marked with the name of the beautiful hotel where the travellers were then staying.

Miss Larkin received a lovely lace handkerchief, which was a more elaborate gift than the others, though not so specially a souvenir.

Then each had two or three postcards of the Florida scenery, and, best of all, each had a letter addressed separately and individually.

As they eagerly opened and read them, Rosy Posy, only slightly assisted by Sarah, also opened her letter and pretended to read it, nodding her curly head and smiling as if she could really make out the written pages.

And then, each in turn, they read their letters aloud.

“Is yours in poetry, Miss Larkin?” asked Marjorie. “Ours are.”

“Partly,” said Miss Larkin, smiling. “Your father is quite a poet, isn’t he?”

“He says he isn’t,” said Kitty; “but I think his verses are lovely. You read yours out first, Miss Larkin, and then we’ll read ours.”

So Miss Larkin began:

“Dear Miss Larkin, here we areSeeming near, though really far.Wondering how you get alongWith those children, so headstrong.Are your dark locks turning grayWith their worry day by day?Are they jumping at the chanceTo be leading you a dance?Or has your devoted careTamed them into angels fair?Well, whate’er may be the case,We are glad you’re in our place.So forgive their naughty pranks,And accept our love and thanks—Blessings be upon your head:Always yours,HelenandEd.”

“Dear Miss Larkin, here we are

Seeming near, though really far.

Wondering how you get along

With those children, so headstrong.

Are your dark locks turning gray

With their worry day by day?

Are they jumping at the chance

To be leading you a dance?

Or has your devoted care

Tamed them into angels fair?

Well, whate’er may be the case,

We are glad you’re in our place.

So forgive their naughty pranks,

And accept our love and thanks—

Blessings be upon your head:

Always yours,

HelenandEd.”

“Oh, isn’t that lovely!” sighed Kitty. “I ’spect they made that up together. They can both make rhymes, you know.”

“You next, King,” said Marjorie. “We always go by ages, you know.”

“All right,” said King. “Mine isn’t very long. I guess Father wrote it all himself.

“Dear old King,EverythingIs going fine,So here’s a lineTo let you knowThat, as we go,Our thoughts turn backAlong the trackUntil, in our mind’s eye, we seeOur King Cole and his Sisters Three.So to the girls and to the brotherWe send much love,FatherandMother.”

“Dear old King,

Everything

Is going fine,

So here’s a line

To let you know

That, as we go,

Our thoughts turn back

Along the track

Until, in our mind’s eye, we see

Our King Cole and his Sisters Three.

So to the girls and to the brother

We send much love,

FatherandMother.”

“That’s a nice one,” said Kitty, who loved the jingles. “Now I’ll read mine. Oh, no, it’s your turn first, Mops.”

“Mine’s from Mother. I guess she thinks I’m up to some mischief. She says:

“Marjorie, dear, dearie, derious,I think I’ll write you a line that’s serious—Only to say, Be good, sweet child,And don’t do anything wrong or wild.If mischievous pranks you want to play,Put them off till a future day.For I would rather at home be foundWhen Marjorie Mischief comes around.But I feel quite sure I need feel no fears,For my bonnie lassie of twelve sweet yearsIs trying, I know, to be good as gold.So here’s all the love that a heart can holdTo my darling Daughter, far awayFrom your ownest, lovingestMothery May.”

“Marjorie, dear, dearie, derious,

I think I’ll write you a line that’s serious—

Only to say, Be good, sweet child,

And don’t do anything wrong or wild.

If mischievous pranks you want to play,

Put them off till a future day.

For I would rather at home be found

When Marjorie Mischief comes around.

But I feel quite sure I need feel no fears,

For my bonnie lassie of twelve sweet years

Is trying, I know, to be good as gold.

So here’s all the love that a heart can hold

To my darling Daughter, far away

From your ownest, lovingest

Mothery May.”

“May is short for Maynard,” Marjorie explained to Miss Larkin. “We often call her Mothery May. It’s such a pretty name.”

“Yes, it is,” said Miss Larkin. “I didn’t know Helen could rhyme as well as that.”

“She learned it from Father,” said Kitty. “She told me so once. She says it isn’t poetry, it’s just jingle. But I love it all. We’re going to save all these letters and cards and things, and make a big scrap-book.”

“That will be fine,” said Miss Larkin. “Let’s begin it at once. I’ll help you.”

“All right; thank you,” said Kitty. “Now I’ll read mine.

“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,What an awful pityThat we couldn’t have you hereTo enjoy this country, dear.You would love the sky and sunAnd the blossoms, every one.And the waves upon the shore,Rolling, tumbling, o’er and o’er.Never mind, Miss Kittiwinks,Sometime it will chance, methinks,That we’ll come down here againAnd we’ll bring you with us then.You and King and Mops, and maybeThat small Rosy Posy baby!Now, good-bye, for I’ve no timeTo waste on further foolish rhyme.I don’t like to work my brain hard.From your fond oldFather Maynard.”

“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,

What an awful pity

That we couldn’t have you here

To enjoy this country, dear.

You would love the sky and sun

And the blossoms, every one.

And the waves upon the shore,

Rolling, tumbling, o’er and o’er.

Never mind, Miss Kittiwinks,

Sometime it will chance, methinks,

That we’ll come down here again

And we’ll bring you with us then.

You and King and Mops, and maybe

That small Rosy Posy baby!

Now, good-bye, for I’ve no time

To waste on further foolish rhyme.

I don’t like to work my brain hard.

From your fond old

Father Maynard.”

“Oh,” cried Kitty, “don’t you just love that! Brain hard and Maynard is a grand rhyme!”

“Great!” agreed King, “though it joggles a little, I think.”

“Well, of course, it isn’t a real rhyme,” said Kitty, looking thoughtful; “it’s just a sort of a joke rhyme. That’s why I like it so much. Now, Rosy Posy, I’ll read yours.”

“Ess, Kitty; wead it out loud to me.”

“I want my Rosy Posy,Yes, I do!I want to cuddle cosyJust with you.I want my little girlie,Pink and white;Hair so soft and curly,Eyes so bright.There are but a few, love,Sweet as you.Rosy Posy, Truelove,I love you.”

“I want my Rosy Posy,

Yes, I do!

I want to cuddle cosy

Just with you.

I want my little girlie,

Pink and white;

Hair so soft and curly,

Eyes so bright.

There are but a few, love,

Sweet as you.

Rosy Posy, Truelove,

I love you.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Kitty, enraptured, “what a sweet little love-poem! Why, it’s a valentine!”

“Ess,” said the happy recipient; “it’s my ballytine. Muvver sended it all to me.”

“So she did, Baby,” said Midget. “And it’s a lovely one. We’ll put it in the big scrap-book. Now, Miss Larkin, I must skip to school.”

“So say we all of us,” said King, rising from the table. “Let’s put all these letters and gifts and things away together, and get them out again to-night. Can we begin the scrap-book to-night, Miss Larkin?”

“Yes, King, I’ll get the book to-day. I’d like to make you a present of it.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss Larkin. You’re a trump! You’ll sure get it, won’t you?”

“Yes, indeed. I have to go downtown this afternoon, and I’ll get a real nice one.”

“Mayn’t I take all the postcards over to Delight’s with me?” said Marjorie. “I want to show them to her and to Miss Hart.”

“Sure, take mine,” said King, heartily; and Kitty, too, was willing.

“I’ll be awful careful of ’em,” said Midget. “And I know Miss Hart will be so interested to see them.”

Miss Hart was, indeed, interested. She changed her mind about the lessons she had planned for the day, and took Florida for the theme instead. She had been there herself, so she recognized the places pictured on the postcards, and described them in a most interesting way. The map of Florida was found in the Geography, and Miss Hart told her pupils all about its wonderful fruits and flowers. Then, taking down a United States History, she read to them of the settlement of the state, of its growth and present condition, and many other interesting details. The other Southern states were touched on, and when the lesson was over Delight and Marjorie felt quite well informed about that section of our country.

Then Miss Hart asked them each to write a short composition about Florida. These she corrected, and explained her corrections so clearly that, almost without knowing it, the girls had had a lesson in English composition.

“Oh,” sighed Marjorie, as she put on her hat to go home; “it has been a lovely morning. Isn’t it strange, Miss Hart, how I used to hate to go to school, and now I just love it.”

Miss Hart smiled.

“You hate routine work, Marjorie,” she said; “and you disliked the confinement and discipline of the regular schoolroom. Our lessons are so varied and unsystematic, they don’t tire you in the same way.”

“They don’t tire me at all, Miss Hart; but it is you who make them so pleasant. Nobody else ever could teach things as you do. You make lessons seem play.”

“They are play, if you enjoy them. Anything we enjoy is a recreation, and, therefore, pleasant.”

“You’re coming over this afternoon, you know, Mops; the Jinks Club meets here.”

“’Course I am, Delight. We’re all coming. What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Miss Hart said she’d help us. You know, my mother won’t let us rampage all over the house, as your mother does.”

“I know it,” said Marjorie, smiling to think of Mrs. Spencer’s carefully placed furniture and immaculately kept rooms, subjected to such invasions as frequently turned the Maynard house topsy-turvy.

“In fact,” Delight went on, “Mother says I can’t have the Jinks Club meet here, unless we promise to stay in just the two rooms—the library and dining-room.”

“All right,” assented Midget, cheerfully. “We can have plenty of fun in two rooms. Can’t we, Miss Hart?”

“Yes, I’m sure you can. Quiet fun, you know. And perhaps you’ll enjoy that—for a change, you know.”

“I know we’ll enjoy it, if you’re with us, Miss Hart,” and with a loving good-bye to the governess and to Delight, Midget scampered home.

“Oh, fiddlesticks!” said King, as, at the luncheon table, Marjorie told of the meeting of the Club that afternoon. “I don’t see any fun cooped up in two rooms. Why can’t we play outdoors?”

“Oh, Mrs. Spencer hardly ever lets Delight go out to play in March. She says it’s a dangerous month.”

“Huh! We play outdoors any day in the year.”

“I know we do, King. ’Cause Mother wants us to. But Mrs. Spencer is different.”

“Different! I should say she was! She’s about as much like our mother as chalk’s like cheese. Let’s have the Club over here, Mops.”

“No,” said Marjorie, looking thoughtful. “I think we’d better not have it here while Mother’s away. For you know we always break things, or ’most kill ourselves, and after ‘Julius Cæsar’ I think we want to beware of our sort of games.”

“My! but you’re getting cautious! Well, all right; I’ll go to Delight’s this time, but if it’s poky, I won’t go again. Anyway, it’ll be at Flip Henderson’s next time, and I guess we’ll have fun there.”

“I’d just as lieve play quiet games, anyway,” put in Kitty. “I’ve had enough of accidents.”

She glanced at Rosy Posy’s bandaged arm, which, though it didn’t incommode the baby in the least, was a silent reminder to the others.

So, at three o’clock, the three Maynards went across the street to Delight’s house.

Dorothy Adams and Flip Henderson came at the same time, and they all went in together.

It is strange how the atmosphere of a home will affect its guests.

Mrs. Spencer was a kind and pleasant lady enough, and yet no sooner were the members of the Jinks Club inside her house, than they suddenly became silent and a little self-conscious. They had an undefined feeling that they must “behave,” and it made them a little stiff and unnatural.

The Maynard house, on the other hand, was like a playground. Once inside those hospitable doors, they felt an unspoken welcome that was homelike and cordial to the last degree.

So they decorously laid off their hats and coats, taking pains to place them neatly on the hatrack or hall table, and then primly seated themselves around the library. King began to fidget; he was always impatient under restraint of any sort. But Marjorie felt more at home in the Spencer house, and, too, she had faith in Miss Hart’s plans, whatever they might be.

Kitty was of an adaptable nature, and didn’t care much what they played. Dorothy was with her, and that was fun of itself.

Soon Miss Hart came in, and her smiling face, and cordial manner, did much to cheer the hearts of the Jinks Club.

“I was so interested in Marjorie’s postcards,” she began, “that I thought you might like to play a postcard game this afternoon. So I’ve arranged it for you. As you see, in this room, and the dining-room, are many postcards pinned to the walls and window-frames, and on tables and mantels. Some are partly hidden, others in plain sight. In every case the printed title is cut off, and each card is numbered. Now, we will go travelling.”

This began to look promising. King glanced around at the postcards, and noticed some attractive-looking parcels tied with ribbons, and decided it was to be a sort of a party. Now, a party was about as much fun as a regular Jinks Club meeting, so his spirits rose to the occasion.

“Here is your luggage,” Miss Hart went on, giving each a pencil and blank card. “Write down the number of any postcard, and write against it what you think it represents. Don’t look at each other’s lists, and the one who has most correct answers will receive a prize. Good-bye, my tourist friends; start now on your travels.”

It was fun. Some of the pictures were impossible to mistake. The Eiffel Tower, the Pyramids of Egypt, and the Bunker Hill Monument were easily recognized. But others were not so well known, and sometimes the tourists had to think hard to remember where some of the buildings or monuments were situated. The scenes were from all over the world; from the Coliseum in Rome to the Flatiron Building in New York; and the Jinks members giggled when they came across a picture of their own town library and the Rockwell Railway Station. It was an absorbing game, and the tourists went about from picture to picture, and then back on their tracks again to try once more to recall some half-forgotten arch or statue.

At last, the allotted time was up, and the tourists all returned to the library, while Miss Hart looked over the cards. To her surprise, King had the greatest number of correct answers, for though he was the oldest one present, he had not studied ancient history as much as Marjorie and Delight had.

“How do you happen to be so well-informed?” asked Miss Hart, as she handed him the first prize.

“I don’t know,” said King. “I think I see pictures in the illustrated papers, and somehow I remember them.”

“That’s what we call a ‘photographic memory,’ ” said Miss Hart, smiling, “and it’s a very good thing to have.”

CHAPTER VIIA JINKS PARTY

Thesecond prize was really won by Delight, but as she was hostess, of course she wouldn’t take it, so, Flip Henderson having the next best list, the prize was given to him.

“Well,” remarked Midget, “that’s a pretty thing! Only two boys in our Jinks Club, and they take the two prizes!”

“You girls will have to look to your laurels,” said Miss Hart, laughingly.

As the prizes were both postcard albums, they were equally appropriate for a boy or girl, and the two boys who won them were secretly quite proud of their achievement.

“Now, we’ve time for one more game,” said Miss Hart, “and this is one without prizes, but I think you’ll say it’s good fun. Kitty and Dorothy, will you distribute these bits of paper, keeping them blank side up?”

The two little girls took the box of small papers, and gave them out to the others, being careful not to look at the written side. The slips were about an inch long, and half an inch wide, and though the girls tried honestly not to look, they couldn’t help seeing there was a single word written on each one.

At last, all were distributed, and the children sat round the room waiting for the game to begin.

“This is a lovely Jinks Club meeting,” said Dorothy Adams. “I like it better than the ones where we romp so hard.”

“It’s sure lots of fun,” agreed King. “But it’s just like a party. Jinks Club never was like a party before.”

“I don’t care what it’s like, if you all have a good time,” said Delight, who had been afraid the “Jinksies” wouldn’t have a good time at her house, where romping was not allowed.

“We’re having a beautiful time,” Marjorie said, as she squeezed Delight’s arm.

Then Miss Hart began the game.

“I will tell a story,” she said, “and when I pause, King, who sits next to me, will turn over one of his papers and read the word on it. Then I’ll go on, and when I pause again, Dorothy, who sits next, will turn over one of her papers and read it out. And so on, round the circle. Each one of you be ready in turn, please, so as not to delay the thrilling tale. Now we’ll start. Once upon a time a gentleman was walking down a crowded city street, when he suddenly saw a⁠——”

“Giraffe,” said King, who had his paper all ready to read.

“ ‘What a strange thing!’ exclaimed the gentleman. ‘But I will lead it away from here lest it scare somebody.’ So he persuaded the giraffe to go with him, and, stopping at a shop, he bought a⁠——”

“Sunbonnet,” said Dorothy.

The children all laughed, but Miss Hart went on:

“ ‘Just the thing!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Without this, my poor giraffe might have been sun-struck.’ He tied the sunbonnet on the giraffe’s head, although, to do so, he had to climb up on a⁠——”

“Bureau,” said Midget.

“Which was just about to be placed on a moving-van. The sunbonnet properly adjusted, the gentleman said politely to the giraffe, ‘What is your name?’ To his surprise, the animal spoke quite plainly, and answered⁠——”

“Strawberry Jam,” read Delight, giggling.

“ ‘A lovely name!’ exclaimed the man. ‘Now, Strawberry Jam, I feel sure you are hungry, so I will feed you some⁠——’ ”

“Tin tacks,” said Kitty.

“ ‘You may not think you’ll like them, dear Strawberry Jam, but I assure you that, made up into little cakes, and iced over with⁠——’ ”

“Mucilage!”

“ ‘They are really very nice.’ ‘Not for me!’ growled the giraffe. ‘I much prefer⁠——’ ”

“Soap and candles.”

“ ‘Very well,’ exclaimed the man, ‘you shall have those also. Now, as you’re weary, I propose you take a nap in a⁠——’ ”

“Washboiler!”

“It was difficult to get the large animal in, but by doubling him up the gentleman managed to get Strawberry Jam quite comfortably in the washboiler, when just then a lady came along. She carried⁠——”

“Two watermelons.”

“And——”

“A live turkey.”

“And——”

“A pail of whitewash.”

“Setting down her burdens, she said to the man, ‘I belong to the Society for the Prevention of⁠——’ ”

“Green apples.”

“ ‘And I shall have you arrested for ill-treating that giraffe, unless you at once give him a⁠——’ ”

“Lace collar.”

“ ‘I shall carry out my threat.’

“ ‘Madame,’ said the gentleman, ‘I have no lace collars handy, and, besides, with his long neck, he would require about seventeen, but I will give him a⁠——’ ”

“Yellow wheelbarrow.”

“ ‘Do so!’ cried the lady, ‘and I will wheel him away in it.’ She did so, and the giraffe was never seen or heard of again.”

“Oh, Miss Hart, don’t stop! We have several papers left yet!” cried Kitty, as the story came to an abrupt end.

“I must, dearie, for I see Mary is ready to announce supper.”

“Supper!” exclaimed Midget. “Why, we never have supper at Jinks Club! Just cookies and lemonade or plain water.”

“But this is to make up for your being so good and quiet,” said Mrs. Spencer, who stood in the doorway leading to the dining-room. “I’ve been told that Jinks Club usually necessitates a whole redecoration of the house, but I can’t see that you’ve done the least bit of damage here today. So here’s your reward.”

It was a very inviting-looking reward, for the dining-table was set prettily, and with Mrs. Spencer and Miss Hart at either end, the six children were soon seated in their places.

No crackers and lemonade this time! There were creamed oysters, and little sandwiches, and cocoa, and afterward a lovely snow pudding and tiny iced cakes and bonbons.

The feast was delicious, but somehow conversation seemed to flag.

Mrs. Spencer was charmingly hospitable, but she was so polite, that it made the children feel restrained.

“Do you miss your mother, Marjorie?” asked the hostess, in her conversational way, and Midget answered:

“Yes, Mrs. Spencer, very much.”

It sounded too short, but poor Midge couldn’t think of anything to add to the bald statement.

King helped her out. The Maynards always tried to help each other.

“We all miss Mother,” he said, “and Father, too.”

“But we try to be cheerful about it,” supplemented Kitty, who had an uncomfortable feeling that she must act as if at a “party.”

Then a silence fell, and had it not been for Miss Hart’s cheery little jokes and merry manner, the supper would have been a very quiet affair.

At half-past five they all went home, and, after polite good-byes, the three Maynards walked decorously across the street.

But as they entered their own gate, King cried out:

“Race you to the house!” and the three broke into a mad run for dear life.

Of course, King got there first, but plump Marjorie, puffing and blowing, came a close second, while Kitty, usually a swift runner, came walking behind them with great dignity.

“I can’t get off my Spencery air so soon,” she explained, and the others laughed, for Kitty was far more inclined toward elegant repose of manner than the other two madcaps.

“Huh! Guess you’ll have to!” cried King, and, taking her two hands in his own with a clinching grip, he began to whirl her round and round. This somewhat dangerous game, known as “Sail a boat,” required careful attention, if accidents were to be avoided; so, seeing she was in for it, Kitty gracefully capitulated and swung round faster and faster until she nearly had King off his feet.

“There, stop it!” commanded Marjorie. “You’ll get dizzy, and then you’re sure to fall. Quit it, King! We don’t want any more accidents!”

“That’s so,” agreed King, stopping slowly, and helping Kitty to preserve her equilibrium.

“But I do say,” he went on, as they all three burst in at the front door together, “I’d rather have plain, everyday Jinks than to go to a Spencer party.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Marjorie, who was always satisfied with things as they came. “I liked the party part of it, and the supper was grand.”

“But it was so mixed up,” said Kitty. “In the first place, it wasn’t a party, ’cause there was no ice cream, and yet it was a party, ’cause we sat at the table, and had the cut-glass goblets. Then, it wasn’t a party, ’cause we weren’t dressed up, and yet it was a party, ’cause the grown-ups helped entertain us.”

“That’s the point, Kit,” said her brother. “It wasn’t either party or Jinks Club, but a mixture of both. I’d rather have either one thing or the other. But I’ll make up for it now. I was so ’fraid I’d cut up jinks over there, I didn’t know what to do. But here goes!”

Like one let suddenly loose from restraint, King turned two or three handsprings down the long hall, and at the last one managed to collide with both Miss Larkin and Rosamond’s doll-carriage. The three were pretty well tangled up; King lost his balance, Miss Larkin lost her dignity, and the doll-carriage lost a wheel.

But King was in high spirits by this time.

“There, there, Larky,” he said, “you’re all right. Pick up her back comb, Mops. Don’t step on her eyeglasses, Kitty! Look out, they’re right under your feet!”

Fortunately the comb and glasses were rescued intact and restored to their owner.

Miss Larkin didn’t quite know whether to be annoyed or to laugh, but King was in a wheedlesome mood, and he patted her shoulders, and smoothed down her laces as he said:

“There, Larky Parky; it’s all right. You’re not mussed up a bit. Nothing’s busted but the carriage. And I guess we can get that wheel fixed. And, Jiminetty Christmas! I had to tumble about a little, to get limbered up after that stiff party. Oh, I say, Larky, dear, did you get us our scrap-book, as you promised?”

“Oh, I didn’t!” exclaimed Miss Larkin, looking greatly chagrined. “To tell you the truth, King, I forgot all about it.”

“It’s naughty to be forgetful.”

“Yes, King, I know it is; and I’m awfully sorry. But I had a letter from some friends who are coming to visit me here, and everything else went out of my mind.”

The Maynard children had already had some experience with Miss Larkin’s forgetfulness, so they were not greatly surprised.

But they were disappointed, and Kitty’s face showed it so plainly, that Miss Larkin said:

“I’ll do my best to repair my error, Kitty. I’ll go downtown to-night, right after dinner, and get the scrap-book.”

“Oh, no, Miss Larkin, you needn’t do that,” said Marjorie, quite overcome by this offer. “It’s too late and too dark for you to go out alone. Unless,” she added, as an afterthought, “we all go with you.”

“Oh, let us do that,” begged Kitty. “I’ve almost never been downtown at night. Oh, do let’s go! It would be lovely!”

“Would that make up to you for my forgetfulness?” asked Miss Larkin, smiling, and when they all chorused, “Yes!” she agreed to take them.

Dinner was soon over, for after their Jinks supper, the children wanted almost nothing, and then, scrambling into their coats and hats, they declared themselves ready.

Kitty walked with Miss Larkin, and King and Midget followed.

“Oh!” sighed Kitty, as they came at last to the brightly-lighted Main Street, “isn’t it wonderful. They say New York is very brilliant at night, but I don’t think it can be much brighter than this. Is it, Miss Larkin?”

“Oh, yes, indeed it is, Kitty. Have you never seen New York at night?”

“No; Mother says I’m too young. I’m not ten yet, you know. But I don’t see how it can be much gayer than this.”

The Main Street of Rockwell was the usual thoroughfare of a small town, but the bright electrics in many of the shop-windows gave it a fairly light effect.

One large drug-shop, which, of course, was open evenings, kept stationery, and here they went for the scrap-book.

Great care was exercised in choosing it, for if too small, it would not hold enough, and the very large ones were unwieldy.

So just the right size was selected, and King volunteered to carry it home.

Miss Larkin was warmly thanked by her appreciative beneficiaries, and then, as they turned toward home, she said:

“Suppose we make this a sort of gala night, and stop here at this shop and have some ice cream.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Kitty, ecstatically, “do let’s do that!”

The others were far from unwilling, so the quartette were soon seated round a white marble-topped table.

“I do think,” said Kitty, as she viewed lovingly the pink and white heap that was placed in front of her, “I do think we’re having the loveliest time!”

“Better than the Jinks Club?” asked Miss Larkin, with a twinkle in her eye.

“Well, different,” said Kitty. “I feel as if I could talk every-day talk, you know, and not think how it’s going to sound.”

“I do hate to have to think how things sound,” admitted King, honestly.

“But I s’pose,” said Midget, thoughtfully, “we ought to talk always so they sound all right anyway.”

“That sentence might be improved upon,” said Miss Larkin, laughing; “but I want you to have a specially good time this evening, so never mind about any frills on your conversation. I’ve been thinking, children, that I’ve rather neglected you. I ought to do more to entertain and amuse you, now that your dear parents are away.”

The three Maynards looked at her in amazement. They had thought that Miss Larkin was very indulgent usually; and though sometimes she was unexpectedly strict or stern, yet in a moment she would forget what she had said, and give them an extra treat of some sort. The truth was, Miss Larkin was decidedly inconsistent. All unused to the management of children, she was now over-indulgent and now over-exacting. She had no knowledge of the uniformly mild and gentle, yet positive government which Mr. and Mrs. Maynard exercised in their home.

And so the Maynard children, not understanding this, had accepted Miss Larkin as she was, and though they sometimes rebelled at her really unjust commands, they enjoyed to the full her often unwise indulgence. Now, they were surprised, indeed, to hear her say she had neglected them, but with their easy adaptability they were quite ready to accept present and future favors. However, King felt that justice was due her, so he said:

“Oh, come now, Miss Larkin; you’ve been pretty good to us. I think you’re a brick, don’t you, girls?”

“Yes, we do,” agreed Midge and Kitty, and then Marjorie went on:

“Did you say you expect company, Miss Larkin? Perhaps we can help you get ready for them.”

Miss Larkin smiled, as she remembered the “decorations” that met her eyes the day she arrived at the Maynard house, and she replied:

“No; you can’t help me, except by keeping out of the way as much as possible, and behaving as well as you can while they’re here.”

“We’ll try,” said Marjorie, earnestly; “who are they, Miss Larkin?”

“Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer, some friends of mine from Boston. They will stay two or three days. And I want to have everything as nice as possible, for they are rather particular people.”

“H’m,” said King. “If there’s anything I don’t go much on, it’s these ‘rather particular people.’ But to please you, Miss Larkin, I’ll promise to behave the very bestest I can. And if the girls don’t do likewise, I’ll pound ’em.”

“Huh!” said Midget, “guess you’d get pounded back!”

“Oh, children,” said Miss Larkin, in despair; “don’t talk like that! I know you don’t mean anything, for you love each other, but your rough and tumble ‘poundings’ would shock Mrs. Mortimer inexpressibly.”

“All right, Larky, dear,” said King, in his winning way; “we won’t have any jinks of any kind while your friends are here. We’ll be as good—as good—oh, we’ll be justSpencergood!”

“That’s nice of you,” said Miss Larkin, beaming on them; “and if you say so, I know you’ll keep your word.”

CHAPTER VIIIROMPS AND RHYMES

Forthe next few days the children were left to their own devices. Miss Larkin was busy as a bee getting the house ready for her expected company. The two pretty guest rooms were appointed for their use, and Miss Larkin herself moved into Mrs. Maynard’s room.

Astonishing preparations were made in the kitchen department, and even Ellen, the good-natured cook, was amazed at the lavish orders given to the grocer, butcher, and caterer.

“Shure, an’ annybuddy’d think the hull rile fam’ly was a-comin’,” she said to Sarah.

But they were well-trained servants, and as Miss Larkin was temporarily mistress of the house, they obeyed her wishes.

The day that the Mortimers were expected, the children came home from school to find the house in specially immaculate order, flowers in almost every room, and a general air of festivity all about.

“We have only a ‘pick-up’ luncheon,” said Miss Larkin, who was looking over a timetable as she talked. “You see, I forgot to order anything—I was so absorbed in my dinner preparations. But Ellen has found something for you, I see.”

And, indeed, Ellen had not forgotten the children’s midday appetites, and so there was plenty to eat, if not so carefully served as usual.

“I don’t want to hurry you too much,” Miss Larkin went on, as they sat down to the table, “but please get through as soon as you can; for I want the table lengthened, and then I shall myself set it for dinner.”

“We’ll make sandwiches, and take ’em up in the playroom to eat, if you say so, Miss Larkin,” volunteered Kingdon, who was willing to help in any way he could.

“Mercy, no, child! That would only make extra work for Sarah, clearing up after you. No, eat your lunch here. Don’t gobble, but make all the haste you can.”

This was a rather mixed direction, and caused much hilarity among the young Maynards.

“I’ll spread my bread on both sides,” announced Marjorie, “that’ll use up my butter faster.”

“I’ll put sugar on mine,” declared Kitty, quick to see the possibilities of this new game; “so, you see, I can eat butter and sugar both at once, and so hurry up things.”

“I’ll eat with both hands,” giggled King, as he broke a slice of bread in two, and took alternate bites.

“Oh, children!” exclaimed Miss Larkin, in despair, “now you’ve commenced carrying on, I don’t know where you’ll end up! I know how you act when you once begin your nonsense!”

“Aw, truly, Larky, we’re going to be good,” said King, in the wheedling tone that often betokened “cutting up.” “And as I know you want this table to set for King and Queen Mortimer, I’ll now remove all these bothering children. Girls, I’ll race you to the front door!”

Marjorie jumped up, dropping her fork and upsetting a cup of cocoa; Kitty flew after her, over-turning her chair as she ran; but as the girls reached the door between the dining-room and hall, King slammed it to, and turned the key on the other side.

This meant they couldn’t reach the front door, except by going through the kitchen and thence to the hall again. Of course, King would get there before them, but this was all the more reason to fly after him and avenge themselves. Back they ran around the table. Midget tripped over the rug, caught at the tablecloth, and upset a glass of water on her head.

Kitty paused to lift Rosy Posy down from her high chair, for the baby was clamoring to join the fray.

Through the pantry and into the kitchen the whirlwind passed, nearly upsetting Ellen and Sarah on their mad flight to the front hall.

Miss Larkin, still at the table, sat looking distracted. What would the Mortimers think of such actions as these! And the Maynard children, even when meaning to behave their best, were so easily started off on a romp by the least provocation.

“Look at that!” said Miss Larkin, as Sarah came in. “A nice mess, just as I’m preparing for a dinner party!”

“Yes’m,” said Sarah, respectfully. “But them children do be in such a hurry sometimes. I’ll clear it all up, mem. And then I’ll help ye with the table.”

But Miss Larkin was really irate, and Sarah’s air of apology for the children only made her more so.

“Call them to me, Sarah,” she said. “I wish to speak to them.”

Sarah obediently went in search of the children, and found them in a scrambled heap near the front door. A good-natured wrestling match was on and, as a consequence, hair ribbons and neckties were off.

“She wants you,” said Sarah, as she looked at the by no means unfamiliar performance. “I’ll take Rosy Posy, and the rest of ye had better go, an’ have it over with.”

“Come on, then,” said King, already sorry for their boisterous misdemeanors.

Unlocking the door, he marched into the dining-room, followed by his two sisters.

“Dear Miss Larkin,” he said, with a low and elaborate bow, “we’re ’ceedingly sorry we went off in such a hurry, and we’ve come back to ’pollergize.”

Kitty caught the dramatic tone of his apology, and falling on her knees, with clasped hands, she looked beseechingly up into Miss Larkin’s face, and wailed:

“Doforgive us—ah, do!”

Marjorie, not to be outdone, fell down in a posture which she fondly hoped represented an Oriental salaam.

Crouching on the floor, she buried her face in her folded arms, and rocked her plump body from side to side, as, she gave voice to long, deep groans supposed to be expressive of abject repentance. Her position was temptingly insecure, and King couldn’t resist a tiny push which sent her rolling over against Kitty, and the girls both lost their equilibrium.

Then Miss Larkin lost her temper.

“You’re the worst children I ever saw!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know civilized beingscouldbe such rude and unmannerly and barbarous——”

“Cannibals,” prompted King, as she paused for lack of a sufficiently opprobrious name.

This made the girls giggle, and they at once began to eat each other, in dumb show.

But Miss Larkin saw nothing humorous in the situation.

“I don’t see how Icanhave those people,” she went on. “I invited them, thinking you children would at least act fairly decent, and now as you’ve begun this hoodlum business, I just know you’ll keep it up and mortify me to death.”

“No, we won’t,” declared King. “Honest and truly, black and bluely, Miss Larkin, we’ll begin now, and we’ll be as good as pie—custard pie!”

“Mince pie!” supplemented Marjorie.

“Lemon meringue pie,” said Kitty, rolling her eyes, as she thought of a lovely big one even now on the pantry shelf.

“If I could only trust you,” said Miss Larkin, sighing. “But I can’t. You’re too uncertain.”

“Oh, no, we aren’t,” said King, sidling up to her, and patting her shoulder. “And, anyway, after a bang-up tussle, like that, we’re always better’n ever, for a long time.”

“Yes, we are,” corroborated Kitty; “it’s what Father calls the clam after the storm. Oh, Miss Larkin, wewillbe good!”

“You ought to be punished,” said the tormented lady, looking at the merry, if repentant, faces.

“Oh, do punish us!” cried Marjorie. “That would square it all up; and, besides, punishments are gen’rally fun. You can most always make a game out of ’em.”

“You can, can you!” exclaimed Miss Larkin; “well, I rather think I’ll give you a punishment that you can’t make anoisygame out of, at any rate. Now, listen to me. I expect my friends on the five o’clock train. I shall go in the carriage to meet them at the station. At half-past four, I want you all to be dressed nicely, and wait in the drawing-room till we return. Marjorie, you may wear your new white serge; and, Kitty, put on your light-blue voile.”

“Yes’m,” said the two little girls.

“Now, be sure to allow time enough to make your toilets properly, but before that you must each learn a piece of poetry and recite it to me without missing a word. This is your punishment, and I trust it will at least keep you quiet for the afternoon.”

It was, indeed, a punishment. The Maynard children loved to read poetry, or have it read to them, but memorizing it was another matter.

“How long a poem, Miss Larkin?” asked Kitty, disconsolately.

Miss Larkin considered. If she set them a long task, they might not get through in time to dress; if a short one, time would be left for mischief.

“About ten lines,” she said, at last. “Not less than ten, and more, if you choose.”

“May we select our poems ourselves?”

“Yes; that is, you may take anything that you find printed in any book in the library. Now, go on, and when you have learned them, I will hear you recite them.”

The three culprits walked slowly away to their punishment, and Miss Larkin felt satisfied that she had at least quelled their boisterous spirits for a time.

She turned to her own occupations, and was soon lost in the pleasant flutter of arranging her elaborate dinner-table.

The three in the library stared at the book-shelves.

“Ten lines!” muttered King. “I’m going to pick out something with short lines, I can tell you.”

“I wish she hadn’t said ‘printed,’ ” said Marjorie; “then I’d learn some of the poems Mother and Father write us in letters. That would be fun.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Kitty. “Let’s learn things out of our scrap-book. Don’t you know, the one Mother made, and pasted in verses cut out of the papers and magazines.”

“That’s so!” cried King. “They’re printed, sure enough; and a lot more fun than these Tennysons and Longfellows sitting up here on the shelves.”

Kitty brought the scrap-book, and the three sat down on the floor to look it over. It was a jolly book, filled with pictures and jingles, and they became so interested in reading it, that they almost forgot they were being punished.

“Well, I s’pose we must each pick out one to learn,” said King, at last. “I guess I’ll take this ‘Two Old Kings.’ It has a lot more’n ten lines, but I don’t care; they’re short ones.”

“All right,” said Marjorie. “I’ll choose ‘The Merry Prince.’ It has fourteen lines, but they’re so gay and jolly, I think I can learn it pretty easy. What’s yours, Kit?”

“I’ll choose ‘Ice Cream.’ Partly ’cause I love it, and partly ’cause it’s just ten lines.”

“All right; now we’ll fix the book,” said King. “We’ll put it on the floor, so. Now, Kit, your piece comes first, so you lie down, and stick your feet out that way, toward the window. Mops, your piece is ’most at the end of the book, so you sprawl out the other way. Mine is between, so I’ll sneak in here, and I’ll hold up the leaves for you girls.”

The plan was not as complicated as it sounds, for the Maynards’ favorite position for reading was lying prone, with the book open on the floor, and their heads supported by their hands.

But the three made a funny picture, as, quite oblivious of each other, they studied hard to learn the rhymes they had selected.

“Don’t gabble out loud, Kit,” begged her brother. “How can I study, when you’re sissing ‘Ice Cream, Ice Cream,’ all the time?”

“All right, I’ll study to myself,” said Kitty, agreeably, and went on hissing her sibilant syllables in a whisper.

Marjorie stared into space, and studied without moving her lips, and King silently read his lines over and over, trusting to his “photographic memory” to retain them.

Miss Larkin peeped in, and seeing the absorbed students, kicking their heels or tapping their toes, went away again, unnoticed, but rejoicing that at least they were out of mischief.

“Hooray!” cried King, at last; “I know mine! I’ve said it over three times without looking.”

“Go away, then,” said Marjorie, her fingers in her ears, “until we know ours.”

“All right; here, hold up these middle pages,” and King left his sisters in possession of the book.

Kitty finished next, for Midget’s lines turned out to be pretty hard ones to learn. But, after a while, they were firmly fixed in her curly head, and the three went in search of Miss Larkin.

“We’re ready,” King announced, cheerfully, as he offered her the book.

As they had found Miss Larkin in the pantry, and as she was just turning some jelly out of a mold—a proceeding which required extreme care—she did not extend a hearty welcome.

Moreover, the pantry, though roomy as a pantry, was not well adapted to the invasion of three eager and wide-awake children.

“Oh!” sighed Kitty, gazing rapturously at the laden shelves; “what beautiful desserty things! I thought you said only two people were coming, Miss Larkin.”

In her zeal for entertainment, Miss Larkinhadprovided an over-abundance, and as she felt a little sensitive on the subject, Kitty’s remark irritated her.

“Little girls shouldn’t criticize their elders,” she said, severely.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to, Miss Larkin,” cried Kitty, apologetically. “I’m sure I think the things are lovely. And prob’ly Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer have very large appetites.”

“I hope they haven’t,” observed King; “I could eat most of these things myself. How about letting us try these little cakes, Miss Larkin?”

“Don’t touch those!” was the rejoinder, as King’s fingers hovered dangerously near the dainties; “that basket is filled, ready for the table. Come away from here. If you’ve learned your poems, I’ll hear them, and then it’s time for you to go and dress.”

Miss Larkin pushed the reluctant children out of the fascinating pantry, and they all went to the library.

“Well, King,” she said; “which is your poem?”

“Oh, let me say mine first,” said Kitty, “’fore I forget it.”

“You must have a short memory, child! Well, say yours first, then. Why, what sort of a book is this?”

“It’s our scrap-book,” explained Marjorie. “You didn’t say what sort of poems, ’cept that they must be printed. So we took these. They’re much more interesting than those in reg’lar books.”

“Very well,” said Miss Larkin, whose only intent had been to keep the children quiet for an hour. “Say yours first, then, Kitty.”

So Kitty stood up, and with her hands behind her, recited her little jingle about

Back to Index Next