CHAPTER XVIIITHE ARBOR DAY FESTIVAL
Arbor Daywas the most beautiful day you ever saw. Not too warm, or too cool, or too wet, or too dry, or too cloudy, or too bright—but just perfect in every way. The festival was to be held both afternoon and evening, and Miss Larkin told the children they might go at two o’clock, when it opened, and stay until nine at night.
Of course, this meant they would eat their supper there, which was a satisfactory arrangement to them all.
Marjorie and Delight had dresses just alike, of orange-colored cheesecloth, bordered with green leaves. The leaves had been added, because they were suggestive of trees, and also because they made the dresses more becoming. Indeed, the orange color suited Marjorie’s dark eyes and curls better than it did Delight’s fair hair and pink-and-white complexion; but the decoration of green leaves made Delight look like a sort of wood-nymph. The Maynard carriage took the two girls over first, before Miss Larkin and her aids went, and Miss Merington welcomed them warmly.
She had not desired their help in the arranging of her tree, so Marjorie and Delight had not seen the festival before at all.
As they entered the door, they stopped, enchanted.
Surely, the old Town Hall had never before responded so nobly to beautifying efforts. Across one end was a grape-vine, trained over a rustic pergola.
Here, young ladies, garbed as Italian peasants, served such refreshments as grape-juice, grape-sherbert, white grapes, grape-salad, grape-jelly, and preserved grapes. The little tables looked very tempting, and though the grape-vine and leaves were all artificial, the effect was very fine indeed.
The girls laughed heartily at the next “tree,” for it was a pair-tree!
Suspended from its branches werepairsof all sorts of things: scissors, slippers, gloves, mittens, earrings, bracelets, cuffs—in fact, everything that comes in pairs seemed to be there. This tree was presided over by two young ladies who were twins, and as they were dressed exactly alike, they made a most pleasing “pair.”
“Ho! look at that tall tree!” cried Marjorie, as they came to an affair that looked like a flagpole with a lot of palm-leaf fans at its top.
“Don’t be disrespectful of my tree!” returned Flip Henderson, who was assisting his mother at this very tree. “This is a Date Palm, and I rigged it myself. Isn’t it fine?”
The tree was picturesque, though comical, and a vivid imaginationcouldthink that it resembled a date palm from the tropics.
“What do you sell?” asked Delight; “dates?”
“Yes,” replied Flip. “But not dates to eat. We have calendars, and diaries, and memorandum blocks, and year-books of the best authors. Want a few?”
“Not now,” said Marjorie; “I’ve only two dollars to spend, and I want to see the other tables—trees, I mean—before I decide what I’ll buy.”
“And we must go on, and see the trees, so we can go to our own,” said Delight.
Hand-in-hand, the two girls went round the room, looking at the novel sights.
In a grove of Rubber Trees, many sorts of rubber goods were sold.
Under a beautiful tree, loaded with cherry-blossoms, Japanese maidens dispensed tea, and sold fans and paper parasols.
The Cork Tree was most amusing. Corks dangled from its branches, and stuck on the ends of its twigs. On its counter were sold bottles of perfume, of ink, of shoe dressing, of mucilage, everything, in fact, which could be corked in a bottle.
Also, there were some funny little curios and toys which had been cleverly carved out of cork, and some grotesque dolls with cork faces.
Under the Pine Tree were many things of wood. Matches, skewers, and kitchen implements, as well as picture frames, book-racks, and carved wooden boxes. Not all of pinewood, perhaps, but much latitude was allowed in this market. Here, too, were pillows of pretty silks, filled with balsam of pine, and little trinkets made of pine cones or pine needles.
A funny tree was the Weeping Willow. It was cleverly contrived, and looked almost like a real willow tree. Beneath it was a sale of nothing but handkerchiefs and onions!
The two merry girls in charge of this pretended to be weeping as they sold their wares, and so funny were their lamentations that soon they had no wares to sell.
The Beech Tree had all sorts of seashore goods—shells, coral, postcards of watering places, little pails and shovels—all reminiscent of the beach.
The Ash Tree was, of course, the stand for cigars and ash trays, or other smokers’ utensils.
The candy was sold in a sugar-cane plantation, and refreshments were served in a thicket of trees called the Peach Orchard, because the pretty waitresses were said to be “Peaches!”
Altogether, it was a beautiful scene, and after a walk round it all, Marjorie and Delight reported at Miss Merington’s Orange Tree.
This was one of the prettiest, for the tree was a real one, and large enough to present a fine appearance.
It was loaded with orange blossoms and with the “oranges” that the girls had made. There was also a crate of the paper oranges to sell from and, too, there was a crate of real oranges to be sold.
Then all sorts of orangey things that were good to eat, and orange-colored fancy articles beside.
Miss Merington had brought lovely dolls dressed in orange color, beautiful silk college flags, and cushions representing the college that sports that color, books bound in orange, and orange-colored fans and scarfs. Miss Merington, herself, looked lovely in her orange gown, and she told Marjorie and Delight that they were the most attractive things under her tree.
Marjorie had had a brilliant idea for their tree, and she told Miss Merington that she would attend to it all herself, and surprise her. The idea was to serve orangeade.
She had brought from home her mother’s pretty little glass cups, and the way she proposed to exhibit the orangeade was the novelty. With Thomas’ help she had taken a large cube of ice, and hollowed out the centre, until it was a sort of square tub.
She had done this by heating a tin bread-pan very hot, and melting out the inner portion of the ice.
Though she had never seen this done, and had only read about it in a magazine, the experiment proved successful, and the ice receptacle was like a large square tub of glass.
Thomas brought it over in triumph, and it was set in place on a gridiron concealed by a bed of green leaves. These leaves also concealed a big pan which was to catch the water as the ice melted from the warmth of the room.
But the sides and bottom of the ice bowl were about four inches thick, so it was bound to last for several hours, anyway.
“How are you getting on?” said King, coming along, as Midget arranged the glasses prettily on a tray.
“Fine! The ice well is great! See how nice it looks. Thomas has gone back home for the orangeade. Ellen made it, so it’s sure to be good.”
“You’re all right, Mopsy. Delight, you look fine. Now I must go back to my Evergreen Tree. Come and see us when you can. We look pretty gorgeous, I can tell you.”
King went off, and then Thomas came with the orangeade in a large pail.
“Put in about half, Thomas,” said Midget, “and set the rest away till later.”
“Yes, Miss Marjorie,” he said, and Miss Merington looked on approvingly as the rich yellow liquid was poured into the clear ice tank. Ellen had added thin slices of orange, and some red cherries, and the compound looked most delectable.
Miss Merington showed Thomas where to store the rest of the orangeade, and then bade him look round the room and enjoy the gay scene.
The customers had begun to come now, and Marjorie and Delight were kept busy selling oranges to children who were eager to see what treasures would come out of the yellow prize packages they bought.
Great laughter ensued when a boy found he had purchased a doll, or a girl was rewarded with a tin whistle, but surprises like these were expected, and were part of the game.
Finally, some ladies and gentlemen sauntered by, and paused by Marjorie’s table, saying they would take orangeade.
Taking up the silver soup ladle which she had brought for that purpose, Midget turned to the ice well to fill the glasses.
To her amazement, there was not a drop of orangeade in the well.
She could not believe her eyes! Had Delight sold it all when she wasn’t looking? No, the dainty glasses that she had set on the tray herself had not been used. Where could the orangeade be? She had seen Thomas pour it in, not twenty minutes before, and now it was all gone! A few bits of orange and a few cherries lay in the bottom of the big ice bowl, but not enough orangeade to fill one glass.
Greatly embarrassed, Marjorie turned to her would-be customers, and asked them to wait a moment.
“Well, you are doing a rushing business,” remarked the young man who had ordered the orangeade. “Used up all that tank full already! Why, it must hold two gallons.”
Marjorie beckoned across the room for King to come to her assistance.
“The orangeade’s all gone,” she whispered to him. “Won’t you get the pail from that cupboard where Thomas put it, and pour out some more?”
“Sure,” said her brother; “how’d you sell it so quick?”
“I didn’t sell it; I don’t know who did. But never mind, get some more—quick.”
“All right,” said King, and in a few moments he brought the big pail and poured half its contents into the ice-bowl.
Meantime, Marjorie, turning to the guests, asked them to be patient a moment, and then she would serve them.
As King walked away with the pail, Midge again took up her ladle.
“Now,” she said, smiling prettily, “I’ll give you some orangeade.”
“It’s sure to be good and cold, served from that ice punch-bowl,” said the young man.
“Yes, indeed,” returned Marjorie, her voice betokening her pride in her clever achievement.
She turned to the ice-bowl, and there was not a drop of orangeade in it!
“King is playing a joke on me,” she thought to herself, and her cheeks flushed with indignation that he should be guilty of such an ill-timed jest.
“King,” she called, for he was crossing the room, “bring back that pail!”
“Whew!” he cried, turning back, “not sold out again!”
“You didn’t put any in here!”
“I did so; I poured in three or four quarts.”
“Well, where is it? This ice thing is empty.”
“What! Why, so it is! Now, watch, I’ll pour in some more.”
He emptied the pail into the ice-bowl, and they both watched what happened. It disappeared almost as fast as he had poured it in.
“The old thing leaks!” cried King, going off into a burst of laughter. “Oh, Mopsy, Midget, you’re a smart one!”
“Well, what makes it leak? Do you suppose anybody bored a hole in the ice?”
“No; they didn’t have to! It’s full of holes; look at it!”
Sure enough, the ice that formed the bottom of the receptacle showed a dozen or more good-sized holes. Though the slab was fully four inches thick, the holes went straight through, as if driven there with an auger.
The bits of orange and the cherries remained, but the orangeade had drained right through, and was now in the pan below that had been placed there to catch the melting ice.
“Oh, Mops! what a joke!” cried King, still doubled up with laughter.
“But who put the holes there? How did they get there?” persisted Marjorie.
“Why, ice is often that way. I s’pose air makes the holes; it bubbles up as the ice freezes. Sometimes there are so many holes that it’s as porous as a sponge. And every time we pour the stuff in, it goes right through.”
Much crestfallen, Marjorie turned again to the people who were patiently waiting for their order to be served.
“I’m sorry,” she said, blushing rosily, “but I can’t give you orangeade—because I haven’t any left.”
“What, what!” cried the young man, teasingly; “why, I just saw several quarts poured into that ice washtub there!”
“Yes,” said Marjorie, “but it poured itself out again. You see, that’s a beautiful ice-tub—but it leaks.”
“It needs the plumber,” said King, coming to his sister’s rescue. “Just a leak in the pipes, somewhere. Sorry not to give you any orangeade, but we can only offer you these delicious paper oranges instead.”
The young man laughed, and bought paper oranges for his party instead of the refreshment they had expected.
They didn’t care, of course, for buyers at a bazaar are always good-natured, but Marjorie was greatly chagrined that her clever contrivance had failed.
“No matter,” said Miss Merington, who had been occupied on the other side of the tree, and only heard about the mishap after it was all over; “no matter; it was a good enough scheme, but it fell through.”
“It was good orangeade, but it fell through, too,” laughed King. “Now I must skip. Don’t you care, Midget, sell oranges and look happy.”
This was good advice, and Midget acted on it.
“I’m glad it didn’t work right,” said Delight; “for it’s messy stuff, anyway. I like better to sell paper things—they aren’t sticky.”
Delight had a rooted aversion to any thing sticky or untidy, but Marjorie was not so “fussy particular,” as she phrased it. However, there were plenty of other things to sell, so Miss Merington called an attendant to take away the ice affair, as it was only in the way. Sure enough, as he lifted off the heavy block of ice, in the tub below could be seen all of Ellen’s carefully prepared orangeade.
“It does seem a pity,” said Midget, “but, as you say, Delight, it is sticky, and I’m glad to get it out of the way. Now, I’m going over to see King’s tree.”
Of course, Marjorie and Delight couldn’t both leave their Orange Tree at once, so they took turns in going out on little excursions round the room.
Miss Larkin’s tree was a beautiful, finely-shaped evergreen, and would have made a good Christmas tree. But it had no resemblance to a Christmas tree, for it was hung with green fans, parasols, aprons, motor veils, bags, sofa-pillows, and even some green hats, that a generous milliner had donated. Miss Larkin, herself, looking very fine in her green silk gown, was smiling and beaming at her customers, and incidentally making a great many sales.
King and Kitty were laughing over the joke of Midget’s orangeade, but Miss Larkin regretted that so much money had been lost from the funds.
“Oh, pshaw, Larky,” said King; “it wouldn’t have amounted to very much, anyway.”
“And, perhaps, if we had sold it, we might have broken some of those pretty glass cups of Mother’s,” said Midget, who always found the bright side.
“Well, then I’m glad it leaked away,” said Kitty; “for I was afraid all the time you’d break those, and Mother’s awfully fond of them.”
“I know it,” said Mopsy. “I’m going to tell her I took them, but I’ll never do it again.”
CHAPTER XIXTHE CONTEST
Atsix o’clock, Miss Larkin summoned the Maynards to supper. Delight, of course, accompanied them, and being in hospitable mood, Miss Larkin bade the younger Maynards invite Dorothy and Flip.
So it was a real Jinks Club feast, and a gay time they had. Substitutes had been put in their places at the trees, so they had no need to hurry.
“Have you heard about the contest, Mops?” said King, as he blissfully ate his chicken-salad, a luxury not often bestowed upon the Maynard children.
“No; what is it?”
“Why, Mr. Abercrombie has arranged a sort of game, something like a spelling match, only you guess trees instead of spelling words.”
“Can anybody be in it?” asked Delight, who was fond of guessing games.
“Yes, if you pay a quarter. Let’s all enter; will you, Miss Larkin?”
“No, King; I can’t guess riddles—never could. But I’ll look after our tree while you go to the contest—or whatever you call it.”
“Of course, we won’t get the prizes,” said Kitty, “for I s’pose the grown-up people will guess better than we do. But it’ll be fun to try.”
Mr. Abercrombie was a genial old gentleman, beloved by everybody in the town. He was both rich and generous, so at a public fair or bazaar he was always expected to do his share, and more, too, and these expectations were always realized.
As he passed by the Maynards’ supper table, he stopped to pat Marjorie on the head.
“Well, my little orange maiden,” he said, “you look so like an orange, I think I shall squeeze you.”
Marjorie smiled at him gaily, and he squeezed her plump arm as he said:
“Are you going to guess trees with us, this evening?”
“I’d like to,” said Midge, “but I only know our common trees. I don’t know about tropical or foreign trees.”
“Well, the quizzes are pretty hard,” admitted Mr. Abercrombie, “but you’d better have a try at it. I hope you’ll all try,” he added, genially; “the more, the merrier.”
He passed on, and the Jinks Club resumed their supper.
“I wish Father and Mother were here,” said Marjorie, as she looked round on the pretty scene. “I know we’ll never have such a lovely show in town again.”
“Well, they’re seeing trees down South to beat these,” said King.
“And anyway,” said Kitty, “they’ll be home next week, and we can tell them all about it.”
“My! but I’m glad they’re coming,” said Marjorie; “seems to me I miss Mother more every day.”
“Oh, Marjorie,” cried Miss Larkin; “haven’t I looked after you pretty well?”
“Yes, indeed, Larky, dear, you have. But, of course, you’re notMother, and somehow it does make a difference. I hope you’ll stay a while after she gets home, and then we’ll have you both.”
“Perhaps,” said Miss Larkin, smiling; “and now, if you’ve finished your ice cream, let’s go back to our trees.”
After Marjorie was again at her stand, selling oranges, Mr. Abercrombie came strolling by.
“Well, my orange maiden,” he said, “I think I must patronize your very attractive tree. No, I don’t care for grab-bag prizes. I’ll take some jars of orange marmalade. You know, we must take the bitter with the sweet.”
Marjorie liked the merry old gentleman, and to amuse him, she told him the story of her orangeade and the leaky ice-tub.
He laughed heartily. “Well, well,” he exclaimed, “that was too bad, thatwastoo bad! I suppose you felt terribly chagrined, eh?”
“Yes, I did,” Marjorie admitted, “but, you know, we must take the bitter with the sweet.”
“Good girl, good girl, to learn a lesson so quickly. Now, let me see; I’ll buy some of these college traps. I have a grandson in Princeton, and he’ll be glad to have them for his room. There, I’ll take that, and that, and that. Now, if you’ll make me out my orange bill, I’ll pay you.”
On a square of orange-colored paper, Marjorie wrote neatly the articles he had bought, and their prices. She added it correctly, and presented it with a business-like air.
“Well done, well done, little orange girl. And so I owe you nine sixty-five. Quite a big orange bill. But I’ll make it ten dollars, if you can tell me of the greatest Orange Bill ever known.”
Marjorie thought hard. She had been afraid this quizzical old gentleman would ask her some question that she couldn’t answer. She thought of great shiploads of oranges coming up from the South, but she knew nothing about the price of them.
“No, sir,” she said, finally, with a little sigh; “I don’t believe I can tell you.”
“Well, well, I’ll give you the ten, all the same, for the good of the cause. And the Bill I have in mind was William of Orange.”
“Oh!” said Marjorie, laughing; “well, even if I had thought of him, I couldn’t tell you much about him. But I’ll know more of him next week!”
“How’s that? Does he come next in your history lesson?”
“No, sir; but in my school, we can have any lesson we want. If I ask Miss Hart to make a lesson on William of Orange, she will.”
“Bless my soul! That’s a fine school! And can all the pupils order subjects that please their fancy?”
“Well, you see,” said Midget, with her eyes twinkling, “there are only two pupils. Here’s the other.”
She turned and drew Delight toward her.
“Oh, yes, another little Orangette. Well, you must be a fine class, you two. Now, see to it that you learn about William of Orange, and next year, if we have a bazaar, you can tell me all about him. I hope your memories are long enough for that.”
“Oh, yes,” said Marjorie. “I remember, at the bazaar last winter, you taught me some spelling.”
“Why, you little wiseacre! You’ll have too much book-learning, if you’re not careful! Well, try the guessing contest this evening, and see how you make out at that!”
Mr. Abercrombie went away, and Delight said:
“Isn’t he a pleasant old gentleman? But he twinkles his eyes so, he makes me jump.”
“He likes to tease,” said Marjorie, “but he’s awfully generous. I expect he buys more than any one else at the fair.”
“Hasn’t he any people of his own?”
“Not that live with him. He lives all alone in a great big house. His wife is dead, and he has some grandchildren, but I don’t know where they live. He’s a kind man, anyway.”
At eight o’clock the contest began. It was conducted like an old-fashioned spelling match—that is, two captains were selected, who chose sides.
Mr. Henderson was one captain, and Miss Merington was the other.
These two chose alternately until all who had entered the contest were ranged in two long rows, and the rest of the people looked on with great interest.
Mr. Abercrombie conducted the game, and as he walked up and down between the two rows, he caught sight of Marjorie’s eager little face, and gave her an encouraging nod and smile.
Midget had been chosen on Miss Merington’s side, and though she was sure she could not win the prize herself, she hoped she could at least help her captain to win it.
“This is the plan of our contest,” announced Mr. Abercrombie, for few of them had ever seen the game before: “I will ask a question of Mr. Henderson, then of Miss Merington, then of the next one on Mr. Henderson’s side, then of the next one on the other side; and so on down the two lines. Whoever answers a question correctly, remains in the game. Whoever does not do so, must be scored against, and the question passed on to the next. After three scorings, the contestant must drop out of line. The winner, of course, is the one who remains to the last. First, I will ask of Mr. Henderson, ‘What tree do we give to our friends when we meet?’ ”
“Palm,” answered Mr. Henderson, promptly, and everybody applauded.
Then Mr. Abercrombie asked of Miss Merington, “What is the housewife’s tree?”
“Broom,” she replied, for it had been explained that the answer need not necessarily be atree, but a bush, or tall plant of any kind.
Marjorie’s courage began to fail her. She liked puzzles, but these were pretty hard ones. However, the next ones were a little easier.
“Where do the ships land?” was readily answered “Beech,” and “What is the dandified tree?” was “Spruce.”
Delight had an easy one. She was asked, “What tree is most warmly clad?” and she said, “Fir” at once.
Other questions were asked, some were missed, and some answered correctly, and then King covered himself with glory by replying “Peach” to “What is the tell-tale tree?”
Nearer and nearer Marjorie’s turn came.
At last, Mr. Abercrombie looked at her and said, “What is the historian’s tree?”
Marjorie breathed a sigh of relief. She was safe for this round, anyway, and she said, “Date,” with a smiling face. Then she listened, as the questions went round again.
Many missed this time, and it was a second scoring for some.
Again Marjorie had good luck.
“What tree is found in a bottle?” was the question.
She hesitated a moment, for she had hazy visions of tiny trees growing in bottles, then her wits returned like a flash, and she said, “Cork,” which was right.
But she thought to herself, “I’m sure I should have forgotten that cork comes from a tree, if I hadn’t seen the Cork Tree here to-night.”
However, that might be equally the case with all the others, so it was perfectly fair.
That time, Delight had a hard one and missed it. The question, “What tree invites you to travel?” was too difficult for her.
It was passed from one to another, until a man answered, “O range,” but he laughingly admitted he had heard it before.
“I’m glad I didn’t get that question,” thought Marjorie, for not even her orange frock would have helped her to guess that.
And so the game went on. Several dropped out on the third round, and after the fourth round, only about a dozen were left standing.
The two captains were still at the heads of their lines, and Marjorie and King had each missed only once; but the other Jinksies were all scored three times and out.
“What tree was an Egyptian plague?” asked the director.
“Locust,” promptly replied Miss Merington, who hadn’t missed yet.
“What tree destroyed Pompeii?” came next.
It was missed and passed on again and again, for nobody could guess it.
Midget and King both shook their heads, and this gave them each their second bad score.
It came round to the leaders, and as they both missed, it gave Mr. Henderson his third score, and put him out, but gave Miss Merington only her first score for missing.
As no one could guess it, the answer was told, “Mountain Ash.”
Everybody agreed it was easy, after all, and the game went on with the few valiant strugglers that were left.
King couldn’t think of “Elder” as an answer to, “What must everybody become before he gets old?” So he went ruefully to his seat.
On and on went the questions, until, at last, only Miss Merington and Marjorie were standing.
Marjorie had two bad marks, and Miss Merington only one, but the fact that Midget was still there at all, was due to the fact that most of her questions had chanced to be easy ones. There had been many given out that she couldn’t answer, but they hadn’t happened to come to her.
But these are the fortunes of war, and Marjorie was glad she had escaped so well.
After several that they guessed correctly, Mr. Abercrombie said, “What is the most kissable tree?”
It was Marjorie’s turn, and as the question fell on her ears, an answer popped into her mind.
But she hesitated about saying it. She didn’t think it was the right answer, and yet she couldn’t think of any other.
But if she said she didn’t know, she would get her third score, and have to admit herself vanquished.
Miss Merington smiled at her pleasantly, Mr. Abercrombie waited patiently, King and Kitty were looking at her anxiously. Why did she hesitate? they thought.
For Marjorie didn’t look as if she didn’t know the answer, she only seemed unwilling to tell it.
“Come, come, little orange girl,” said Mr. Abercrombie, most kindly; “that’s not a hard one. You can guess it, can’t you?”
Still Marjorie said nothing.
“I’msurethat’s the answer,” she said to herself; “and yet suppose it shouldn’t be!”
Then she thought she’d say she didn’t know, and let Miss Merington get the prize. Then her conscience told her it would be wrong to say she didn’t know, when shedidknow.
“Now, then, orange maiden,” went on the kind voice, “here’s your last chance. What’s the most kissable tree?”
Finding that she must speak it, Marjorie blushed a little, but said in a clear voice, “Yew!”
Such a shout of laughter as went up from everybody! Mr. Abercrombie laughed until he was red in the face, and his huge form shook from side to side.
Of course, Midget was terribly embarrassed, and wished she could sink through the door, but Miss Merington took her hand and smiled at her sweetly, as she whispered, “Be plucky! Smile, yourself, you haven’t said anything wrong!”
So Marjorie stopped trembling, and smiled a little; then she saw King and Flip fairly choking with glee, and she realized that her answer was wrong after all.
“I’m more than sorry,” said Mr. Abercrombie, after the fun had subsided a little, “that I can’t accept that answer! But I have to go by the card, and another answer is given here. So I shall have to pass the question, but I assure you, little orange girl, that I greatly prefer your answer to the one here given. Miss Merington, can you guess it?”
“Tulip tree,” said Miss Merington, and Marjorie opened her eyes wide.
“I never heard of that tree,” she said.
“Then you were very clever to guess as you did,” declared Mr. Abercrombie. “Technically, you score your third error, and Miss Merington wins the prize; but in my unofficial capacity, I hold that you guessed correctly, and I shall beg the honor of bestowing upon you a prize also.”
The old-time courtliness of Mr. Abercrombie’s manner was quite a balm to Marjorie’s disturbed spirit, and she turned to congratulate her captain on winning the beautiful prize.
It was a fine edition of Browning’s Poems, and it pleased Miss Merington very much.
“It’s just right for the lady who won it,” commented Mr. Abercrombie, “but not at all appropriate for an orange girl of twelve. Now, you come with me, and we’ll find the second prize right here and now.”
He offered his arm as formally as if to a duchess, and in obedience to Miss Merington’s smile and nod, Marjorie walked away with him.
He paused at the book stall, which was a somewhat ungainly old tree trunk, bearing the legend, “The Tree of Knowledge.”
Beneath it on a table lay the books, under a sign, “Nothing but Leaves.”
Mr. Abercrombie selected a fine edition of Longfellow’s Poems, and inscribed Marjorie’s name and the date on the flyleaf.
Beneath it he wrote:
“From one who appreciates Yew,” and presented it in a flourishing fashion.
Midget had now entirely regained her composure, and she thanked him politely and prettily, and then ran away to join Miss Merington and Delight.
CHAPTER XXA SPRING RAMBLE
“Onlythink!” cried Marjorie, as she sprang out of bed, “Father and Mother are coming home to-day!”
“Hooray!” cried Kitty, tumbling out of her bed at the joyful reminder. “Won’tI be glad to see them, though! Aren’t we going to celebrate?”
“Not any regular celebration. It’ll be fun enough just to see them, and hear them tell about their trip.”
“Yes, indeed; so it will. And, of course, we’ll have ice cream.”
“Oh, of course; I told Ellen that, yesterday.”
A little later, two trim and tidy little Maynard girls went downstairs to the cheerful dining-room.
“Hello-morning!” cried King, meeting them on the landing. “Going to school to-day, Mops?”
“Yes, of course; why not?”
“Oh, I thought as Mother’s coming home, we might take a holiday.”
“No, I don’t want to. They don’t come till afternoon, you know, and if I hung round here all day, I’d just die waiting for ’em. Going to school will fill up the morning, anyway.”
“That’s so; say we go, then. Hello, Rosy Posy; did I ’most upset you?”
The four danced into the dining-room, where Miss Larkin and breakfast awaited them.
“I do think,” said Midget, as she ate her cereal, “that, considering we’re Maynards, we have behaved pretty well since Mother’s been away.”
“Sure we have!” agreed King; “if I get much better, I’ll spoil.”
“I’m spoiling for some mischief, as it is,” said Marjorie, with dancing eyes.
“Oh, Mops,” begged Kitty, “don’t cut up any jinks before Mother gets home.”
“Well, I won’t,” said Mops, who didn’t mean her speech as seriously as Kitty took it; “but after she gets home, I’m going to cut up the biggest jink I can think of.”
“Are you, really?” said Miss Larkin, with such a horrified expression that the three children could not help giggling.
“I dunno, Larky,” said Midge, teasingly. “P’raps I will, and p’raps I won’t. But I’ll promise to be good as pie till Mother does come; only it seems as if to-day will be a hundred years long.”
However, the morning passed rapidly enough to three Maynards, and it was not until after luncheon that they grew restless again.
“Oh, deary, deary me!” sighed Marjorie. “They can’t come until five o’clock, and now it’s only two. We can’t dress up for them until about four—’cause there’s no use dressing sooner, and getting all messy. Let’s do something or go somewhere.”
Miss Larkin hastily offered a suggestion. She well knew that when Midget grew restless and impatient, mischief was pretty likely to ensue.
“Let’s go and weed the flower boxes,” she said.
“They’re spick and span now,” said Marjorie. “We’ve weeded them every day this week, and if we pull up anything more it’ll have to be the flowers themselves. And we’ve watered them till they’re most drownded.”
“Drowned, my child,” corrected King, with a schoolmaster air.
“I don’t mean drowned—I mean drowned dead,” declared Marjorie, triumphantly.
“Pooh, if you’re drowned, you’re sure to be dead,” returned her brother.
“You’ve never been drowned, so how do you know?”
“Neither have you, so how do you know?”
“There, there, children, don’t quarrel,” said Miss Larkin, pleadingly.
“Oh, pshaw, that isn’t quarreling,” said Marjorie; “that’s only cheerful conversation; isn’t it, King?”
“Yep,” he returned, smiling good-naturedly. “We Maynards never really quarrel, we just sort of squarrel, you know.”
“That’s sort of between quarreling and squabbling,” observed Kitty.
“Right you are, Kit! You grow brighter every day, don’t you?”
Kitty beamed at her brother’s compliment, for she well knew King meant it as such.
“Let’s play games,” suggested Miss Larkin next. “Shall we play Parcheesi?”
“Too poky,” said Midget. “I want to run and jump round. Let’s go outdoors. Come with us, Miss Larkin, and take a walk?”
“Larky, Larky,” chanted King, “let’s go to the park-y, and walk till after dark-y.”
“Walk till nearly dark-y,” corrected Marjorie. “Oh, I’ll tell you what we’ll do; we’ll take a spring ramble.”
“What’s that? Something like this?” and King jumped up, and tripped across the room with affected mincing gait.
“No; it’s just a walk in the spring. But you call it a spring ramble, if you go off on the country paths, and pick some wild flowers, and wonder what the birds are.”
“Sounds good to me,” agreed King. “Come on, ladies. Only we mustn’t stay too long.”
So they set off, Miss Larkin, Rosy Posy, and all, for a spring ramble.
It proved to be just the thing to divert their attention, and though they didn’t forget the expected arrival, they became greatly engrossed in the wonders they found.
Marjorie was leader, because Miss Hart had taken her and Delight on two spring rambles already, and she knew how to look for the tiny wild flowers, that scarce showed their blossoms as yet.
“Those are marshmallows,” announced Marjorie, proud of her knowledge, as she pointed to some rather tall green stems, growing near the brook.
“Marshmallows! Huh!” cried King in disdain. “Marshmallows don’t grow on reeds!”
“I don’t mean the candy kind,” protested Marjorie. “These are a pink flower—when the flowers come—and I know they’re it, for Miss Hart told me so. I think they’re in bud.”
“Those aren’t buds, they’re last year’s seedpods,” said King.
“I don’t think so, but let’s go down and see. The principal thing you do on a spring ramble is learn things.”
They were on a high bank, and the descent to the growing things down by the brook was rather steep, and very stony.
“I can’t go down there,” declared Miss Larkin. “You children go, if you like, and Baby and I will wait up here for you.”
“No, we must all go,” said Marjorie, who was in wilful mood to-day.
“Oh, come on, Larky, dear,” wheedled King; “we’ll all take hold of hands and scamper down, just as easy as ease!”
So the five joined hands, and when King had counted, “One, two, three! Go!” they ran down the slope.
But though the stony bank was treacherous, it was nothing compared to the trouble they found on the lower level.
The impetus gained on the steep slope sent them running rapidly forward, and they found themselves stumbling in mud and mire.
“Whew!” exclaimed King, as they were stopped at last by their own clogging footsteps; “who’d have thought this was soft mud? It looked hard enough!”
Miss Larkin looked utterly disgusted. She tried to take a step forward, failed, lost her balance, and fell over against Rosy Posy, upsetting the poor child entirely. But the youngest Maynard was not one of the crying sort, and she floundered about in the mud, smiling hopefully, as she said:
“Middy; King; pick up poor Wosy Posy!”
But Midget and King were so convulsed with laughter at the comical appearance of Miss Larkin, that Rosy Posy was unheeded for the moment, and the baby good-naturedly floundered on, getting muddier at every step.
“I can’t get my feet out of this mire,” said poor Miss Larkin; “it’s like a quicksand.”
“Is it?” inquired King, with great interest; “I always wondered what a quicksand was like. But I don’t care for it much, myself,” he added, looking ruefully at his own shoes, muddied all over, and, indeed, half sunk in the ground.
“How shall we get out, King?” asked Kitty. “I think this is a horrid place.”
“Oh, we’ll get out all right,” answered King, cheerfully. “Here, this is the way to do it. Turn down these bushes, and walk on ’em, see?”
It was a good plan, only the bushes chanced to be brambly ones, and their hands were scratched and their clothes were torn in their struggle to get out of the mud.
King lifted Rosy Posy high, in an endeavor to get her over unharmed; but thinking it was all a fine game, the little one gave a wriggle of delight, and fell plump into the soft mud.
“Oh, you mud-turtle!” cried King. “Well, Rosy Posy, you’re a sight now! But it’s lucky you didn’t fall into the bramble bush.”
“And scratch out both your eyes,” added Marjorie.
“Mineareabout scratched out,” said Kitty, plaintively.
“Try the other bush, Kit, and scratch ’em in again,” proposed King, who was struggling manfully to carry his littlest sister and help Miss Larkin at the same time.
Well, after a time, they did get out, and were such a looking crowd as can scarcely be imagined!
But they were once more on firm pavement, and though terribly scratched up, were not seriously injured. It was a narrow escape, though, for the mire was deep, and the thorns were sharp, and a bad accident might have happened.
“You said you wanted to cut up jinks, Midget, and now you’ve done it!” said her brother.
“No more than the rest of you,” returned Midget. “Larky looks just as Jinky as any of us.”
They all turned to Miss Larkin, and then burst into laughter. She did look funny, with her hat awry, her hair out of place, a daub of mud on her cheek, and her skirts beplastered with sticky mire, and caught here and there with brambles. Somewhat to the children’s surprise, she took the disaster humorously, too.
“I don’t look a scrap worse than you four do,” she said. “But I’m thankful there are no eyes really scratched out, and no arms or legs broken; nothing but torn clothes, and dirty hands and faces, all of which can be set right in an hour or so. Now let’s scramble for home, and we’re plenty of time to get in spick and span order before your father and mother come home.”
“I’m glad it isn’t later,” said Marjorie. “Just think of their catching us looking like this!”
They went home by a back street, and fortunately met no one on the way.
As they entered their own gate, and walked up the driveway, Marjorie said:
“It reminds me of the night we walked up here with the Simpsons. Only, we’re a worse-looking crowd than they were.”
“We’re a worse-looking crowd than anybody ever was anywhere,” said King, with conviction. “Here, Rosy Posy, you walking mud-puddle, brother’ll carry you up the steps.”
Rosy Posy nestled her soft, muddy cheek against King’s equally muddy one, for she dearly loved her big brother, and liked to have him carry her now and then.
Up the steps they went, and in at the front door, and there, in the hall, stood—Mr. and Mrs. Maynard!
“Oh, Mother!” cried Marjorie; “oh, Mother!”
“Oh, Midget!” was the response, and then, regardless of the muddiness of Midget, and the tidiness of Mrs. Maynard, the two little arms flew round the mother’s neck, and Marjorie’s kisses left visible evidence on her mother’s pretty pink cheeks.
“It was nice of you to fix up like this to welcome us,” said Mr. Maynard, who had Rosy Posy in his arm now, and Kitty clinging to his other side.
Then muddy Kingdon was folded in his mother’s embrace, and then, somehow, everybody embraced everybody else, quite thoughtless of mud or scratches.
“But what’s it all about?” went on Mr. Maynard. “I like it—oh, don’t think I don’t like it! but—it’s a new style to me.”
“I feel that I am responsible for the children,” began Miss Larkin, and all at once Marjorie saw that Miss Larkin was painfully embarrassed at having seemingly neglected her charge.
“Not a bit of it!” declared Midget, flying to Miss Larkin’s side, and embracing the muddy lady; “it isn’t the least bit Larky’s fault! Is it, King? We went for a spring ramble——”
“And you sprang in,” interrupted her father.
“Yes, we did. And we didn’t expect you so soon, and we thought we’d get cleaned up ’fore you came. But you came sooner than we ’spected, didn’t you?”
“Yes; we caught an earlier train than I thought we could.”
“Well,” Marjorie went on, “I’m glad you did—awful glad—’cause it didn’t seem’s if I could wait for you another minute! But I’m sorry we look so ’sreputable—but we can soon get washed, you know—only, I just want to say it wasn’t Larky’s fault—not the leastest mite! She’s done the best she could to take care of us Maynards, and make us behave. Butnobodycan makeMaynardsbehave. Can they, Father?”
“No,” said Mr. Maynard, with twinkling eyes, and a glance at his wife; “no, nobody can make Maynards behave—but Maynards!”
This Isn’t All!