Marjorie's Maytime by Carolyn Wells

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Marjorie looked disappointed, but she well knew that when her father
talked thus seriously, there was no use in pursuing the subject; so she
only said, "All right, Father; I know you know best. But it does seem too
bad for Vivian not to have any home pleasures, when I have so many!"

"It does seem too bad, Marjorie, but since you can't help her in any way,
turn your thoughts to feeling glad and grateful that you yourself have a
happy home, and can wear button boots."

Marjorie laughed at her father's last words, but she knew that "button
boots" stood for the civilized dress of the home-child, as contrasted
with the stage trappings of the little Vivian.

So she put the photograph away among her treasures, and often looked at
it, and wondered if Vivian still longed for the sort of happy home-life
that meant so much to Marjorie.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN BOSTON

The next day the Maynards started for Boston. That is, their destination
was Boston, but Mr. and Mrs. Maynard had decided to go by very short
stages, and stop several times on the way.

And so they spent one night at New London, two or three more at Newport
and Narragansett Pier, and so on to Boston.

It was too early in the season for the summer crowds at the watering
places, but though the gay life was absent, they enjoyed their stay at
each place.

It was all so novel to the children that the days passed like a swiftly
moving panorama, and they went from one scene to another, always sure of
experiencing some new pleasure.

* * * * *

One warm and pleasant afternoon the big car swung into Boston, and
deposited its occupants at a pleasant hotel on a broad and beautiful
avenue.

As Mr. Maynard registered at the office, the clerk handed him a budget of
mail. It was not unusual for him to find letters awaiting him at the
various hotels, but this time there were also four post-cards for the
children.

"Who can have written to us?" exclaimed Marjorie, as she took hers. "I
don't know this hand-writing; I'm sure I never saw it before."

She turned the card over, and saw a picture of the State House, one of
Boston's principal places of interest. Beneath the picture was written:

"Please come and visit me;
I am the place you want to see."

"How funny," said Marjorie. "Who could have sent it? Is it an
advertisement, Father?"

"No, Midget, The State House doesn't have to advertise itself! What is
yours, King?"

"Mine is a picture of the Public Library, and this has a verse under it,
too. It says:

"How do you think you like my looks?
Beautiful pictures and wonderful books!"

"These are lots of fun, whoever sent them," said Kitty. "Listen to mine.
It's a picture of Faneuil Hall. Under it is written:

"Do not think you have seen all
Until you have visited Faneuil Hall!"

"And Rosy Posy has one, too," said Marjorie. "Let sister read it, dear."

"Yes, Middy wead my post-card," and the baby handed it over.

"This is a lovely one," said Marjorie. "See, it's all bright-colored
flowers, and it says:

"The Boston Common's bright and gay,
With tulips in a brave array."

"Sure enough," said Mrs. Maynard, "the tulips must be in bloom now, and
to-morrow we must go to see them."

"Oh, what lovely times we are having!" cried Marjorie. "How long are we
going to stay in Boston, Father?"

"Long enough, at any rate, to see all these sights suggested by your
post-cards. And I may as well tell you, children, that the cards were
sent by Mr. Bryant, a friend of mine in Cambridge; and we are going to
visit at his house when we leave here."

"Have we ever seen him?" asked Marjorie.

"Only when you were very small children; not since you can remember. But
they are delightful people, and indeed are distant cousins of your
mother. I can assure you you'll have a good time at their home."

"We seem to have good times everywhere," said Marjorie, with a happy
little sigh of content. "This has been the most beautiful May ever was!
And a real Maynard May, because we've all been together all the time!"

"May for the Maynards, and the Maynards for May," sang King, and they all
repeated the line, which was one of their favorite mottoes.

"Maytime is a lovely time, anyway, isn't it, Father?" said Marjorie.

"Yes, unless it rains," Mr. Maynard replied, smiling.

"Well, we've had awful little rain since we started," commented Marjorie;
"just a little shower now and then, and that's all."

"Maytime is playtime for us this year, sure enough," said her father; "I
hope you children realize that these are all Ourdays, and you're piling
up enough of them to last for two or three years ahead."

"Oh, they don't count that way, do they?" cried Kitty, in such dismay
that her father laughed.

"Don't worry, Kitsie," he said. "I guess we can squeeze out a few Ourdays
in the future. Meantime, enjoy your Maytime while you may."

And this the Maynard family proceeded to do. They spent several days in
Boston, seeing the sights of the town, and making little excursions to
the suburbs and nearby places of interest.

They visited the Public Library, and studied the wonderful paintings
there. They went to the State House, and Faneuil Hall, and Mr. Maynard
showed the children so many interesting relics, and taught them so much
interesting New England history that Marjorie declared he was quite as
good a teacher as Miss Hart.

They spent much time in the Public Gardens and on the Common, for the
Maynard children dearly loved to be out of doors, and the flowers in
their masses of bloom were enchanting.

Indeed, there was so much of interest to see that Marjorie felt almost
sorry when the time came to go to Cambridge for their visit at Mr. and
Mrs. Bryant's. But her father told her that on their return from
Cambridge they could, if they wished, spend a few more days in Boston.

And so, one afternoon, the Maynards drove away from the hotel in their
car, and crossed the Charles River to Cambridge.

The Bryants' home was a fine, large estate not far from Harvard College.

"Another college!" exclaimed Marjorie, as they passed the University
Buildings. "Can we go through this one, Father, as we did through Yale?"

"Yes," said Mr. Maynard, "and then King can make a choice of which he
wants to attend."

"I think I know already," returned King; "but I won't tell you yet, for I
may change my mind."

As they turned in at the gateway of the Bryants' home they found
themselves on a long avenue, bordered with magnificent trees. This led to
the house, and on the veranda their host and hostess stood awaiting them.

"You dear people! I'm so glad to see you; jump right out, and come in,"
exclaimed Mrs. Bryant, as the car stopped. She was a pretty, vivacious
little lady, with cordial hospitality beaming from her gray eyes, and Mr.
Bryant, a tall, dark-haired man, was no less enthusiastic in his
greetings.

"Hello, Ed," he cried. "Mighty glad to see you here! Hope we can give you
a good time! I know we can make it pleasant for you grownups, but it's
the kiddies I'm thinking about. I told Ethel she must just devote herself
to their entertainment all the time they're here. She's laid in a lot of
playthings for them, and they must just consider that the house is their
own, and they can do whatever they like from attic to cellar! How many?
Four? That's what I thought. I don't know their names, but I'll learn
them later. Here, jump up, Peter, Susan, Mehitabel,--or whatever your
names are,--and let me see how you look!"

As jovial Mr. Bryant had been talking, he had lifted the children from
the car. He paid little attention to them individually, seeming to think
they were mere infants.

Mrs. Bryant was chatting away at the same time. "Is this Marjorie?"
she said. "My, what a big girl! When I last saw her she was only six
or seven. And Kingdon,--almost a young man, I declare! Kitty, I
remember,--but this little chunk of sweetness I never saw before!"

She picked up Rosy Posy in her arms, and the little one smiled and patted
her cheek, for Mrs. Bryant had a taking way with children, and they
always loved her.

Marjorie couldn't help thinking what a contrast this greeting was to
their reception at Grandma Maynard's, but she also realized that the
Bryants were much younger people, and apparently were very fond of
children.

Altogether, it was a most satisfactory welcome, and the Maynards trooped
into the house, with that comfortable feeling always bestowed by a warm
reception.

"Now, I'll take you girlies upstairs," Mrs. Bryant chatted on, taking
Marjorie and Kitty each by a hand; "and I'll brush your hair and wash
your paddies, and fix you up all nice for supper."

Marjorie couldn't help laughing at this.

"Don't let us make you too much trouble, Mrs. Bryant," she said. "You
know we're quite big girls, and we tie each other's ribbons."

"Bless me! Is that so? But you musn't call me Mrs. Bryant! I'm Cousin
Ethel, and Mr. Bryant is Cousin Jack, and if you call us anything more
formal than that, we'll feel terribly offended!"

And then Cousin Ethel bustled away to look after her other guests,
leaving Midget and Kitty to take care of themselves.

She had given them a delightful room, large and sunshiny, with a sort of
a tower bay-window on one corner. The carpet was sprinkled with little
rosebuds, and the wall-paper matched it. Some of the chairs and the couch
were covered with chintz, and that, too, had little rosebuds all over
it. The curtains at the windows were of frilled white muslin, and the
dressing table had all sorts of dainty and pretty appointments. There
were twin brass beds, and on the foot of each was a fluffy, rolled
coverlet, with more pink rosebuds.

"What a darling room!" exclaimed Marjorie, as she looked around. "Oh,
Kit, isn't it pretty?"

"Lovely!" agreed Kitty. "And Cousin Ethel is a darling, too. I love her
already! We're going to have a beautiful time here, Mops."

"Yes, indeedy! I wish we were going to stay all summer. Kit, this is a
perfect May room, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's so flowery and bright. What are we going to wear, Mops?"

"White dresses, I s'pose. Our trunk is here, you see."

"And let's wear our Dresden sashes and ribbons,--then we'll match this
rosebuddy room."

And so when Cousin Ethel returned to her young guests, she found them all
spick and span, in their dainty white frocks and pretty ribbons.

"Bless your sweet hearts!" she cried, kissing them both. "You look like
Spring Beauties! Come on downstairs with me."

She put an arm around each of the girls, and they all went down the broad
staircase. In the hall below they met Cousin Jack, who looked at them
with an expression of disappointment on his face.

"Well!" he said. "Well, Susan and Mehitabel,--I'm surprised at you!"

"What's the matter?" asked Marjorie, who could not imagine what Cousin
Jack meant. Kitty, too, looked disturbed, for since Cousin Ethel had
approved of their pretty dresses, she could not think what Cousin Jack
was criticising.

"The idea," he went on, "of you girls coming down dressed like that!"

"What do you mean, Jack?" asked his wife, "I'm sure these darlings look
lovely."

"Yes, they do," and Mr. Bryant's tone was distinctly aggrieved; "but, you
see, I thought we'd play Indians,--and who could play Indians with such
dressed-up poppets as these?"

Cousin Ethel laughed. "Oh, that's all right," she said. "Of course you
can't play Indians to-night, but you can play it all day to-morrow.
And now, I think supper is ready. We usually have dinner at night, but
we're having supper on account of you children."

"You're awfully good to us, Cousin Ethel," said Marjorie, appreciatively.
"We do sit up to dinner at home, unless there are guests."

"Well, I'll see that you get enough to eat, whether it's supper or
dinner," Cousin Jack assured them, and then, the others having arrived,
they all went to the dining-room.

The supper, besides being substantial and satisfying, seemed to include
almost everything that appealed to the children's tastes; and when at
last the ice cream appeared, Kitty's look of supreme content convinced
Cousin Ethel that the meal had been wisely ordered.

After supper they all went into the large living room, and Cousin Jack
proceeded to entertain them.

"At what time do you have to go to bed, Mehitabel?" he asked of Marjorie,
whom, for no reason at all, he persisted in calling by that ridiculous
name.

"They must go by nine o'clock," said Mrs. Maynard, answering the question
herself. "The three older ones may sit up until then."

"All right, Madam Maynard; then I shall devote my attention to the three
until their bedtime, after which I may be able to chat a little while
with you and Ed."

Cousin Jack was as good as his word, and entertained the children
zealously until nine o'clock. He arranged a magic lantern show, and as
the pictures were very funny, and Cousin Jack's description of them
funnier still, the young Maynards were kept in peals of laughter, in
which the older part of the audience often joined.

After this, he let them listen to a large talking-machine, and as many of
the records were humorous songs or comical dialogues, there was more
laughter and hilarity.

Nine o'clock came all too soon, and the children trooped off to bed,
regretfully.

"Shoo!" cried Cousin Jack, as the clock struck, "shoo, every one of you!
Scamper, Mehitabel! Fly, Susannah! And hustle, Hezekiah!"

With Cousin Jack clapping his hands and issuing his peremptory orders,
the children ran laughing away, and scurried upstairs.

"Did you ever see such ducky people?" said King, as he lingered in the
upper hall a minute with his sisters.

"They're perfectly beautiful!" said Marjorie. "And I can hardly wait for
to-morrow to come to see what Cousin Jack will do next."

"Let's go to bed," said practical Kitty, "and that'll make to-morrow come
quicker. Good-night, King."

"Good-night, Kit; good-night, Mopsy," and with an affectionate tweak of
his sisters' curls. King went away to his own room, and the girls to
theirs.

CHAPTER XIX

FUN AT COUSIN ETHEL'S

Next morning Midget and Kitty were awake early, and found that the
sunshine was fairly pouring itself in at their bay window.

"I don't believe it's time to get up," said Midget, as she smiled at
Kitty across the room.

"No; Mother said she'd call us when it was time," returned Kitty,
cuddling down under her rosebudded coverlet.

But just then something flew in at the open window, and landed on the
floor between their two beds.

"What's that?" cried Marjorie, startled. And then she saw that it was a
large red peony blossom. It was immediately followed by another, and that
by a branch of lilac blooms. Then came hawthorn flowers, syringa, Rose of
Sharon, roses, bluebells, and lots of other flowers, and sprays of green,
until there was a perfect mound of flowers in the middle of the room, and
stray blossoms fallen about everywhere.

"It's Cousin Jack, of course," cried Marjorie. "Let's get up, Kit."

The girls sprang out of bed, and throwing on their kimonas, ran and
peeped out of the window, from behind the curtains.

Sure enough, Cousin Jack was standing down on the lawn, and when he saw
the smiling faces, he began to chant a song to them:

"Susannah and Mehitabel, come out and play!
For it's a lovely, sunny, shiny day in May;
And Cousin Jack is waiting here for you,
So hurry up, and come along, you two!"

Marjorie and Kitty could dress pretty quickly when they wanted to, so
they were soon ready, and in fresh pink gingham dresses and pink
hair-ribbons, they ran downstairs and out on to the lawn. King was
already there, for Cousin Jack had roused him also.

"Hello, Kiddy-widdies!" Cousin Jack called out, as the girls flew toward
him. "However did you get bedecked in all this finery so quickly?"

"This isn't finery," said Kitty; "these are our morning frocks. But say,
Cousin Jack, how did you manage to throw those flowers in at our window
from down here?"

"Oh, I'm a wizard; I can throw farther than that."

"Yes, a ball," agreed Marjorie; "but I don't see how you could throw
flowers."

"Oh, I just gave them to the fairies, and they threw them in," and Cousin
Jack wouldn't tell them that really he had thrown them from a nearby
balcony, and gone down to the lawn afterward.

"Well, anyway, it was a lovely shower of flowers, and we thank you lots,"
said Marjorie.

"You're a nice, polite little girl, Mehitabel, and I'm glad to see you
don't forget your manners. Now we have a good half hour before breakfast,
what shall we play?"

Kitty sidled over to Cousin Jack, and whispered, a little timidly, "You
_said_ we'd play Indians."

"Bless my soul! A gentle little thing like you, Susannah, wanting to play
Indians! Well, then that's what we play. I'll be the Chief, and my name
is Opodeldoc. You two girls can be squaws,--no, you needn't either.
Mehitabel can be a Squaw, and Susannah, you are a pale-faced Maiden, and
we'll capture you. Then Hezekiah here can be a noble young Brave, who
will rescue you from our clutches! His name will be Ipecacuanha."

Surely Cousin Jack knew how to play Indians! These arrangements suited
the young Maynards perfectly, and soon the game was in progress. The
Indian Chief and the Squaw waited in ambush for the pale-faced Maiden to
come along; the Chief meanwhile muttering dire threats of terrible
tortures.

Throwing herself into the game with dramatic fervor, Kitty came strolling
along. She hummed snatches of song, she paused here and there to pick a
flower, and as she neared the bush behind which the two Indians were
hiding, she stopped as if startled. Shading her eyes with her hand, she
peered into the bush, exclaiming, in tragic accents, "Methinks I hear
somebody! It may be Indians in ambush! Yes, yes,--that _is_ an ambush,
there must be Indians in it!"

This speech so amused Cousin Jack that he burst into shouts of laughter.

Kitty, absorbed in her own part, did not smile. "Hah!" she exclaimed,
"methinks I hear the Indians warwhooping!"

Kitty's idea of dramatic diction was limited to "Hah!" and "Methinks,"
and after this speech, Cousin Jack gave way to a series of terrific
warwhoops, in which Marjorie joined. Cousin Jack was pretty good at this
sort of thing, but his lungs gave out before Marjorie's did, for, this
being her specialty, her warwhoops were of a most extreme and exaggerated
nature.

"Good gracious, Mehitabel, do hush up!" cried the Indian Chief, clapping
his hand over his Squaw's mouth. "You'll have all the neighbors over
here, and the police and the fire department! Moderate your transports!
Warwhoop a little less like a steam calliope!"

Marjorie giggled, and then gave a series of small, squeaky, lady-like
warwhoops, which seemed to amuse Cousin Jack as much as the others had
done.

"You are certainly great kids!" he exclaimed. "I'd like to buy the whole
bunch of you! But come on, my Squaw, we waste time, and the pale-faced
Maiden approacheth. Hah!"

"Hah!" replied Marjorie, and from behind his own distant ambush, King
muttered, "Hah!"

Kitty stood patiently waiting to be captured, and so Chief Opodeldoc
hissed between his teeth, "Hah! the time is ripe! Dash with me, oh,
Squaw, and let us nab the paleface!"

"Dash on! I follow!" said Marjorie, and with a mad rush, the two fierce
Indians dashed out from behind their bush, and captured the pale-faced
Maiden.

Kitty struggled and shrieked in correct fashion, while the Indians danced
about her, brandishing imaginary tomahawks, and shrieking moderately loud
warwhoops.

The terrified paleface was just about to surrender, when the noble young
Brave, Ipecacuanha, dashed forth, and sprang into the fray, rescuing the
maiden just in the nick of time. Holding the paleface, who lay limp and
gasping in his left arm, the young Indian madly fought the other two of
his own tribe with his strong right arm. Apparently he, too, had a
tomahawk, for he fearfully brandished an imaginary weapon, and did it so
successfully, that Opodeldoc and his faithful Squaw were felled to the
ground. Then the brave young Indian and the fair girl he had saved from
her dire fate danced a war dance round their prostrate captives, and
chanted a weird Indian dirge, that caused the fallen Chief to sit up and
roar with laughter.

"You children do beat all!" he exclaimed once more. "And, by jiminy
crickets! there goes the breakfast bell! Are you wild Indians fit to
appear in a civilized dining-room?"

"'Course we are!" cried Marjorie, jumping up and shaking her frills into
place. Kitty stood demurely beside her, and sure enough, the two girls
were quite fresh and dainty enough for breakfast.

"You see," explained Marjorie, "this wasn't a real tumble around play.
Sometimes when we play Indians, we lose our hair-ribbons and even tear
our frocks, but to-day we've behaved pretty well, haven't we, King?"

"Yep," assented her brother, looking at the girls critically, "you look
fine. Am I all right?"

"Yes," said Marjorie, as she smoothed down one refractory lock at the
back of his head. "We're all ready, Cousin Jack." She turned a smiling
face toward him, and remarking once again, "You do beat all!" the
ex-Chief marched his young visitors in to breakfast.

After that delightful and very merry meal was over, Cousin Ethel
announced that she would take charge of the two girls that morning, and
that King could share in their occupation or not as he chose.

"You see, it's this way, girlies," said Cousin Ethel, after she had led
the way to a pleasant corner of the veranda, and her guests were grouped
about her. "A Charity Club to which I belong is going to have a sort of
an entertainment which is not exactly a fair or a bazaar, but which is
called a Peddler's Festival. Of course, it is to make money for charity,
and while the older people have charge of it, they will be assisted by
young people, and even children. Now I think it will be lovely for you
chick-a-biddies to take part in this affair, if you want to; but if you
don't want to, you must say so frankly, for you're not going to do
anything you don't like while your Cousin Ethel is on deck!"

"S'pose you tell 'em about it, Ethelinda, and let them judge for
themselves," said her husband, who was sitting on the veranda railing,
with Midge and Kitty on either side of him, and Rosamond in his arms.

"Well, it's this way," began Cousin Ethel. "Instead of having articles
for sale in any room or hall, we are going to send them all around town,
in pushcarts or wagons, each in charge of a peddler. These peddlers will
be young people dressed in fancy costumes, and each will try to sell his
load of wares by calling from house to house. Some peddlers will have
pushcarts or toy express wagons, or even wheelbarrows. Others will carry
a suitcase or a basket or a peddler's pack. They may go together or
separately, and the whole day will be devoted to it."

"Great scheme!" commented Cousin Jack. "Wish we might be in it, eh, Ned?"

"Well, no," said Mr. Maynard, "I don't believe I care about that sort of
thing myself, but I rather think the Maynard chicks will like it."

"Yes, indeed," cried Marjorie, her eyes dancing at the thought; "I think
it will be lovely fun, Cousin Ethel. But can we girls push a big
pushcart? Do you mean like the grocers use?"

"There will be a few of those," said Cousin Ethel, "and in all cases
where the vehicles are too heavy for the girls, there will be young men
appointed to do the pushing, while the girls cajole the customers into
buying. It will not be difficult, as everybody will be waiting for you
with open hearts and open purses."

"It's a grand plan," said Kitty, speaking with her usual air of
thoughtful deliberation. "What shall we sell, Cousin Ethel?"

"Well, I'm undecided whether to put you two girls together, or put you
each with some one else. I'd like to put you each with another little
girl, but if I do that, I will have to put Marjorie with Bertha Baker,
and I know she won't like it."

"Why won't she like it?" asked Marjorie, innocently. "I'll be nice to
her."

"Bless your heart, you sweet baby, I don't mean that!" cried Cousin
Ethel; "but the truth is, nobody likes Bertha Baker. She is a nice child
in many ways, but she is,--"

"Grumpy-natured," put in Cousin Jack; "that's what's the matter with
Bertha,--she hasn't any sunshine in her makeup. Now as Marjorie has
sunshine enough for two, I think it will be a good plan to put them
together."

"The plan is good enough," said his wife, "if Marjorie doesn't mind. But
I don't want her pleasure spoiled because she has to be with a grumpy
little girl. How about it, Marjorie?"

"I don't mind a bit," said Midget. "We're always good-natured ourselves,
somehow we just can't help being so. And if Bertha Baker is cross, I'll
just giggle until she has to giggle too."

"That's right, Midget," said her father, nodding his head approvingly.
"And if you giggle enough, I think you'll make the grumpy Bertha merry
before she knows it."

"You see," said Cousin Ethel, "everybody else is arranged for. And unless
Marjorie goes with Bertha Baker, the child will have to go alone, for
nobody else is willing to go with her."

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