Marjorie's Maytime by Carolyn Wells

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"But I'm going to be there all summer, anyway," said Kitty, as she
finally induced Marjorie to tumble on the divan amid a heap of sofa
pillows.

"Yes, I know; but that's different. But what fun for us all to be there
together for a few days! Did you say a few days, Father?"

"Yes, I did; but if you're so turbulent, and excitable, and noisy I think
a few hours'll be enough for Grandma and Uncle Steve."

"It may be enough for Grandma, but it won't for Uncle Steve," declared
Marjorie; "he loves rackety-packety children!"

"Well, he'll get his desires fulfilled when you get there," said Mrs.
Maynard, smiling; "but perhaps the trip there will calm you down a little
bit."

"No, it won't! It just makes me more and more crazy all the time I think
of it! Oh, Father, won't we have a lot of our Ourdays all at once!"

"Indeed we will, enough to last for several years ahead. For if you debit
me with last month's deficiency, of course you must credit me in the
future."

"Oh, no, this rule doesn't work both ways! We'll just take all the
Ourdays that we can get whenever we can get them. But what are we going
to do after we leave Grandma's?"

"Well, if you all agree, I thought we might go over to New York and see
your other grandma."

"Go to Grandma Maynard's, too! Oh, what fun we will have!" and Marjorie
looked as if her cup of bliss were full and running over.

"And after that," said Mrs. Maynard, "if none of you object too
seriously, we thought perhaps a little run up through New England would
prove attractive."

"Mother," said King, looking at her twinkling eyes, "you planned all this
out before? It's no surprise to you!"

"Very true, King; your father and I planned it while we were on our
Southern trip. We had such a delightful outing, it seemed only fair that
we should take you children for a trip also. And your father has been
thinking for some time about buying an automobile, and as he can take the
time now, it all works in beautifully."

"Beautiful! I should think it was!" cried Marjorie; "and Mother, will we
all have motor coats and goggles, and all those queer things that they
wear in automobiles?"

"You won't have any queer things, and I doubt if you'll need goggles; but
you and Kitty shall have pretty motor coats, and pretty hoods and veils.
We'll go on Monday to buy them."

"Oh," sighed Marjorie, "it just does seem too good to be true! It's like
a fairy dream, and I 'spect I'll wake up every minute. What about
lessons, Mother?"

"We've thought of that; but as your lessons would stop the first of June
anyway, you'll only lose a few weeks, and so we're going to take you all
out of school for that time. For this year, at any rate, Maytime shall be
playtime for the Maynards."

"I'm so glad I'm a Maynard, and live in the Maynard family," said Kitty,
with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

"So'm I," declared Marjorie; "there never was such a nice family, with
such a bee-yootiful father and mother!"

And as if this were a signal for a general onslaught, the three young
Maynards made a dash for the two older Maynards, and nearly choked them
with well-meant but rather athletic embraces, which was their fashion of
expressing approval and appreciation.

CHAPTER III

A TRIAL TRIP

Owing to some unexpected delay, the automobile didn't arrive until
Wednesday. But when at last it came whirring up the drive, the assembled
Maynards on the veranda greeted it with shouts of approval.

"Did you ever see such a beauty!" cried Marjorie, as she danced around
the new car, and clambering up on the farther side, jumped over the
closed door, and fell plump into one of the cushioned seats.

"Oh, Mopsy!" cried her father, "that isn't the way to get in."

"I don't care,--I am in! And it's just great in here! Why, there's room
enough for a whole party."

The chauffeur who brought the car seemed a little surprised at the antics
of the children, for he was a stolid Englishman, and not much accustomed
to American exuberance.

Mr. Maynard had engaged him on the best recommendations, and felt sure
that he was a trust-worthy and capable man. His name was Pompton, and he
was large and muscular, with a face that was grave but not ill-natured.

Kingdon made friends with him at once, and climbing up into the seat
beside him, asked innumerable questions about the various parts of the
machine.

"Suppose we go at once for a trial spin," proposed Mr. Maynard, and
almost before he had completed his sentence, a chorus of assent rose in
response.

"Oh, do, Father," cried King; "and let me stay here in front, so I can
see how it works."

"Some other time you may do that, King, but this time I want to sit in
front myself, so hop out, and take one of the orchestra chairs."

"All right, sir," and King tumbled out, and flew around to the other side
of the car. Mrs. Maynard, Kitty, and Rosamond were already seated in the
wide, comfortable back seat. This left two seats in the tonneau for King
and Marjorie, and with Mr. Maynard in front, by the side of Pompton, the
car offered perfect accommodations for the Maynard family. It was a big
touring car of a most approved make, and up-to-date finish. The top could
be opened or closed at will, and there were many appurtenances and clever
contrivances for comfort, designed to add to the delights of a long tour.

The family had been so eager to start at once that they had not paused to
get hats or wraps, and as the top was down, the strong breeze blew their
hair all about, and also made conversation a little difficult.

But the Maynard children were not baffled by difficulties, and they
raised their voices until they were audible in spite of the wind.

"Isn't it magnificent!" screamed Marjorie, pulling at King's collar to
attract his attention.

"Perfectly gorgiferous!--and then some!" he yelled back, a little
preoccupied in manner, because he was leaning over the chauffeur's
shoulder, in his impatience to learn how to run the machine.

They went flying through the streets of Rockwell, and out into the
country for a little run. Then as they were to start on their tour next
day, Mrs. Maynard declared they must be turning homeward.

"Oh, Father," cried Marjorie, "after Mother gets out, mayn't we take
Delight out for a few moments? Even only just around the block?"

"Will she care to go, Mopsy? You know an automobile isn't such a
wonderful novelty to her as it is to you."

"Oh, yes, she'll care to go in ours,--and anyway I mean just for a
minute."

"All right then, chickabiddy; we'll put Mother and Baby out, then we'll
take Delight around the block, and that'll be about all for to-day."

So Mrs. Maynard and Rosy Posy were deposited on their own doorstep, and
the big red car flew across the street to give Delight an exhibition
of its glories.

She was glad to go, but she was far from being as enthusiastic as the
Maynard children, for Delight was a timid little girl, and never felt
entirely at her ease in a fast-flying motor. She nestled in the back seat
between Marjorie and Kitty, and grasped both their hands when the car
swung swiftly around a corner.

Then they happened to meet Flip Henderson walking along the street, and
they picked him up as an extra passenger, and then Kitty said: "Oh, now
we've got the whole Jinks Club except Dorothy Adams. Do let's stop for
her, Father, and then go round one more block."

Good-natured Mr. Maynard consented, and though there was no vacant seat,
Dorothy was bundled in somehow, and the crowd of shouting, laughing
children were driven around several blocks.

The quiet little town of Rockwell was amazed at the sight, and thought it
must be some new kind of a circus advertisement, until they realized that
it was the Maynard family, and people had long ceased to be surprised at
what the Maynards did.

But at last the children who were not Maynards were left at their
respective homes, and the big red car again turned in at its own home.

"Where are you going to keep it, Father?" asked King, as they all
scrambled out.

"I shall have a garage built on the place as soon as we get back; but for
to-night our pet will have to sleep in other lodgings. Skip into the
house now, you children, for I want to talk to Pompton without the
interruption of a crowd of chatter-boxes."

So the three went into the house and stood together at a front window,
flattening their noses against the glass, as they looked out at their new
treasure. King was in the middle, behind his two sisters, with an arm
around both their necks, and he explained to them in a very learned way,
a great many points about the machine that they did not understand. His
explanations were far from being correct or true, but as he didn't know
that, nor the girls either, it really made no difference.

At last Pompton drove away with the car, and they watched it disappear
down the street, and then turned to greet Mr. Maynard as he entered.

Marjorie went straight up to her father, and stood in front of him.

"I do think you are the most wonderful Father in the whole world," she
said, eyeing him in a judicial manner.

"And the grandest!" said Kitty, snuggling herself in under his arm.

"And the tip-toppest!" declared King, grasping his father's other hand.

"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Maynard, dropping into an armchair, "I am
certainly catching some fine compliments! And I'd like to return them.
I don't mind confessing that I think you young people just about the
highest class of goods in the market!"

"But we're not as splendid as you are," said Marjorie, thoughtfully;
"because you do things for us, and we never do anything for you."

"Oh, yes, you do," returned her father; "you do all I want you to, by
just living, and growing, and trying to behave yourselves properly."

"But we don't always do that," said Kitty, with a repentant air.

"You do, Kit," said King, generously, "you're always good. Mops and I are
the ones that slip up."

"It's human nature to slip up occasionally," said Mr. Maynard, "but I
think on the whole my kiddies do pretty well. Now, as you know, we start
to-morrow for Grandma Sherwood's, and while I'm not going to give you a
lecture on the subject, I _am_ going to ask you to behave pretty fairly
well while you're at her house. You know she's not as young as she once
was, and a lot of mischievous children may make her a great deal of
trouble if they wish to,--or they can refrain from doing so. Need I say
any more?"

"Not another word, Father," declared Marjorie; "I promise to be as good
as pie,--custard pie!"

"And I'll be as good as mince pie," said King, "you can't beat that!"

"Yes, I can," said Kitty; "I shall be as good as lemon meringue
pie,--with a high, fluffy meringue, and little browny wiggles all over
the top."

"You've struck it, Kit," said her brother, admiringly; "that _is_ the
best kind of pie,--and you'll be the best of the Maynard bunch! Say,
Kitty, doesn't it hurt you to be so good?"

"No," said Kitty, placidly, "I like it."

There was not much fun in teasing Kitty, she was too matter-of-fact, so
King turned his attentions to Marjorie, and with apparent innocence
kicked out his foot just in time for her to stumble over it. This led to
a general scrimmage, in which two Maynards, two sofa-pillows, and a
footstool became very much tangled up, and Mr. Maynard and Kitty sat
smiling indulgently at them, with the air of enjoying the performance and
not caring to take part in it.

Of course the dinner hour and all the hours until bedtime were occupied
in conversation about the projected trip, and when at last the little
Maynards were tucked into bed, their dreams still continued to hover
around the same subject.

* * * * *

The next day proved to be most kindly disposed as to weather, and the
brilliant May sunshine sparkled on the big red car as it stood waiting
for its passengers.

There was more or less hurry and scurry of getting ready, but the elder
Maynards were of systematic and methodical habits, so that really
everything was ready ahead of time. Two trunks had been sent on by
express to Grandma Sherwood's, and one large trunk which was to accompany
them on their trip, was already fastened in place at the back of the car.

The children all had new motor coats of pongee, which they could wear
over other wraps if necessary. The girls also had fascinating little
hoods of shirred silk, Marjorie's being rose color, and Kitty's blue.
They greatly admired themselves and each other in these costumes, and
Marjorie declared it gave her a trippy feeling just to look at them.

They started at ten o'clock. Mrs. Maynard and Kitty sat back with
Rosamond between them. Midget and King in the next two seats, and Mr.
Maynard in front with the chauffeur.

They went flying down the drive to a chorus of good-byes from the
servants, who assembled to see them off, and who would take care of the
house in their absence.

As they whizzed across the street, and paused for a moment in front of
Delight's house, Delight and Miss Hart came running down to wave a
good-bye, and their hands were full of flowers which they flung into the
automobile all over its merry occupants.

"Good-bye, good-bye!" they called, for the Maynards had not stopped, but
merely slowed down a little, and were now again speeding on their way.
Marjorie and King stood up in their places, and waved handkerchiefs and
flowers, and shouted good-bye until they could no longer be seen or
heard.

"Now we are really started," said Marjorie, settling back into her seat
with an air of great satisfaction. "Having all these flowers thrown at us
seems like a wedding trip or something. There's not nearly so much wind
to-day, and then, with this hood, my hair doesn't blow about so, anyway.
Oh, Father, I'm awful hungry! Can't we stop at the grocer's and get some
ginger-snaps and apples?"

"You've just had your breakfast, but I suppose automobile kiddies must
have something to nibble on!" So a stop was made at the grocer's, and a
supply of ginger-snaps and apples was added to their other luggage.

Mr. Hiller, the grocer, was very much interested in the motor party, and
came out himself to wish them good speed.

"I don't know what Rockwell will do without the Maynard tribe," he said;
"you youngsters keep things lively around town. And you're going to be
away a month, you say. Well, well!"

"Perhaps it's a good thing to give the town a little rest, Mr. Hiller,"
said Mr. Maynard, laughing.

"No, sir; no, sir; them children of yours never does anything vicious.
Full of mischief they may be, full of fun they may be, but never really
naughty. No, no!"

Mr. Maynard expressed a laughing appreciation of these compliments, and
then they started once more.

"Now we're really off," said King, "we won't have to stop again."

"Oh, I think most of the fun is stopping," said Marjorie; "I love to stop
and then go on again. Perhaps we can get out and pick some wild flowers
or wade in a brook."

"Not to-day," said her father, "but some days you may do that to your
heart's content. The whole trip is going to be just one long picnic, and
we're going to get all the fun out of it we possibly can."

"I think it's delicious," said Kitty, in her quiet way; "I think it's
fun enough just to glide along like this, with the blue sky shining all
over us, and the trees waving their boughs at us, and even the fences
jig-jigging along at our side."

"You're so poetical, Kitty," said Marjorie; "I love the blue sky and the
green trees too, but just now I want to see a red apple and a brown
ginger-snap!"

"Midget, I believe you could eat at any time," said her mother, laughing.

"Yes, I could," said Midget, contentedly, "'cept when I've just had
enough. And I do feel like eating, but I feel like singing, too."

"You can't do both at once," said her brother.

"No, but I can do first one and then the other. Now I'll tell you,
Father, what to do. You make a little song for us, while I eat this
apple. A kind of a little motor song, you know."

So while Marjorie ate her apple, and the other children engaged in the
same pursuit, Mr. Maynard made a little song for them.

This was a favorite game of the Maynards. Father Maynard had a knack of
turning off verses, and they usually sang them to some well-known air, or
perhaps made up a little crooning tune of their own.

So when the apples were finished and the cores flung away, Mr. Maynard
lined out his little song, and the children quickly learned it.

After two or three attempts they were able to sing it correctly, and they
stowed it away in their memory as one of their favorite songs, and at
intervals throughout the day their young voices filled the air with these
sentiments:

"Very happy the Maynards are;
Taking a tour in their motor car
Gaily to Grandma's lickety-split
Marjorie, Rosamond, Kingdon, and Kit
Mothery, fathery, also along,--
Gaily we sing our motor car song!
Hooray, hooray!
For our holiday
May for the Maynards!
Maynards for May!"

CHAPTER IV

VISITING A CAMP

Rockwell was soon left far behind, and the Maynards' car flew along the
country road, now passing through a bit of woods, and now through a
little town, or again crossing a picturesque brook.

The children were delighted with the new experience, and chatted all at
once, about the roadside sights.

Pompton, the English chauffeur, though he said little or nothing, was
secretly amazed at the gaiety and volubility of the young people. The
children were allowed to take turns sitting in the front seat, and, as
was their nature, they talked rapidly and steadily to the somewhat
taciturn driver.

"What a funny name you have, Pompton," said Marjorie, as she sat beside
him; "at least it seems funny to me, because I never heard it before."

"It's a good old English name, Miss," he returned, a little gruffly, "and
never been dishonored, as I know of."

"Oh, I think it's a very nice name," said Marjorie, quickly, for she had
had no intention of being unpleasantly critical, "only I think it's a
funny name. You see Pompton sounds so much like pumpkin."

"Do you think so, Miss?"

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter about a name, anyway. Tell me about your
people. Have you any little boys and girls?"

"No, Miss; I never was married, Miss. And I ain't overly fond of
children."

"Really, aren't you, Pompton? Well, you'll have to begin being fond of
them, because you see, us Maynard children just can't stand anybody
around who isn't fond of us. Though of course we've never tried, for
everybody who has lived with us has always been terribly fond of us."

"Maybe it'll be a pleasant change then, Miss, to try another sort."
Pompton's eyes twinkled good-naturedly as he said this, and Marjorie
instinctively recognized that he was trying to joke.

"Ah, you're fond of us already, Pompton, and you needn't say you're not!
It's a funny thing," she went on, confidentially, "but everybody loves
us Maynards,--and yet we're such a bad lot."

"A bad lot, Miss?"

"Well, full of the old scratch, you know; always cutting up jinks. Do you
know what jinks are, Pompton?"

"No, Miss; what are they?"

"Why they're just jinks; something to cut up, you know."

"Cut up, Miss?"

"Oh, Pompton, you're just like a parrot! You just repeat what I say!
Don't you know _anything_?"

"Very little, Miss."

But as they rode along, and Marjorie asked her interminable string of
questions about the car, or about the trees or flowers they were passing,
or about sundry roadside matters, she found that Pompton was a very
well-informed man, indeed, as well as being kind and obliging in
answering questions.

As they spun along a bit of straight road, Marjorie saw, some distance
ahead, a girl sitting on a large stone by the roadside. The girl's face
was so weary and pained-looking that Marjorie felt a sudden thrill of
pity for her, and as a second glance showed that the girl was lame, she
impulsively begged Pompton to stop a moment that they might speak to her.

The chauffeur turned around to see if the order were corroborated by the
older people, and Mrs. Maynard said, "Yes, Pompton, let us stop and
see what the poor girl wants."

So the car stopped, and Marjorie impetuously jumped out, and ran to speak
to the girl, who seemed ill and suffering. Mr. Maynard joined them at
once, and they listened to the girl's story.

She said her name was Minnie Meyer, and that she had to walk to the
neighboring town to buy some provisions for her mother. But being lame
she had become so tired that she sat down to rest by the way.

"How far have you to go, child?" asked Mr. Maynard, kindly.

"I have already walked a mile, sir, and it's two miles more to Pelton,
where I must go. I have often walked the distance, but my foot is very
bad just now, and it is hard going. I have been ill, and I am not yet
very strong."

"I should think not!" exclaimed King, who had jumped out to see what was
going on. "Look here, Father, we're going directly to Pelton; it is a
straight road, and I can't miss the way. You let this girl take my place
in the car, and I'll walk."

"Now that's good of you, King," said his father with an approving glance
at the boy, "for this poor child is pretty well tired out. How can you
get home again, Minnie?"

"Oh, sir, I shall have a ride home. A neighbor of ours will take me; but
I have to walk over to Pelton and get my things by the time he's ready
to start."

"And what time does he start for home?"

"About two o'clock, sir."

The child's face was very white, and her eyes were large and dark. Though
probably no older than Marjorie, she looked careworn and troubled beyond
her years.

"You are a good boy, King," his mother called out from the car, "and I
think, Ed, we had better take the girl with us. Kingdon won't mind a two
miles' walk, I know, when it is in such a good cause."

"I'm going with King," announced Marjorie; "I shan't mind the walk,
either, and it will be fun for both of us to be together, while it would
be awful lonesome for King all alone."

"Good for you, Mopsy Midget!" cried King, "you're a trump! Come on, we'll
get there before the car does." King grasped his sister's hand, and they
set off merrily at a good pace along the straight road to Pelton.

Meantime, Mr. Maynard had assisted the lame girl into the car, and Kitty
tucked rugs and shawls around her to make her comfortable.

Minnie Meyer was both awestruck and delighted. She had never been in an
automobile before, and it had all happened so quickly she scarcely
realized her good fortune.

"I think you must all be angels," she said; "and I'm sorry the young lady
and gentleman have to walk so far, and all just for me."

"But they're better able to walk than you are," said practical Kitty.

"That may be, Miss, but it seems queer for the likes of me to be riding
in their place. My! But it goes fast!"

The car passed King and Marjorie, who waved their hands gaily, and
watched it rapidly disappear along the road in front of them.

"I'm glad we're doing a deed of charity, Midget," said her brother, "for
if we weren't I shouldn't relish this long walk very much."

"Now, King, don't go and spoil your noble deed by growling about it! It
was lovely of you to let that girl ride in your place, but if you're
going to kick about walking, you'll spoil it all."

"I'm not kicking. And anyway, Mops, you were the noble one yourself. You
walked just so I shouldn't be lonesome."

"'Course I did! What's lots of fun for two is awful poky for one. Come
on, I'll race you to that big sticking-out tree!"

They flew along the road with their heels kicking out behind, and though
King reached the tree first, he was only a few steps ahead of Marjorie,
who came up panting, and threw herself on the grass by his side.

"We mustn't do that again," she said, "it makes us too much out of
breath, and we can't walk afterward. Now let's rest a minute, and then
walk on just middling fast,--because it's a long way yet. What time do
you suppose we'll get there?"

"Pomp said if we'd walk straight along we ought to get to the inn by
half-past twelve. They won't have lunch till we get there."

"You bet they won't! Do you know where the inn is?"

"Well, I've never been there, but when we get to Pelton I rather guess we
can find the inn! Come on, Mops, if you're rested, we'd better get a move
on!"

Then they trudged on together, finding the way very pleasant, and many
things to interest them as they passed along.

The road was a public highway, and there were many motor cars and much
other traffic.

But as the children kept on a grassy path by the side of the road they
were in no danger, and there was no possibility of losing their way.

"It's just a matter of keeping at it," said King, "but it does seem
longer than I thought. We're not halfway yet."

"How do you know?"

"'Cause Pomp said when we came to the sign-board pointing to Mossville
we'd be halfway, and we haven't come to that yet."

"What makes you call him Pomp?"

"Oh, just for short; and besides he's kind of pompous, you know,--sort of
stuffy and English."

"Yes, he is. I like him, though, and I think he's going to like us, but
he doesn't understand us yet. I hope Father will ask that lame girl to
lunch with us. I think she looked hungry."

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