Marjorie's Maytime by Carolyn Wells

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"Skip along, then," said Marjorie, and then turning to the janitor, she
added, "and will you please ask Miss Molly Moss to come down."

"That I will not!" declared the man. "I've been pretty good to you two
kids, and now you'd better make a getaway, or I'll have to report to the
principal."

"Oh, we're going," said Marjorie, hastily; "and don't mention our call to
the principal, because it might make trouble for Stella, though I don't
see why it should."

"Well, I won't say anything about it," and the janitor smiled at them
kindly as he closed the door.

The pair went home chuckling, and when they reached the house it was
nearly lunch time. So they came to the table in their Quaker garb, and
created much merriment by pretending to be guests of the family.

Stella and Molly both came after school, and the list for the party
invitations was soon made out. Uncle Steve wrote the invitations, and
sent them to the mail, but he would not divulge any of his plans for the
party, and though Midget was impatient to know, she could get no idea of
what the plays or games were to be.

But it was not long to wait for the day of the party itself. The guests
were invited from three to six in the afternoon, and though the Maynards
knew some of them, there were a number of strangers among the company.
However, Stella and Molly knew them all, and it did not take long for the
Maynards to feel acquainted with them.

The first game was very amusing. Uncle Steve presented each child with a
Noah's Ark. These were of the toy variety usually seen, but they were all
empty.

"You must find animals for yourselves," said Uncle Steve, who was never
happier than when entertaining children. "They are hidden all about, in
the drawing-room, library, dining-room, and hall. You may not go
upstairs, or in the kitchen, but anywhere else in the house you may
search for animals to fill your arks. Now scamper and see who can get the
most."

The children scampered, and all agreed that hunting wild animals was a
great game. It was lots more fun than a peanut hunt, and they found
elephants, lions, and tigers tucked away behind window curtains and sofa
pillows, under tables and chairs, and even behind the pictures on the
walls.

There were so many animals that each one succeeded in filling his or her
ark, and after they had declared they could find no more, each child
was told to take the ark home as a souvenir of Marjorie's party.

"The next game," said Uncle Steve, as they all sat round, awaiting his
directions, "is out of doors, so perhaps you had better put on your
coats and hats."

"Oh, Uncle Steve," said Marjorie, "the air is so soft and warm, I'm sure
we don't need wraps."

"Yes, you do," said Uncle Steve; "this is a peculiar game, and you must
have your coats on."

So the children trooped upstairs, and soon returned garbed for outdoors,
and two by two they followed Uncle Steve in a long procession. Mr.
Maynard was with them, too, but Uncle Steve was general manager, and told
everybody what to do.

He led them across the lawns, down through the orchard, and then they
came to a large plot of soft, newly-dug earth. It was a sandy soil and
not at all muddy, and the children wondered what kind of a game could
take place in a ploughed field.

"It has just been discovered," Uncle Steve began, "that this field you
see before you is the place where Captain Kidd buried his treasures! For
many years the site was undiscovered, but documents have been found
recently, proving beyond all doubt that the greater part of his vast
treasure was concealed in this particular piece of ground. Of course, if
this were generally known, all sorts of companies and syndicates would be
formed to dig for it. But I have carefully kept it secret from the world
at large, because I wanted you children to be the first ones to dig for
it. Bring the spades, please, Carter, and let us set to work at once."

So Carter brought twenty small spades, and gave one to each child
present.

"Now," said Uncle Steve, "dig wherever you like, all over the field, and
when you find any buried treasure, dig it up, but if it is tied up in
a parcel, do not open it. Every one finding any treasure must bring it,
and put it in this wheelbarrow, and then, if you choose, you may go back
and dig for more."

This was indeed a novel game, and girls and boys alike began to dig with
enthusiasm.

Marjorie worked like mad. The dirt flew right and left, and she dug so
hard and fast that she almost blistered her palms.

"Slow and sure is a better rule, Midget," said her uncle, who was
watching her. "Look at Kitty, she has dug quite as much as you without
making any fuss about it."

"Oh, I _have_ to work fast, Uncle Steve, 'cause I'm having such a good
time! If I didn't fling this spade around hard, I couldn't express my
enjoyment; and oh, Uncle, I've struck a treasure!"

Sure enough, Marjorie's spade had come in contact with what seemed to be
a tin box. It was quite a large box and was strongly tied with lots of
cord, and on it was pasted a paper with the legend, "This treasure was
buried by Captain Kidd. It is of great value."

"It is a treasure, it is!" cried Marjorie, and eagerly she wielded her
spade to get the box free. At last she succeeded, and picking it up from
the dirt, carried it to the wheelbarrow.

Two or three other children also brought treasures they had found, and
this encouraged the others so that they dug deeper.

Shouts of glee rang out from one or another as more and more boxes of
treasure were unearthed, and the pile of boxes in the wheelbarrow grew
higher every moment. The boxes were of all shapes and sizes. They were
all carefully tied up with lots of string and paper, and they all bore
testimony in large printed letters that they had been buried by Captain
Kidd and his band of pirates. King unearthed a large box two or three
feet square, but very flat and shallow. He could not imagine what it
might contain, but he piled it on the wheelbarrow with the others.

After twenty pieces of treasure had been dug up, Uncle Steve declared
that they had emptied the field, and he led the children back to the
house. Carter followed with the wheelbarrow, and they all gathered in the
little enclosed porch that had been furnished especially for Marjorie the
summer before. With a whiskbroom, Carter brushed off any dirt still
clinging to the treasures, and piled them up on a table.

Then calling the children by name. Uncle Steve invited each one to select
a box of treasure for his or her very own. As it was impossible to judge
by the shape of the box what it contained, great merriment was caused by
the surprises which ensued.

The treasures were all dainty and pretty gifts; there were books, games,
toys, fancy boxes, and pretty souvenirs of many sorts. If a boy received
a gift appropriate for a girl, or _vice versa_, they made a happy
exchange, and everybody was more than satisfied.

After this, they were summoned to the dining-room for the feast, and a
merry feast it was. Eliza had used her best skill in the making of dainty
sandwiches and little cakes with pink and white icing. Then there were
jellies and fruits, and, best of all, in Kitty's eyes, most delightful
ice cream. It was in individual shapes, and each child had a duck, or a
chicken, or a flower, or a fruit beautifully modelled and daintily
colored.

The guests went away with a box of treasure under one arm and a Noah's
ark under the other, and they all declared, as they said good-bye, that
it was the nicest party they had ever seen, and they wished the Maynard
children lived at their Grandmother's all the year around.

CHAPTER XI

A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE

All of the Maynards were sorry when the time came to leave Grandma
Sherwood's. But they had still three weeks of their trip before them, and
many places yet to be visited. Kitty was almost tempted to stay, since
she was coming back in June anyway, and she wasn't quite so fond of
travelling about as King and Midget were. But they would not hear of
this, and persuaded Kitty to go on the trip, and return to Grandma
Sherwood's later.

So on a fair, sunshiny May morning, the big car started once more on its
travels, with half a dozen Maynards packed in it. They were waving
good-byes, and calling back messages of farewell, and the car rolled
away, leaving Grandma and Uncle Steve watching them out of sight.

Their next destination was New York City, where they were to make a short
visit at Grandma Maynard's.

"Isn't it funny," Marjorie said, voicing the sentiment of many older
travellers, "that when you leave one place you sort of forget it,--and
your thoughts fly ahead to the next place you're going."

"It's so long since I've been at Grandma Maynard's," said Kitty, "and I
was so little when I was there, that I hardly remember it at all."

"It isn't half as much fun as Grandma Sherwood's," declared King, and
then Marjorie, afraid lest her father should feel hurt, added quickly,
"But it's very nice indeed, and Grandma and Grandpa Maynard are lovely.
The only reason we have more fun at Grandma Sherwood's is because we
don't have to be quite so careful of our manners and customs."

"Well, it won't hurt you, Midget," said her mother, "to have a little
experience in that line; and I do hope, children, you will behave
yourselves, and not go to cutting up any of your mischief or jinks."

"Kit will be our star exhibit," said King, "she'll have to do the manners
for the family."

"I'll do my share," said Kitty, taking him literally, "but unless you two
behave, I can't do it all. If you go to pulling hair-ribbons and neckties
off each other, Grandma Maynard will think you're Hottentots!"

"I will be good, dear Mother," said King, with such an angelic expression
on his face that Mrs. Maynard felt sure he was in a specially roguish
mood; and though she thought her children were the dearest in the world,
yet she knew they had a propensity for getting into mischief just when
she wanted them to act most decorously.

But she said no more, for very often special admonitions resulted in
special misbehavior.

They were spinning along a lovely country road, which ran across that
portion of New Jersey, and the children found much to interest them in
the scenes they passed. Mr. Maynard liked to travel rather slowly, and as
it neared noon they stopped at a hotel for luncheon. Here they stayed
for some time, and the children were delighted to find that there were
several other children living at the hotel, and they soon became
acquainted.

One girl, about Marjorie's age, named Ethel Sinclair, seemed an
especially nice child, and Mrs. Maynard was glad to have Marjorie play
with her.

She was sitting on the veranda embroidering, and this interested
Marjorie, for all the girls she knew of her own age liked to run and play
better than to sit and sew.

But when Ethel showed them her work, Kitty and Marjorie, and even King,
took an interest in looking at it. It was a large piece of white linen,
about a yard square, neatly hemstitched, and all over it were names of
people.

Ethel explained that she asked any one whom she chose to write an
autograph on the cloth in pencil, and then afterward she worked them very
carefully with red cotton, taking very small stitches that the names
might be clear and legible.

"But what's it for?" asked King, with a boy's ignorance of such matters.

"It's a teacloth," said Ethel, "to cover a tea table, you know."

"But you don't have afternoon tea, do you?" asked Marjorie, for Ethel,
like herself, was only twelve.

"No, but I'm going to use it for a tablecover in my bedroom, and perhaps
when I grow older I can use it for a teacloth."

Ethel was a prim-mannered child, and had apparently been brought up in a
conventional manner, but Marjorie liked her, and stayed talking with her,
while King and Kitty went off to explore the gardens.

"I wish I could make one," went on Marjorie to Ethel, "where did you get
the linen?"

"There's a little shop just down the road, and they have the squares
already hemstitched. It would be nice for you to make one, for you could
get so many names as you go on your trip."

"So I could; I'm going to ask mother if I may buy one. Will you go with
me, Ethel?"

Ethel went gladly, and when the girls showed the teacloth to Mrs.
Maynard, she approved of the whole plan, for she wanted Marjorie to
become more fond of her needle, and this work would be an incentive to
do so.

So she gave Marjorie the money for the purchase, and the two girls
trotted away to the little shop which was not far from the hotel.

Marjorie found a square just like Ethel's, and bought it with a decidedly
grownup feeling.

"I don't like to sew much," she confessed to Ethel, as they walked back.
"I've tried it a little, but I'd rather read or play."

"But this isn't like regular sewing, and it's such fun to see the names
grow right under your eyes. They're so much prettier after they're
worked in red than when they're just written in pencil."

"Wouldn't they be prettier still worked in white?" asked Marjorie.

"No; I saw one that way once, and the names don't show at all,--you can
hardly read them. Red is the best, and it doesn't fade when it's washed."

Marjorie had bought red cotton at the shop, and she showed her purchases
to her mother with great delight.

"They're fine," said Mrs. Maynard, approvingly. "Now why don't you ask
Ethel to write her name, and then you can always remember that hers was
the first one on the cloth."

"Oh, that will be lovely!" cried Marjorie. "Will you, Ethel?"

"Yes, indeed," and getting a pencil, Ethel wrote her name in a large,
plain, childish hand.

"You must always ask people to write rather large," she advised, "because
it's awfully hard to work the letters if they're too small."

Then Ethel lent Marjorie her needle and thimble so that she might do a
few stitches by way of practice.

But it was not so easy for Marjorie as for Ethel, and her stitches did
not look nearly so nice and neat. However, Mrs. Maynard said that she
felt sure Marjorie's work would improve after she had done more of it,
and she thanked Ethel for her assistance in the matter.

Then Ethel's mother appeared, and the two ladies were made acquainted,
and then it was luncheon time, and the Maynards all went to the
dining-room.

"I think the most fun of the whole trip is eating in restaurants," said
Kitty. "I just love to look around, and see different tables and
different people at them."

"It is fun," agreed King; "but I wouldn't want to live in a hotel all the
time. I think it's more fun to be at home."

"So do I," said Marjorie. "Somehow, in a hotel, you feel sort of stiff
and queer, and you never do at home."

"You needn't feel stiff and queer, Marjorie," said her father; "but
of course there is a certain conventional restraint about a public
dining-room that isn't necessary at home. I want you children to become
accustomed to restaurants, and learn how to act polite and reserved,
without being what Marjorie calls stiff and queer."

"Don't we act right, Father?" inquired Kitty, anxiously.

"Yes, you do very nicely, indeed. Your table manners are all right, and
the less you think about the subject the better. This trip will give you
a certain amount of experience, and anyway you have all your life to
learn in. But I will ask you, children, to be on your good behavior at
Grandma Maynard's. She is more difficult to please than Grandma Sherwood,
but I want her to think my children are the best and the best-behaved in
the whole world."

"How long shall we stay there, Father?" asked Marjorie.

"About three days. I'm sure you can exist that long without falling in
the water or cutting up any pranks in the house."

"Is there any water to fall in?" asked King.

"No, there isn't. I used that as a figure of speech. But I'm sure if you
try to be quiet and well-behaved children you can easily succeed."

"I'm sure we can," said Marjorie, heartily, and deep in her heart she
registered a vow that she would succeed this time.

After luncheon was over, Pompton brought the car around, and they started
off again. Marjorie bade Ethel good-bye with a feeling of regret that she
did not live nearer, so she might have her for a friend. But she had her
autograph as a souvenir, and she intended to work her tablecloth very
neatly, so it would look as good as Ethel's.

The afternoon ride was not a long one, and before four o'clock they came
in sight of the tall towers of the New York buildings.

The children had never approached the city in a motor car before, and
were enthusiastic over the view of it. Mr. Maynard pointed out the
different business buildings, some of which they already recognized. They
had to cross a downtown ferry, and soon they were speeding north through
the streets of crowded traffic.

As they neared Grandma Maynard's house in Fifth Avenue, Mrs. Maynard
looked over her brood carefully to see if they were in proper order for
presentation.

Except for slight evidences of travel, they all looked neat and tidy, and
the girls' pretty motor garb was becoming and correct. Rosy Posy as
usual, looked the pink of perfection, for the child had a knack of
keeping herself dainty and fresh even in difficult circumstances.

Satisfied with her inspection, Mrs. Maynard gave them final injunctions
to behave correctly, and then they reached the house.

The children had been there before, but they did not go often, and for
the last two years the elder Maynards had been travelling abroad. So they
felt almost like strangers as they entered the lofty and dimly lighted
hall, to which they were admitted by an imposing-looking footman in
livery.

Ushered into the reception room, the visitors found themselves in the
presence of their host and hostess.

Grandma and Grandpa Maynard were most worthy and estimable people; but
they were not very young, and they had lived all their lives in an
atmosphere of convention and formality. They did not realize that this
was different from the mode of living preferred by their son's family,
and indeed they were so accustomed to their own ways that it never
occurred to them that there were any others.

Mr. and Mrs. Maynard appreciated and understood all this, and accepted
the situation as it stood.

But the children, impressed by the admonitions of their parents, and
oppressed by the severe and rigid effects of the house, turned into quiet
little puppets, quite different from their usual merry selves.

Although the elder Maynards' greetings were formal, Mr. and Mrs. Maynard,
Jr., were cordial in their manner. Mr. Maynard shook his father heartily
by the hand, and kissed his mother tenderly, and Mrs. Maynard did the
same.

Marjorie endeavored to do exactly as her parents did, but as she began to
chatter to her grandfather, Grandma Maynard told her that children should
be seen and not heard, and bade her sit down on a sofa. The old lady had
no intention of hurting Marjorie's feelings, but she meant exactly what
she said, and it irritated her to hear a child chatter.

"And now," said Grandma Maynard, after the greetings were all over, "you
would like to go to your rooms, I'm sure, and make ready for tea."

Decorously the children filed upstairs and were put in charge of maids
who assisted them with their toilets.

Marjorie and Kitty were in the same room, but owing to the maids'
presence, they could make no comments.

As the trunks had been sent ahead, they had fresh frocks in plenty, and
soon, attired in stiff white kilted pique, they went downstairs again.

Grandma Maynard nodded approval, and told them to sit down on the divan.

"Of course, you little girls don't drink tea," she said, as she seated
herself behind the elaborately appointed tea-tray which the butler had
brought in. "So I have milk for you."

This was entirely satisfactory, and as there were plenty of lovely little
cakes and dainty sandwiches, the children felt there was no fault to be
found with Grandma's hospitality, even though they were not allowed to
talk.

King adapted himself rather more easily than the girls to this order of
things, and he sat quietly in his chair, speaking only when he was spoken
to; and though Marjorie knew he was fairly aching to shout and race
around, yet he looked so demure that he almost made her laugh.

Not that she did! No, indeed, she knew better than that; but though she
tried very hard to appear at her ease, her nature was so sensitive to
mental atmosphere, that her cakes almost choked her.

Rosy Posy was perfectly at ease. The midget sat quietly, and accepted
with benign grace the milk and crackers fed to her by one of the maids.

But at last the tea hour was over and the Maynards discovered that virtue
is sometimes rewarded.

"You are most pleasant and amiable children," said Grandma Maynard,
looking judicially at the quartet, "and you certainly have very good
manners. I'm glad to see, Ed, that you have brought them up to be quiet
and sedate. I detest noisy children."

"Yes, you are sensible, and not annoying to have around," agreed Grandpa
Maynard, and the three older children smiled respectfully at the
compliment, but offered no reply.

"And now," went on Grandpa Maynard, "I think that you should be amused
for an hour. They don't sit up to dinner, of course, my dear?" he added,
turning to his wife.

"Yes, we do!" was on the tip of Marjorie's tongue, but she checked the
speech just in time, and said nothing.

"No, of course not," replied Grandma Maynard; "our dinner hour is eight,
and that is too late for children. Besides, I have invited some guests to
meet Ed and Helen. So the children will have supper in the small
breakfast-room at half-past six, and meantime, as you say, we must give
them some amusement."

King greatly wondered what these grandparents' idea of amusement would
be, but Marjorie and Kitty had so little hope that it would be anything
very enjoyable that they took little interest in it.

However, when it proved that the amusement was to be a ride in the park,
it sounded rather attractive.

CHAPTER XII

AT GRANDMA MAYNARD'S

The ride in the park, though conducted under rather formal conditions,
proved very enjoyable to the four young Maynards.

Grandpa Maynard's equipage was a Victoria with a span of fine horses. On
the high front seat sat the coachman and footman in livery, who looked
sufficiently dignified and responsible to take care of a merry flock of
children.

But, impressed by their surroundings, the children were not very merry,
and Marjorie sat decorously on the back seat with Rosy Posy beside her,
while King and Kitty sat facing them.

It was a lovely afternoon, and the park drives were crowded with vehicles
of all sorts. Marjorie secretly thought carriage driving rather tame
after motoring, but there was so much to look at that it was really
desirable to go rather slowly.

As they passed the lake, Parker, the footman, turned around, and asked
them if they would like to get out and see the swans.

They welcomed this opportunity, and the footman gravely assisted them
from the carriage. He selected a bench for them, and the four sat down
upon it without a word.

At last the funny side of the situation struck King, and as he looked at
his three demure sisters, he couldn't stand it another minute. "I'll race
you down to that big tree," he whispered to Marjorie, and like a flash
the two were off, with their; heels flying out behind them.

Parker was scandalized at this performance, but he said nothing, and only
looked at Kitty and Rosamond, still sitting demurely on the bench.

"They'll come back in a minute," said Kitty, and the footman answered
respectfully, "Yes, Miss."

"Did you ever see anything like it?" said King to Marjorie, as they
reached the big tree almost at the same time.

"It's awful funny," Midget returned, "but just for a day or two, I don't
mind it. It's such a new experience that it's rather fun. Only it's such
a temptation to shock Grandpa and Grandma Maynard. I feel like doing
something crazy just to see what they would do. But we promised not
to get into any mischief. Shall we go back now?"

"Might as well; if we stay much longer it will be mischief. I'll race you
back to the carriage."

Back they flew as fast as they had come, and when they reached the
others, their cheeks were glowing and their eyes sparkling with the
exercise.

The impassive footman made no comments, and in fact, he said nothing at
all, but stood like a statue with the carriage robe over his arm.

So Marjorie assumed command, and said quietly, "We will go back now,
Parker," and the man said, "Yes, ma'am," and touched his hat, quite as if
she had been Grandma Maynard herself.

But the very fact of being in a position of responsibility made Marjorie
more audacious, and as the man put them into the carriage, she said, "On
the way home, we will stop somewhere for soda water."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Parker, and he took his place on the box.

The others looked at Marjorie a little doubtfully, but greatly pleased at
the suggestion. And after all it certainly was not mischievous to get
soda water, a treat which they were often allowed at home.

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