Marjorie's Maytime by Carolyn Wells

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She wandered about the room with the powder-box still in her hand, and as
she paused a moment at Grandma's bedside, a brilliant idea came to her.

The bed had been arranged for the night. The maid had laid aside the
elaborate lace coverlet and pillow covers, had deftly turned back the bed
clothing in correct fashion, and had put Grandma's night pillow in place.

For some reason, as Marjorie looked at the pillow, there flashed across
her mind what Grandma had said about her hair turning white in a single
night, and acting on a sudden impulse, Marjorie shook powder from the
silver box all over Grandma's pillow. Then chuckling to herself, she
replaced the powder-box on the dressing table, and went to her own room.

CHAPTER XIV

A MERRY JOKE

The next morning, while Marjorie was dressing, she heard a great
commotion in the halls. Peeping out her door she saw maids running hither
and thither with anxious, worried faces. She heard her grandmother's
voice in troubled accents, and Grandfather seemed to be trying to soothe
her.

Naughty Marjorie well knew what it was all about, and chuckled with glee
as she finished dressing, and went down to breakfast.

She found the family assembled in the breakfast room, and Grandma Maynard
telling the story. "Yes," she said, "I knew perfectly well that to have
these children in the house, with their noise and racket, would so get on
my nerves that it would turn my hair white, and it has done so!"

Marjorie looked at Grandma Maynard's hair, and though not entirely
white, it was evenly gray all over. As she had laid her head on her
plentifully-powdered pillow, and perhaps restlessly moved it about, the
powder had distributed itself pretty evenly, and the result was a head of
gray hair instead of the rich brown tresses of the night before.

Her son and daughter-in-law could not believe that this effect was caused
by the disturbance made by their own children; but far less did they
suspect the truth of the matter. Whatever opinions the various members of
the family held as to the cause of the phenomenon, not one of them
suspected Marjorie's hand in the matter.

As for Midget herself, she was convulsed with glee, although she did not
show it. Never had she played a joke which had turned out so amazingly
well, and the very fact that neither Kitty nor King knew anything about
it lessened the danger of detection.

"It seems incredible," Grandma went on, "that this thing should really
happen to me, for I've so often feared it might; and then to think it
should come because the visit of my own grandchildren was so upsetting to
my nerves!"

"Nonsense, Mother," said her son, "it couldn't have been that! It isn't
possible that the children, no matter how much they carried on, would
have any such effect as that!"

"You may say so, Ed; but look at the effect, and then judge for yourself;
what is your explanation of this disaster that has come to me?"

"I don't know, I'm sure, Mother,--but it couldn't be what you suggest.
I've heard of such an accident happening to people, but I never believed
it before. Now I'm forced to admit it must be true. What do you think,
Helen?"

Mrs. Maynard looked thoughtful. "I don't know," she said slowly, "but it
must be the symptom of some disease or illness that has suddenly attacked
Mother Maynard."

"But I'm perfectly well," declared the older lady; "and a thing like this
doesn't happen without some reason; and there's no reason for it, except
some great mental disturbance, and I've had nothing of that sort except
the visit of these children! Ed, you'll have to take them away."

"I think I shall have to," said Mr. Maynard, gravely. It was a great
trial to him that his parents could not look more leniently upon his
children. He had rarely brought them to visit their grandparents, because
it always made his mother nervous and irritable. But it was too absurd to
think that such nervousness and irritation could cause her brown hair to
turn almost white, a proceeding which he had always thought was a mere
figure of speech anyway.

Breakfast proceeded in an uncomfortable silence. It was useless to try to
console Grandma Maynard, or to make her think that the gray hair was
becoming to her. Indeed, everything that was said only made her more
disconsolate about the fate which had overtaken her, and more annoyed at
the children, whom she considered to blame.

At last, sharp-eyed, practical Kitty volunteered the solution. She had
sat for some time watching her grandmother, and at last she felt sure
that she saw grains of powder fall from the gray hair to the shoulder of
Grandma's gown. When she was fully convinced that this was the case, she
looked straight at the victim of misfortune and said, "Grandma, I think
you are playing a trick on us. I think you have powdered your hair, and
you are only pretending it has turned gray."

"What do you mean, Kitty, child?" said her father, in amazement, for it
almost seemed as if Kitty were rebuking her grandmother.

"Why, just look, Father! There is powder shaking down on Grandma's
shoulder."

"Nonsense!" cried Grandma, angrily. "I'd be likely to do a thing like
that, wouldn't I, Miss Kitty? And indeed, if it _were_ powder, and could
be brushed out, and leave my hair its natural color, I should be only too
grateful!"

This was Marjorie's chance. She loved to make a sensation, and laying
down her knife and fork, she said, quietly, "Kitty is right, Grandma; it
_is_ nothing but powder, and I put it there myself."

"What!" exclaimed Grandma. "Do you mean to say, Marjorie, that you
powdered my hair? How did you do it? Oh, child, if you are telling me the
truth, if it is really only powder, I shall be so relieved that I will
make you a handsome present!"

This was a new turn of affairs, indeed! Marjorie had had misgivings as to
the results of her practical joke, but it had seemed to her merely a
harmless jest, and she had hoped that it might be taken lightly. But when
Grandma expressed such consternation at her whitened hair, Marjorie had
been shaking in her shoes, lest she should be punished, rather than
laughed at for her trick. And now to be offered a beautiful present was
astonishing, truly! The ways of grownups were surely not to be counted
upon!

With lightened spirits, then, and with sparkling eyes, Marjorie completed
her confession. "Yes," she went on, "after you said last night that you
b'lieved us children could turn your hair white in a single night, I
thought I'd make believe we did. So,--and you know, Grandma, you told me
I could stay around in your room for a while, and look at your pretty
things,--so, when I saw that queer sort of a powder-shaker I couldn't
help playing with it. And then when I saw your bed all fixed so nice for
the night, I thought it would be fun to powder your pillow. I've heard
of people doing it before. I didn't make it up myself. So I shook the
powder all over your pillow, and then of course you put your head on it,
and of course it made your hair white."

Marjorie's parents looked aghast, for to them it seemed as if she had
simply played a practical joke on her grandmother, and one not easily
forgiven, but Grandpa Maynard expressed himself in a series of chuckles.

"Chip of the old block," he said. "Chip of the old block! Just what you
would have done, Ed, when you were a boy, if you had thought of it!
Marjorie, practical jokes run in the family, and you can't help your
propensity for them! I don't approve of them, mind you, I don't approve
of them, but once in a while when one works out so perfectly, I can't
help enjoying it. What do you say, Mother?"

He turned to his wife, and to the surprise of all, she was beaming with
joy. It was not so much her enjoyment of the joke as her relief at
finding that her hair had not turned gray, and could easily be restored
to its beautiful brown.

"I'm quite sure I ought to be annoyed," she said, smiling at Marjorie.
"I'm almost certain I ought to be very angry, and I know you ought to be
punished. But none of these things are going to happen. I'm so glad that
it is only a joke that I forgive the little jokemaker, and as I promised,
I will give you a present as an expression of my gratitude."

And so the breakfast ended amid general hilarity, and afterward Grandma
took Marjorie up to her own room, and they had a little quiet talk.

"I don't want you to misunderstand me, dear," she said, "for practical
jokes are not liked by most people, and they're not a nice amusement for
a little girl. But, I'm afraid, Marjorie, that I have been too harsh and
stern with you, and so I think we can even things up this way. I will
pass over the rudeness and impertinence of your deed, if you will promise
me not to make a practice of such jokes throughout your life. Or at
least, we will say, on older people. I suppose a good-natured joke on
your schoolfellows now and then does no real harm; but I want you to
promise me never again to play such a trick on your elders."

"I do promise, Grandma; and I want to tell you that your kindness to me
makes me feel more ashamed of my naughty trick than if you had punished
me. You see, Grandma, I do these things without thinking,--I mean without
thinking hard enough. When the notion flies into my head it seems so
funny that I just _have_ to go on and do it! But I _am_ trying to
improve, and I don't cut up as many jinks as I used to."

"That's a good girl. Marjorie, I believe you'll make a fine woman, and I
wish I could have the training of you. How would you like to come and
live with me?"

"That's funny, Grandma," said Midget, laughing, "after all you've said
about your not wanting us children in the house."

"I know it; and I can't stand the whole lot of you at once, but I really
do believe, Marjorie, that I'll take you and bring you up. I shall
speak to your father and mother about it at once."

"Oh, Grandma, don't!" And Marjorie clasped her hands, with a look of
horror on her face. "_Don't_ ask me to leave Mother and Father! And
King, and Kitty, and the baby! Why, Grandma, I _couldn't_ do it, any more
than I could fly!"

"Why not? You don't realize all I could do for you. We live much more
handsomely than you do at home, and I would give you everything you
wanted."

"But, Grandma, all those things wouldn't make any difference if I had to
leave my dear people! Why, do you really s'pose I'd even _think_ of such
a thing! Why, I couldn't _live_ without my own father and mother! I love
you and Grandpa, and since you've been so kind and forgiving this
morning, I love you a lot more than I did; but, my goodness, gracious,
sakes, I'd never live with anybody but my own special particular bunch of
Maynards!"

"It's a question you can't decide for yourself, child. I shall speak to
your parents about it, and they will appreciate better than you do the
advantages it would mean for you to follow out my plan. Now I will give
you the present I promised you, and I think it will be this very same
silver powder-box. You probably do not use powder, but it is a pretty
ornament to set on your dressing table, and I want you to let it remind
you of your promise not to play practical jokes."

"Oh, thank you, Grandma," said Marjorie, as she took the pretty trinket;
"I'm glad to have it, because it is so pretty. And I will remember my
promise, and somehow I feel sure I'm going to keep it."

"I think you will, dear, and now you may run away for the present, as I
am going to be busy."

Marjorie found King and Kitty in the billiard room, waiting for her.

"Well, you are the limit!" exclaimed King. "How did you ever dare cut up
that trick, Mops? You got out of it pretty lucky, but I trembled in my
boots at first. I don't see how you dared play a joke on Grandma Maynard
of all people!"

"Why didn't you tell us about it?" asked Kitty. "Oh, did she give you
that lovely powder-box?"

"Yes," laughed Marjorie, "as a reward for being naughty! And she's going
to reward me further. What do you think? She's going to take me to live
with her!"

"What!" cried King and Kitty, in the same breath. And then King grasped
Marjorie by the arm. "You shan't go!" he cried. "I won't let you!"

"I won't either!" cried Kitty, grasping her other arm. "Why, Mops, we
simply couldn't live without you!"

"I know it, you old goosey! And I couldn't live without you! The idea! As
if any of us four Maynards could get along without any of each other!"

"I just guess we couldn't!" exclaimed King, and then as far as the
children were concerned, the subject was dropped.

CHAPTER XV

A RIDE IN MAY

At the breakfast table, the next morning, Grandma Maynard announced her
intention of keeping her oldest grandchild with her as her own.

Marjorie's mother looked up with a frightened glance at this declaration,
and she turned her face appealingly toward her husband. But when she
saw the twinkle in his eye, she knew at once there was not the slightest
danger of her losing her oldest daughter in this way.

But, apparently by way of a joke, Mr. Maynard saw fit to pretend to
approve of his mother's plan.

"Why, Mother," he said, "wouldn't that be fine! This big house needs a
young person in it, and as we have four, we ought to be able to spare
one. You'll have grand times, Midget, living here, won't you?"

If Marjorie had not been so overcome at the very thought of leaving her
own family, she would have realized that her father was only joking; but
she had been so truly afraid that her grandmother's wishes might possibly
be granted that she couldn't realize her father's intent.

"Oh, Father!" she cried, with a perfect wail of woe; and then, jumping
from her seat at the table, she ran to her mother's side, and flung
herself into her arms, where she gave way to one of her tumultuous crying
spells.

Poor little Marjorie was not greatly to blame. She had lain awake the
night before, fearing that this thing might happen, and so was in no mood
to appreciate a jest on the subject.

Unwilling to have such a commotion at the breakfast table, Mrs. Maynard
rose, and with her arm round the sobbing child, drew her away to an
adjoining room, where she reassured her fears, and told her that her
father did not at all mean what he had said.

"Now, you see, Mother," Mr. Maynard went on, "how Midget feels about the
matter. Well, my feelings are exactly the same, only I choose a different
mode of expression. I'm sorry the child is so upset because I jokingly
agreed to the plan, but she'll get over it in a few minutes, with her
mother's help. And as you must know, Mother, we appreciate how fine it
would be for Marjorie to live here, and be the petted darling of you two
dear people, but you must also know that it is just as much out of the
question for us to give you one of our children as it would be to give
you the whole four!"

"That's a gift I wouldn't care for," said Grandma Maynard, smiling at the
other three; "but I have taken a great fancy to Marjorie, and I know I
could make her love me."

At this moment Marjorie and her mother returned, both with smiling, happy
faces. Marjorie heard her grandmother's last words, and running to her,
she threw her arms around the old lady's neck.

"I do love you, Grandma," she cried, "but of course you must know that I
couldn't leave my own Maynards. Why, we're the 'votedest family you ever
did see! We couldn't spare any one of each other! And, Grandma, when you
were a little girl twelve years old, you wouldn't have gone away from
your father and mother to live, would you?"

"No, Marjorie, I don't suppose I would," admitted Grandma Maynard,
patting the little girl's cheek; "but perhaps when you're older, dear,
you may change your mind about this."

Marjorie looked thoughtful a moment, and then she said, "Grandma, I don't
truly think I will, but if I _should_ I'll let you know."

"I hadn't an idea the child would come to live with us," said Grandpa
Maynard, "but how's this for a suggestion? Let her come to visit us for a
time every year. I believe she makes long visits to her other
grandmother."

Marjorie smiled involuntarily at the thought of the difference between
the homes of the two grandmothers, but she said nothing, knowing from
what her mother had told her that she would not be sent away from home
unless she chose.

"Oh, Midget doesn't visit Grandma Sherwood every year," said Marjorie's
father. "She only goes there once in four years. So to even matters up,
suppose we let Marjorie come here and make a little visit next winter,
with the understanding that if she gets homesick, she's to be sent home
at once."

Everybody agreed to this, and though Marjorie felt a positive conviction
that she would get homesick about the second day, yet Grandma Maynard
made a silent resolve that she would make everything so attractive to
Marjorie that the visit would be a long one.

So the matter was settled for the present, and if King and Kitty felt a
little chagrined at Grandma Maynard's preference for Marjorie's company
over their own, they said nothing about it.

* * * * *

That same afternoon, directly after luncheon, the Maynard family started
once more on their automobile trip.

As the big car drew up in front of the house, the children saw it with
joy, but they did not express their feelings, as that would not be polite
to their grandparents.

But they were secretly delighted to see the big car again, with Pompton,
whom they had not seen since they had been in New York, in his seat
waiting for them.

Then good-byes were said, and Grandma affectionately reminded Marjorie
that she was to visit her in the winter, and then in a few moments the
motor party was speeding away.

They were scarcely a block from the house before the children began to
express their relief at being released from the uncongenial atmosphere of
their grandparents' home.

"I do declare," said King. "It was just like being in jail!"

"Have you ever been in jail?" asked Kitty, who was nothing if not
literal.

"Well, no," returned her brother, "and I hope I never shall be after this
experience. Grandpa and Grandma Maynard are the limit! If I had stayed
there another day, I should have run away!"

Mr. Maynard, who was sitting in front with Pompton, turned round to the
children.

"My dear little Maynards," he said, "unless you want to hurt your
father's feelings very badly indeed, you will stop this severe criticism
of your grandparents. You must remember that they are my father and
mother, and that I love them very dearly, and I want you to do the same.
If their ways don't suit you, remember that children should not criticise
their elders, and say nothing about them. If there is anything about
them that you do like, comment on that, but remain silent as to the
things that displeased you."

The Maynard children well knew that when their father talked seriously
like this, it was intended as a grave reproof, and they always took it
so.

"Father," said King, manfully, "I was wrong to speak as I did, and I'm
sorry, and I won't do it again. We didn't any of us like to be at Grandma
Maynard's, but I was the only one who spoke so disrespectfully. Midge and
Kitty were awfully nice about it."

"No, we weren't," confessed Kitty. "At least, I wasn't. Midget said lots
of times that we oughtn't to be disrespectful, but I guess I was. But,
you see, Father, it was awfully hard to please those people."

"We didn't understand them," said Marjorie, thoughtfully. "When I tried
to be good I got scolded, and when I cut up jinks they gave me a present
for it! Who could know what to do in a house like that?"

Mr. Maynard smiled in spite of himself.

"I think you've struck it. Midget," he said. "Grandma and Grandpa Maynard
_are_ a little inconsistent, and don't always know exactly what they do
want. But that is largely because they are not very young, and they live
alone, and are all unused to the vagaries of children. But these facts
are to be accepted, not criticised, and I want you to remember, once for
all, that you're not to say anything further disrespectful or unkind
about your grandparents. And I think I know you well enough to know that
you'll understand and obey these instructions without any more scolding
on my part."

"We will, Fathery," said Midget, pounding on his arm with her little
fists, by way of affectionate emphasis.

"Yes, we will!" agreed King, heartily. "And so now let's cut it out and
have a good time."

And have a good time they did. Swiftly traversing the upper part of New
York City, they continued along delightful roads; sometimes passing
through towns, sometimes getting views of the shining waters of Long
Island Sound, and sometimes travelling through the green, open country.

Partly because of the repression of the past few days, and partly because
of the exhilaration of the fresh spring air and the fast speeding motor,
the four young Maynards were in a state of hilarity. They sang and they
shouted and they laughed, and often they would grab each other with
affectionate squeezes from sheer joy of living.

"I guess we couldn't let old Mopsy go out of this bunch!" exclaimed King,
as with a clever agility he pulled off both Midget's hair-ribbons at
once.

This called for retaliation, and in a flash, Marjorie tweaked off his
necktie.

Nobody knew exactly the particular fun in this performance, for it only
meant an immediate readjustment of the same ribbons, but it was a
frequent occurrence, and usually passed unnoticed.

"And old Mopsy couldn't stay away from this bunch, either," returned
Marjorie, in response to her brother's remark. "Why, if I just tried it,
I'm sure it would kill me!"

"I'm sure so, too," agreed Kitty. "We just have to have each other all
the time, _we_ do! Oh, Mops, there are some marshmallows; mayn't we get
some, Mother?"

Sure enough, the big pink blooms showed on the marshmallow bushes, and in
a minute the children had scrambled out to get some.

It was a muddy performance, for marshmallows have a way of growing in
very swampy places, but the little Maynards didn't mind that, or at
least, they didn't stop to think whether they did or not. Splash and
paddle they went into the mud, but they succeeded in getting several of
the beautiful flowers, and returned with them in triumph.

"Those are fine specimens," said Mr. Maynard, "but I can't possibly let
those six muddy shoes get into this car that Pompton keeps so beautifully
clean! Would you mind walking on to New Haven?"

The three looked at their shoes, and discovered that they were simply
loaded with mud. Even when wiped off on the grass, they presented a most
untidy appearance.

But King came to his sisters' rescue.

"I'll tell you what," he said. "You girls take off your shoes as you get
in, and I'll take off mine as I get in, and then I'll take some
newspaper, and polish them all up."

This really was a good idea, and King worked diligently away until he had
rubbed the muddy shoes into a fair state of civilization.

Mr. Maynard, as he often did, composed a song for the occasion, and after
once hearing it, the children took up the strain and sang heartily:

"Old King Cole
Rubbed a muddy old sole
And a muddy old sole rubbed he;
For he polished each shoe
Of his sisters two,
And his own shoes, they made three!
Hurray, hurroo, hurree!
And his own shoes, they made three!"

Mr. Maynard's doggerel was always highly appreciated by the children, and
they sang the pleasing ditty over and over, while King rubbed away at the
shoes in time to the chorus.

The sun was setting as they neared New Haven. The approach, along the
shores of the beautiful harbor, was most picturesque, and both the
children and their parents were impressed by the beauty of the scene. The
setting sun turned the rippling water to gold, and the shipping loomed
against the sky like a forest of bare tree-trunks.

"Oh," exclaimed Marjorie, clasping her hands, "isn't it lovely to go
motor-carring with your own dear family, and see such beautiful
landscapes on the river?"

"Your expressions are a little mixed," said her father, laughing, "but I
quite agree with your sentiments. And, now, who is ready for a good
dinner?"

"I am," declared Kitty, promptly; and they all laughed, for Kitty was
always the first in the dining-room.

The automobile stopped in front of a large hotel which overlooked the
College Green. While Mr. Maynard was engaging rooms, Mrs. Maynard and the
children lingered on the veranda. The beautiful trees of the City of Elms
waved high above their heads, and across the Green they could see the
stately college buildings.

"Can we go over there?" asked King, who was interested, because he hoped,
himself, some day to go to college.

"Not to-night," said his father, who had just rejoined the group;
"to-morrow morning, King, we will all go through the college grounds and
buildings. But now we will go to our rooms and freshen up a bit, and then
we must get some dinner for our poor, famishing Kitty."

Kitty laughed good-naturedly, for she was used to jokes about her
appetite, and didn't mind them a bit.

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