Marjorie's Maytime by Carolyn Wells

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They went upstairs to a pleasant suite of rooms, one of which was for the
use of Midge and Kitty.

"You must change your frocks for dinner," said Mrs. Maynard to the girls.
"The suitcases will be sent up, and you may put on your light challies."

So Marjorie and Kitty made their toilettes, stopping now and then for
frantic expressions of joy and delight at the fun they were having; and
soon, with ribbons freshly tied, and dainty house slippers, they were
ready to go downstairs.

CHAPTER XVI

AT THE CIRCUS

The next morning the Maynard family visited Yale College.

As Mrs. Maynard had seen most of the buildings before, she only cared to
visit the newest ones, and so she and Rosy Posy spent most of the time
wandering about the grounds or sitting on the benches beneath the Elms.
Marjorie and Kitty rambled about as they liked, sometimes going through
the buildings with their father and King, and sometimes staying with Mrs.
Maynard and the baby.

At luncheon time, Mr. Maynard asked the children what they would like
best to do for an afternoon's amusement.

"Aren't we going on to Boston this afternoon?" asked Marjorie, in
surprise.

"No," said her father, "it's a long trip, and so we'll start to-morrow
morning. Now you children may choose what you'd like to do this
afternoon, for your mother and I are going to call on some friends, and
we don't want to take you with us."

"Well," said Marjorie, "I can't think of anything we could do in New
Haven, unless you or Mother were with us; so I suppose we'll just stay
here at the hotel, and,--"

"And cut up jinks," put in King.

Mr. Maynard smiled. "That's exactly what you would do if I left you here
by yourselves! So what do you think of this plan? As we shall be gone all
the afternoon, I think I will let Pompton take you four infants to the
circus."

"Oh, goody, goody!" cried Marjorie. "That will be perfectly gorgeous!
King, won't it be fine to go to the circus?"

"Yes, indeed! And it's a big circus,--I saw the posters yesterday on our
way here."

"There are lovely wild animals!" said Kitty, ecstatically. "I saw
pictures of lions and tigers,--terrific ones!"

"Me loves tigers," commented Rosy Posy. "They eat peoples all up!"

"These don't," said Kitty. "They're trained ones, and they do tricks.
Why, the man who trains them puts his hand right in their mouths!"

"Ugh!" said Marjorie, with a shudder. "I don't like that part of it. I
wish they didn't have the wild beasts. I like the people who swing on a
long swing,--"

"Trapeze," said her father.

"Yes, a trapeze; and they swing and catch each other by the feet. Oh, I
love to see _them_!"

"So do I," said Kitty. "I love it all,--but I love the tigers best."

"You must promise to behave yourselves," said Mrs. Maynard. "Marjorie, I
shall put the baby in your especial care, though of course Pompton will
look out for you all. And you must all obey him, and do exactly as he
tells you."

"There isn't much obeying to do," said King. "We just sit on seats and
watch the show, don't we?"

"Oh, we walk around and see the side-shows," said Marjorie.

"Whatever you do," said Mr. Maynard, "stay with Pompton, and do just as
he tells you. He is a very intelligent man, and he will take care of you
all right, and you must be kind and polite to him. Now scamper along and
get ready."

The children were soon ready, and went gaily off with Pompton, waving
good-byes to their parents, who stood on the hotel veranda.

They did not go in their own automobile, but in a trolley-car, and the
four children seated themselves demurely, side by side, with Pompton at
the end, next to Rosy Posy.

The ride was through a pleasant part of town, and on to the outskirts,
where they soon came in sight of the circus tents.

Pompton ushered his charges through the entrance, and they found
themselves in what seemed like a wilderness of tents, both large and
small. As it was not yet time for the performance, they walked round,
visiting the side-shows, and looking at the collection of "freaks," which
is considered an important part of every circus.

"Mayn't we have some popcorn, Pomp?" asked Marjorie, as they passed a
stand where that delectable refreshment was sold.

"Your ma said you were to have that after the show, Miss Marjorie. At
least, that's how I understood it." Pompton always took the children's
requests very seriously, and only granted them when he could do so
conscientiously.

"Oh, she wouldn't care, whether we had it before or after," said King;
"but I'll tell you what, Pomp, let's have half now and half after the
show."

"Very well, Master King. I don't suppose it does make any great matter.
Will you have pink or white?"

"Both," said Kitty, who was authority on these matters; "and then we'll
have pink lemonade."

"But you've just had your luncheon, Miss Kitty."

"That doesn't matter; this is a sort of dessert. And of course if we have
popcorn, we must have lemonade. Popcorn is so choky."

So the children had their refreshment, and then it was time to go to see
the performance.

Pompton took Rosy Posy in his arms, and the others following, they went
into the big tent and were ushered to their places.

Mr. Maynard had told Pompton to take a box, as in the small enclosure it
was easier to keep an eye on the children, and make sure they did nothing
they ought not to. For the little Maynards were impulsive, and though
Pompton was wise and sensible, he was not entirely accustomed to their
mischievous ways.

"Isn't this fun!" exclaimed Marjorie, as the usher showed them the small
wooden enclosure with six hard chairs in it.

"Perfectly splendid!" agreed Kitty. "And we can have this extra chair for
our wraps and things."

So with great content they settled in their places to watch the circus.

It began, as circuses usually do, with the chariot races, and these were
Marjorie's especial delight. She had been to the circus several times,
and she always enjoyed the classic-looking ladies who drove tumultuous
horses, while they stood in gorgeously painted but very rattle-te-bang
chariots.

"I should think they'd fall out behind," commented Kitty.

"They would if the horses stopped suddenly," said King.

"No, they wouldn't," said Marjorie. "If the horses stopped, they'd pitch
over the dashboard; but the horses aren't going to stop! Oh, there comes
the blue one again! Isn't she a dandy? King, I'd love to drive one of
those chariots!"

"Don't you try it on now. Miss Marjorie," said Pompton, on hearing this
speech.

"Of course, I won't, Pomp," said Marjorie, laughing. "I only said I'd
like to. Oh, now that's all over, and they're going to have the ladies
and gentlemen who ride tip-toe on their horses. I think I like that next
best to the trapeze people."

"I like it all," said contented little Kitty, whose nature it was to take
things as they came.

Fascinated, they all watched the bare-back riding, and after that the
acrobats, and then the trapeze performers.

"Wow! but they're wonders!" exclaimed King, as the trapezists swayed
through the air, and caught flying rings or swings, and seemed every
time to escape missing them only by a hairs-breadth. But they always
caught them, and swung smilingly back, as if living up in the air were
quite as pleasant as walking about on the ground.

"Oh, I'd like to do that!" cried Marjorie, as with sparkling eyes she
watched a young girl do a swinging specialty.

King laughed. "You'd like to do lots of these stunts, Midget, but let me
advise you if you're ever a circus performer, don't try trapeze work;
you're too heavy. When you came down, you'd go smash through the net! If
you must be in a circus, you'd better stick to your chariot driving."

"Now the trapeze number is over," said Kitty, looking at her programme,
"and next will be the wild animals! I do love to see those."

"And I don't," said Marjorie, with a shudder. It was not exactly fear,
but the child had a special aversion to watching the feats of trained
wild animals, and had often shut her eyes when such a performance was
going on.

The lions and tigers came in and took their places, and Kitty and King
watched with interest as they obeyed the trainer's word, and did as he
bade them.

But after a little time, Marjorie felt she could stand it no longer.
"Pomp," she said, "I can't bear to look at those animals another minute!
This is the last number, and I'm going out. I'll wait for you right by
the door, just where we came into the tent."

Pompton looked at the child, kindly. Her face was white, and he saw that
it really distressed her to watch the wild animals.

"Very well, Miss Marjorie," he said; "it's but a few steps, so go on, if
you like, and stay just outside the door until we come. Don't wander
away now."

"No, Pompton, I won't wander away, but I must get away from here."

Marjorie left the box, and went quietly out of the door of the tent. It
was only a few steps, as their box was very near the entrance.

There was a bench just outside the door, and the little girl sat down
upon it, delighted to be away from the sights she did not care for. The
fresh air and bright sunshine brought the color back to her cheeks, and
she looked around her with interest. There was little to see, for the
audience were all inside the great tent, and the performers were either
on the stage or in their own dressing rooms. A pleasant-faced attendant
spoke to her, and asked where her people were.

"They're inside," answered Marjorie, "they're coming out in a few
moments, but I didn't like this act, and I'm going to wait for them
here."

"All right, little one; sit there as long as you like. I'll be about here
all the time, and if you want anything, you call me. My name's Bill."

"Thank you," said Marjorie, and Bill went off whistling. He was a big,
burly young man, with a kind voice and manner, and he seemed to be a
hard-working circus hand. He was clearing up the place, and once in a
while he glanced at Marjorie, as if to make sure she was all right.

Marjorie sat still on the bench, her thoughts all on the performances she
had seen. She wondered if the circus people were like other people, for
they seemed to her to be of a different race.

As she was thinking, a young girl came out of a small tent nearby. She
had a long cloak wrapped round her, but her gaily-dressed hair with
silver stars pinned in it, made Marjorie feel sure she was one of the
performers. She had a very pretty face, and she smiled pleasantly at
Marjorie, as she said, "What are you doing here, little girl?"

"I'm waiting for my people," said Marjorie. "They're coming out in a
minute, but I couldn't stand those fierce animals any longer."

"How funny," said the young lady, and she sat down in the seat beside
Marjorie. "Do you know I always shiver when I look at the wild animals,
too. I've been with the circus a year, and I can't get used to those
lions and tigers. I always think they're going to spring at me, though I
know perfectly well they're not. Is that the way you feel?"

"Yes, I feel just like that, and I know it's silly, but I can't help it.
What do you do in the circus?"

The girl partly flung open her long cloak, and disclosed her costume of
spangled pink satin.

"I'm one of the trapeze performers; you probably saw me swing this
afternoon."

"Oh, are you really one of those swinging ladies? Do tell me about it,
won't you? Don't you get dizzy, swinging through the air upside down?"

"No, we never get dizzy; that would never do! Why, we'd fall and break
our necks, and I assure you we don't want to do that!"

"Don't you ever fall?"

"Oh, of course accidents have happened, but much more rarely than most
people think. Trapeze performers are a very careful lot, and we seldom
have an accident."

"Are all those trapeze people your family?" asked Marjorie, for the
troupe was billed as one family.

"Many of them are, but not all. I have one sister who is an acrobat. She
is really one of the best I ever saw for her age. She's only twelve, and
she can do wonderful feats for such a child."

"I'm twelve," said Marjorie, smiling, "but my brother says I'm too fat to
do anything like that."

"Yes, you are," and the young lady smiled, showing her even, white teeth.
She was a very pretty girl, and had a sweet, refined voice, which
surprised Marjorie, as she had not thought circus people were like this.

"You do weigh too much to be very agile; my sister is slender, but very
muscular. Would you like to see her? She's right over there in our tent,
with Mother."

"Oh, I'd love to see her, but I mustn't go away from here, for I told
Pomp where to find me. He'll be out soon."

"Yes, the performance will be over in about five minutes. But I'd like
you to see my sister. Her name is Vivian, and she's so sweet and pretty!
But of course if you think you'd better stay here, I don't want to
persuade you. I must go back now myself. We're really not allowed out
here at this time."

Marjorie wanted very much to go in to the tent with the young lady, and
to see the little sister, and she wondered if she could in any way get
word to Pompton telling him where she was. Just then Bill came round that
way again, and smiled at her.

"Oh, Bill," cried Marjorie, impulsively, "you said if I wanted anything
to ask you. Now I want to go into the tent with this lady,--she says
I may,--and won't you please go in the big tent, and tell my people where
I've gone? You can't miss them, they're in Box number five. An Englishman
named Pompton, who is our chauffeur,--and three children with him. Will
you, Bill, 'cause I want to see this lady's little sister?"

"Sure, I'll 'tend to it, Miss. They won't let me in myself, but I'll fix
it with the doorman, and it'll be all right. Why, bless you, the tent
isn't a step away. Run along with Mademoiselle Cora."

"Is that your name? What a pretty name," said Marjorie, and giving
Mademoiselle Cora her hand, the two crossed over to the little tent.

CHAPTER XVII

LITTLE VIVIAN

It was about ten minutes later when Pompton and his three charges came
out of the circus tent. There was a great crowd, and not seeing Marjorie
at first, Pompton waited until most of the people had gone away, and then
began to look around for her.

"I know she wouldn't go very far away," said King. "She must be quite
near here."

"I'm not so sure," said Kitty. "You know how Marjorie runs off if she
chooses, without thinking of other people."

"I'm greatly worried, Master King," said Pompton. "I suppose I ought not
to have let the child come out here alone. But she was so anxious to
come, and she promised she'd stay right here by the door. I couldn't come
with her, and look after the rest of you at the same time now, could I?"

"Of course you couldn't, Pompton," said Kitty. "You did quite right. And
I don't believe Marjorie is very far away; I think she'll be back in a
minute or two."

But they waited several minutes, and the people who had been in the
circus tent all went away. The grounds about were entirely cleared, and
save for a few workmen, there was no one in sight. Uncertain what to do,
Pompton appealed to the doorman, who just then came out with his hands
full of tickets.

"Do you know anything about a little girl, about twelve years old, who
came out of the tent a short time ago?" asked Pompton.

"Naw," returned the man, curtly, paying little attention to the inquiry.

"But you must have seen her come out," said King. "She came out alone,
before the performance was over. She had on a long tan-colored coat."

"Aw, that kid? Yes, I seen her, but I don't know where she went to."

"But we must find her! She's my sister!" said Kitty, and the tears came
into her eyes.

The doorman looked at Pompton. "You ought to keep yer kids together, an'
not let yer party get sep'rated."

"It wasn't Pompton's fault at all!" cried King, indignantly. "My sister
came out here to wait for us, and of course she's around here somewhere.
She must be in one of the tents. May we go and look for her?"

"Sure! Go where you like. I s'pose she's pokin' around somewhere to see
what's goin' on."

"Of course she's in one of the tents," said Kitty, brightening at the
idea. "Where shall we look first, King?"

Just then the man named Bill came along.

"Hello, youngsters," he said. "Lookin' fer that kid sister of yours? She
told me to tell you where she'd gone, but, bless my soul, I forgot all
about it!"

"Oh, where is she?" cried Kitty, clasping her hands, and looking up at
Bill with pleading eyes.

"There, there, little one! There ain't no use gettin' weepy about it.
Sister's all right. She just went in that there tent with Mademoiselle
Cora."

Bill pointed to the tent, and King and Kitty made a dash for it.

They fairly burst in at the door, and sure enough, there was Marjorie
sitting on a big packing box, watching a little girl who was performing
most remarkable athletic feats.

"Oh, hello," cried Marjorie, "I'm so glad you've come! Just sit down here
beside me, and watch Vivian. Mademoiselle Cora, this is my brother and
sister."

King pulled off his cap, and felt a little uncertain as to what sort of
etiquette this very strange situation demanded. But he bowed politely,
and as Mademoiselle Cora smiled, and asked the two newcomers to be
seated, and as there were plenty of packing boxes, King and Kitty sat
down.

"This is Vivian," said Marjorie, waving her hand toward the little
acrobat, who was turning double somersaults with lightning rapidity.
"She's only twelve, isn't she wonderful?"

The experience was so novel, it is scarcely to be wondered at that King
and Kitty fell under the spell, as Marjorie had done, and the three sat
breathlessly watching Vivian.

Mademoiselle Cora smiled at the enraptured audience, and in a far corner
of the tent sat a placid-looking woman knitting a shawl. This was the
mother of the two girls, but she took little interest in the visitors,
and except for an occasional glance at them, devoted herself to her
knitting.

After waiting a few moments, and seeing that the children did not
reappear, Pompton decided to go into the tent himself. He hesitated about
taking Rosamond in, but there was no help for it, so carrying the child
in his arms, he pushed aside the canvas flap which formed the tent door,
and stepped inside.

"My word!" he exclaimed, as he saw the youthful performer, and the
interested audience. "You children are the most surprising! I think you
had better come away now."

"I think so, too," remarked Vivian's mother, looking up for a moment from
her knitting. "Are there many more of you to come?"

"Now don't be uncivil, Mother," said Cora, with her pretty smile. "It
does no harm for these children to see Vivian perform. You know she
wasn't on the programme to-day."

"I'm only a beginner," said Vivian, standing on her feet once more, and
speaking to Marjorie and Kitty. "I've had quite a good deal of training,
and now I'm on the programme afternoons twice a week. Next year I'll be
on every afternoon."

"Do you like it?" asked Kitty, fascinated by this strange child. Vivian
was a pretty little girl, and she wore a garment of pink muslin, shaped
like children's rompers. She wore pink stockings and pink kid sandals,
and her golden hair was short, and curled all over her little head.

"Yes, I like it," replied Vivian, but a wistful look came into her blue
eyes. Gently, almost timidly, she touched Marjorie's pretty coat and
straw hat with her slender little fingers. "I like it,--but I think I'd
rather be a little home-girl like you."

"Cora, send those children away," said the mother, sharply. "They upset
Vivian completely when she sees them."

"I like to see them," said Vivian, and she sat down between Kitty and
Midget. "I like to see your pretty dresses, and real shoes and stockings.
Do you go to school?"

Marjorie felt strangely drawn to this little girl who seemed so to want
the privacy of a home life. She spoke to her very gently. "Yes, Vivian,
we all go to school,--though I don't go to a regular school, do you?"

"No, I don't. Mother and Cora say they'll teach me every day, while we're
on the road, but they never get time. And I have to practise a great
deal."

Marjorie looked around for a piano, and then suddenly realized that
Vivian meant she must practise her gymnastic exercises.

"Come, Miss Marjorie, we must be going," said Pompton, who felt moved
himself by the pathetic face of the little circus girl.

"Well, perhaps you'd better go now," said Cora, who had received
imperative glances from her mother. "But we've enjoyed seeing you, and
we thank you for your call."

Mademoiselle Cora had very polite manners, but she seemed to be under the
rule of her mother, and it was with evident reluctance that she bade the
visitors good-bye.

"I'll give you my picture," said Vivian to Marjorie, as they parted,
"because I want you to remember me. I would like to have your picture,
but Mother won't let me have little girls' photographs. She thinks it
makes me feel envious to see pictures of little home-girls."

"Well, I'll give you something to remember me by," said Marjorie,
impulsively, and she took from her neck a string of blue beads, and
clasped it round Vivian's throat.

"Oh, thank you," said Vivian, with sparkling eyes. "I shall wear them
always, and love them because you gave them to me. Good-bye, dear,
_dear_ little home-girl!"

The tears came into Marjorie's eyes at the tremor in Vivian's voice, and
she kissed her affectionately, and then bidding good-bye to Mademoiselle
Cora they followed Pompton out of the tent.

They were all rather silent as they trudged along to the trolley-car, and
then Kitty said slowly, "Isn't it awful to be like that? I suppose she
never has any home-life at all."

"Of course she hasn't, Miss Kitty, as she has no home," said Pompton;
"it's wicked to put a child like that in a circus, it certainly is! She's
a sweet little girl, and her sister is a fine young lady, too."

"The mother is horrid," said King. "She was awful cross about our being
there."

"Well," said Kitty, who sometimes saw deeper than the rest, "you mustn't
blame her too much. Couldn't you see she didn't want us there, because
just the sight of happy home-children makes little Vivian feel sorry that
she has to live in a circus?"

"Yes, that was it," said Marjorie. "I suppose they haven't any other way
to earn their living."

The children could scarcely wait to get home to tell their parents of
this wonderful experience.

They found Mr. and Mrs. Maynard waiting for them at the hotel, and
wondering a little because they were late.

"Oh," cried Marjorie, flinging herself into her mother's arms, "we've had
a most 'stonishing time! We visited a little circus girl in her own tent,
and here's her picture!"

Marjorie held up to her mother's amazed view the picture of little
Vivian. It was taken in stage costume, and represented Vivian in one of
her clever acrobatic feats. Her pretty child-face wore a sweet smile, and
the whole effect of the photograph was dainty and graceful. Across a
corner was scrawled the word "Vivian" in large, childish letters.

"Did you buy this?" asked Mrs. Maynard, knowing that circus performers
often sold their photographs.

"Oh, no, indeed, Mother; she gave it to me. And what do you think,
Mother? The poor little thing has to live in a tent, and she wants to
live in a home! And it made her awful sad to see us, 'cause we have a
home, and we can wear regular dresses and shoes, and she has to wear
queer bloomer things,--and sandals on her feet!"

"But I don't understand, Marjorie," said Mrs. Maynard. "How do you know
all this? Did you talk with the child?"

"Oh, yes, Mother; we went in her tent, and saw her mother and sister. I
don't think they mind being in the circus so much. But Vivian feels just
awful about it! And she's such a sweet little thing; and, Mother, I have
the loveliest plan! Don't you think it would be nice for us to 'dopt
her, and let her live with us?"

"Midget, what are you talking about?" and Mrs. Maynard's face showed so
plainly her dissent to the proposition that Marjorie jumped out of her
lap, and ran across to her father, in the hope of better success.

"Now, Father," she said as she threw her arms around his neck, and drew
his arms around her; "do please pay 'tention to my plan! You know we
ought to do some good in this world, and what _could_ be better than
rescuing a poor little sad circus girl, and letting her live in our own
happy home with us? It wouldn't cost much,--she could have half of my
clothes, and half of Kitty's,--we could each get along with half, I know.
And we could both eat less,--that is, I could,--I don't know about Kit.
But anyway, Father, won't you think about it?"

"Yes, dear," said Mr. Maynard, looking fondly at his impetuous daughter;
"I'll think about it right now,--and I'll express my thoughts aloud, as I
think them. I think, first, that you're a generous and kind-hearted
little girl to want to give this poor child a home. And I think next,
that having made your suggestion, you must leave it to Mother and me to
decide the matter. And our decision is that four children are quite
enough for this family, and we don't want to adopt any more! Besides
this, Marjorie, it is far from likely that the little girl would be
allowed to come to us. She is being trained for her profession, and
though I feel sorry that the child is not happy, yet she is with her own
people, and they are responsible for the shaping of her life and career.
Just now, you are carried away by sympathy for the little girl, and I
don't blame you at all, for it is a sad case. But you must trust your
father's judgment, when he tells you that he does not think it wise
to follow out your suggestion."

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