Those who were "out" watched the others with breathless interest. It would have been an easy task had there been no competition. To cut a long paper into two strips is not difficult, but to cut that paper in haste, with others looking on and commenting, is more trying. The scissors seem bewitched. The paper twists and curls, and one's fingers seem to be all thumbs. King was doing well, but he gave an impatient jerk as the paper curled round his finger, and then he was out.

Dick worked steadily, and Ruth plodded slowly along.

As they neared the end at the same time the watchers grew greatly excited.

"I bet on Ruth!" cried King; "go it, Ruth! get up! g'lang there!"

"Go on, Dick," cried Marjorie. "Clk! Clk! go 'long!"

On sped the cutters, but just as it seemed as if they must finish at the same time, Dick gave a little nervous jerk at his paper, and it tore right off.

"Oh," said Midget, "you're out, Dicksie!"

And then Ruth, slowly and carefully, cut the last few inches of her paper, and held up her two strips triumphantly. She looked so sweet and happy about it that they all declared she ought to have been the winner, and Dick said, shyly: "I'm glad you won."

The prize was a shell box that Cousin Jack had brought from Atlantic City, and Ruth dimpled with pleasure as she took it.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Bryant," she said, prettily; "I never won a prize before, and I shall always keep it."

"I'm glad you won it, Ruth," said Cousin Jack, "and I want you to let it help you forget any unpleasantness of to-day. Will you forget all that happened at Sand Court, and just remember that the Maynards and the Craigs are kind and polite children, and never mind about anybody else. And come again some time, and play in Sand Court, won't you? And I'll promise you a good and pleasant time."

Ruth agreed gladly to all this, and then she went home, so happy that the memory of her pleasant hours made her almost forget Hester's rudeness.

"Now, kiddies," said Mr. Bryant, after she had gone, "I want you, too, to forget all about Hester's performance. Don't talk it over, and don't say hard things of Hester. Just forget it, and think about something nice."

"All right, Cousin Jack," said Midget, "we'll do as you say. Come on, boys, let's race down to the beach!"

The children ran away, and after a consultation with Mrs. Maynard, Mr. Bryant set out to make a call on Mrs. Corey.

His was not a pleasant task, but he felt it his duty to tell her frankly of Hester's behavior, and to say that Mr. and Mrs. Maynard couldn't allow her further to impose on their children. Mrs. Corey didn't resent this decree, but she was greatly pained at the necessity therefor.

"I don't know what to do with Hester," she said, sadly. "The child has always been subject to those ungovernable rages. I hope she will outgrow them. I feel sorry for her, for it is not really her fault. She tries to be more patient, and sometimes succeeds; then suddenly her temper breaks out at most unexpected moments."

Mr. Bryant did not say what he thought; that Hester was a spoiled child, and that had her mother taught her how sinful such a temper was, she could have learned to control it, at least, to a degree.

But he said that the Maynards could not allow Hester to come to Sand Court any more, unless with the thorough understanding and agreement that Ruth was to be a member of the Sand Club, and that Marjorie was to be Queen again. He said that Hester had forfeited all right to be Queen, and that as Midget practically formed the club, the right to be Queen was hers.

Mrs. Corey agreed to all this, expressed great chagrin that Hester had acted so rudely, and promised to talk to the child and try to induce a better spirit of kindness and good comradeship.

And Cousin Jack went away, feeling that he had served the little Maynards a good turn, if it had been a difficult and unpleasant duty to perform.



CHAPTER XVIII

A FINE GAME

One Saturday morning, the Maynards and the Bryants sat on the veranda of "Maynard Manor," and every one of them was gazing at the sky.

"It will,—I know it will," said Mrs. Maynard, hopelessly.

"It won't,—I know it won't!" exclaimed Marjorie, smiling at her mother.

"It's bound to," declared Cousin Jack, "and there's no use thinking it won't!"

Of course, they were talking about the rain, which hadn't yet begun to fall, but which, judging from the ominous gray sky and black clouds, would soon do so.

"Yep, there are the first drops now!" cried King, as some black spots suddenly appeared on the veranda steps.

"Yep! that settles it!" Marjorie agreed, "we'll have to give up the trip. What can we do, nice, instead?"

They had planned an all-day motor trip. Mr. Maynard was always at home on Saturdays, and he liked nothing better than to take his family and friends for a ride.

"The nicest thing just now would be to scoot indoors!" said Cousin Jack, as the drops came faster and thicker, and a gust of wind sent the rain dashing at them.

So they all scurried into the house, and gathered in the big living-room to discuss the situation.

"It does seem too bad to have it rain on a Saturday," said Cousin Ethel, looking regretfully out of the window.

"Rain, rain, go away, come again another day," chanted Midget, drumming on the pane with her finger tips.

"Oh, if I were a kiddy, I shouldn't mind it," said Cousin Jack, teasingly, to Marjorie. "There are lots of things you can play. But us poor grown-ups have no fun to look forward to but motoring, and now we can't do that."

"Oh, if I were a grown-up, I shouldn't mind it," said Midget, laughing back at him. "Grown-ups can do anything they like, but kiddies have to do as they're told."

"Ah, yes," and Cousin Jack sighed deeply, "but we have sorrows and cares that you know nothing of."

"Yes," returned Marjorie, "and we have sorrows and cares that you know nothing of! I'd like you to change places with us for a day, and see——"

"All right, we will!" exclaimed Cousin Jack. "That's a fine game! For to-day, we grown-ups will be the children and you and King can play mother and father to us!"

"Oh, what larks!" cried King. "Let's begin right away! Will you, Mother?"

Mrs. Maynard laughed. "I'll try it," she said, "but not for all day. Say till afternoon."

"Well, till five o'clock this afternoon," suggested Marjorie; "will you, Father, will you?"

"I'll play any game the rest play," said good-natured Mr. Maynard. "What do you want me to do?"

"Well, you must obey us implicitly! King is Father, and I'm Mother, and you four are our children; Helen and Ed, and Ethel and Jack, your names are! Oh, what fun! King, what shall we do first?"

"Hear their lessons, I guess. Now, my dears, I know it's vacation, but you really ought to study a little each day, to keep your minds from rusting out."

This was a favorite speech of Mrs. Maynard's, and as King quoted it, with a twinkle in his eye, it was recognized at once, at least, by the four Maynards.

"All right," cried Marjorie, dancing about in excitement, "sit in a row, children. Why, Ed, your hands are a sight! Go at once, and wash them, my boy, and never appear before me again with such an untidy appearance!"

Mr. Maynard obediently left the room, and when he returned a few moments later, his hands were immaculately clean. Also, he was munching a cooky, apparently with great delight.

"Give me one!" demanded Cousin Jack.

"And me!" "And me!" begged both the ladies, trying to act like eager children. Mr. Maynard drew more cookies from his pockets and gave them to the others, not, however, including King and Marjorie.

"Now, children, finish your cookies, but don't drop crumbs on the floor," said Midget, choking with laughter at Cousin Jack, who was cramming large bits of his cake into his mouth.

"Please, Mother, may I go and get a drink of water?" he mumbled.

"Yes, Jack, go. And then don't ever take such big bites of cooky again! You children have the worst manners I ever saw!"

And then each one had to have a drink of water, and there was much laughter and scrambling before they were again in order for their lessons.

"Geography, first," said King, picking up a magazine to serve as a pretended text-book.

"Edward, bound Missouri."

"Missouri is bounded on the north,—by,—by,—Kansas, I guess."

"Pshaw! he doesn't know his lesson! let me say it!" exclaimed Cousin Jack. "Missouri is bounded on the north by Kentucky, on the east by Alabama, on the south by New Jersey, and on the west by Philadelphia. It is a great cotton-growing state, and contains six million inhabitants, mostly Hoosiers."

"Fine!" cried Marjorie, "every word correct! Next, Ethel, what is the Capital of the United States?"

"Seacote," said Cousin Ethel, laughing.

"Sure it is!" agreed King; "now that's enough jography. Next, we'll have arithmetic. Helen, how much is eighteen times forty-seven?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Maynard, helplessly.

"Don't know your multiplication table! Fie, fie, my dear! You must stay in after school and study it. Edward, how much is eighteen times forty-seven?"

"Six hundred and fifty-nine, Father."

"Right, my boy! Go up head."

"Now, I'll give an example," said Midget. "If Edward has three eggs and Jack has two eggs, how many have they together?"

"Can't do it!" declared Cousin Jack, "'cause Ed and I are never together at breakfast, and that's the only time we have eggs!"

"Then here's another!" cried Midget; "how can you divide thirteen apples evenly among four people?"

"You can't!" said Cousin Jack, "that's the answer."

"No, it isn't! Who knows?"

"Invite in nine more people," suggested Mr. Maynard.

"No; that's not it! Oh, it's easy! Don't you know, Mother? I mean, Helen?"

But they all gave it up, so Marjorie announced the solution, which is, "Make apple sauce!"

"History lesson, now," said King. "Edward, who discovered America?"

"Pocahontas," replied Mr. Maynard.

"Right. Who was Pocahontas?"

"A noble Indian Princess, who was born July 29th, 1563."

"Very good. Ethel, describe the Battle of Bunker Hill."

"I can't; I wasn't there."

"You should have gone," reprimanded King, severely. "Didn't you read the newspaper accounts of it?"

"Yes, but I didn't believe them."

"Jack Bryant, can you describe this famous battle?"

"Yes, sir. It was fought under the shadow of the Bunker Hill Monument. At sundown the shadow ceased, so they all said, 'Disperse ye rebels, and lay down your arms!' So they laid down their arms and went to sleep."

"Very well done, Master Bryant. Now, we're going to speak pieces. Each pupil will speak a piece or write a composition. You may take your choice."

"I'll speak a piece! Let me speak first!" exclaimed Cousin Ethel, jumping up and down. "May I speak now, Teacher!"

"Yes, Ethel, dear," said Midget, kindly; "you may speak your piece first. Stand up here, by me. Make your bow."

So Cousin Ethel came up to Marjorie, and acted like a very shy and bashful child. She put her finger in her mouth, and dropped her eyes and wriggled about, and picked at her skirt, until everybody was in peals of laughter.

"Be quiet, children," said Midget, trying to control her own face. "Now, everybody sit still while Ethel Bryant recites."

Cousin Ethel made a very elaborate dancing-school bow, and then, swaying back and forth in school-child fashion, she recited in a monotonous singsong, these lines:

"MUD PIES

"The grown-ups are the queerest folks; they never seem to know That mud pies always have to be made just exactly so. You have to have a nice back yard, a sunny pleasant day, And then you ask some boys and girls to come around and play. You mix some mud up in a pail, and stir it with a stick; It mustn't be a bit too thin—and not a bit too thick. And then you make it into pies, and pat it with your hand, And bake 'em on a nice flat board, and my! but they are grand!"

Mrs. Bryant declaimed, with suitable gestures, and finally sat down on the floor and made imaginary mud pies, in such a dear, childish way that her audience was delighted, and gave her really earnest encores.

"Do you know another piece, Ethel?" asked Marjorie.

"Yes, ma'am," and Mrs. Bryant resumed her shy voice and manner.

"Then you may recite it, as your little schoolmates seem anxious to have you do so."

So again, Mrs. Bryant diffidently made her bow, and recited, with real dramatic effect:

"AN UNVISITED LOCALITY

"I wisht I was as big as men, To see the Town of After Ten; I've heard it is so bright and gay, It's almost like another day. But to my bed I'm packed off straight When that old clock strikes half-past eight! It's awful hard to be a boy And never know the sort of joy That grown-up people must have when They're in the Town of After Ten. I'm sure I don't know what they do, For shops are closed, and churches too. Perhaps with burglars they go 'round, And do not dare to make a sound! Well, soon I'll be a man, and then I'll see the Town of After Ten!"

"Oh, Cousin Ethel, you're lovely!" cried Marjorie, forgetting her role for the moment. But King took it up.

"Yes, little Ethel," he said, "you recite very nicely, for such a young child. Now, go to your seat, and Helen Maynard may recite next."

"Mine is a Natural History Poem," said Mrs. Maynard, coming up to the teacher's desk. "It is founded on fact, and it is highly instructive."

"That's nice," said King. "Go ahead with it."

So Mrs. Maynard made her bow and though not bashful, like Mrs. Bryant, she was very funny, for she pretended to forget her lines, and stammered and hesitated, and finally burst into pretended tears. But, urged on and encouraged by the teachers, she finally concluded this gem of poesy:

"THE WHISTLING WHALE

"A whistling whale once built his nest On the very tiptop of a mountain's crest. He wore a tunic and a blue cocked hat, And for fear of mice he kept a cat. The whistling whale had a good-sized mouth, It measured three feet from north to south; But when he whistled he puckered it up Till it was as small as a coffee-cup. The people came from far and near This wonderful whistling whale to hear; And in a most obliging way He stood on his tail and whistled all day."

"That's a truly noble poem," commented King, as she finished. "Take your seat, Helen; you have done splendidly, my little girl!"

"Now, Teddy Maynard, it's your turn," said Marjorie.

"After Jacky," declared Mr. Maynard, and nothing would induce him to precede his friend.

"Mine is about a visit I paid to the Zoo," said Mr. Bryant, looking modest. "I wrote it myself for a composition, but it turned out to be poetry. I never can tell how my compositions are going to turn out."

"Recite it," said Marjorie, "and we'll see if we like it."

"It's about wild animals," went on Cousin Jack, "and it tells of their habits."

"That's very nice," said King, condescendingly; "go ahead, my boy."

So Cousin Jack recited this poem:

"THE WAYS OF THE WILD

"There's nothing quite so nice to do As pay a visit to the zoo, And see beasts that, at different times, Were brought from strange and distant climes. I love to watch the tapirs tape; I stand intent, with mouth agape. Then I observe the vipers vipe; They're a most interesting type. I love to see the beavers beave; Indeed, you scarcely would believe That they can beave so cleverly, Almost as well as you or me. And then I pass along, and lo! Panthers are panthing to and fro. And in the next cage I can see The badgers badging merrily. Oh, the dear beasties at the zoo, What entertaining things they do!"

"That's fine!" exclaimed Midget. "I didn't know we were going to have a real entertainment!"

"Very good, Jacky!" pronounced King. "I shall mark you ten in declamation. You're a good declaimer. Now, Teddy Maynard, it's your turn."

"Mine is real oratory," declared Mr. Maynard, as he rose from his seat. "But I find that so many fine oratorical pieces fizzle out after their first lines, that I just pick out the best lines and use them for declamation. Now, you can see how well my plan works."

He struck an attitude, bowed to each of his audience separately, cleared his throat impressively, and then began to declaim in a stilted, stagey voice, and with absurd dramatic gestures:

"THE ART OF ELOCUTION

"The noble songs of noble deeds of bravery or glory Are much enhanced if they're declaimed with stirring oratory. I love sonorous words that roll like billows o'er the seas; These I recite like Cicero or like Demosthenes.

"And so, from every poem what is worthy I select; I use the phrases I like best, the others I reject; And thus, I claim, that I have found the logical solution Of difficulties that attend the art of elocution.

"Whence come these shrieks so wild and shrill? Across the sands o' Dee? Lo, I will stand at thy right hand and keep the bridge with thee! For this was Tell a hero? For this did Gessler die? 'The curse is come upon me!' said the Spider to the Fly.

"When Britain first at Heaven's command said, 'Boatswain, do not tarry; The despot's heel is on thy shore, and while ye may, go marry.' Let dogs delight to bark and bite the British Grenadiers, Lars Porsena of Clusium lay dying in Algiers!

"Old Grimes is dead! Ring out, wild bells! And shall Trelawney die? Then twenty thousand Cornishmen are comin' thro' the rye! The Blessed Damozel leaned out,—she was eight years old she said! Lord Lovel stood at his castle gate, whence all but him had fled.

"Rise up, rise up, Xarifa! Only three grains of corn! Stay, Lady, stay! for mercy's sake! and wind the bugle horn. The glittering knife descends—descends—Hark, hark, the foeman's cry! The world is all a fleeting show! Said Gilpin, 'So am I!'

"The sea! the sea! the open sea! Roll on, roll on, thou deep! Maxwelton braes are bonny, but Macbeth hath murdered sleep! Answer me, burning shades of night! what's Hecuba to me? Alone stood brave Horatius! The boy—oh, where was he?"

"Oh, Father!" cried Marjorie, as Mr. Maynard finished, "did you really make that up? Or did you find it in a book?"

But Mr. Maynard wouldn't tell, and only accepted the praise heaped upon him, with a foolish smirk, like an embarrassed schoolboy.

"Now, children, school is out," said Midget, "and it's about luncheon time. So go and tidy yourselves up to come to the table. You're always sending us to tidy up, Mother, so now you can see what a nuisance it is! Run along, and come back as quickly as you can, for luncheon is nearly ready."

The four grown-ups went away to tidy up, and King and Midget made further plans for this new game. It was still raining, so there was no hope of going motoring, and they concluded they were having enough fun at home to make up for it.

But when the four "children" returned, they looked at them a moment in silent astonishment, and then burst into shrieks of laughter.

Mr. Maynard and Mr. Bryant had transformed themselves into boys, by brushing their hair down very wet and straight, and wearing large, round collars made of white paper, and tied with enormous bows. They looked funny enough, but the two ladies were funnier still. Mrs. Maynard had her hair in two long pigtails tied with huge ribbons, and Cousin Ethel had her hair in bunches of curls, also tied with big bows. They both wore white bib aprons, and carried foolish-looking dolls which they had made out of pillows, tied round with string.

"You dear children!" cried Midget; "I think you are lovely! Come along to luncheon."

The "children" politely let King and Midget go first, and they followed, giggling. Sarah, the waitress, was overcome with amusement, but she managed to keep a straight face, as the comical-looking procession filed in.

King and Marjorie appropriated their parents' seats, and the others sat at the sides of the table.

"No, Helen, dear," said Midget, "you can't have any tea. It isn't good for little girls. You may have a glass of milk, if you wish."

"I don't think these lobster croquettes are good for Jack," said King, looking wisely at Midget; "they're very rich, and he's subject to indigestion."

"I am not!" declared Cousin Jack, looking longingly at the tempting croquettes, for which Ellen was famous.

"There, there, my child," said Marjorie; "don't contradict your father. Perhaps he could have a half of one, King."

"Yes, that would scarcely make him ill," and King gave Cousin Jack a portion of one small croquette, which he ate up at once, and found to be merely an aggravation.

"Oh, no! no pie for Edward," said Marjorie, when a delicious lemon meringue made its appearance. "Pie is entirely unsuitable for children! He may have a nice baked apple."

And Mr. Maynard was plucky enough to eat his baked apple without a murmur, for he remembered that often he had advised Mrs. Maynard against giving the children pie.

To be sure, the pie would not harm the grown people, but Mr. Maynard had agreed to "play the game," and it was his nature to do thoroughly whatever he undertook.



CHAPTER XIX

MORE FUN

"Now, Helen," said Marjorie, as they left the dining-room, "you must practise for an hour."

"Oh, Mother, I don't feel a bit like it! Mayn't I skip it to-day?"

This was, in effect, a speech that Marjorie often made, and she had to laugh at her mother's mimicry.

But she straightened her face, and said, "No, my child; you must do your practising, or you won't be ready for your lesson when the teacher comes to-morrow."

"All right, Mother," said Mrs. Maynard, cheerfully, and sitting down at the piano, she began to rattle off a gay waltz.

"Oh, no, Helen," remonstrated Marjorie, "that won't do! You must play your scales and exercises. See, here's the book. Now, play that page over and over for an hour."

Marjorie did hate those tedious "exercises," and she was glad for her mother to see how poky it was to drum at them for an hour. As a rule, Marjorie did her practising patiently enough, but sometimes she revolted, and it made her chuckle to see Mrs. Maynard carefully picking out the "five-finger drills."

"Keep your hands straight, Helen," she admonished her mother. "Keep the backs of them so level that a lead pencil wouldn't roll off. I'll get a lead pencil."

"No, don't!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, in dismay. She liked to play the piano, but she was far from careful to hold her hands in the position required by Midget's teacher.

"Yes, I think I'd better, Helen. If you contract bad habits, it's so difficult to break them."

Roguish Marjorie brought a lead pencil, and laid it carefully across the back of her mother's hand, from which it immediately rolled off.

"Now, Helen, you must hold your hand level. Try again, dearie, and if it rolls off, pick it up and put it back in place."

Mrs. Maynard made a wry face, and the other grown-ups laughed, to see the difficulty she experienced with the pencil.

"One—two—three—four," she counted, aloud.

"Count to yourself, Helen," said Marjorie. "It's annoying to hear you do that!"

This, too, was quoted, for Mrs. Maynard had often objected to the monotonous drone of Marjorie's counting aloud.

But the mother began to see that a child's life has its own little troubles, and she smiled appreciatively at Midget, as she picked up the pencil from the floor for the twentieth time, and replaced it on the back of her hand, now stiff and lame from the unwonted restraint.

"You dear old darling!" cried Midget, flying over and kissing the patient musician; "you sha'n't do that any longer! I declare, King, it's clearing off, after all! Let's take the children out for a walk."

"Very well, we will. Oh, here comes Ruth! Come in, Ruth."

Ruth Rowland came in, and looked greatly mystified at the appearance of the elder members of the group before her.

But King and Midget explained what was going on, and said:

"And you can be Aunt Ruth, come to call on us and our children."

Ruth's eyes danced with fun, and she sat down, saying to Marjorie, "I'm glad to see the children looking so well; have any of them the whooping-cough? I hear it's around some."

"I have," declared Cousin Jack, and then he began to cough and whoop in a most exaggerated imitation of the whooping-cough. Indeed, in his paroxysms, he almost turned somersaults.

"I hab a bad cold id by head," declared Mr. Maynard, and he began a series of such prodigious sneezes that all the others screamed with laughter.

"Well, your children aren't so very well, after all, are they?" commented Ruth, as they watched the two men cutting up their capers.

"The girls are," said Marjorie, looking affectionately at her two "daughters."

"Oh, I'm not!" declared Mrs. Maynard; "I have a fearful toothache," and she held her cheek in her hand, and rocked back and forth, pretending dreadful pain.

"And I have the mumps!" announced Cousin Ethel, puffing out her pretty pink cheeks, to make believe they were swollen with that ailment.

"Well, you're a crowd of invalids!" said King; "I believe some fresh air would do you good. Out you all go, for a walk. Get your hats, kiddies, and be quick about it."

The grown-ups scampered away to get their hats, and the ladies put up their hair properly and took off their white aprons.

The two men discarded their big collars and ties, but the game was not yet over, and the group went gayly out and down toward the beach.

"May we go in bathing, Mother?" asked Mr. Maynard.

"Not in bathing, my son," returned Marjorie; "the waves are too strong. But, if you wish, you may all take off your shoes and stockings and go 'paddling.'"

However, none of the quartette of "children" accepted this permission, so they all sat on the sand and built forts.

"Now, I guess we'll all go to the pier, and get ice cream," said King. "How would you like that, kiddies?"

"Fine!" said Cousin Jack. "It's getting warmer, and I'm hungering for ice cream. Come on, all."

"Gently, my boy, gently," said King, as Cousin Jack scrambled to his feet, upsetting sand all over everybody. "Now, walk along nicely and properly, don't go too fast, and we'll reach the pier in good time."

"Turn out your toes," directed Marjorie; "hold up your head, Ethel. Don't swing your arms, Edward."

As a matter of fact the four grown people found it a little difficult to follow these bits of good advice they had so often given carelessly to the children, and they marched along rather stiffly.

"Try to be a little more graceful, Helen," said King, and they all laughed, for Mrs. Maynard was really a very graceful lady, and was spoiling her gait by over-attention to Midget's rules. At the pier, King selected a pleasant table, and ranged his party around it.

"Bring three plates of ice cream, and four half-portions," he directed the waiter. And when it was brought, he calmly gave the four small pieces to his parents and the Bryants.

Cousin Jack's face fell, for he was warm and tired, and he wanted more than a spoonful of the refreshing delicacy. But a surreptitious glance at his watch showed him it was almost five o'clock; so he accepted his plate without a murmur.

"It's very nice, Mother," he said demurely, eating it by tiny bits, scraped from the edges as he had sometimes seen Marjorie do, when her share had been limited to half a plate.

"I'm glad you like it, son," she returned; "don't eat too fast,—hold your spoon properly,—take small bites of cake."

Ruth was convulsed by this new sort of fun, and asked Marjorie if they had ever played the game before.

"No," Cousin Jack answered for her, "and I'm jolly well sure we never will again! I've had enough of being 'a child again, just for to-night!' And, if you please, ladies and gentlemen, it's now five o'clock! the jig is up! the game is played out! the ball is over! Here, waiter; bring some ice cream, please. Full-sized plates, all around!"

The amused waiter hurried away on his errand, and Mr. and Mrs. Maynard sat up suddenly, as if relieved of a great responsibility.

"Bring some cake, too," said Mrs. Maynard, "and a pot of tea. Don't you want some tea, Ethel?"

"Indeed, I do, Helen; I'm exhausted. Jack, if you ever propose such a game again!"

"I didn't propose it, my dear! Now, will you look at that! Everything always gets blamed on me!"

And now there was plenty of ice cream for everybody, and the children were allowed to have all they wanted, and they were all glad to get back to their rightful places again.

"But it was fun!" said Marjorie, and then she told Ruth all about the funny things they had done before she arrived on the scene.

Then they all walked around by Ruth's house to take her home, and then they walked around by Bryant Bower to take the Bryants home, and then the Maynards went home themselves.

"I'm going to write Kit all about it," said Marjorie; "she'd have loved that game, if she'd been here."

"She loves any make-believe game," said King. "You write to her, Midget; I've got to write up The Jolly Sandboy paper."

"I should think you had! You haven't done one for two weeks."

"I know it; but it's because nobody sends in any contributions. I can't make it all up alone."

"'Course you can't. When I write to Kitty, I'll ask her if she hasn't some things we could put in it. She and Uncle Steve are always making up poetry and stories."

"Good idea, Mops! Tell her to be sure to send me a lot of stuff, first thing she does!"

"Well, I will;" and Marjorie set to work at her letter.

It was finished by dinner time, for Marjorie's letters to her sister were not marked by any undue precision of style or penmanship, and as Marjorie laid it on the hall table to be mailed, she told King that she had given Kitty his message.

"Father," said Midget, at dinner, that night, "what day did Cousin Jack say was Pocahontas' birthday?"

"I don't remember, my dear; but I'm quite sure he doesn't really know, nor any one else. I fancy he made up that date."

"Well, do you know of anybody, anybody nice and celebrated, whose birthday comes about now?"

"The latter part of July? No, Midget, I don't. Why?"

"Oh, 'cause I think it would be nice to have a celebration, and you can't celebrate without a hero."

"Do you call Pocahontas a hero?" asked King, quizzically.

"Well, she's a heroine,—it's all the same. When do you s'pose her birthday was, Father?"

"I've no idea, Midget; and Cousin Jack hasn't, either. But if you want to celebrate her, you can choose any day. You see, it isn't like a birthday that's celebrated every year, Washington's, Lincoln's, or yours. If you're just going to celebrate once, you can take one day as well as another."

"Oh, can I, Father? Then, we'll have it next week. I'll choose August first,—that's a nice day."

"What's it all about, Midge?" asked King.

"Oh, nothing; only I took a notion for a celebration. We had such good times on Fourth of July and on my birthday, I want another birthday."

"I think it's a good idea to choose some uncelebrated person like Pocahontas," said Mrs. Maynard; "for if you don't celebrate her I doubt if anybody ever will."

"And you see we can have it all sort of Indian," went on Midget. "You know we've a good many Indian baskets and beads and things,—and, Father, couldn't you build us a wigwam?"

"Oh, yes, a whole reservation, if you like."

"No, just one wigwam. And we'll only have the Sand Club. I don't mean to have a party."

"All right, I'm in for it," declared King, and right after dinner, the two set to work making plans for the celebration.

"Cousin Jack will help, I know," said Marjorie; "remember how he played Indians with us, up in Cambridge, last year?"

"Yep, 'course I do. He'll be fine! He always is."

"Let's telephone, and ask him right away."

"All right;" and in a few moments Cousin Jack's cheery "Hello!" came over the wire.

"Well!" he exclaimed, "if it isn't those Maynard scamps again! Now, see here, Mehitabel, it's time you and Hezekiah went to bed. It's nearly nine o'clock."

"But, Cousin Jack, I just want to ask you something."

"Not to-night, my Angel Child. Whatever you ask me to-night, I shall say no to! Besides, I'm reading my paper, and I can't be disturbed."

"But, Cousin Jack——"

"The Interstate Commerce Commission has to-day handed down a decision in favor of——"

"Oh, King, he's reading out of his newspaper, just to tease us! You try him."

King took the telephone. "Please, Cousin Jack, listen a minute," he said.

But all the reply he heard was:

"Ephraim Hardenburg has been elected chairman of the executive committee of the Great Coal Tar Company, to succeed James H.——"

King hung up the receiver in disgust.

"No use," he said; "Cousin Jack just read more of that newspaper stuff! Never mind, Midget, we can wait till we see him. I guess I will scoot to bed, now; I'm awful sleepy."

But when Cousin Jack heard of their project, a day or two later, he was more than willing to help with the celebration.

"Well, I just guess!" he cried. "We'll have a jamboree that'll make all the good Indians wish they were alive now, instead of four hundred thousand years ago! We'll have a wigwam and a wampum and a tomahawk and all the ancient improvements! Hooray for Pocahontas!"

"Gracious, Jack! you're the biggest child of the lot!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, who sat on the veranda, watching the enthusiasm going on.

"Of course, I am, ma'am! I'm having a merry playtime this summer with my little friends, and as I have to work hard all winter, I really need this vacation."

"Of course you do! But don't let those two energetic children wear you out."

"No, ma'am! More likely I'll wear them out. Now, for the wigwam, kiddies. Have you a couple of Navajo blankets?"

"Yes, we have! and a Bulgarian one, or whatever you call it, to piece out," cried Midget, as she ran to get them.

"Just the thing!" declared Cousin Jack. "Put them aside, we won't use them till the day of the show. 'Cause why? 'Cause it might rain,—but, of course it won't. Now, for feathers,—we want lots of feathers."

"Old hat feathers?" asked Midget.

"Ostrich plumes? Nay, nay, me child. Good stiff quill feathers,—turkey feathers preferred. Well, never mind those,—I'll fish some up from somewhere. Now, blankets for the braves and fringed gowns for the squaws. I'll show you how, Mehitabel, and you and your respected mother can do the sewing act."

Well, Cousin Jack planned just about everything, and he and the children turned the house upside down in their quest for materials. But Mrs. Maynard didn't mind. She was used to it, for the Maynard children would always rather "celebrate" than play any ordinary game.



CHAPTER XX

A CELEBRATION

The first of August was a perfect day for their celebration.

They had concluded to hold a Sand Court session first, for the simple reason that so much matter for The Jolly Sandboy had arrived from Kitty that King said his paper was full, and he thought it would be nice to help along the celebration.

Cousin Jack declined an invitation to be present at the reading, saying that the Pocahontas part was all he could stand, so the Court convened without him. Ruth was Queen for the day. This was for no particular reason, except that Marjorie thought it would be a pleasure to the little new member, so she insisted on Ruth's wearing the crown.

Very dainty and sweet the little Queen looked, with her long flaxen curls hanging down from the extra gorgeous gilt-paper crown, that Marjorie had made specially for this occasion.

As the session began, a meek little figure appeared at the Court entrance, and there was Hester!

"Now, you Hester!" began Tom Craig, but Hester said:

"Oh, please let me come! I will be good. I won't say a single cross word, or boss, or anything."

"All right, Hester," said Midget, kindly, "come on in. If the Queen says you may we'll all say so. Do you, O Queen?"

Ruth looked doubtful for a minute, for she was a little afraid of Hester's uncertain temper; but, seeing Marjorie's pleading look, she consented.

"All right," she said; "if Hester won't throw water on me."

"No, I won't!" declared Hester, earnestly.

"Well," said King, "just as long as Hester behaves herself she may stay. If she carries on like fury, she's got to go home."

Hester sat down and folded her hands in her lap, looking so excessively meek that they all had to laugh at her.

"Now," said the Queen, "we're gathered here together, my loyal subjects, to listen to,—to, what do you call it?"

"The Jolly Sandboy," prompted King.

"The Jolly Sandbag," said the Queen, misunderstanding.

But she was soon put right, and King proceeded to read his paper.

"It's 'most all done by Uncle Steve and Kitty," he said, "and it's so nice, I thought you'd all like to hear it."

"We would," they said, and so King began.

"Uncle Steve's part is all about animals," he said. "It's a sort of Natural History, I guess. First is a poem about the Camel.

"The camel is a curious beast; He roams about all through the East. He swiftly scours the desert plain, And then he scours it back again.

"The camel's legs are very slim, And he lets people ride on him. Across the sandy waste he flies, And kicks the waste in people's eyes.

"He kneels for people to get on, Then pulls his legs up, one by one; But here's what troubles them the worst— To know which leg he'll pull up first.

"Sometimes, when he is feeling gay, The camel likes to run away; And, as he's just indulged that whim, I can't write any more of him."

"I think that's lovely," said the Queen, enthusiastically. "Your uncle is a real poet, isn't he?"

"Our family all can write poetry," said Marjorie, seriously. "Father and Mother both write beautiful verses."

"Now, here's the next one," went on King. "This is about all sorts of different animals,—and it's funny, too:

"The whale is smooth, and black as jet His disposition sweet; He neatly combs his hair, and yet He will not wipe his feet.

"The wombat's clever and polite, And kind as he can be; And yet he doesn't bow quite right When he goes out to tea.

"The snake is bright and understands Whatever he is taught; And yet he never will shake hands As cordial people ought.

"'Most everybody loves the newt; But I've heard people tell, That though he's handy with a flute He can't sew very well.

"So animals, as you may see, Some grave defects display; They're not like human beings. We Are perfect every way."

"Oh, that's a fine one!" cried Hester. "Mayn't I copy that, and have it to keep?"

"Of course," said King. "I'll make you a copy on the typewriter. Now, here's a silly one. I mean nonsensical, you know. But I like it:

"THE FUNNY FLAPDOODLE

"There was a Flapdoodle of France, Who loved to cut capers and dance; He had one red shoe And the other was blue, And how he could shuffle and prance!

"One day he was kicking so high That a breeze blew him up in the sky; The breeze was so strong It blew him along Till the Flapdoodle just seemed to fly.

"He flew 'way up into the stars, And, somehow, he landed on Mars. Said the Flapdoodle: 'I Do not like to fly; I think I'll go back on the cars.'

"So a railroad was rapidly built, And they wrapped him all up in a quilt; For the Flapdoodle said: 'If I stick out my head I fear that I'll somehow get kilt!'

"The railroad train whizzed very fast, But they landed him safely at last; And through future years He related, with tears, The dangers through which he had passed."

"Oh, that's the best of all!" said Midget; "I love that kind of funny verses. Isn't Uncle Steve clever to write like that! Any more, King?"

"Yes, one more. It isn't about animals, but it's a sort of a nonsense poem, too. It's called 'A Queer Hospital.'

"There's a hospital down on Absurdity Square, Where the queerest of patients are tended with care.

"When I made them a visit I saw in a crib A little Umbrella who had broken his rib.

"And then I observed in the very next bed A bright little Pin who had bumped his poor head.

"They said a new cure they'd decided to try On an old Needle, totally blind in one eye.

"I was much interested, and soon I espied A Shoe who complained of a stitch in her side.

"And a sad-looking patient who seemed in the dumps Was a Clock, with a swell face because of the mumps.

"Then I tried very hard, though I fear 'twas in vain To comfort a Window who had a bad pane.

"And I paused just a moment to cheerily speak With a pale Cup of Tea who was awfully weak.

"As I took my departure I met on the stair A new patient, whom they were handling with care, A victim perhaps of some terrible wreck— 'Twas a Squash who had fatally broken his neck."

"This is the nicest Jolly Sandboy paper we've had yet," said Tom, as King finished.

"Yes, it is," agreed Marjorie. "But I thought Kit wrote some of it, King."

"She did. I'll read hers now. It's an alphabet, all about us down here. Kitty wrote it, but she says Uncle Steve helped her a little bit with some of the lines. It's called 'The Seacote Alphabet.'

"A is the Automobile we all love. B is the Boat in the water we shove. C is the Coast that stretches along. D is for Dick, our Sandow so strong. E's cousin Ethel, so sweet and refined. F, Father Maynard, indulgent and kind. G, Grandma Sherwood, who dresses in drab. H is for Hester and Harry Sand Crab. I, for Ice Cream, the Maynards' mainstay. J, Cousin Jack, always ready to play. K is for King, and for Kitty, (that's me). L is for Lakewood, where I went to sea. M, Mother Maynard, and Marjorie, too. N for Nurse Nannie, who has lots to do. O for the Ocean, with big breakers bold. P for the Pier, where candy is sold. Q for Queen Sandy, in regal array. R, Rosy Posy, so dainty and gay. S is for Seacote, and Sand Court beside. T is for Tom, the trusty and tried. U, Uncle Steve, who's helping me write. V for these Verses we send you to-night. W, the Waves, that dash with such fuss. X the Excitement when one catches us. Y for You Youngsters, I've given your names. Z is the Zeal you show in your games."

"My! isn't that scrumptious!" exclaimed Hester. "You're a terribly smart family, Marjorie."

"Oh, I don't know," said Midget, modestly. "Kit's pretty clever at writing rhymes, but King and I can't do it much. We make up songs sometimes, but Kitty makes the best ones."

"I wish I could do it," said Ruth; "but I couldn't write a rhyming thing at all."

"Well, that's all there is in The Jolly Sandboy this week," said King. "I didn't write any myself, and the things you others gave me, I've saved for next week. Now, shall we go and celebrate Pocahontas' birthday?"

"Is it really her birthday?" asked Ruth.

"No, we're just pretending it is. But you see, poor Poky never had her birthday celebrated; I mean,—not legally, like Washington,—so we're going to give her a chance."

The Sand Club trooped up to the house, and found Cousin Jack waiting for them. He was a little surprised to see Hester, but he greeted her pleasantly, and Hester looked so meek and mild, one would hardly believe she had a high temper at all. A wigwam had been built on the lawn, and though it was only a few poles covered with blankets, it looked very Indian and effective.

The Maynards had contrived costumes for all, and in a few moments the girls had on gay-fringed skirts and little shawls, with gaudy headdresses, and the boys had a nondescript Indian garb, and wonderful feathered headpieces, that hung grandly down their backs like Big Chiefs.

Also they had pasteboard tomahawks, and Cousin Jack taught them a war-whoop that was truly ear-splitting.

"First," said Mr. Bryant, "we'll all sing the Blue Juniata, as that is a pretty Indian song, and so, sort of appropriate to Pocahontas."

So they all sang it, with a will, and the song of "The Indian Girl, Bright Alfarata," was, in a way, a tribute to Pocahontas.

"Now," Mr. Bryant went on, "some one must tell the story of Pocahontas. Harry, will you do it?"

But the Sand Crab was too shy to speak in public, so Cousin Jack asked Ruth to do it.

"I don't know it very well," said Ruth, "but I guess it was like this: Captain John Smith was about to be tommyhawked all to pieces by admiring Indians. As the fell blows were about to fell, up rushes a beautiful Indian maiden, with her black hair streaming in the breeze. 'Fear thou not!' she said, wildly; 'I will save thee!' Whereupon she flang herself upon him, and hugged him till he couldn't be reached by his tormentors. The wild Indians were forced to desist, or else pierce to the heart their own Pocahontas, beloved daughter of their tribe. So they released Captain John Smith, and so Pocahontas married Captain John Rolfe instead, and they lived happy ever after. Hence is why we celebrate her birthday."

Ruth clearly enjoyed the telling of this tale, and threw herself into it with dramatic fervor.

The others listened, enthralled by her graphic recital and thrilling diction.

"My!" exclaimed Midget, as she finished, "I didn't know you knew so many big words, Ruth."

"I didn't, either," said Ruth, calmly; "they sort of came to me as I went along."

"Well, that's just as smart as writing poetry," declared King, and Ruth was greatly pleased at the compliments.

"Now, my dear young friends," Cousin Jack said, by way of a speech, "the exercises will now begin. As you know, we are celebrating the birthday of a noble Indian Princess. Therefore, our sports or diversions will all be of an Indian character. First, we will have an Indian Club Drill."

He produced Indian clubs for all, the boys' being heavier ones than the girls.

These were new to the Maynards, but Cousin Jack soon taught them how to use them, and instructed them in a simple drill.

Hester learned more quickly than Marjorie, for she was more lithe and agile, and swung her clubs around with greater ease. Ruth seemed to know instinctively how to use them, which was partly due to her proficiency in fancy dancing. But they all learned, and greatly enjoyed the interesting exercise.

Cousin Jack presented the children with the clubs they used, and they promised to practise with them often.

"It'll be good for you growing young people," said Mr. Maynard, "and you can form a sort of a Pocahontas Club."

Then he had a gramophone brought out to the lawn, and they whisked their clubs about to inspiriting Indian music.

"Now, I dare say you're tired," said Cousin Jack, "for Indian club exercise is a strain on the muscles. So sit in a circle on the grass, and we'll all smoke pipes of peace and swap stories for a while."

The "pipes of peace" turned out to be pipes made of chocolate, so they were all willing to "smoke" them.

"Mine's a pipe of pieces!" said Midget, as she broke the stem in bits, and ate them one by one.

The others followed her example, and the pipes had disappeared before the story-telling fairly began.

But Cousin Jack told them some thrilling Indian tales, and so interested were his hearers that they gathered close about him, and listened in absorbed silence.

"Was that true, Cousin Jack?" asked King, after an exciting yarn.

"Well, it's in a story-book written by James Fenimore Cooper. You're old enough to read his books now, and if I were you children, I'd ask my parents to buy me some of Cooper's works."

"I'm going to do that," cried Hester, her eyes dancing at the thought of reading such stories for herself. "I never heard of them before."

"Well, you're young yet to read novels, but Cooper's are all right for you. You might read one aloud in your Sand Club."

"Yes, we will!" said King. "That'll be fine. Then one book would do for us all. Or we might each get one, and then lend them around to each other. My, we're getting lots of new ideas from our celebration. Indian club exercises and Cooper's stories are worth knowing about."

"And now," said Cousin Jack, "if you're rested, suppose we march along Indian File, and see if we can come across an Indian Meal."

"Ho, ho!" laughed King, "I don't want to eat Indian meal!"

"We'll see what it is before we decide," said Midget, judicially. "What is Indian File, Cousin Jack?"

"Oh, that only means single file, or one by one. Not like the Irishman who said to his men, 'March togither, men! be twos as far as ye go, an' thin be wans!' I want you to go 'be wans' all the way."

So, in single file, they followed Cousin Jack's lead to the wigwam, which they hadn't yet entered. He turned back the flap of the tent, and there was room for all inside. On a table there there were eight Indian baskets, of pretty design. On lifting the covers, each was found to contain an "Indian Meal."

The meal was a few dainty little sandwiches and cakes, and a peach and a pear, all wrapped in pretty paper napkins, with an Indian's head on the corner.

Exercise had given the children good appetites, and they were quite ready to do full justice to the "Indian Meal."

Sarah brought out lemonade, and later ice cream, so, as Midget said, it really was a party after all.

Of course, the children kept the baskets and the pretty napkins as souvenirs, and when the guests went home, they said they were glad they didn't know the real date of Pocahontas' birthday, for it might have been in the winter, and then they couldn't have had nearly as much fun.

"And it's lucky we decided on this day," said Cousin Jack, after the children had gone, "for to-morrow Ethel and I go back to Cambridge."

"Oh, Cousin Jack, not really!" cried Midget, in dismay.

"Yes, kiddy; we've changed our summer plans suddenly, and we're going to Europe next week. So we leave here to-morrow. And sorry, indeed, are we to leave our Maynard friends."

"I'm sorry, too," said Midget, "awfully sorry, but I'm glad we've had you down here as long as we have. You've been awful good to us, Cousin Jack."

"You've been good to me, Mehitabel. And when I wander through the interesting places abroad, I shall write letters to you, and when I come home again, I'll bring you a souvenir from every place I've been to."

"Well, you're just the dearest Cousin Jack in all the world!" said Midget, and she gave him a big hug and kiss to corroborate her words.

"And you're just the dearest Mopsy Midget Mehitabel!" he said, returning her caress.

* * * * *

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES

By VICTOR APPLETON

12mo. BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING.

Moving pictures and photo plays are famous the world over, and in this line of books the reader is given a full description of how the films are made—the scenes of little dramas, indoors and out, trick pictures to satisfy the curious, soul-stirring pictures of city affairs, life in the Wild West, among the cowboys and Indians, thrilling rescues along the seacoast, the daring of picture hunters in the jungle among savage beasts, and the great risks run in picturing conditions in a land of earthquakes. The volumes teem with adventures and will be found interesting from first chapter to last.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS Or Perils of a Great City Depicted.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST Or Taking Scenes Among the Cowboys and Indians.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST Or Showing the Perils of the Deep.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE Or Stirring Times Among the Wild Animals.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND Or Working Amid Many Perils.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AND THE FLOOD Or Perilous Days on the Mississippi.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS AT PANAMA Or Stirring Adventures Along the Great Canal.

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS UNDER THE SEA Or The Treasure of the Lost Ship.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK

* * * * *

THE BUNNY BROWN SERIES By LAURA LEE HOPE Author of the Popular "Bobbsey Twins" Books

Wrapper and text illustrations drawn by FLORENCE ENGLAND NOSWORTHY

12mo. DURABLY BOUND. ILLUSTRATED. UNIFORM STYLE OF BINDING

These stories by the author of the "Bobbsey Twins" Books are eagerly welcomed by the little folks from about five to ten years of age. Their eyes fairly dance with delight at the lively doings of inquisitive little Bunny Brown and his cunning, trustful sister Sue.

Bunny was a lively little boy, very inquisitive. When he did anything, Sue followed his leadership. They had many adventures, some comical in the extreme.

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON GRANDPA'S FARM

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE PLAYING CIRCUS

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CAMP REST-A-WHILE

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT AUNT LU'S CITY HOME

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE IN THE BIG WOODS

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE ON AN AUTO TOUR

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AND THEIR SHETLAND PONY

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE GIVING A SHOW

BUNNY BROWN AND HIS SISTER SUE AT CHRISTMAS TREE COVE

GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK



* * * * *



Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation has been made consistent with contemporary standards.

"BY THE SAME AUTHOR" page moved to after Title Page and notices.

Page 44: "her. her." changed to "her." (arms around her).

Page 111 "dulness" changed to "dullness" (A dullness seemed to fall).

THE END