But no sign of life came from the four victims, who calmly floated on top of the water, as if scorning the clean white stones and shells below. They looked so pretty and so pathetic, that Marjorie burst into tears, and ran downstairs in search of Mrs. Spencer. That lady heard the tale with a look of mingled amusement and annoyance on her face.

"I've heard you were a mischievous child," she said, "but I didn't think you'd begin your pranks so soon."

"But it wasn't pranks, Mrs. Spencer," said Midget, earnestly. "I truly wanted to be help, fill, and I fixed the bird's cage so nicely, I thought I'd fix the fishes' cage too."

"But you must have known that fishes die out of water."

"No'm; I didn't. At least,—it seems to me now that I ought to have known it, but I didn't think about it when I took 'em out. You see, I never had any goldfish of my own."

"Well, don't worry about it, child. It can't be helped now. But I suppose Delight will feel terribly. She was so fond of her goldfish."

"I'm sure Father will let me give her some more," said Midget, "but I suppose she won't care for any others."

She went back to the library, where she had left Delight asleep, and found her just waking up.

"Delight," she said, wanting to get it over as soon as possible, "I've killed all four of your goldfish!"

"On purpose?" said Delight, still sleepy and uncomprehending.

"No, of course not. It was an accident. I just laid them on the table while I cleaned the aquarium, and they fainted away and staid fainted. I guess they must have been sick before."

"No, they weren't. They were awfully frisky yesterday. I think you're real mean, Marjorie."

"I'm awful sorry, Delight, truly I am. But I'm 'most sure Father will let me give you other fish to make up for them."

"But they won't be the same fish."

"No, of course not. But we'll get prettier ones."

"Oh, no, you needn't get any fish at all. I'd rather have a kitten."

"Oh, I can get you a kitten easily enough. James always knows where to get them. What color do you want?"

"Gray; Maltese, you know. Will he get it to-day?"

"I'll ask Mother to ask him to-day. He'll get it soon, I know."

"All right; I'd heaps rather have that than fish. I'm tired of goldfish, anyway. You can't cuddle them like you can kittens. And I never had a kitten."

"You didn't! Why, Delight Spencer! I never heard of a girl that had never had a kitten! I'll ask Mother to see about it right away. Do you want two?"

"Yes, as many as I can have. I ought to have four to make up for those goldfish."

"You can have four, if your mother'll let you," said Midget. "Ask her."

"Oh, she'll let me. She never says no to anything I want. Does your mother?"

"Yes, often. But then, I want such crazy things."

"So do I. But I get them. Go on and see about the kittens."

So Midget went to the telephone and told her mother the whole story about the goldfish.

Mrs. Maynard was surprised at Marjorie's ignorance of fish's habits, but she didn't scold.

"I do think," she said "that you should have known better; but of course I know you didn't intend to harm the fish. And anyway we won't discuss it over the telephone. I'll wait until we're together again."

"You'll have to keep a list of all my mischief, Mother," said Midget, cheerfully; "and do up the scolding and punishing all at once, when I get home."

"Yes, but don't get into mischief while you're over there. Do try, Marjorie, to behave yourself."

"I will, Mother, but I'm so tired of staying here I don't know what to do. Delight heard me say that, but I can't help it. I expect she's tired of having me here."

"I am not!" declared Delight; "now ask her about the kittens."

So Marjorie asked her mother about the kittens, and Mrs. Maynard promised to ask James to see if he couldn't find some that would be glad of a good home.

And so anxious was James to please his dear Miss Marjorie, and so numerous were kittens among James' circle of personal acquaintances, that that very afternoon, a basket was set on the Spencer's porch and the door bell was rung.

Mary opened the door and saw the basket, well-covered over.

"The saints presarve us!" she cried; "sure, it's a baby!"

She brought the basket in, and Mrs. Spencer turned back the folded blanket, and disclosed four roly-poly kittens all cuddled into one heap of fur.

"Oh!" cried Delight, "did you ever see anything so lovely! Midget, I'm so glad you killed the goldfish! These are a million times nicer."

"But you could have had these too," said Marjorie; "and anyway, I'll probably put these in the aquarium and drown them, by mistake!"

"Indeed you won't!" said Delight, cuddling the little balls of fur. "Oh, Mother, aren't they dear?"

"They are very cunning," answered Mrs. Spencer, "and I'm glad you have them. Though four seems a good many. Don't you want to give them some milk?"

"Oh, yes; and we'll teach them all to eat from one saucer, so they'll be loving and affectionate."

The kittens showed no desire to be other than affectionate, and amicably lapped up milk from the same saucer, without dispute.

There was one white, one Maltese, one black, and one yellow, and Marjorie felt sure James had chosen the prettiest he could find.

"Now to name them," said Delight. "Let's choose lovely names. You'll help us, won't you, Miss Hart?"

"You ought to call the white one Pop Corn," said Miss Hart, "for it's just like a big kernel of freshly popped corn."

"I will," said Delight, "for it's like that; but as that's a hard name to say, I'll call her Poppy for short. A white poppy, you know. Now the black one?"

"Blackberry," suggested Marjorie, and that was the chosen name. The yellow one was named Goldenrod, and the gray one Silverbell, and the four together made as pretty a picture as you could imagine. The girls spent an hour or more playing with them and watching their funny antics, and then Miss Hart proposed that they, crochet balls of different color for each little cat.

Mrs. Spencer provided a box of worsted and they chose the colors.

A red ball was to be made for Blackberry, and a light blue one for Poppy. Goldenrod was to have a yellow one, and Silverbell a pink one.

Miss Hart showed the girls how to crochet a round cover, hooping it to form a ball, and then stuffing it tightly with worsted just before finishing it.

They made the four balls and tried to teach the kittens to remember their own colors. But in this they were not very successful, as the kittens liked the balls so much they played with any one they could catch.

When Mr. Maynard came home, true to his word, he sent Marjorie a gift.

The bell rang, and there on the doorstep lay a parcel.

It proved to contain two picture puzzles.

"Oh, goody!" cried Midget. "These are just what I wanted. I've heard about them, but I've never had any, and Father told me last week he'd get me one. One's for you, Delight, and one's for me. Which do you choose?"

"Left hand," said Delight, as Marjorie's hands went behind her.

"All right; here it is."

"But I don't know how to do puzzles. I never saw one like this."

"If you knew how to do it, it wouldn't be a puzzle. I don't know either; but we'll learn."

"I'll show you how to begin," said Miss Hart. "Wait a minute."

She went out to the dining-room, and returned with two trays, oblong, square-cornered and of fairly good size.

"Make your puzzles on these," she said, "and then you can carry them around while working on them, if you want to. You can't do that, if you make them right on the table."

So with the trays on the table in front of them the girls began. Each puzzle had about a hundred and fifty pieces, and they were not easy ones. Miss Hart showed them how to find pieces that fitted each other; but would not help them after the first two or three bits were joined, for she said the fun was in doing it themselves.

"But I can't!" said Midge, looking perfectly hopeless; "these pieces are all brownish and greenish and I don't know what they are."

"I see," said Delight, her eyes sparkling; "you must find a face, or something that you can tell what it is, and start from that."

"But there isn't any face here," said Midget; "here's one eye,—if it is an eye!"

"Begin with that," advised Miss Hart. "Find some more of a face to go with it."

"Oh, yes; here's a nose and lips! Why, it just fits in!"

Soon the two children were absorbed in the fascinating work. It was a novelty, and it happened to appeal to both of them.

"Don't look at each other's picture," warned Miss Hart, "and then, when both are done, you can exchange and do each other's. It's no fun if you see the picture before you try to make it."

"Some pieces of mine must be missing," declared Marjorie; "there's no piece at all to go into this long, narrow curving space."

Miss Hart smiled, for she had had experience in this pastime.

"Everybody thinks pieces are lost at some stage of the work," she said; "never mind that space, Marjorie, keep on with the other parts."

"Oh!" cried Delight. "I can see part of the picture now! It's going to be a—"

"Don't tell!" interrupted Miss Hart; "after you've each done both of them, you can look at the finished pictures together. But now, keep it secret what the pictures are about."

So the work went on, and now and then a chuckle of pleasure or an exclamation of impatience would tell of the varying fortunes of the workers.

"Oh!" cried Delight. "I just touched a piece to straighten it, and I joggled the whole thing out of place!"

Then Miss Hart showed them how to take a ruler and straighten the edges,—if the edges were built; and how to crowd a corner down into a corner of the tray, and so keep the pieces in place. So engrossed were the two that Mrs. Spencer had difficulty to persuade them to come to dinner.

"Oh, Mother," cried Delight, "do wait till I find this lady's other arm. I'm sure I saw it a moment ago."

And Marjorie lingered, looking for a long triangle with a notch in the end.

But at last they set their trays carefully away, at different ends of the room, and even laid newspapers over them, so they shouldn't see each other's puzzle.

"That's the most fun of any game I ever played," said Delight, as she took her seat at the table.

"I think so too," said Midge; "are there many of them made, Miss Hart?"

"Thousands, my dear. And all, or nearly all, different."

"When we finish these," said Delight, "I'll ask my father to bring us some more. I just love to do them."

"You musn't do too many," said Miss Hart; "that stooping position is not good for little girls if kept up too long at a time."

"It did make the back of my neck ache," said Delight; "but I don't mind, it's such fun to see the picture come."



CHAPTER XIV

A PLEASANT SCHOOL

The next day lessons began. Miss Hart and Mrs. Spencer agreed that it would be better for the two little girls to have regular school hours, and Delight was glad to have Marjorie at her lessons with her.

Midge herself was not overpleased at the prospect, but her parents had approved of the plan, and had sent over her school-books.

The play-room was used as a school-room, and a pleasant enough room it was.

When the girls went in, at nine o'clock, it didn't seem a bit like school.

Miss Hart, in a pretty light house-dress, sat in a low rocker by the window. There was nothing suggesting a desk, and on a near-by table were a few books and a big bowl of flowers.

The girls sat where they chose, on the couch or in chairs, and as Midget told her mother afterward, it seemed more like a children's party than school.

"First, let's read a story," said Miss Hart, and Marjorie's eyes opened wider than ever.

"Aren't we going to have school to-day?" she asked.

"Yes, Marjorie; this is school. Here are your books,—we'll each have one."

She gave them each a copy of a pretty looking book, and asked them to open it at a certain page.

Then Miss Hart read aloud a few pages, and the girls followed her in their own books. Then she asked Delight to read, and as she did so, Miss Hart stopped her occasionally to advise her about her manner of reading. But she did this so pleasantly and conversationally that it didn't seem at all like a reading-lesson, although that's really what it was.

Marjorie's turn came next, and by this time she had become so interested in the story, that she began at once, and read so fast, that she went helter-skelter, fairly tumbling over herself in her haste.

"Wait, Marjorie, wait!" cried Miss Hart, laughing at her. "The end of the story will keep; it isn't going to run away. Don't try so hard to catch it!"

Marjorie smiled herself, as she slowed down, and tried to read more as she should.

But Miss Hart had to correct her many times, for Midget was not a good reader, and did not do nearly so well as Delight.

And though Miss Hart's corrections were pleasantly and gently made, she was quite firm about them, and insisted that Marjorie should modulate her voice, and pronounce her words just as she was told.

"What a fine story!" exclaimed Delight, as they finished it.

"Oh, isn't it great!" exclaimed Marjorie; "do you call this book a 'Reader,' Miss Hart?"

"Yes, I call it a Reader. But then I call any book a Reader that I choose to have my pupils read from. This book is named 'Children's Stories From English Literature,' so you see, by using it, we study literature and learn to read at the same time. The one we read to-day, 'The Story of Robin Hood,' is a story you ought to know well, and we will read other versions of it some day. Now, we will talk about it a little."

And then they had a delightful talk about the story they had read, and Miss Hart told them many interesting things concerning it, and the children asked questions; and then Miss Hart had them read certain portions of the story again, and this time she said Marjorie read much better.

"For I understand now," said Midge, "what I'm reading about. And, oh, Miss Hart, I'm crazy to tell King all about it! He'll just love to play Robin Hood!"

"Yes," said Miss Hart, "it makes a fine game for out-of-doors. Perhaps some day we'll find a story that we can play indoors, while you poor prisoners are kept captive."

Marjorie gave a little sigh of pleasure. If this was school, it was a very nice kind of school indeed, but she supposed that arithmetic and spelling and all those horrid things were yet to come. And sure enough, Miss Hart's next words brought sorrow to her soul.

"Now, girlies, we'll just have a little fun with arithmetic. I happen to know you both hate it so perhaps if you each hold a kitten in your arm it will cheer your drooping spirits a little."

Marjorie laughed outright at this. Kittens in school were funny indeed!

"Yes," said Miss Hart, laughing with Marjorie, "it's like Mary's little lamb, you know. I never forgave Mary's teacher for turning him out I think kittens in school are lovely. I'll hold one myself."

Then the girls drew nearer to Miss Hart, who had a large pad of paper and a pencil but no book.

And how she did it Marjorie never knew, but she made an example in Partial Payments so interesting, and so clear, that the girls not only understood it, but thought it fun.

Miss Hart said she was Mr. White, and the two children were Mr. Brown and Mr. Green, who each owed her the same sum of money. It was to be paid in partial payments, and the sharp and business-like Mr. White insisted on proper payments and exact interest from the other two gentlemen, who vied with each other to tell first how much was due Mr. White. There was some laughing at first, but the fun changed to earnest, and even the kittens were forgotten while the important debts were being paid.

"Good-bye, arithmetic!" cried Miss Hart, as the problem entirely finished, and thoroughly understood, she tossed the papers aside; "good-bye for to-day! Now, for something pleasanter."

"But that was pleasant, Miss Hart," said Marjorie; "I didn't think arithmetic could ever be pleasant, but it was. How did you make it so?"

"Because I had such pleasant little pupils, I think," said Miss Hart, smiling. "Now for a few calisthenics with open windows."

The windows were flung up, and under Miss Hart's leadership they went through a short gymnastic drill.

"Doesn't that make you feel good?" said Marjorie, all aglow with the exercise, as they closed the windows, and sat down again.

"That's no sort of a drill, really," said Miss Hart; "but it will do for to-day. When we get fairly started, we'll have gymnastics that will be a lot more fun than that. But now for our botany lesson."

"Botany!" cried Midge; "I've never studied that!"

"Nor I," said Delight, "and I haven't any book."

"Here's the book," said Miss Hart, taking a large white daisy from the bowl of flowers on the table.

"How many leaves has it?"

The girls guessed at the number of petals, but neither guessed right. Then they sat down in front of Miss Hart, and she told them all about the pretty blossom.

She broke it apart, telling them the names of petals, sepals, corolla and all the various tiny parts.

The two children looked and listened breathlessly. They could scarcely believe the yellow centre was itself made up of tiny flowers.

It was all so interesting and so wonderful, and, too, so new to them both.

"Is that botany?" said Marjorie, with wide-open eyes.

"Yes; that's my idea of teaching botany. Text-books are so dry and dull, I think."

"So do I," said Midge; "I looked in a botany book once, and it was awful poky. Tell us more, Miss Hart."

"Not to-day, dearie; it's one o'clock, and school is over for to-day."

"One o'clock!" both girls exclaimed at once; "it can't be!"

But it was, and as they scampered away to make themselves tidy for luncheon, Marjorie said: "Oh! isn't she lovely! Do you always have a governess like that, Delight?"

"No, indeed! My last one was strict and stern, and just heard my lessons out of books. And if I missed a word she scolded fearfully."

"I never saw anybody like Miss Hart! why that kind of school is play"

"Yes, I think so too. And it's lovely to have you here. It's so much more interesting than to have my lessons alone."

"Oh, Miss Hart would make it interesting for anybody, alone or not. But I'll be here for two weeks, I suppose. I don't mind it so much if we have school like that every day."

"And picture puzzles every evening."

"Yes, and kittens all day long!" Marjorie picked up two or three of the furry little balls, that were always under foot, and squeezed them.

At luncheon they gave Mrs. Spencer such a glowing account of their "school" that Miss Hart was quite overcome by their praise.

"It's all because they're such attentive pupils," she said modestly.

"No, it isn't," said Mrs. Spencer. "I knew what a kind and tactful teacher you were before you came. A little bird told me."

"Now how did the bird know that?" said Miss Hart, smiling, and Midget wondered if Miss Hart thought Mrs. Spencer meant a real bird.

Afternoons the governess always had to herself. If she chose to be with the family, she might, but she was not called upon for any duties. So after Midget and Delight had finished their picture puzzles, and had exchanged, and done each other's, time again seemed to hang heavily on their hands.

It was really because they felt imprisoned, rather than any real restraint. Marjorie wanted to run out of doors and play, and Delight didn't know exactly what she did want.

They were allowed to walk on the side piazza, if they chose, but walking up and down a short porch was no fun, and so they fidgeted.

"Let's get up a good, big rousing game," said Midget, "a new one."

"All right," said Delight, "let's."

"Can we go all over the house?"

"Yes, all except the attic and kitchen."

The sick child and his mother had been put in two rooms in the third story. These were shut off from the main part of the house, and were further protected by sheets sprinkled with carbolic acid which hung over them.

The children had been warned to keep as far as possible from these quarters, but the front of the house was at their disposal.

"Let me see," said Midget, who was doing some hard thinking. "I guess we'll play 'Tourists.'"

"How do you play it?"

"I don't know yet. I'm just making it up. We're the tourists, you know; and the house, the whole house in an ocean steamer. First, we must get our wraps and rugs."

Diligent search made havoc in Mrs. Spencer's cupboards, but resulted in a fine array of luggage.

The girls dressed themselves up in Mrs. Spencer's long cats, and Mr. Spencer's caps, tied on with motor-veils, made what they agreed was a fine tourist costume.

In shawl straps they packed afghans, pillows, and such odds and ends as books and pictures, and they filled travellings bags with anything they could find.

Loaded down with their luggage, they went down in the front hall, where Marjorie said the game must begin.

"Have you ever been on an ocean steamer, Delight?" she asked.

"No; have you?"

"Yes. I haven't sailed on one, you know, but I went on board to see Aunt Margaret sail. So I know how they are. This house isn't built just right; we'll have to pretend a lot. But never mind that."

"No, I don't mind. Now are we getting on board?"

"Yes, here's the gang plank. Now we go upstairs to the main saloon and decks. Be careful, the ship is pitching fearfully!"

Oblivious to the fact that steamers don't usually pitch fearfully while in port, the two travellers staggered up the staircase, tumbling violently from side to side.

"Oh, one of my children has fallen overboard!" cried Delight, as she purposely dropped Goldenrod over the banister.

"Man overboard!" cried Marjorie, promptly. "A thousand dollars reward! Who can save the precious child?" Swiftly changing from a tourist to a common sailor, Marjorie plunged into the waves, and swam after the fast-disappearing Goldenrod. She caught the kitten by its tail, as it was creeping under a sofa, and triumphantly brought it back to the weeping mother.

"Bless you, good man!" cried Delight, her face buried in her handkerchief. "I will reward you with a thousand golden ducats."

"I ask no reward, ma'am; 'twas but my humble duty."

"Say not so! You have rendered me a service untold by gold."

Delight's diction often became a little uncertain, but if it sounded well, that was no matter.

"My cabin is forty-two," said Marjorie, who was once more a tourist, on her way upstairs.

"Here is a steward," said Delight, "he will show us the way."

The steward was invisible, but either of the girls spoke in his voice, as occasion demanded.

"This way, madam," said Midget, as she led Delight to the door of her own room. "This is your stateroom, and I hope it will suit you."

"Is it an outside one?" asked Delight, who had travelled on night boats, though not across the ocean.

"Yes, ma'am. Outside and inside both. Where is your steamer trunk?"

"It will be sent up, I suppose."

"Yes, ma'am. Very good, ma'am. Now, you can be steward to me, Delight."

"Shure. This way, mum. It's Oirish, I am, but me heart is warrum. Shall I carry the baby for ye?"

"Yes," said Midget, giggling at Delight's Irish brogue, which was always funny; "but be careful. The child isn't well." The child was Blackberry, who was dressed in large white muffler of Mrs. Spencer's pinned 'round its neck.

"The saints presarve us, mum! Ye've got the wrong baby! This is a black one, mum!"

"That's all right," said Midget "She's only wearing a black veil, to,—to keep off the cold air."

"Yis, mum. Now, here's yer stateroom, mum, and 'tis the captain's own. He do be givin' it to you, 'cause ye'r such a foine lady."

"Yes, I am;" said Marjorie, complacently. "I'm Lady Daffodil of—of Bombay."

"Ye look it! And now if ye'll excuse me, mum, I'll go and get the other passengers to rights."

Delight slipped back to her stateroom, and returned with Goldenrod in her arms. She met Marjorie in the hall.

"I think I have met you before," she said, bowing politely.

"Yes," said Marjorie, in a haughty voice, "we met at the Earl's ball. I am Lady Daffodil."

"Ah, yes, I remember you now. I am the Countess of Heliotrope."

"My dear Countess! I'm so glad to see you again. Are you going across?"

"Why, yes, I think I will."

"I think you'll have to, as the ship has already started. Let us go out on deck."

As they were well bundled up, they opened the door and stepped out on the second story balcony. It was not unlike a deck, and they went and stood by the railing.

"The sea is very blue, isn't it?" said Lady Daffodil, looking down at the bare ground with patches of snow here and there.

"Yes, and see the white caps. Oh, we shall have a fine sail. Are you ever seasick?"

"No; never! Are you?"

"No; I have crossed eighty-seven times, so I'm used to it. Did you know there's a case of diphtheria on board?"

"No, is that so?"

"Yes. Somebody in the steerage, I believe. That's why we're stopped at Quarantine."

This struck both girls so funny that they had to stop and giggle at it.

"My precious Goldenrod!" cried the Countess of Heliotrope, "I fear she will catch it!"

"You'd better have her vaccinated at once. It's a sure cure."

"I will. But let us go inside, the sea-breeze is too strong out here."

The game seemed full of possibilities, and the tourists were still playing it when dinner time came.

So they pretended it was the ship's dining-saloon to which they went, and Mrs. Spencer and Miss Hart were strangers, passengers whom they had not yet met.

The game once explained to Miss Hart, she grasped it at once, and played her part to perfection.

"I should think," she said, finally, "that some such game as this would be a fine way to study geography!"

"Now what can she mean by that?" thought Marjorie.



CHAPTER XV

A SEA TRIP

As the days went by, Marjorie became more accustomed to her new surroundings, and felt quite at home in the Spencer household.

The baby's illness ran its course and though the child was very sick, the doctor felt hopeful that they could keep the other children free from infection. Mrs. Spencer felt keenly the trying situation, but Miss Hart was so bright and cheerful that she made everybody feel happy.

So, as far as the two little girls were concerned, it was just as if Marjorie were merely making a visit to Delight.

The children were becoming very much attached to each other. Delight greatly admired Marjorie's enthusiastic, go-ahead ways, and Midget was impressed by Delight's quiet way of accomplishing things.

Both were clever, capable children, and could usually do whatever they set out to, but Marjorie went at it with a rush and a whirl, while Delight was more slow and sure.

But Delight was of a selfish disposition, and this was very foreign to Marjorie's wide generosity of spirit. However, she concluded it must be because Delight was an only child, and had no brothers or sisters to consider.

Marjorie's own brother and sister were very attentive to their exiled one. A dozen times a day King or Kitty would telephone the latest news from school or home, and very frequently James would cross the street with a note or a book or a funny picture for Midget, from some of the Maynards. So the days didn't drag; and as for the morning hours, they were the best of all.

"It's like a party every day," said Marjorie to her mother, over the telephone. "Miss Hart is so lovely, and not a bit like a school-teacher. We never have regular times for any lesson. She just picks out whatever lesson she wants to, and we have that. Last night we bundled up and went out on the upper balcony and studied astronomy. She showed us Orion, and lots of other constitutions, or whatever you call them. Of course we don't have school evenings, but that was sort of extra. Oh, Mother, she is just lovely!"

"I'm so glad, my Midget, that you're enjoying your lessons. Do you practice every day?"

"Yes, Mother; an hour every afternoon. Miss Hart helps me a little with that, too, and Delight and I are learning a duet."

"That's fine! And you don't get into mischief?"

"No,—at least not much. I shut one of the kittens up in a bureau drawer and forgot her; but Miss Hart found her before she got very dead, and she livened her up again. So, that's all right."

"Not quite all right; but I'm sure you won't do it again. I can't seem to scold you when you're away from me, so do try to be a good girl, won't you, my Midget."

"Yes, Mother, I truly will."

And she did. Partly because of the restraint of visiting, and partly by her own endeavors, Marjorie was, on the whole, as well-behaved a child as any one could wish. And if she taught Delight more energetic and noisy games than she had ever heard before, they really were beneficial to the too quiet little girl.

One day they discovered what Miss Hart meant by using their steamer game for geography lessons. During school hours she proposed that they all play the steamer game.

Very willingly the girls arrayed themselves in wraps and caps, Miss Hart also wearing tourist garb, and with shawl straps and bundles, and with the kittens, also well wrapped up, they boarded the steamer.

Miss Hart, who pretended to be a stranger with whom they became acquainted on board, told them they were taking the Mediterranean trip to Naples.

The school-room was, of course, the principal saloon of the boat, and as the passengers sat round a table, Miss Hart, by means of a real steamer chart, showed them the course they were taking across the Atlantic.

Time of course was not real, and soon they had to pretend they had been at sea for a week or more.

Then Miss Hart said they were nearing the Azores and would stop there for a short time.

So they left the steamer, in imagination, and Miss Hart described to them the beauties and attractions of these islands. She had photographs and post cards, and pressed blossoms of the marvellous flowers that grow there. So graphic were her descriptions that the girls almost felt they had really been there.

"To-morrow," she said, as they returned to the ship, "we shall reach Gibraltar. There we will get off and stay several hours, and I'm sure you will enjoy it."

And enjoy it they certainly did. Next day it occurred, and when they left the ship to visit Gibraltar, they were taken to Miss Hart's own room, which she had previously arranged for them.

Here they found pictures of all the interesting points in or near Gibraltar. There were views of the great rock, and Miss Hart told them the history of the old town, afterward questioning them about it, to be sure they remembered. That was always part of her queer teaching, to question afterward, but it was easy to remember things so pleasantly taught.

She showed them pieces of beautiful Maltese lace, explaining how it was made, and why it was sold at Gibraltar, and she showed them pictures of the Moors in their strange garb, and told of their history. The luncheon bell sent them scurrying to the ship's dining-room, and they begged of Miss Hart that they might go on to Naples next day.

But she said that geography mustn't monopolize all the days, and next day, although she wasn't sure, probably there would be a session with Mr. Arithmetic.

"I don't care," said Midget, happily, "I know we'll have a lovely time, even if it is arithmetic."

Valentine's Day came before the quarantine was raised.

Marjorie was very sorry for this, for the doctor had said that after a few days more she could go home, and it seemed as if she might have gone for the fourteenth.

But he would not allow it, so there was nothing to do but make the best of it.

The night before Valentine's Day, however, she did feel a bit blue, as she thought of King and Kitty and even Rosy Posy addressing their valentines, and making a frolic of it as they always did.

And she thought of her father, who was always ready to help on such occasions, making verses, and printing them in his fine, neat handwriting. Of course, they would send some to her,—she knew that,—but she was losing all the jolly family fun, and it seemed a pity.

And then the telephone rang, and it was her father calling for her.

"Hello, Midget," came his cheery voice over the wire; "now I wonder if a little girl about you? size isn't feeling sorry for herself this evening."

"I'm afraid I am, Father, but I'm trying not to."

"Good for you, Sister! Now don't bother to do it, for I can tell you I'm feeling so sorry for you that it's unnecessary for anybody else to do that same. Now I'll tell you something to chirk you up. I suppose you have lessons to-morrow morning?"

"Yes; Miss Hart said we could have a holiday if we chose, but we didn't choose. So we're going to have special valentiney lessons,—I don't know what they'll be."

"All right; and in the afternoon, I shall send you over a valentine party. No people, you know, they're not allowed; but all the rest of a nice valentine party."

"Why, Father, how can we have a party without people?"

"Easily enough. I'll attend to that. Goodnight, now, Midget. Hop to bed, and dream hearts and darts and loves and doves and roses and posies and all such things."

"All right, I will. Good-night, Father dear. Is Mother there?"

"Yes,—hold the wire."

So Mrs. Maynard came and said a loving goodnight to her near yet faraway daughter, and Marjorie went to bed all cheered up, instead of lonely and despondent.

St. Valentine's Day was a fine, crisp winter day, with sunshine dancing on the snow, and blue sky beaming down on the bare branches of the trees.

The fun began at breakfast-time, when everybody found valentines at their plates,—for as Midge and Delight agreed, they had made so many, and they must use them up somehow. So Miss Hart and Mrs. Spencer received several in the course of the day; two were surreptitiously stuffed into Doctor Mendel's coat pockets, and the kittens each received some.

Lessons that morning were not really lessons at all. Miss Hart called it a Literature Class.

First she told the girls about the origin of Valentines, and how they happened to be named for St. Valentine, and why he was chosen as the patron saint of love. Then she read them some celebrated valentines written by great poets, and the girls had to read them after her, with great care as to their elocution.

She showed them some curious valentines, whose initials spelled names or words, and were called acrostics, and told of some quaint old-fashioned valentines that had been sent to her grandmother.

"And now," she said finally, "we've had enough of the sentimental side, I will read you a funny valentine story."

So, in her whimsical, dramatic fashion, she read the tragic tale of Mr. Todgers and Miss Tee.

"In the town of Slocum Pocum, eighteen-seventy A.D., Lived Mr. Thomas Todgers and Miss Thomasina Tee; The lady blithely owned to forty-something in the shade, While Todgers, chuckling, called himself a rusty-eating blade, And on the village green they lived in two adjacent cots. Adorned with green Venetians and vermilion flower pots.

"No doubt you've heard it stated—'tis an aphorism trite— That people who live neighborly in daily sound and sight Of each other's personality, habitually grow To look alike, and think alike, and act alike, and so Did Mr. Thomas Todgers and Miss Thomasina Tee, In the town of Slocum Pocum, eighteen-seventy A.D.

"Now Todgers always breakfasted at twenty-five to eight, At seven-thirty-five Miss Tee poured out her chocolate; And Todgers at nine-thirty yawned 'Lights out! I'll go to bed.' At half-past nine Miss Tee 'retired'—a word she used instead. Their hours were identical at meals and church and chores, At weeding in the garden, or at solitaire indoors."

"'Twas the twelfth of February, so the chronicler avers; Mr. Todgers in his garden, and Miss Tee, of course, in hers; Both assiduously working, both no doubt upon their knees, Chanced to raise their eyes together; glances met—and, if you please, Ere one could say Jack Robinson! tut-tut! or fol-de-re! Thomasina loved Mr. Todgers; Mr. Todgers loved Miss Tee!

"Two heads with but a single thought went bobbing to the dust, And Todgers smiled sub rosa, and Miss Thomasina blushed; Then they seized their garden tackle and incontinently fled Down the box-edged pathways past the flower pots of red; Past the vivid green Venetians, past the window curtains white, Into their respective dwellings, and were seen no more that night.

"All that night poor love-sick Todgers tried his new-born hopes to quell, And Miss Tee made resolutions, but she did not make them well, For they went to smash at daybreak, and she softly murmured ''Tis Kismet! Fate! Predestination! If he'll have me I am his.' While Todgers sang 'There's Only One Girl in This World for Me,' Or its music hall equivalent in eighteen-seventy.

"It was February thirteenth (On, my Pegasus! Nor balk At that fear-inspiring figure!) Thomasina took a walk. And Fate drew her—drew her—drew her by a thousand spidery lines To a Slocum Pocum window filled chockful of valentines, All gaudy—save two, just alike in color, shape and size, Which pressed against the window pane and caught the lady's eyes.

"'How chaste! How charming! How complete!' she cried. 'It must be mine! I'll tell my love to Thomas in this lovely valentine, Whereon is suitably inscribed, in letters fine and free, 'SEND BACK THIS TENDER TOKEN IF YOU CANNOT MARRY ME.' So with her cheeks all rosy, and her pulses all astir, She went in and brought the valentine and took it home with her.

"Ten minutes later Thomas paused outside the self-same store. You guess the rest. Fate grappled him and pushed him through the door, And made him buy the fellow to the very valentine Which Thomasina had purchased there at twenty-five to nine. He chuckled (and Fate chuckled) the appropriate words to see— 'SEND BACK THIS TENDER TOKEN IF YOU CANNOT MARRY ME.'

"It was February fourteenth, and the postman's rat-a-tat Made two hearts in Slocum Pocum beat a feverish pit-pat Thomas and Thomasina each in turn rushed doorwards and Snatched their respective missives from the post's extended hand; And the postman, wicked rascal, slowly winked the other eye, And said: 'Seems to me the old folks is a gettin' pretty spry.'

"They tore the letters open. 'What is this? Rejected! Spurned!' Both thought the cards before them were their valentines returned. And Thomas went to Africa, and Thomasina to Rome; And other tenants came to fill each small deserted home. So no more in Slocum Pocum may we hope again to see Poor Mr. Thomas Todgers and poor Thomasina Tee."

"That's awfully funny," said Delight, as Miss Hart finished reading, "but I should think they would have known they got each other's valentine."

"I shouldn't," said Midge, who entered more into the spirit of the story; "they didn't know each other sent any, so each thought their own was returned. Besides, if they hadn't thought so, there wouldn't have been any story."

"That's so," said Delight, who usually agreed with Marjorie, finally.

The postman brought lots of valentines for the two little girls. Delight's were almost all from her friends in New York, although some of the Rockwell young people had remembered her too.

Marjorie's were nearly all from Rockwell, and though there were none from any of her family, that did not bother her, for she knew they would come in the afternoon for the "party."



CHAPTER XVI

A VALENTINE PARTY

At four o'clock the "party" came. Midget and Delight, watching from the window, saw James and Thomas come across the street, bringing between them a great big something, all wrapped in white tissue paper. They left their burden, whatever it was, on the porch, rang the door-bell, and went away.

The children flew to the door, and, with the help of Mary and Miss Hart, they brought the big thing in.

Though bulky, it was not heavy, and they set it in the library and proceeded to take off the wrappings. As the last sheet of tissue paper was removed, shrieks of admiration went up from the girls, and Mrs. Spencer came running in to see what the excitement was about.

She saw a large heart, about five feet high, made on a light wood frame, which was covered with red crepe paper. It was bordered with red and white gilt flowers, also made of paper, and at the top was a big bow of red ribbon, with long fluttering streamers. On top of the heart, of either shoulder, sat two beautiful white doves which were real doves, stuffed, and they held in their beaks envelopes, one marked Delight and one Marjorie.

The whole affair had a back stay, and stood up on the floor like an easel. The paper that covered the heart was put on in folds, like tucks upside down, and in the folds were thrust many envelopes, that doubtless contained valentines. Between and among these were little cupids and doves fastened on, also nosegays of flowers and fluttering ribbons, and hearts pierced with darts, and the whole effect was like one great big valentine.

Before touching the envelopes, Delight and Marjorie sat on the floor, their arms round each other, and gazed at the pretty sight.

"Did your father make it?" asked Delight.

"He planned it, I'm sure," replied Marjorie. "But they all helped make it, I know. I suppose Father had the frame made somewhere, then he and Mother covered it, and Kit and King helped make the flowers and things. Oh, I wish I'd been there!"

"Then they wouldn't have made it!" said Delight, quickly, and Midge laughed, and said:

"No, I suppose not. Well, shall we begin to read the valentines?"

"Yes, but let's take them out slowly, and make it last a long while."

"Yes, for this is our 'party,' you know. Oh, see, these envelopes in the doves' bills say on them, 'To be opened last.' So we'll begin with these others. You take one with your name on, first."

So Delight pulled out an envelope that was addressed to her.

It contained a valentine of which the principal figure was a pretty little girl, something like Delight herself. Inside was written:

"Flossy Flouncy, fair and fine, Let me be your Valentine. Here's my heart laid at your feet, Flossy Flouncy, fair and sweet."

"I know King wrote that!" cried Midget; "he always calls you Flossy Flouncy. You don't mind, do you?"

"No, indeed! I think it's fun. I'm going to call him Old King Cole. That is, if I ever see him again."

"Oh, pshaw! We'll be out of this prison next week. The doctor said so. And you must come and make me a visit to even things up."

"Mother wouldn't let me go to your house to stay, I'm sure; but I can go over afternoons or Saturdays."

"Yes, and you'll get to know King better. He's an awful nice boy."

"I'm sure he is. Now you take a valentine."

Midget pulled out the biggest one that was addressed to her. It held a beautiful, large valentine, not home-made, but of most elaborate design.

On its back, though, was a verse written, that Midge knew at once was done by her father. It said:

"Marjorie Midget Mopsy Mops, I have looked through all the shops, Searching for a Valentine Good enough for Midget Mine. This is the best that I could do, So here it is with my love so true."

"Isn't it a beauty!" cried Midge; "I never had such a handsome one before. See how the flowers are tied with real ribbons, and the birds hop in and out of their cages."

"It's splendid!" said Delight, "and here's a big one for me too!"

She pulled out a large envelope, addressed to herself, and found a valentine quite as beautiful as Marjorie's and almost exactly like it. It was from her father, and as Mr. Spencer didn't have the knack of rhyming as well as Mr. Maynard, he had written on the back:

"Dear Delight, I can't write, But I send you Affection true, Yankee Doodle Doo!"

"I think that's funny!" cried Marjorie. "I love funny valentines."

"So do I," agreed Delight; "and I didn't know father could make rhymes as well as that. He must have learned from your father."

"I 'spect he did. Everybody makes verses at our house."

Marjorie smiled to think of the grave and dignified Mr. Spencer learning to write funny rhymes, but she was glad Delight had a big valentine like hers.

Then they pulled out the others, by turns. Some were lovely ones that had been bought; some were home-made ones; some were funny, but the funny ones were home-made, they were not the dreadful things that are called "comic" valentines.

Then there were valentines from Gladys and her brother Dick, which had been delivered by the postman at Marjorie's home, and sent over with the others. There was one from each of the home servants, who were all fond of Midget, and glad to send her a token of remembrance. And among the best of all were valentines from Grandma Sherwood and Uncle Steve.

Uncle Steve was especially clever at writing verses, and he sent several valentines to both the girls.

One bore a picture of two weeping maidens, behind barred windows in a castle tower. The verses ran thus:

"Two Princesses locked in a tower, Alas, alas for they! I would they need not stay an hour, Nor yet another day. But to a lovely rosy bower The two might fly away.

"I would I were a birdie fleet That I might wing a flight, And bear to them a message sweet Each morning, noon and night. Twould be to me a perfect treat To see their faces bright.

"But, no, in their far home they stay, And I must stay in mine; But though we are so far away Our thoughts we may entwine. And I will send this little lay From your fond

"VALENTINE."

"That's lovely," said Delight, "and it's for me as much as you. What jolly relatives you have."

"Oh, Uncle Steve is wonderful. He can do anything. Sometime perhaps you can go to his house with me, then you'll see. Oh, here's a pretty one, listen."

Midge read aloud:

"What is a Valentine? Tell me, pray. Only a fanciful roundelay Bearing a message from one to another (This time, to a dear little girl from her mother). Message of love and affection true; This is a Valentine, I LOVE YOU!"

"That's sweet. Did your mother write it?"

"Yes, Mother makes lovely poetry. Here's a ridiculous one from Kit."

"Marjorie, Parjorie, Pudding and Pie, Hurry up home, or I'll have to cry. Since you've been gone I've grown so thin I'm nothing at all but bone and skin. So hurry up home if you have any pity For your poor little lonesome sister

"KITTY."

"Why, I thought people never signed valentines," said Delight, laughing at Kitty's effusion.

"They don't, real ones. But of course these are just nonsense ones, and anyway I know Kit's writing, so it doesn't matter."

There were lots of others, and through Marjorie, naturally, had more than Delight, yet there were plenty for both girls, and set out on two tables they made a goodly show. Miss Hart was called in to see them, but she answered that she was busy in the dining-room just then, and would come in a few moments.

The big heart that had held the valentines was not at all marred, but rather improved by their removal, and, the girls admired it more than ever.

"But we haven't taken the last ones yet," said Delight, looking at the two envelopes in the bills of the doves. They took them at the same time, and opened them simultaneously.

Each contained a valentine and a tiny parcel. The valentines were exactly alike, and their verses read the same:

"This is a Ring Dove, fair and white That brings this gift to you to-night. But why a Ring Dove, you may ask; The answer is an easy task. Look in this tiny box and see What has the Ring Dove brought to thee!"

Eagerly the girls opened the boxes, and inside, on a bit of cotton wool, lay two lovely rings exactly alike. They were set with a little heart made of tiny pearls and turquoises, and they just fitted the fingers of the two little girls.

"Aren't they exquisite!" cried Delight, who loved pretty things.

"Beautiful!" agreed Midge, who thought more of the ring as a souvenir. "We can always remember to-day by them. I suppose your father sent yours and my father sent mine."

"Yes, of course they did. Oh, Miss Hart, do look at our rings and valentines!"

Miss Hart came in, smiling, and proved an interested audience of one, as she examined all the pretty trifles.

"And now," said Miss Hart, at last, "there's more to your valentine party. Will you come out to the dining-room and see it?"

Wondering, the two girls followed Miss Hart to the dining-room, and fairly stood still in astonishment at the scene. As it was well after dusk now, the shades had been drawn, and the lights turned on. The table was set as if for a real party, and the decorations were all of pink and white.

Pink candles with pretty pink shades cast a soft light, and pink and white flowers were beautifully arranged. In the centre was a waxen cupid with gilt wings, whose outstretched hands bore two large hearts suspended by ribbons. These hearts were most elaborate satin boxes, one having Marjorie on it in gilt letters and the other Delight. As it turned out, they were to be kept as jewel boxes, or boxes for any little trinkets, but now they were filled with delicious bon-bons, the satin lining being protected by tinfoil and lace paper.

The table was laid for four, and at each place was a valentine.

Mrs. Spencer and Miss Hart took their seats, but, at first, the girls were too bewildered to understand.

"It's your party, Marjorie," said Miss Hart, smiling. "Your father and mother sent it all over,—everything, even the candles and flowers. All we've done is to arrange it on the table. So you must sit at the head, as you're hostess."

So Midget took her place at the head of the table, with Delight opposite.

Each person had a parcel at their plate, daintily tied up in pink paper and white ribbon, and sealed with little gold hearts.

Mrs. Spencer said they would not open these until after the feast, so after they had looked a few moments longer on the pretty things all about the table, Mary brought in the first course, and the party began.

First there was fruit, and this consisted of a slice of pineapple cut in a heart shape, and surrounded on the plate by strawberries and candied cherries. This dainty arrangement, on lace paper, was so pretty that Delight said it was too bad to disturb it.

"It's too good not to be disturbed," said Marjorie, and as it was really dinner time, and the girls were hungry, the lovely fruit course soon disappeared.

"This isn't dinner," said Mrs. Spencer, "it's a party supper. Your party, you know, Marjorie."

"Yes'm; I didn't see how Father could send me a party without people. But he did his part, didn't he?"

"Yes, indeed; and we're doing ours. We've all the people that we can have, and so we'll make the best of it."

"I think it's a lovely party," said Delight, "the best one I ever went to. Oh, what are these?"

For Mary was just passing the most fascinating looking dish. It was oyster croquettes, carefully moulded in heart shapes, accompanied by French fried potatoes also cut into little hearts.

"Ellen cut these, I know she did," said Marjorie. "She's such a clever cook, and she loves to make fancy things."

"Your mother is very fortunate with her servants," said Mrs. Spencer, with a little sigh.

And then came lovely brown bread sandwiches, of course they were heart shaped too, and Marjorie declared she'd have heart-disease if these things kept on!

But they did keep on. Next came jellied chicken that had been moulded in heart forms, and lettuce salad with red hearts cut from beets among the crisp yellow leaves.

Then came dessert, and it was a bewildering array of heart ice creams, and heart cakes, and heart bon-bons, and heart shaped forms of jelly.

"Only one of each, to-night," said Mrs. Spencer, smiling. "I don't want two invalids for valentines, I can assure you."

So lots of the good things were left over for next day, and Marjorie remarked that she thought the next day's feast was always about as much fun as the party any way.

"Now for our presents," said Delight, as the last plates were removed, and they sat round the table still feasting their eyes on the pretty trinkets that decorated it.

So Mrs. Spencer opened her parcel first.

She found a silver photograph frame shaped like a heart. Of course, Mr. Spencer had sent it, and the pretty card with it read:

"As at my verse I'm sure you'd sniff, I simply send this little gift.

"VALENTINE."

The Spencers seemed to think this a fine poem but Marjorie secretly wondered if a grown-up man could think those words rhymed!

Miss Hart opened her box next, and found a heart-shaped filigree gold brooch of great beauty. The Maynards had sent her this, not only as a valentine, but as a token of gratitude for her kindness to Marjorie.

These verses were written on a fancy card:

"Hearts to Miss Hart So I bring you a heart. Your name is fine For a Valentine. Though this trinket small Can't tell you all 'Twill give you a hint That hearts are not flint; And when this one of gold Our good wishes has told, May it brightly shine As your valentine."

"It's just a darling!" exclaimed Miss Hart, looking at the welcome gift. "Your parents are too good to me, Marjorie."

"I'm glad of it," said Midge, simply, "you're too good to me!"

She smiled at Miss Hart, and then she and Delight opened their boxes together.

Their gifts were just alike, and were pink and gold cups and saucers. The china and decoration were exquisite, and both cup and saucer were heart shaped. Not the most convenient shape to drink from, perhaps, but lovely for a souvenir of Valentine's Day.

Then they took the boxes held out by the wax cupid, and admired the tufted satin and the painted garlands.

"Let's take the candies out and put them in other boxes," said Delight, "so there'll be no danger of getting a bit of chocolate on the satin."

This was a good idea, and then they took all the pretty ornaments into the library and set them around on tables.

"It's like Christmas," said Delight, with a little sigh of happiness. "I do love pretty things."

"Then you ought to be happy now," said Miss Hart, "for I never saw such an array of favors."

And indeed the room looked like a valentine shop, with its flowers and gifts and cupids and valentines, and the big heart standing in front of the mantel.

Then Miss Hart spent the evening playing games with the children, and after an enthusiastic telephone conversation with the people opposite, Marjorie and Delight went upstairs, agreeing that nobody had ever had such a lovely Valentine party.



CHAPTER XVII

A JINKS AUCTION

At last the day came when Marjorie was allowed to go home.

Doctor Mendel had had a most thorough fumigation and disinfection, and all danger was over. The little boy was convalescent, and there was no longer any reason why Midget or Mr. Spencer should be exiled from their homes.

And so, liberated from her prison, Midget flew, across the street, and into the arms of her waiting family.

"Mother first!" she cried, as they all crowded round, but so mixed up did the Maynards become, that it was one grand jumble of welcoming hugs and kisses.

"Oh, I'm so glad to be home again," Marjorie cried, as she looked about the familiar living-room. "It seems as if I'd been away years."

"Seems so to me, too," said Kitty, who had greatly missed her sister. "Mother, aren't we going to celebrate Mopsy's coming home?"

Now "celebration" in the Maynard household, always meant dress-up frocks, and ice cream for dessert.

"Of course," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling; "fly upstairs, girlies, and get into some pretty dresses, and then fly down again, for father's coming home early."

So Midge and Kitty flew, and King scampered to his room also, and Mrs. Maynard gave the baby over to Nurse Nannie for a clean frock, while she herself telephoned for the ice cream. And to the order she added cakes and candied fruits and other dainties, until it bade fair to be a celebration feast indeed.

Marjorie, delighted to be in her own room once more, chattered rapidly, as she and Kitty dressed, and tied ribbons, and hooked waists for each other.

"Delight is an awfully nice girl, Kitsie," she was saying. "I didn't like her so much at first, but as we were together so much I grew to like her better."

"Is she as nice as Gladys?"

"In some ways she is. She's more fun than Glad about playing games. She loves to play pretend, and Gladys wasn't much good at that. But, of course, I'm more fond of Glad, she's my old friend. Delight is nice for a neighbor though."

Dressed in a white serge, with pipings and bows of scarlet velvet, her cheeks glowing red with the joyous excitement of getting home, and her eyes dancing with happiness, Marjorie flew downstairs just in time to tumble into the arms of her father, who was entering the hall door.

"Why, bless my stars!" he exclaimed; "who in the world is this?"

"Your long-lost daughter!" said Midge, nestling in his big, comfortable embrace.

"No! Can it be? This great big girl! Why, how you've grown! And yet,—yes, it is! my own Marjorie Mischief Mopsy Midget Maynard! Well, I am glad you're back where you belong!"

"So'm I! I tell you Father Maynard, it was awful hard to stay away so long."

"I know it, girlie, and I hope it won't happen again. But you know, 'into each life some rain must fall.'"

"And I did have a good time, too," went on Midge. "Isn't it funny, Father, how you can have a good time and a bad time both at once."

"Quite comic, I should say. Now, let me get my coat off, and then we'll talk matters over."

Marjorie skipped into the living-room, and plumped herself down on the sofa. Kitty and King sat close on either side, and Rosy Posy climbed into her lap and lovingly patted her face.

The four made a pretty group, and as Mrs. Maynard came in and saw them, she said:

"Well, I'm glad my quartette is whole again; it's been broken so long."

The dinner was a celebration for fair. Aside from the delicious things to eat, everybody was so gay and glad over Marjorie's return, that all was laughter and jollity.

"How different our two families are," said Midge, thoughtfully; "here we are having such fun and frolic, and the Spencers are just having an every-day, quiet dinner."

"Aren't they glad the sickness is all over?" asked Kitty.

"Yes, of course. But they never 'celebrate.' I guess they don't know how very well. And Mrs. Spencer is very quiet. Much noise makes her head ache."

"Mr. Spencer was awful quiet, too," said King. "He hardly ever laughed all the time he was here. Except the night we wrote the valentines. Then he laughed, cause we made him write poetry and he couldn't."

"Well, they're nice people," said Midge, "but awful different from us. I'm glad I'm a Maynard!"

"I'm glad you are!" said her father.

The next day Mrs. Maynard announced her intention of going over to see Mrs. Spencer, and thanking her for her care of Marjorie.

"But it does seem funny," said Midge, "to thank her for keeping me there, when I couldn't possibly get away! But she was good to me, though really she didn't pay very much attention to me. But I s'pose that was 'cause she was so bothered about the little sick boy. But, Mother, do thank Miss Hart, too. She was lovely; and she put herself out lots of times, to make it pleasant for Delight and me. Give her plenty of thanks, will you, Mother?"

"Yes, Midget; and what about Delight?"

"Oh, yes, thank her too. She was kind and pleasant,—only,—well, it seems mean to say so,—but, Mother, she is a little selfish. I didn't mind, really; only I don't think it's quite nice to be selfish to a guest."

"Perhaps not, Mar; one; but neither is it nice to criticise your little hostess."

Marjorie flushed. "I didn't mean to, Mother," she said; "but I thought it didn't count when I'm just talking to you."

"That's right, dearie; always say anything you choose to Mother, but don't criticise Delight to anybody else."

"No, Mother, I won't," and Midge gave her mother one of her biggest "bear-hugs" and then wandered off in search of Kitty.

"What are you doing, Kit?" she said, as she found her sister sitting on the big hall settle, looking out of the window.

"Waiting for Dorothy. She's coming this afternoon, and we're going to play paper dolls."

Marjorie must have looked a little disappointed, for Kitty said:

"Say, Mops, why don't you take Delight for your friend in Glad's place? It's so nice to have a friend all your own."

"I know it is, Kit," and Midget sat down beside her sister, "but somehow it seems sort of mean to put anybody in Gladys's place."

"Oh, pshaw! it doesn't either. And when Glad is so far away, too. She doesn't even write to you, does she?"

"She sent me a valentine."

"Well, but when has she written?"

"Not for a long time. But that doesn't matter. She's my friend, and I'm not going to put anybody else in her place."

Kitty grew exasperated at this foolishness, as it seemed to her, and said:

"Well, then don't put her in Glad's place. Keep her old place empty. But take Delight as a sort of, what do you call it? Substitute friend, and let her come over here to play, same as Dorothy comes to play with me."

"I'd like to do that," said Midge. "I'm awfully glad to have Delight with me, and I know she likes me."

"Then go and telephone her now. Ask her to come over, and play."

"No, not now, 'cause mother is over there, and I'd rather wait till she comes home. Let's all play together to-day."

"All right; here comes Dorothy now."

Dorothy Adams came in, very glad to see Midget again, whom she liked almost as much as she did Kitty. She took off her things, and the girls drifted into the living-room, where King sat reading.

He had a band of red ribbon round his head, in which were stuck a dozen large turkey feathers, giving him a startling appearance.

"What's the feathers for?" asked Dorothy, looking at the boy in amazement.

"Why, you see, I'm reading one of Cooper's stories," King explained, "and I can sort of feel the Indian part of it better if I wear some feathers."

"Come on and play," said Midget; "shall we play Indians?"

"No," said Kitty, promptly, "it's too rough and tumbly when we play it in the house. Let's play a pretend game."

"Aren't we going to have the Jinks Club any more?" asked Dorothy. "We haven't had it since the Fultons went away."

"Too few of us," said King; "we four, that's all."

"We might ask Delight to belong," said Marjorie, "she can cut up jinks when she feels like it."

"All right, do;" said King, "let's have Flossy Flouncy; and I'll ask Flip Henderson, he's heaps of fun. Then we'll have six, just like we had before."

"I don't like to put people in the Fultons' place," said Marjorie, dubiously.

"Now, look here, Midge, that's silly!" said King. "We can't help it that the Fultons moved away, but that's no reason we shouldn't have anybody to play with. Let's telephone for our two new members right now, and begin the club all over again."

After a little more argument Marjorie consented, and she telephoned for Delight to come over, and then King telephoned for Frederick Henderson, better known by the more euphonious name of Flip. Both accepted, and in less than half an hour the Jinks Club was in full session. The new members had been elected by the simple process of telling them that they were members, and they gladly agreed to the rules and regulations of the somewhat informal club.

"We just cut up jinks," exclaimed Marjorie, "but they have to be good jinks, for bad jinks are mischief, and we try to keep out of that."

"It sounds lovely," said Delight; "I always wanted to belong to a club, but I never have before. Can't we cut up a jink, now?"

"You must say 'cut up jinks,' Flossy Flouncy," said King, smiling at the pretty, eager face. "You can't cut 'em by ones."

"Well, cut some, and show me how."

"I believe you think we cut 'em with scissors, like paper dolls," said Marjorie, laughing.

She was really very glad to have Delight with her again, for she had become more attached than she realised to the little girl during their fortnight together.

"Show me," repeated Delight, with an air of willingness to learn.

"All right; let's have a good one. What shall it be, Mops?"

King looked at his sister with such evident faith in her power of inventiveness, that the others all looked at her too. Marjorie looked round the room.

"I'll tell you!" she cried, as a brilliant idea came to her, "we'll play auction."

"Hooray!" cried King, grasping the plan at once. "Sell everything we can move."

"Yes," cried Mops. "Where is the auction room?"

"This end of the room is the auction room," King, indicating nearly half of the long living-room. "Now, Flip and I are auctioneers and you ladies are in reduced poverty, and have to bring your household goods to be sold."

Delight and Kitty at once saw dramatic possibilities, and flew to dress for their parts. An afghan for a shawl, and a tidy for a bonnet, contented Kitty, but on Delight's head went a fluffy lamp mat, stuck through with four or five of the turkey quills discarded from King's head-dress.

Mops and Dorothy followed this lead, and soon four poverty-stricken ladies, carrying household treasures, timidly entered the auction-room.

"What can I do for you, madam?" said King, as Delight showed him a bronze statuette.

"I have lost all my fortune, sir," responded Delight, sobbing in a way that greatly pleased her hearers; "and I fear I must sacrifice my few remaining relics of my better days."

"Ah, yes, madam. Sorry to hear of your ill luck. Just leave the statuette, ma'am, we have an auction to-morrow or next week, and we'll get what we can for it."

"It's a priceless work of art," said Delight, still loudly weeping, "and I don't want less than five thousand dollars for it."

"Five thousand dollars, madam! A mere trifle for that gem! I'll get ten thousand for you, at least!"

"Ten thousand will do nicely," said Delight, giggling at last at King's pompous air.

Then Marjorie came bringing a large frilly sofa pillow.

"This is my last pillow," she said, in quavering tones. "I shall have to sleep on a brickbat tonight; but I must have bread for my children to eat. There are seven of them, and they haven't had a mouthful for two weeks."

"Oh, that's nothing!" responded Flip, airily. "Children ought not to be fed oftener than every three weeks anyway. I hate over-fed children. It makes them so cross."

"So it does," agreed Kitty. "But my children are never cross, 'cause I feed them on honey. I've brought a bust of Dante to have sold by auction. It's a big one, you see, and ought to bring a good price."

"Yes, it will, madame, I'm sure. Haven't you anything more to leave?"

"Yes, here's an umbrella, and a waste basket, and some books. They're all valuable but I have so much treasures in my house, I don't need these."

"Hurry up," put in Dorothy, "and give me a chance. I've brought these pictures," showing some small ones she had lifted from their nails in the wall, "and also this fine inkstand. Look out and don't spill the ink Also here's a vase of flowers, flowers and all. Look out and don't spill the water."

"You seem to bring spilly things, ma'am," said King, taking the goods carefully. "But we'll sell them."

Each girl trudged back and forth a few times until most of the portable things in the room were piled up on the table and sofa at the end where the boys were, and then the auction was prepared.

The boys themselves had taken down many of the larger pictures from their hooks, and the room looked, on the whole, as if a cyclone had struck it.

"They ought to be numbered," said Flip, stepping gingerly about among the things.

"Hold on a minute! I've got it!" shouted King, and rushed upstairs at top speed.

He returned with a large calendar, two or three pairs of scissors and a paste-pot.

"Cut 'em out," he directed, giving each girl a page of the calendar.

The numbers were large, more than an inch square, and soon lots of them were cut out. These, the boys pasted on all the goods for sale, making them look like real auction goods.

"Won't it hurt the things?" asked Delight, who was not used to such high-handed performances.

"'Course not! They'll wash right off. Now the auction will begin. Now, you must be rich ladies, different ones, you know."

"Here you are!" cried King, who was auctioneer by common consent; "here you are! number 24! a fine large statuette by one of the old masters. What am I bid for this?"

"Fifty cents," said Dorothy.

"Fifty cents! Do you mean to insult me, madame! Why, some old masters sell as high as fifty dollars, I can tell you! Who will bid higher?"

"One hundred dollars!" called out Delight, and the bronze statuette was declared her property.

Then other goods were put up, and, in order to make the play progress more quickly, two auctioneers were set to work, and King and Flip were both calling their wares and the bids at once.

Naturally, the bidders grew very excited. A large picture was hotly contested, Kitty bidding against Delight, while on the other block, the big inkstand was being sold. Somehow the wire of the picture became tangled round the auctioneer's foot, he stepped back and bumped into the other auctioneer who lost his balance, and fell over, inkstand and all. The heavy inkstand fell on the picture, breaking the glass, and soaking the paper engraving with ink. Much of the ink, too, went on Flip, who grabbed for it in a vain endeavor to save the situation.

The two boys laughingly straightened themselves out of their own mix up, but their laughter ceased when they saw that real damage had been done.

"Oh, dear!" said Marjorie, "this is a bad jinks after all!"

"Never mind, Mopsy," said King, magnanimously, "it wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"No, it was mine," said Midge, "for I proposed playing auction. I might have known we'd play it too hard."

"Never mind," said Kitty, "the company didn't have anything to do with the trouble, and we mustn't make them feel bad."

"I did," said Dorothy, "I brought the inkstand to the auction. I ought to have known better."

"Never mind who's to blame," said King, "let's straighten things out. The game is over."

Good-naturedly, they all went to work, and soon had everything back in its place. The broken and spoiled picture was stood behind the sofa, face to the wall, to be confessed to mother later.

"Now we're all in shape again," said King, looking proudly about the cleared up room. "Any nice little jinks to eat, Midgie?"

"I'll ask Sarah. She'll find something."

She did, and soon a large tray of cookies and lemonade refreshed the members of the Jinks Club, after which the visiting members went home.



CHAPTER XVIII

HONEST CONFESSION

"I want to own up, Mother," said King, as Mrs. Maynard came into the room, just before dinner time.

"Well, King, what have you been doing now?"

Mrs. Maynard's face expressed a humorous sort of resignation, for she was accustomed to these confessions.

"Well, you see, Mothery, we had the Jinks Club here to-day."

King's voice was very wheedlesome, and he had his arm round his mother's neck, for he well knew her affection for her only son often overcame her duty of discipline.

"And the Jinksies cut up some awful piece of mischief,—is that it?"

"Yes, Mother; but it's a truly awful one this time, and I'm the one to blame."

"No, you're not!" broke in Marjorie; "at least, not entirely. I proposed the game."

"Well," said Mrs. Maynard, "before you quarrel for the honor of this dreadful deed, suppose you tell me what it is."

For answer, King dragged the big picture out from behind the sofa, and Mrs. Maynard's smile changed to a look of real dismay.

"Oh, King!" she said; "that's your father's favorite engraving!"

"Yes'm, I know it. That's the awfullest part of it. But, Mother, it was an accident."

"Ah, yes, but an accident that ought not to have happened. It was an accident brought about by your own wrong-doing. What possessed you to take that great picture down from the wall, and why did you splash ink on it?"

So then all the children together told the whole story of the auction game.

"But it was lots of fun!" Marjorie wound up, with great enthusiasm. "Delight is grand to play games with. She acts just like a grown-up lady. And Flip Henderson is funny too."

"But Midget," said her mother, "I can't let you go on with this Jinks Club of yours, if you're always going to spoil things."

"No, of course not. But, Mother, I don't think it will happen again. And anyway, next time we're going to meet at Delight's."

"That doesn't help matters any, my child. I'd rather you'd spoil my things than Mrs. Spencer's,—if spoiling must be done. Well, the case is too serious for me. I'll leave the whole matter to your father,—I hear him coming up the steps now."

Soon Mr. Maynard entered the room, and found his whole family grouped round the ruined picture.

"Wowly—wow-wow!" he exclaimed. "Has there been an earthquake? For nothing else could wreck my pet picture like that!"

"No, Father," said King; "it wasn't an earthquake. I did it,—mostly. We were playing auction, and my foot got tangled up in the picture wire, and the inkstand upset, and smashed the glass, and—and I'm awful sorry."

King was too big a boy to cry, but there was a lump in his throat, as he saw his father's look of real regret at the loss of his valued picture.

"Tell me all about it, son. Was it mischief?"

"I'm afraid it was. But we took all the things in the room to play auction with, and somehow I took that down from the wall without thinking. And, of course, I didn't know it was going to get broken."

"No, King; but if you had stopped to think, you would have known that it might get broken?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then it would have been wiser and kinder to leave it upon the wall, out of harm's way?"

"Yes, Father; much better. I didn't think. Oh,—I know that's no excuse, but that's,—well, it's the reason."

"And a very poor reason, my boy. The worthwhile man is the man who thinks in time. Thinking afterward doesn't mend broken things,—or take out inkstains. Of course, the broken glass is a mere trifle, that could have been easily replaced. But the engraving itself is ruined by the ink."

"Couldn't it be restored?" asked King, hopefully. He was not quite certain what "restored" meant, but he knew his father had had it done to some pictures.

Mr. Maynard smiled. "No, King, a paper engraving cannot be restored. What is that number pasted on it for?"

"We numbered all the things, so as to make it like a real auction," said Marjorie.

Mr. Maynard glanced round the room.

"You rascally children!" he cried; "if you haven't stuck papers on all the vases and bric-a-brac in the room! And on this tree-calf Tennyson, as I live! Oh, my little Maynards! Did anybody ever have such a brood as you?"

Mr. Maynard dropped his head in his hands in apparent despair, but the children caught the amused note in his voice, and the twinkle in his eye, as he glanced at his wife.

"Well, here you are!" he said, as he raised his head again, "for a punishment you must get all those numbers off without injury to the things they're pasted on. This will mean much care and patience, for you must not use water on books or anything that dampness will harm. Those must be picked off in tiny bits with a sharp penknife."

"Oh, we'll do it, Father!" cried Marjorie, "and we'll be just as careful!"

"Indeed you must. You've done enough havoc already. As to the picture, King, we'll say no more about it. You're too big a boy now to be punished; so we'll look upon it as a matter between man and man. I know you appreciate how deeply I regret the loss of that picture, and I well know how sorry you feel about it yourself. The incident is closed."

Mr. Maynard held out his hand to his son, and as King grasped it he felt that his father's manly attitude in the matter was a stronger reproof and a more efficacious lesson to him than any definite punishment could be.

After dinner the three children went to work to remove the pasted numbers.

A few, which were on glass vases, or porcelain, or metal ornaments, could be removed easily by soaking with a damp cloth; but most of them were on plaster casts, or polished wood, or fine book bindings and required the greatest care in handling.

When bed-time came the task was not half finished, and Marjorie's shoulders were aching from close application to the work.

"Sorry for you, kiddies," said Mr. Maynard, as they started for bed, "but if you dance, you must pay the piper. Perhaps a few more evenings will finish the job, and then we'll forget all about it."

Mr. Maynard, though not harsh, was always firm, and the children well knew they had the work to do, and must stick patiently at it till it was finished.

"Good-night, Father," said King, "and thank you for your confidence in me. I'll try to deserve it hereafter."

"Good-night, my boy. We all have to learn by experience, and when you want my help, it's yours."

The straightforward glance that passed between father and son meant much to both, and King went off to bed, feeling that, if not quite a grown man, he was at least a child no longer in his father's estimation.

After the children had gone, Mr. Maynard picked out the most delicate or valuable of the "auction" goods, and began himself to remove the pasted numbers.

"Partly to help the kiddies," he said to his wife, "and partly because I know they'd spoil these things. It's all I can do to manage them successfully myself."

Next morning at breakfast Mrs. Maynard said; "Well, Midget, now you're at home again, what about starting back to school?"

"Oh, Mother!" said Marjorie, looking disconsolate. And then, for she did not want to be naughty about it, she added: "All right; I s'pose I must go, so I will. But as to-day's Friday I can wait till Monday, can't I?"

Mrs. Maynard smiled. "Yes, I think you may till Monday, if you want to. But are you sure you want to?"

"'Deed I am sure!"

"And nothing would make you want to go to-day, instead of waiting till Monday?"

"No, ma'am! no-thing!" and Midget actually pounded the table with her knife-handle, so emphatic was she.

"You tell her, Fred," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling at her husband.

"Well, Madcap Mopsy," said her father, "try to bear up under this new misfortune; your mother and I have planned a plan, and this is it. How would you like it, instead of going to school any more,—I mean to Miss Lawrence,—to go every day to lessons with Delight and Miss Hart?"

Marjorie sat still a minute, trying to take it in. It seemed too good to be true.

Then dropping her knife and fork, she left her chair and flew round to her father's place at table.

Seeing the whirlwind coming, Mr. Maynard pushed back his own chair just in time to receive a good-sized burden of delighted humanity that threw itself round his neck and squeezed him tight.

"Oh, Father, Father, Father! do you really mean it? Not go to school any more at all! And have lessons every day with that lovely Miss Hart, and my dear Delight? Oh, Father, you're such a duck!"

"There, there, my child! Don't strangle me, or I'll take it all back!"

"You can't now! You've said it! Oh, I'm so glad! Can I start to-day?"

"Oho!" said Mrs. Maynard; "who was it that said nothing could make her want to go to-day instead of Monday?"

Marjorie giggled. "But who could have dreamed you meant this?" she cried, leaving her father and flying to caress her mother. "Oh, Mumsie, won't it be lovely! Oh, I am so happy!"

"If not, you're a pretty good imitation of a happy little girl," said her father; "and now if you'll return to your place and finish your breakfast, we'll call it square."

"Square it is, then," said Marjorie, skipping back to her place; "Kit, did you ever hear of anything so lovely!"

"Never," said Kitty, "for you. I'd rather go to school and be with the girls."

"I didn't mind when Gladys was here, but I've hated it ever since I was alone. But to study with Miss Hart,—oh, goody! Is she willing, Mother?"

"Of course, I've discussed it with her and with Mrs. Spencer. Indeed, Mrs. Spencer proposed the plan herself, when I was over there yesterday. She and Miss Hart think it will be good for Delight to have some one with her. So, Midge, you must be a good girl, and not teach Delight all sorts of mischief."

"Oh, yes, Mother, I'll be so good you won't know me. Can I start to-day?"

"Yes, if you're sure you want to."

"Want to? I just guess I do!" and Midget danced upstairs to dress for "school."

The plan worked admirably. Miss Hart was not only a skilled teacher, but a most tactful and clever woman, and as she really loved her two little pupils, she taught them so pleasantly that they learned without drudgery.

As the clock hands neared nine every morning, there were no more long drawn sighs from Marjorie, but smiles and cheery good-byes, as the little girl gaily left the house and skipped across the street.

The daily association, too, brought her into closer friendship with Delight, and the two girls became real chums. Their natures were so different, that they reacted favorably on one another, and under Miss Hart's gentle and wise guidance the two girls improved in every way.

It was one day in the very last part of February that Midge came home to find a letter for her on the hall table.

"From Gladys," she cried and tore it open.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I didn't think! Miss Hart told me never to open a letter with my finger, but to wait till I could get a letter-opener. Well, it's too late now, I'll remember next time."

She looked ruefully at the untidy edges of the envelope, but pulled the letter out and began to read it.

"DEAR MARJORIE:

"I'm coming to see you, that is, if you want me to. Father has to go East, and he will leave me at your house while he goes to New York. I will get there on Friday and stay four days. I will be glad to see you again.

"Sincerely yours,

"GLADYS FULTON."

Marjorie smiled at the stiff formal letter, which was the sort Gladys always wrote, and then she went in search of her mother.

"Gladys is coming on Friday," she announced.

"That's very nice, my dear," said Mrs. Maynard; "you'll be so glad to see her again, won't you?"

"Yes," said Midget, but she said it slowly, and with a troubled look in her eyes.

"Well, what is it, dear? Tell Mother."

"I don't know exactly,—but somehow I'm not so awfully pleased to have Gladys come. You see, she may not like Delight, and I want them to like each other."

"Why do you want them to?"

"Why do I? Mother, what a funny question! Why, I want them to like each other because I like them both."

"But you don't seem anxious lest Delight won't like Gladys."

"Oh, of course she'll like her! Delight is so sweet and amiable, she'd like anybody that I like. But Gladys is,—well,—touchy."

"Which do you care more for, dearie?"

"Mothery, that's just what bothers me I'm getting to like Delight better and better. And that doesn't seem fair to Gladys, for she's my old friend, and I wouldn't be unloyal to her for anything. So you see, I don't know which I like best."

"Well, Marjorie, I'll tell you. In the first place, you mustn't take it so seriously. Friendships among children are very apt to change when one moves away and another comes. Now both these little girls are your good friends, but it stands to reason that the one you're with every day should be nearer and dearer than one who lives thousands of miles away. So I want you to enjoy Delight's friendship, and consider her your dearest friend, if you choose, without feeling that you are disloyal to Gladys."

"Could I, Mother?"

"Certainly, dear. That is all quite right. Now, when Gladys comes, for a few days, you must devote yourself especially to her, as she will be your house-guest; and if she and Delight aren't entirely congenial, then you must exclude Delight while Gladys is here. You may not like to do this, and it may not be necessary, but if it is, then devote yourself to Gladys' pleasure and preferences, because it is your duty. To be a good hostess is an important lesson for any girl or woman to learn, and you are not too young to begin."

"Shall I tell Delight I'm going to do this?"

"Not before Gladys comes. They may admire each other immensely; then there will be no occasion to mention it. When is Gladys coming?"

"On Friday. That's only three days off."

"Then we must begin to plan a little for her pleasures. As she will only be here four days, we can't do very much. Suppose we have a little party Saturday afternoon, then she can meet all her Rockwell friends."

"Yes, that will be lovely. And I do hope she and Delight will like each other."

"Why of course they will, Midget. There's no reason why they shouldn't."



CHAPTER XIX

A VISIT FROM GLADYS

Gladys came Friday afternoon and Marjorie welcomed her with open arms, truly happy to see her friend again.

"Tell me all about your new home, Glad," said Midge, as the two settled themselves on either end of the sofa for a chat.

"Oh, it's just lovely, Mops. It's like summer all the time. And the flowers are in bloom all about, and the birds sing in the trees, and everybody wears white dresses and summer hats even in February."

"That is lovely. And is your father getting better?"

"Yes, some better. He just had to come to New York on some business, but the doctor said he must not stay but a few days. So we have to start back on Tuesday."

"It's a shame. I wish you could stay longer."

"So do I. But I'm glad to go back, too. I go to a lovely school there, and I know the nicest girls and boys."

"Nicer than Rockwell children?"

"Oh, I don't know. Yes, I guess so. My most intimate friend is a lovely girl. Her name is Florence Lawton. Isn't that a pretty name?"

"Why, Gladys Fulton! I'm your most intimate friend! Do you like her better than me?"

Gladys' eyes opened wide.

"Midget Maynard," she said, "what do you mean? Of course you were my best friend here, but when I'm out there don't you s'pose I've got to have somebody else to play with and to tell secrets to?"

Somehow this idea made Midget's heart lighter. It justified her in taking Delight as a chum in Gladys' place.

"Yes, of course," she responded. "Our letters don't seem to amount to much, do they, Glad?"

"No, I'm no good at all at writing letters. Don't you have any chum in my place, Mopsy?"

"Why, yes, I s'pose I do," said Marjorie, slowly, for it was just beginning to dawn on her that Delight had taken Gladys' place. "I'm awfully good friends with Delight Spencer, who lives in the house you used to live in."

"Delight! what a pretty name."

"Yes, and she's an awfully pretty girl. You'll see her while you're here, of course."

Very soon the first strangeness of the reunion was over, and the two were chatting away as gaily as if they had never been separated.

Then Delight came over. She had promised Marjorie she'd come over to see Gladys, but she came rather unwillingly. The truth is, she felt a little jealous of Marjorie's older friend, and was not prepared to like her.

Delight was dressed in some of her prettiest clothes, and the big black velvet hat on her fair golden hair made a lovely picture.

Gladys thought she was beautiful, and welcomed her warmly, but Delight, when introduced, seemed to shrink back into herself and sat stiffly on the edge of a chair, holding her muff and saying nothing.

"Oh, Delight," cried Midget, "don't act like that. Take off your things, and let's play."

"No, I can't stay but a few minutes," said Delight, primly.

She sat there, looking very uncomfortable, and though Midge and Gladys tried to make her more chummy, they didn't succeed.

Finally, Delight rose to go, and as Gladys didn't care much for such a spoil sport, she said nothing to detain her. Midget went to the door with her, and as Delight went out she turned to Midge, with her eyes full of tears, and said: "You like her better than you do me, so I'll go."

"Go on, then," said Marjorie, utterly exasperated by such foolishness, as she considered it.

"What ails her?" said Gladys, as Marjorie returned.

"Why, I suppose it's because you're here. She never acted that way before. You see, she's a spoiled child, and she always wants everything her own way. It's awfully funny, Gladys, but I thought maybe you wouldn't like her and here it's the other way about!"

"Oh, I like her, or at least I would if she'd let me. I think she's the prettiest girl I ever saw. Don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And she's awfully nice, too, if she didn't have this tantrum about you."

"Oh, well, she'll get over it," returned Gladys; "I shan't be here long, anyway."

The day after Gladys' arrival was the first Saturday in March.

First Saturdays were usually "Ourdays," when Mr. Maynard took a whole day from his business and devoted it to the entertainment of his children.

It was King's turn to choose how the day should be spent, but, as a party in honor of Gladys had been arranged for the afternoon, there was only the morning to choose for.

They were all discussing the matter the night before, and King kindly offered to give his turn to one of the girls, that they might choose something to please Gladys.

"No, indeed," said Midget. "We like boys' fun as well as girls' fun; so you choose ahead, King."

"All right, then. If you girls agree, I'd like to build a snow fort. This is a jolly deep snow, the best we've had this winter, and likely the last we'll have. Father's a jim dandy at snow games, and we could have an out-of-door frolic in the morning, and then Glad's party in the house in the afternoon."

"Goody! I say yes to that," cried Midget.

"I too," said Gladys. "We don't have any snow in California, and I don't know when I'll see any again."

"I'm satisfied," said Kitty, "can I ask Dorothy over?"

"Yes," said Mr. Maynard; "ask anybody you choose."

So next morning, soon after breakfast, the children put on all the warmest wraps they could find, and in tam o'shanter caps, tippets, mittens and leggings, started out for their Ourday fun.

The snow was more than a foot deep all over the great lawn, and Mr. Maynard selected a fine place for a fort. He taught the boys,—for King had asked Flip to come over,—how to cut and pack great blocks of solid snow, and the girls he showed how to make balls and cones for decoration.

Once Midget caught sight of Delight peeping across at them from behind a curtain. "I'm going over to ask her to come," she said; "I didn't ask her before, because I thought she wouldn't come. But, I believe she will."

So Midge scampered across the street and rang the Spencer's door bell.

"Won't you come over?" she said, as soon as she saw Delight. "It's an Ourday, and we're having such fun!"

"No, thank you," said Delight; "you don't need me when you have Gladys."

"Don't be silly!" said Midget. "What's the reason I can't play with you both? Come on."

"Oh, I don't want to come," said Delight pettishly. "Go on back."

So Marjorie went back, alone, walking slowly, for she couldn't understand Delight's behavior.

But once again in the fun of the snow play, she forgot all about her ill-natured little neighbor.

They built a grand fort, with a flag waving from its summit, and then with soft snowballs for ammunition, they chose sides and had the merriest kind of a battle. Afterward they built a snow man and a snow woman.

These were of heroic size, so big that Mr. Maynard had to climb a step-ladder to put their heads in place.

The man, according to the time-honored tradition of all snow men, wore a battered old high hat, and had a pipe in his mouth, while the old woman wore a sun bonnet and checked apron.

They were comical figures, indeed, and when they were completed it was time to go in to luncheon, and Dorothy and Flip scampered for their homes.

"Now, gentlemen of the jury," said Mr. Maynard, at the lunch table, "as we have still two good hours before it's time to array ourselves in purple and fine linen for the party, suppose we continue our outdoor sports and go for a sleigh ride? It's up to you, King."

"Fine!" agreed King. "If it suits the ladies of the castle."

"It do," said Kitty; "the ladies fair would fain go for a sleigh ride. May I ask Dorothy?"

"Not this time, Kittums," said her father. "I've ordered a big double sleigh, and we'll just fill it comfortably."

And so they did, with Mr. and Mrs. Maynard on the wide back seat and Rosy Posy between, them; Midget, Gladys, and Kitty facing them, and King up on the box with the driver.

A span of big powerful horses took them flying over the snow, and the crisp, keen air made their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright.

It was a fine sleigh ride, and the jingling bells made a merry accompaniment to the children's chatter and laughter.

"Ice cream, Kitty?" asked her father as they entered a small town, and drew up before the funny little inn that was its principal hostelry—

"No, sir!" said Kitty, whose teeth were chattering, "it's too cold!"

"Well, I never expected to live long enough to hear Kitty say no to ice cream!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard in surprise.

"It's a cold day when that happens, isn't it Kit?" asked her father. "Well, jump out then, and stamp your toes, and thaw your ears."