Marjorie at Seacote | Page 4

rapidly disappeared.
"Now, we'll have an entertainment," said King as, after dinner, they all
went back to the pleasant living-room. "As Kitty is the chief pebble on
the beach this evening, she shall choose what sort of an entertainment.
Games, or what?"
"No, just a real entertainment," said Kitty; "a programme one, you
know. Each one must sing a song or speak a piece, or something like
that. I'll be the audience, and you can all be performers."
"All right," said King; "I'll be master of ceremonies. I'll make up the
programme as I go along. Ladies and gentlemen, our first number will
be a speech by the Honorable Edward Maynard. Mr. Maynard will
please step forward."
Mr. Maynard stepped. Assuming a pompous air, he made a low bow,
first to Kitty, and then to the others.
"My dear friends," he said, "we are gathered here together this evening

to extend our farewells and our hearty good wishes to the lady about to
leave us. Sister, thou art mild and lovely, and we hate to see thee go;
but the best of friends must sever, and you'll soon come back, you
know. Listen now to our advices. Kitty, dear, for pity's sake, do not
tumble in the river,--do not tumble in the lake. Many more things I
could tell you as I talk in lovely rhyme, but I think it is my duty to let
others share the time."
Mr. Maynard sat down amid great applause, and Kitty said, earnestly,
"You are a lovely poet, Father. I wish you'd give up your other business,
and just write books of poetry."
"I'm afraid, Kitsie, we wouldn't have enough money for pink ice-cream
in that case," said Mr. Maynard, laughing.
"The next performeress will be Mrs. Maynard," announced the master
of ceremonies.
Mother Maynard rose, smiling, and with all the airs and graces of a
prima donna, went to the piano. Striking a few preliminary chords, she
began to sing:
"Good-bye, Kitty; good-bye, Kitty; good-bye, Kitty, You're going to
leave us now. Merrily we say good-bye, Say good-bye, say good-bye;
Merrily we say good-bye To sister Kitty-Kit."
This had a pleasant jingle, and was repeated by the whole assembly
with fine effect and a large volume of noise.
"Miss Marjorie Maynard will now favor us," was the next
announcement.
"This is a poem I made up myself," said Midget, modestly, "and I think
it's very nice:
"When Kitty goes to Grandma's I hope she will be good; And be a
lady-girl and do Exactly as she should. 'Cause when I go to Grandma's,
I act exceeding bad; I track up 'Liza's nice clean floor, And make her

hopping mad!"
Marjorie's poem was applauded with cheers, as they all recognized its
inherent truth.
"We next come to Miss Rosamond Maynard," King went on, "but as
she has fallen asleep, I will ask that the audience kindly excuse her."
The audience kindly did so, and as it was getting near everybody's
bedtime,--at least, for children,--the whole quartette was started
bedward, and went away singing:
"Good-bye, Kitty, you're going to leave us now"--

CHAPTER II
TOM, DICK, AND HARRY
"Jumping Grasshoppers! What a dandy house!"
The Maynards' motor swung into the driveway of a large and pleasant
looking place, whose lawn showed some sand spots here and there, and
whose trees were tall pines, but whose whole effect was delightfully
breezy and seashorey.
"Oh, grandiferous!" cried Marjorie, echoing her brother's enthusiastic
tones, and standing up in the car, better to see their new home.
Seacote, the place chosen by Mr. Maynard for his family's summering,
was on the southern shore of Long Island, not very far from Rockaway
Beach. It was a sort of park or reservation in which building was under
certain restrictions, and so it was made up of pleasant homes filled with
pleasant people.
Fortunately, Mr. Maynard had been able to rent the bungalow he
wanted, and it was this picturesque domicile that so roused King's

admiration.
The house was long and low, and surrounded by verandas, some of
which were screened by vines, and others shaded by striped awnings.
But what most delighted the children was the fact that the ocean rolled
its crested breakers up to their very door. Not literally to the door, for
the road ran between the sea and the house, and a boardwalk was
between the road and the sea. But not fifty feet from their front
windows the shining waves were even now dashing madly toward them
as if in tumultuous welcome.
The servants were already installed, and the open doors seemed to
invite the family to come in and make themselves at home.
"Let's go straight bang through the whole house," said King, "and then
outdoors afterward."
"All right," agreed Marjorie, and in their usual impetuous