Marjories Busy Days | Page 6

her so much," said Marjorie, "except when she asks me
questions."
"She's always doing that."
"Yes, I know it. But I promised Mother I'd be extra good to-day, and
try to talk politely to her. Of course, I can do it if I try."
"So can I," said King, with an air of pride in his own powers. "All right,
Mops, let's be 'specially 'stremely good and treat Miss Larkin just
lovely."
Nearly an hour later the four shipwrecked unfortunates, now
transformed into clean, well-dressed civilians, were grouped in the
library to await Miss Larkin's arrival.
The lady was an old friend of Mrs. Maynard's, and though by no means
elderly, was yet far from being as young as she tried to look and act.
She came tripping in, and after greeting her hostess effusively, she
turned to the children.
"My, my!" she said. "What a group of little dears! How you have
grown,--every one of you. Kingdon, my dear boy, would you like to
kiss me?"
The request was far from acceptable to King, but the simper that
accompanied it so repelled him that he almost forgot his determination
to be very cordial to the unwelcome guest. But Midge gave him a
warning pinch on his arm, and with an unintelligible murmur of
consent, he put up his cheek for the lady's salute.
"Oh, what a dear boy!" she gurgled. "I really think I shall have to take
you home with me! And, now, here's Marjorie. How are you, my dear?

Do you go to school now? And what are you learning?"
Miss Larkin's questions always irritated Marjorie, but she answered
politely, and then stepped aside in Kitty's favor.
"Sweet little Katharine," said the visitor. "You are really an angel child.
With your golden hair and blue eyes, you're a perfect cherub; isn't she,
Mrs. Maynard?"
"She's a dear little girl," said her mother, smiling, "but not always
angelic. Here's our baby, our Rosamond."
"No, I'se Buffaro Bill!" declared Rosy Posy, assuming a valiant attitude,
quite out of keeping with her smiling baby face and chubby body.
"Oh, what delicious children! Dear Mrs. Maynard, how good of you to
let me come to see them."
As Miss Larkin always invited herself, this speech was literally true,
but as she and Mrs. Maynard had been schoolmates long ago, the latter
felt it her duty to give her friend such pleasure as she could.
At the luncheon table, Miss Larkin kept up a running fire of questions.
This, she seemed to think, was the only way to entertain children.
"Do you like to read?" she asked of Marjorie.
"Yes, indeed," said Midget, politely.
"And what books do you like best?"
"Fairy stories," said Marjorie, promptly.
"Oh, tut, tut!" and Miss Larkin shook a playful finger. "You should like
history. Shouldn't she, now?" she asked, appealing to Kingdon.
"We like history, too," said Kingdon. "At least, we like it some; but we
both like fairy stories better."

"Ah, well, children will be children. Do you like summer or winter
best?"
This was a poser. It had never occurred to Marjorie to think which she
liked best.
"I like them both alike," she said, truthfully.
"Oh, come now; children should have some mind of their own! Little
Miss Kitty, I'm sure you know whether you like summer or winter
best."
Kitty considered.
"I like winter best for Christmas, and summer for Fourth of July," she
said at last, with the air of one settling a weighty matter.
But Miss Larkin really cared nothing to know about these things; it was
only her idea of making herself entertaining to her young audience.
"And you, Baby Rosamond," she went on, "what do you like best in all
the world?"
"Boffin," was the ready reply, "an' Buffaro Bill, 'cause I'm it."
They all laughed at this, for in the Maynard family Rosy Posy's high
estimation of herself was well known.
Although it seemed as if it never would, the luncheon at last came to an
end.
Mrs. Maynard told the children they might be excused, and she and
Miss Larkin would chat by themselves.
Decorously enough, the four left the room, but once outside the house,
King gave a wild whoop of joy and turned a double somersault.
Midget threw herself down on a veranda-seat, but with a beaming face,
she said:

"Well, we behaved all right, anyway; but I was 'most afraid I'd be saucy
to her one time. It's such a temptation, when people talk like that."
"She talked all the time," said Kitty. "I don't see when she ate
anything."
"She didn't," said King. "I suppose she'd rather talk than eat. She's not a
bit like us."
"No," said Marjorie, emphatically, "she's not a bit like us!"
CHAPTER III
PICNIC PLANS
One entire day out of