Marjories Busy Days | Page 7

each month Mr. Maynard devoted to the
entertainment of his children.
This was a long-established custom, and the children looked forward
eagerly to what they called an Ourday.
The day chosen was always a Saturday, and usually the first Saturday
of the month, though this was subject to the convenience of the elders.
The children were allowed to choose in turn what the entertainment
should be, and if possible their wishes were complied with.
As there had been so much bustle and confusion consequent upon their
return from the summer vacation, the September "Ourday" did not
occur until the second Saturday.
It was Marjorie's turn to choose the sport, for, as she had been away at
Grandma Sherwood's all summer, she had missed three Ourdays.
So one morning, early in the week, the matter was discussed at the
breakfast table.
"What shall it be, Midget?" asked her father. "A balloon trip, or an
Arctic expedition?"

Marjorie considered.
"I want something outdoorsy," she said, at last, "and I think I'd like a
picnic best. A real picnic in the woods, with lunch-baskets, and a fire,
and roasted potatoes."
"That sounds all right to me," said Mr. Maynard; "do you want a lot of
people, or just ourselves?"
It was at the children's pleasure on Ourdays to invite their young
friends or to have only the family, as they chose. Sometimes, even, Mrs.
Maynard did not go with them, and Mr. Maynard took his young brood
off for a ramble in the woods, or a day at the seashore or in the city. He
often declared that but for this plan he would never feel really
acquainted with his own children.
"I don't want a lot of people," said Marjorie, decidedly; "but suppose
we each invite one. That makes a good-sized picnic."
As it was Marjorie's Ourday, her word was law, and the others gladly
agreed.
"I'll ask Dick Fulton," said Kingdon. "I haven't seen much of him since
I came home."
"And I'll ask Gladys Fulton, of course," said Midget. As Gladys was
her most intimate friend in Rockwell, no one was surprised at this.
"I'll ask Dorothy Adams," said Kitty; but Rosy Posy announced: "I
won't ask nobody but Boffin. He's the nicest person I know, an' him an'
me can walk with Daddy."
"Next, where shall the picnic be?" went on Mr. Maynard.
"I don't know whether I like Pike's Woods best, or the Mill Race," said
Marjorie, uncertainly.
"Oh, choose Pike's Woods, Mops," put in Kingdon. "It's lovely there,
now, and it's a lot better place to build a fire and all that."

"All right, Father; I choose Pike's Woods. But it's too far to walk."
"Of course it is, Mopsy. We'll have a big wagon that will hold us all.
You may invite your friends, and I'll invite a comrade of my own. Will
you go, Mrs. Maynard?"
"I will, with pleasure. I adore picnics, and this bids fair to be a
delightful one. May I assist you in planning the feast?"
"Indeed you may," said Midget, smiling at her mother. "But we can
choose, can't we?"
"Of course, choose ahead."
"Ice-cream," said Marjorie, promptly.
"Little lemon tarts," said Kitty.
"Candy," said Rosy Posy.
"Cold chicken," said Kingdon.
"That's a fine bill of fare," said Mr. Maynard, "but I'll add sandwiches
and lemonade as my suggestions, and anything we've omitted, I'm sure
will get into the baskets somehow."
"Oh, won't it be lovely!" exclaimed Marjorie. "I haven't been on a
picnic with our own family for so long. We had picnics at Grandma's,
but nothing is as much fun as an Ourday."
"Let's take the camera," said Kingdon, "and get some snapshots."
"Yes, and let's take fishlines, and fish in the brook," said Kitty.
"All right, chickabiddies; we'll have a roomy wagon to travel in, so take
whatever you like. And now I must be off. Little Mother, you'll make a
list to-day, won't you, of such things as I am to get for this frolic?"
"Candy," repeated Rosy Posy; "don't fordet that."

As the baby was not allowed much candy, she always chose it for her
Ourday treat.
Mr. Maynard went away to his business, and the others remained at the
breakfast table, talking over the coming pleasure.
"We'll have a great time!" said Kingdon. "We'll make father play
Indians and shipwreck and everything."
"Don't make me play Indians!" exclaimed his mother, in mock dismay.
"No, indeedy! You couldn't be an Indian. You're too white-folksy. But
you can be a Captive Princess."
"Yes!" cried Marjorie; "in chains and shut up in a dungeon."
"No, no," screamed Rosy Posy; "my muvver not be shutted up in
dunjin!"
"No, she shan't, Baby," said her brother, comfortingly; "and, anyway,
Mops, Indians don't put people in dungeons, you're thinking of
Mediævals."
"Well, I