Marjories Busy Days | Page 9

needn't bother to take
trees to swing it from."
"No, we'll take the chance of finding some there."
"Yes, doubtless somebody will have left them from the last picnic.
Your young friends are going?"
"Yes," said Marjorie. "King and I asked the two Fultons, and Kitty
asked Dorothy Adams. With all of us, and Nurse Nannie, that makes
just ten."
"And the driver of the wagon makes eleven," said Mr. Maynard. "I
suppose we've enough rations for such an army?"
"Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling. "Enough for twenty, I think,
but it's well to be on the safe side."
The children went to bed rather earlier than usual, in order to be up
bright and early for the picnic.
Their play-clothes, which were invariably of blue and white striped
seersucker, were laid out in readiness, and they fell asleep wishing it
were already morning.
But when the morning did come!
Marjorie wakened first, and before she opened her eyes she heard an
ominous sound that sent a thrill of dismay to her heart.
She sprang out of bed, and ran to the window.
Yes, it was not only raining, it was simply pouring.

One of those steady, determined storms that show no sign of speedy
clearing. The sky was dark, leaden gray, and the rain came down in
what seemed to be a thick, solid volume of water.
"Oh!" said Marjorie, with a groan of disappointment from her very
heart.
"Kitty," she said, softly, wondering if her sister were awake.
The girls had two beds on either side of a large room, and Midget
tiptoed across the floor, as she spoke. Kitty opened her eyes sleepily.
"What is it, Midget? Time to get up? Oh, it's picnic day!"
As Kitty became broad awake, she smiled and gaily hopped out of bed.
"What's the matter?" she said, in alarm, for Marjorie's face was
anything but smiling.
For answer, Midget pointed out of the window, toward which Kitty
turned for the first time.
"Oh!" said she, dropping back on the edge of the bed.
And, indeed, there seemed to be nothing else to say. Both girls were so
overwhelmed with disappointment that they could only look at each
other with despondent faces.
Silently they began to draw on their stockings and shoes, and though
determined they wouldn't do anything so babyish as to cry, yet it was
no easy matter to keep the tears back.
"Up yet, chickabiddies?" called Mr. Maynard's cheery voice through
the closed door.
"Yes, sir," responded two doleful voices.
"Then skip along downstairs as soon as you're ready; it's a lovely day
for our picnic."

Midge and Kitty looked at each other. This seemed a heartless jest
indeed! And it wasn't a bit like their father to tease them when they
were in trouble. And real trouble this surely was!
They heard Mr. Maynard tap at King's door, and call out some gay
greeting to him, and then they heard King splashing about, as if making
his toilet in a great hurry. All this spurred the girls to dress more
quickly, and it was not long before they were tying each other's
hair-ribbons and buttoning each other's frocks.
Then they fairly ran downstairs, and, seeing Mr. Maynard standing by
the dining-room window, they both threw themselves into his arms,
crying out, "Oh, Father, isn't it too bad?"
"What?" asked Mr. Maynard, quizzically.
"Now, Daddy," said Midget, "don't tease. Our hearts are all broken
because it's raining, and we can't have our picnic."
"Can't have our picnic!" exclaimed Mr. Maynard, in apparent
excitement. "Can't have our picnic, indeed! Who says we can't?"
"I say so!" exclaimed Kingdon, who had just entered the room.
"Nobody but ducks can have a picnic to-day."
"Oh, well," said Mr. Maynard, looking crestfallen, "if King says so that
settles it. I think it's a beautiful picnic day, but far be it from me to
obtrude my own opinions."
Just here Mrs. Maynard and Rosy Posy came in. They were both
smiling, and though no one expected the baby to take the
disappointment very seriously, yet it did seem as if Mother might have
been more sympathetic.
"I suppose we can eat the ice-cream in the house," said Marjorie, who
was inclined to look on the bright side if she could possibly find one.
"That's the way to talk!" said her father, approvingly. "Now you try,

Kingdon, to meet the situation as it should be met."
"I will, sir. I'm just as disappointed as I can be, but I suppose there's no
use crying over spilt milk,--I mean spilt raindrops."
"That's good philosophy, my boy. Now, Kitty, what have you to say by
way of cheering us all up?"
"I can't see much fun in a day like this. But I hope we can have the
picnic