Marjories Busy Days | Page 6

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 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