Marjories Vacation | Page 8

vine which was trained along the wall. The fourth side was
almost empty, and Marjorie knew at once that it was left so in order
that she might have a place for such treasured belongings as she had
brought with her.
"Well!" she exclaimed, although there was no one there to hear her.
"Well, if this isn't the best ever!" She stood in the middle of the room,
and turned slowly round and round, taking in by degrees the
furnishings and adornment. All of the furniture was new, and the brass
bed and dainty dressing-table seemed to Marjorie quite fit for any
princess.
"Well!" she exclaimed again, and as she turned around this time she
saw the older people watching her from the hall.
"Oh, Grandma Sherwood!" she cried, and running to the old lady,
proceeded to hug her in a way that was more affectionate than
comfortable.
"Do you like it?" asked Grandma, when she could catch her breath.
"Like it! It's the most beautiful, loveliest, sweetest room in the whole
world! I love it! Did you do it all for me, Grandma?"
"Yes, Midget; that is, I fixed up the room, but for the shelf you must
thank Uncle Steve. That is his idea entirely, and he superintended its
putting up. You're to use it this year, and next year Kitty can have her
dolls and toys on it, and then the year after, King can use it for his
fishing-tackle and boyish traps. Though I suppose by that time
Rosamond will be old enough to take her turn."
"Then I can't come again for four years," exclaimed Marjorie, with an
expression of consternation on her face.

"Not unless you come two at a time," said Grandma; "and I doubt if
your mother would consent to that."
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Maynard; "it's hard enough to lose one of the
flock, without losing two."
"Well, I'll have a good time with it this summer, anyway," said
Marjorie; "can't we unpack my trunk now, Mother, so I can put my
pearl pen in my desk; and my clock, that Rosy Posy gave me, on the
shelf; and hang up my bird picture on the wall?"
"Not just now," said her mother, "for it is nearly supper time, and you
must transform yourself from a wild maid of the woods into a decorous
little lady."
The transformation was accomplished, and it was not very long before
a very neat and tidy Marjorie walked sedately downstairs to the
dining-room. Her white dress was immaculate; a big white bow held
the dark curls in place, and only the dancing eyes betrayed the fact that
it was an effort to behave so demurely.
"Well, Midget," said Uncle Steve, as they were seated at the supper
table, "does the old place look the same?"
"No, indeed, Uncle; there are lots of changes, but best of all is my
beauty room. I never saw anything so lovely; I just want to stay up
there all the time."
"I thought you'd like that shelf. Now you have room for all the
thousand and one bits of rubbish that you accumulate through the
summer."
"'Tisn't rubbish!" exclaimed Marjorie, indignantly; "it's dear little birds'
nests, and queer kinds of rocks, and branches of strange trees and
grasses and things."
"Well, I only meant it sounds to me like rubbish," said Uncle Steve,
who loved to tease her about her enthusiasms.

But she only smiled good-naturedly, for she well knew that Uncle
Steve was the very one who would take her for long walks in the woods,
on purpose to gather this very "rubbish."
The next day Marjorie was up bright and early, quite ready for any
pleasure that might offer itself.
Her mother went back home that day, and though Marjorie felt a little
sad at parting, yet, after all, Grandma Sherwood's house was like a
second home, and there was too much novelty and entertainment all
about to allow time for feeling sad.
Moreover, Marjorie was of a merry, happy disposition. It was natural to
her to make the best of everything, and even had she had reasons for
being truly miserable, she would have tried to be happy in spite of
them.
So she bade her mother good-by, and sent loving messages to all at
home, and promised to write often.
"Remember," said her mother, as a parting injunction, "to read every
morning the list I gave you, which includes all my commands for the
summer. When I see you again I shall expect you to tell me that you
obeyed them all."
"I will try," said Marjorie; "but if it is a long list I may forget some of
them sometimes. You know, Mother, I AM forgetful."
"You are, indeed," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling; "but if you'll