Marjorie's Busy Days Part 3

"You wade over, and carry this lady," said King, pointing to Kitty, "and the rest of us will swim."

"Thot's a foine plan; come along, miss;" and in a moment Kitty was swung up to the brave rescuer's shoulder, while King and Midget were already "swimming" across the gra.s.s to the rescue ship.

All clambered into the wagon, and the butcher drove them in triumph to the back door. Here they jumped out, and, after thanking their kind rescuer, they scampered into the house.

"Such a fun!" said Rosy Posy, as her mother bathed her heated little face. "Us was all shipperecked, an' I was Buffaro Bill, an' Boffin was my big wild bear!"

"You two are sights!" said Mrs. Maynard; laughing as she looked at the muddied, gra.s.s-stained, and torn condition of Kingdon and Marjorie. "I'm glad you had your play-clothes on, but I don't see why you always have to have such rough-and-tumble plays."

"'Cause we're a rough-and-tumble pair, Mothery," said King; "look at Kitty there! she kept herself almost spick and span."

"Well, I'm glad I have all sorts of children," said Mrs. Maynard. "Go and get into clean clothes, and be ready for luncheon promptly on time.

I'm expecting Miss Larkin."

"Larky! Oh!" groaned Kingdon. "I say, Mothery, can't we--us children, I mean--have lunch in the playroom?" He had sidled up to his mother and was caressing her cheek with his far-from-clean little hands.

"No," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling as she kissed the brown fingers, "no, my boy, I want all my olive-branches at my table to-day. So, run along now and get civilized."

"Come on, Mops," said Kingdon, in a despairing tone, and, with their arms about each other, the two dawdled away.

Kitty had already gone to Nurse to be freshened up. Kitty loved company, and was always ready to put on her best manners.

But King and Midget had so much talking to do, and so many plans to make, that they disliked the restraint that company necessarily put upon their own conversation.

"I do detest old Larky," said the boy, as they went away.

"I don't mind 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, a.s.suming a valiant att.i.tude, 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.