Marjorie's Busy Days Part 5

"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 Mediaevals."

"Well, I don't care," said Midget, happily; "we'll have a lovely time, whatever we play. I'm going over to ask Gladys now. May I, Mother?"

"Yes, Midget, run along. Tell Mrs. Fulton that Father and I are going, and that we'd be glad to take Gladys and d.i.c.k."

Away skipped Marjorie, hatless and coatless, for it was a warm day, and Gladys lived only across the street.

"It's so nice to have you back again, Mopsy," said Gladys, after the invitation had been given and accepted. "I was awful lonesome for you all summer."

"I missed you, too; but I did have a lovely time. Oh, Gladys, I wish you could see my tree-house at Grandma's! Breezy Inn, its name is, and we had _such_ fun in it."

"Why don't you have one here? Won't your father make one for you?"

"I don't know. Yes, I suppose he would. But it wouldn't seem the same.

It just _belongs_ at Grandma's. And, anyway, I'm busy all the time here.

There's so much to do. We play a lot, you know. And then I have my practising every day, and, oh dear, week after next school will begin. I just hate school, don't you, Gladys?"

"No, I love it; you know I do."

"Well, I don't. I don't mind the lessons, but I hate to sit cooped up at a desk all day. I wish they'd have schools out of doors."

"Yes, I'd like that, too. I wonder if we can sit together, this year, Mops?"

"Oh, I hope so. Let's ask Miss Lawrence that, the very first thing. Why, I'd die if I had to sit with any one but you."

"So would I. But I'm sure Miss Lawrence will let us be together."

Gladys was a pretty little girl, though not at all like Marjorie. She was about the same age, but smaller, and with light hair and blue eyes.

She was more sedate than Midget, and more quiet in her ways, but she had the same love of fun and mischief, and more than once the two girls had been separated in the schoolroom because of the pranks they concocted when together.

Miss Lawrence, their teacher, was a gentle and long-suffering lady, and she loved both little girls, but she was sometimes at her wits' end to know how to tame their rollicking spirits.

Gladys was as pleased as Marjorie at the prospect of the picnic. Often the Maynard children had their Ourdays without inviting other guests, but when outsiders were invited they always remembered the happy occasions.

All through the week preparations went on, and on Friday Ellen, the cook, gave up most of the day to the making of cakes and tarts and jellies. The next morning she was to get up early to fry the chicken and prepare the devilled eggs.

Mr. Maynard brought home candies and fruit from the city, and a huge can of ice-cream was ordered from the caterer.

The start was to be made at nine o'clock Sat.u.r.day morning, for it was a long drive, and everybody wanted a long day in the woods.

Friday evening was fair, with a beautiful sunset, and everything boded well for beautiful weather the next day.

Rosy Posy, after her bread-and-milk supper, went happily off to bed, and dropped to sleep while telling her beloved Boffin of the fun to come.

The other children dined with their parents, and the conversation was exclusively on the one great subject.

"I don't think it _could_ rain; do you, Father?" said Kitty, looking over her shoulder, at the fading sunset tints.

"I think it _could_, my dear, but I don't think it will. All signs point to fair weather, and I truly believe we'll have a perfect Ourday and a jolly good time."

"We always do," said Midge, happily. "I wonder why all fathers don't have Ourdays with their children. Gladys' father never gets home till seven o'clock, and she has to go to bed at eight, so she hardly sees him at all, except Sundays, and of course they can't play on Sundays."

"They must meet as strangers," said Mr. Maynard. "I think our plan is better. I like to feel chummy with my own family, and the only way to do it is to keep acquainted with each other. I wish I could have a whole day with you every week, instead of only every month."

"Can't you, Father?" said Kitty, wistfully.

"No, daughter. I have too much business to attend to, to allow me a holiday every week. But perhaps some day I can manage it. Are you taking a hammock to-morrow, King?"

"Yes, sir. I thought Mother might like an afternoon nap, and Rosy Posy always goes to sleep in the morning."

"Thoughtful boy. Take plenty of rope, but you 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.