“As for Polly Wiggles, her knees felt like bits of tissue paper as

she walked forward to the platform steps, until, like beacon-lights,

she saw Jeannette’s happy smile and Marion’s beaming face, followed

by their quick look of surprise as they spied the flag that stood out

in bold relief against the back of her white dress. Their puzzled

expression and the buzz of astonishment that swept over the room acted

as a bracing tonic to her nervous embarrassment, and, tossing her

heavy black curls, she gave the school such a mischievous glance that

Gabriel the irrepressible bobbed up in his seat to give three cheers

for “Queen Polly Wiggles,” which every one echoed with a will; that

is, all but Jane Juggins, who laughed disagreeably. Then, lowering her

voice, she whispered to Kitty Lane who sat next to her, “Whoever chose

that little Gypsy tomboy for a Queen? Why, she’s a fright.”

“Well, I think she’s lovely,” returned Kitty with spirit. “She’s as

nice as can be, and I voted for her, and evidently lots of others did,

too.”

No one was more delighted at the outcome of the election than Miss

Helen. Polly Wiggles was a great favorite with all the teachers, for

she was so natural that she chattered away as easily when talking to

them, as she did with her best friends, and they all rejoiced at her

good fortune. Nevertheless, popular opinion had been that an older girl

would receive the honors, so Miss Helen welcomed her with delight.

There was a little stir of interest as Miss Mason rose to her feet,

and made a little announcement that was not on the program. “I just

wanted to explain that our May Queen has unexpectedly been decorated

ahead of time by our school artist,” she told the interested audience,

while Allan did his best to disappear from the laughing looks thrown

in his direction. But he was made more miserable than ever, and wished

the ground would open and swallow him, when Miss Helen rose to announce

that “Allan Harrison had been chosen May King.”

“Both King and Queen from our room,” whispered Alice rapturously; “O

goody!”

“Pooh, I knew Polly Wiggles would be Queen,” crowed Gabriel

triumphantly, standing up in his excitement and giving Allan a push

that sent him out in the aisle more suddenly than he expected.

“Kitty Lane was second choice for Queen, and Richard Gerard for King,”

announced Miss Helen, stepping forward to congratulate Elizabeth and

Allan, and to offer them seats on the platform.

“Now, Queen Elizabeth, will you please announce the names of your Maids

of Honor?”

Polly Wiggles arose in blushing confusion, and took a graceful step

forward.

“I--I thank you for choosing me Queen,” she began, smiling at the many

friends who were rejoicing with her; “and I choose for my Maids of

Honor, Jeannette Eaton, Marion West, Alice Maxfield, and Kitty Lane”

she finished, feeling it would be courteous to include the little girl

who had been second choice for Queen, and whom she liked very much.

Then the four fortunate Maids had to walk forward to be inspected by

the school and receive their share of applause, while the Queen laughed

till deep dimples showed in each cheek and every curl on her head

danced with excitement.

It really seemed a dream to Polly Wiggles. Never in her wildest

day-dreams had she thought to be the fortunate girl selected as Queen

of the May. “Won’t Mother and Daddy be s’prised?” she whispered to

Jeannette, who had been given a seat next to her sister. “And won’t it

be fun for us to march first in the parade?”

Jeannette gave her sister’s hand an ecstatic squeeze. As for Marion

and Alice, they were nearly overcome by the unexpected honor, as they

afterward explained.

“Now, King Allan, call forth your three Courtiers, and your Herald,”

prompted Miss Helen to the abashed King, who was greatly regretting

his unruly paint-brush, and hoping he would not have to forfeit his

newly-won crown because of his mischievous prank.

“I proclaim Gabriel LeClare as my Herald, and name Dick and Billy

Gerard and Hugh West as my Courtiers,” announced Allan in tones that

could be heard all over the auditorium.

“Isn’t that lovely?” whispered Jeannette. “We are all such good friends

that we’ll have a lovely time. Oh, Wiggles, aren’t you happy?”

“Happy” was not a forceful-enough word for what Polly Wiggles felt, she

was sure. She was quite positive that never again would she feel such a

tingle of rapture as that which thrilled her through and through when

her name was read aloud.

School came to an end at last. Back in the classroom, a disconsolate

King and Herald looked longingly out of the window at the merry,

laughing groups that surrounded the popular Queen, her attendants,

and the Courtiers as well. It was hard to miss all the fun on the big

day of days, and Allan resolutely decided to control his paint-brush,

while Gabriel sadly vowed not to take any more snakes to school, in the

lonely hour that followed.

As for the rest of the May Day attendants, they raced after a panting,

disheveled Queen, down the road that led toward The Lilacs, as fast as

they could follow her twinkling white-shod feet.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CUBBY GOES VISITING

Jeannette tiptoed down the staircase with bated breath, and out into

the pantry, where Hannah was making butter-balls for dinner.

“We’re nearly ready to leave, Hannah,” she whispered, closing the

pantry door behind her, and watching the swiftly-moving butter-paddles

with interest. “Cubby is in bed for her nap, and sound asleep. Isn’t

that lucky? Do let me roll a butter-ball.”

“Now, Miss Jet, you’ll get your pretty dress all greasy,” objected

Hannah anxiously, eyeing the red swiss dress with its narrow

black-velvet trimming, and the scarlet straw hat laden with

red-and-black cherries, approvingly. “There goes a piece on your black

silk sock now!”

“No, it didn’t; it went on my slipper,” returned Jeannette thankfully,

“and it will rub right off the patent leather. But I guess maybe I’d

better not try to do it now, ’cause after we do our shopping, we’re

all going over to call on Mrs. MacAllister at White Birches, and so I

mustn’t get mussed.”

“’Pears to me you’re home from school mighty early,” remarked Hannah,

clearing a place for Jeannette to sit down while she waited for the

others, and peeping in at the kitchen clock.

“Oh, Elizabeth and I were excused at one o’clock,” Jeannette explained

happily, “’cause we’re going into town with Mother, Grandma, and Aunt

Elsie, to get the materials for Elizabeth’s May-Queen dress, and the

Maids-of-Honor dresses, too. Won’t it be fun? I think it was perfectly

lovely that Wiggles got the most votes, and I’m so excited it seems as

if I could hardly wait till May Day. I wish Marion, Alice, and Kitty

could have gone with us to-day, but Miss Helen said she couldn’t excuse

so many, so they asked us to get whatever we thought best. Mother and

Grandma will decide. It won’t take us very long. Then we’re going to

stop and call on Mrs. MacAllister on the way back, and that’s why we

want to go while Cubby is asleep, ’cause she’ll cry and cry if she

can’t go calling with us to see the white pony, and Mother says she’s

too little.”

“Dat chile knows you-all are going, jest the same,” put in Hannah

wisely, rolling the butter with experienced hands. “’Cause yesterday

she came down to the kitchen and done tole Mandy that some day soon she

was going over to call on dat white pony and de white dog. She’s jest

plumb crazy over them.”

The pantry door opened a crack.

“She’s going to be terribly disappointed,” sighed Polly Wiggles sadly,

cautiously edging through the narrow space. “I do hope she’ll take a

long, long nap, ’cause if she finds us all gone when she wakes up,

she’ll guess where we are right away, and be heartbroken. She heard

Grandma say that Mrs. MacAllister had asked us all to come over. She’s

teased and teased to go with us ever since, and, though Mother said

‘no,’ she’s been playing ‘lady-going-visiting’ ever since. Mother

promised to take her over the _next_ time she went, but that didn’t

seem to satisfy her a bit. I never saw her so possessed to go anywhere

before, did you, Jet?”

Hannah laid down her paddles long enough to inspect Polly Wiggles from

head to foot.

“You both suah looks like red robins to-day, ’pears to me,” she said,

smiling broadly. “Dat white swiss o’ Miss Elizabeth’s all sprinkled

ovah with red dots, and trimmed with dat narrow red-velvet ribbon, and

those bobbin’ red cherries on dat scrumptious white straw hat looks

good enough to eat. Ah don’t know which dress is prettiest--Ah declare

Ah don’t.”

Wiggles placed one white-shod foot on the edge of Jeannette’s chair,

and sprang nimbly up beside the butter-crock, despite Hannah’s ohs and

ahs of protest,--where she sat swinging her red pocketbook to and fro.

“You know--,” she began, but was interrupted as the pantry door opened

the third time, to admit Mrs. Eaton.

“Run along, children,” she told them, stopping to adjust the narrow

red-velvet streamers on Elizabeth’s saucy hat. “Grandma and Aunt

Elsie are already in the car, and we want to get off as quietly as

possible. Cubby is sleeping nicely, Hannah, and if you peep in at her

occasionally, it will be all right to finish your work down here first.

If she wakes, let her play in the Forget-me-not room so she won’t see

us when we stop at White Birches. She’ll be heartbroken if she sees us

all go and she has to stay home. I wish it wasn’t Mandy’s day out, but

we had to go when the children could be excused from school.”

Cubby had been suspicious all morning. She smelled excitement in the

air, and had only gone to bed under strong urging, but, though the

girls subdued their giggles, the closing of the car-door wakened her,

and she lifted her head to listen. But she screwed her eyelids tight

together and was apparently sleeping soundly when Hannah poked an

inquiring head in the “Nest,” to gaze at her. Though her eyes were

closed, Cubby’s mind was working busily, putting two and two together,

and as soon as Hannah had departed kitchenward, up she sprang, to run

from one bedroom to the other, her bare feet making no noise on the

soft rugs.

“Gone,” said she, her lips quivering. “Gone,--to call on the white

pony,--and they didn’t take me.” Two large tears brimmed in the big

eyes and slid slowly down the rosy cheeks, for the disappointment was

keen.

“That boy’s muvver,” she continued, meaning Mrs. MacAllister, “told my

own Mayma to bring all the gur-rls over to see her. She didn’t say,

‘Bring Jet and Wiggles and leave Cubby home.’ No, indeed, she said

‘_all_,’ and ‘all’ means me, too.”

A quick rummaging through her sisters’ closet revealed still another

fact,--their new swiss dresses and pretty cherry-trimmed hats were

gone. Her tears changed to anger.

“They’ve gone all dessed up in their bestest desses and wed cherry

hats,” said she, with curling lip and flashing eyes, “and left me home

all by self--in a nightgown. Guess I’ll dess up and go call on the

pony, too, before they get there.”

Peeping out of the window in the Daisy room, she spied the white collie

strolling across the green lawn opposite, and the sight rekindled her

determination.

“Maybe that boy’s muvver thinks I’m an itty bitty baby ’bout so long,”

she fumed, measuring off a scant six inches with her hands. “Maybe she

thinks I wear long desses and sleep in a crib. I’ll show her I’m just

as big a gur-rl as Jet and Wiggles, ’cause I sleep in a real bed, and I

know how to go a-calling, too. All you have to do is to take a ticket

and leave it at the door, and then they will let you go in. Maybe Jet

and Wiggles didn’t ’member to take tickets.”

That idea was a pleasing one. In her mind’s eye she saw Jet and Polly

Wiggles, all dressed up in their dainty frocks, appearing at the door

of White Birches without calling-cards,--or tickets, as she called

them,--and being waved away, while she herself presented the maid with

a magic bit of pasteboard, and in a grown-up manner walked in under her

sisters’ astonished stares.

But what should she wear? Her own frocks were discarded after one

quick look,--they were too plainly little-girl dresses. She didn’t

have a red swiss and a cherry hat in which to look grown up,--oh, no,

indeed. She didn’t have anything but fine white dresses,--just like a

baby,--but she’d show them.

After repeated visits to Grandma’s and Aunt Elsie’s closets, she

decided upon a jade-green silk petticoat of her grandmother’s, which

swept the floor when put over her nightdress, and a beaded orange

overblouse of her mother’s that fell nearly down to her knees. A dainty

rose-pink breakfast-jacket of Aunt Elsie’s, that she had long admired,

went on over the orange waist, which showed several inches beneath; “In

case I should be cold,” she murmured contentedly, although the day was

extremely warm. Aunt Elsie’s best gold-brocade evening slippers were

put on next, over her own red bedroom slippers. As even then they were

far too large, she tied them over each instep with Polly Wiggles’ pink

hair-ribbons, and then started her search for a hat.

She was sure that the others had gone shopping to buy the

dress-materials, and she knew that she only had a short time, so she

worked feverishly, looking in boxes and on closet-shelves, and pulling

things out till the rooms were in a jumble. A few weeks before Grandma

Carr had purchased a purple toque covered with violets, and Cubby

had longed ever since to try it on her own curly head. Now was her

opportunity,--and then, too, it was a very grown-up-looking hat. At

last she spied it on Grandma’s top shelf, and, pulling a stool to the

closet, up she clambered, dragging down a mink choker as well, that she

pounced upon with glee.

The toque was large,--so large that it completely covered her head

and fell to her chin, disconcerting her for a minute; but Cubby was

ingenious.

“’Spect it’s ’cause I haven’t long hair pinned up top,” she mused,

pondering deeply. A bright idea popped into her mind. Aunt Elsie had

been in an “Old Folks Concert” a short time before, and Cubby had seen

her dressed in an old-fashioned frock, with white hair piled high

on top of her head. “The white hair isn’t my own,” Aunt Elsie had

explained, laughing at her little niece’s look of horror at seeing

Auntie “grown old” so suddenly. “It’s false white hair that I bought at

the store, and pinned on. All my own hair is underneath.”

Into Aunt Elsie’s room she scurried, and, after ransacking the

bureau-drawers, at last she found the white switch and puffs tucked

away in a big box where they had been put to stay until used again

for another masquerade. Over her own mop of gold curls went the long

switch, pinned on with dozens of Mother’s bronze hairpins. When the

large puffs were added, the effect was most impressive,--to Cubby’s

idea of thinking,--though slightly marred by the short golden curls

that would peep out over her ears.

The violet toque stayed in place with the white hair to pad it up, and,

pulling on a new pair of white kid gloves that she had found in her

search, she hurried over to the cheval-glass to view the effect, adding

Aunt Elsie’s coral beads and long ear-rings to match, although she had

a struggle screwing the ear-rings in her ears.

“No one would take me for an itty gur-rl now,” she purred contentedly,

spilling half a bottle of her mother’s best perfume over her dress and

shaking the powder-box violently, “I looks just like a Mayma.”

Grandmother Carr would not have felt flattered at the comparison. She

never wore ear-rings herself, but to Cubby they were the last touch

required toward completing her costume, and she gazed at her reflection

approvingly.

It was at that moment that her eyes fell upon Boots, who sat looking

out of the front window with what she decided was a lonesome

expression, but which was really sleepiness.

“Poor Boots,” she cooed sweetly, “did they leave you home, too? Would

you like to go a-visiting to call on the booful white pony and the

doggie?”

It spoke much for Boot’s disposition, as in ten minutes’ time his small

mistress had attired him in a doll’s blue-gingham dress, from Polly

Wiggles’ doll’s trunk, as well as a baby bonnet, four mittens on his

paws, and a white lace veil.

Then, catching up a blue parasol of Jeannette’s in one hand, and the

big pocketbook that Grandma used for marketing, and holding the

protesting Boots tightly in the other, the wee bear stole cautiously

down the front stairs, hoping against hope that she would find the

coast clear and escape by the front door before Hannah spied her. She

tripped and nearly fell several times, owing to the length of her

dress, while her struggle in clothing Boots had rather damaged her

costume, but her spirit was undaunted.

“Oh, my ticket,” she murmured distractedly, pausing in the front hall

and looking back uncertainly. “I forgot to ’member it, and what shall I

do?”

She knew it would take far too long to go back up-stairs, especially

with the heavy and violently struggling Boots in one arm, and she was

afraid to put him down for fear he would run away. Strange to say, in

spite of his “lonesome” expression, Boots did not seem anxious to go

calling. So it was with a thankful heart that she noticed the plate of

calling cards on the hall console-table. It took but a minute to select

one, with “Mrs. Clayton Campbell” engraved upon it. Of course the name

meant nothing to Cubby,--she was attracted solely by the black border

around it, which she greatly admired.

Then, pausing to adjust Grandpa’s shell-rimmed glasses over her

mischievous brown eyes, and to fix the mink choker that added the final

touch to her costume, Cubby crept out, not quite half an hour having

passed since Hannah had seen her “napping” in bed.

Barely had the front door closed behind her, when Hannah opened the

door from the kitchen, only to pause as the back door burst open, and

Andy, the gardener, came hurrying in with a badly burned hand from a

bonfire he had been making.

“Stop your groanin’ or you’ll be wakin’ Miss Evelyn,” scolded Hannah,

glancing up toward the door of the “Nest,” which Cubby had thoughtfully

closed behind her. “She’s havin’ a fine nap, and if you’ll set down

quietly, Ah’ll fix your hand and bandage it so it will feel more easy.”

Andy sank into a chair as he was bid, and, never doubting but that

her small charge was safely tucked away in bed, Hannah flew to find

bandages and oil.

While teetering along unsteadily on the high French heels of her

“borrowed” slippers, a ridiculous little figure crossed the road, and

crept up the broad steps of the beautiful home--White Birches.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

AN INTERRUPTED TEA-PARTY

Mrs. MacAllister glanced from the black-bordered calling-card to the

shaking shoulders of Martha, the maid. Try as she might, she could

recollect no “Mrs. Clayton Campbell” of her acquaintance.

“It’s a little girl, ma’am,” Martha explained hastily, “and in the

queerest get-up you ever did see. But she handed me the card and asked

for Mrs. MacAllister with such a grand air, that I showed her into the

music-room.”

Mrs. MacAllister descended the staircase hastily, and paused in the

music-room doorway with twitching lips, as a queer little figure,

clutching a violently agitated bundle, slid to its feet and advanced

with high-held hand.

“How do you do,” said Cubby formally. “I’ve come to call.”

“Won’t you have a seat?” murmured Mrs. MacAllister, controlling her

amusement with difficulty, and casting an apprehensive glance at

the violet toque, which, with the white hair, had slid over one of

Cubby’s ears, giving her a rakish appearance of which she was entirely

unconscious.

“I am derry well, thank you,” returned the visitor calmly, boxing

Boots’ ears with vigor to quiet him, and clambering with much puffing

and panting into a high wing-chair.

“I do wonder who the cunning baby is,” thought Mrs. MacAllister with

enjoyment, stealing a look at the demure visitor, who sat bolt upright

on the edge of the big chair. “Her face looks familiar, but in that rig

it’s hard to identify her.”

Donald, on his way to the porch, glanced in casually, and then, with

a twinkle in his dark eyes, strolled forward to have a better view of

this self-possessed caller, who was greatly enjoying the sensation she

was creating.

“Donald, this is--this is--,” Mrs. MacAllister began uncertainly, but

paused abruptly. It would be too ridiculous to say, “Mrs. Clayton

Campbell,”--and yet who _was_ this cunning, mischievous youngster, with

her highly amusing grown-up airs that contrasted so strongly with her

dimpled baby face.

“I am Evelyn Eaton,” announced Cubby easily, drawing a black-bordered

handkerchief from her bag and wiping her nose with a flourish that

nearly upset Donald’s gravity. He stooped hastily to conceal his amused

face, and to pick up two mittens which Boots had lost in his frantic

struggles.

“Are these yours?” he asked, not daring to glance at his mother, whose

shoulders were heaving suspiciously. “They look as if they had dropped

from the--the-- What _is_ it, anyway?” he inquired curiously, eyeing

the uneasy, wriggling bundle from which a plaintive “meow” had issued.

Cubby twitched the baby bonnet about and threw back the lace veil,

revealing an unhappy furry face which she proceeded to dust off with

her black-bordered handkerchief, much to Boots’ discomfort.

“It’s Boots,” she explained gravely, as she cast a lightning glance

about the attractive room; “and I brought him over to call on the pony

and the lovely white doggie. He was lonesome,” she finished, looking

from one interested face to the other with wide, dark eyes.

“That was very thoughtful of you,” assured Mrs. MacAllister, completely

charmed with the child. “Now, suppose we have afternoon tea together,

and then we’ll all go out and visit the ponies. How would that be?”

Cubby’s smile was ecstatic. Never had she dreamed of being served

afternoon tea like a real, grown-up young lady. What a lot she would

have to tell Wiggles and Jet! But would she dare stay? She had no

desire to meet Mother, Grandma, and the rest, face to face, until

safely home again, for she knew very well that punishment would follow

her naughty escapade,--and follow quickly.

“I--I think maybe I’d better be going,” she ventured uncertainly,

sliding to the floor and losing one gold slipper with a bang.

“Oh, you’ve only been here a few minutes,” urged Donald, eager to

keep her talking. He stooped as he spoke to tie her slippers on more

securely, and completely won the wee bear’s heart by the grown-up,

dignified manner in which he assisted her back into her high chair.

“Just as if I was a real lady,” she thought gleefully. “Guess I’ll stay

and have tea and see the ponies after all. It will be a long, long time

before Mother and Mayma will be here.”

“I used to know your mother and Aunt Elsie well, when I was a little

girl,” Mrs. MacAllister continued, hoping that she would be able to

remember all the details of her visitor’s remarkable costume after she

had gone.

“You have sisters, too, haven’t you?” chimed in Donald, anxious to hear

more about the girl that could turn cart-wheels better than most boys.

Cubby drew herself up with a grand air, while, parrot-like, there

dropped from her lips a sentence that she had heard Hannah use only

that morning in speaking to the laundress’ daughter, who was the eldest

of eight.

“Oh, yes, but it isn’t an easy thing to be the oldest of a family,

for you have--you have--’sponsibilities,” she finally brought out

triumphantly, the word having nearly eluded her.

Donald choked, but politely turned it into a cough. “Oh, are you the

oldest?” he questioned, to keep her talking.

“Oh, yes. I’m a hundred,” she returned unexpectedly, pushing back the

spectacles that _would_ slip off her nose.

Mrs. MacAllister bit her lip. “And your sisters, how old are they?” she

asked in carefully controlled tones.

“Oh, they’re only itty gur-rls,” the wee bear responded. Then, lest

conversation might languish, she added sorrowfully, “And sometimes

they’re derry naughty.”

“That’s too bad. What do they do?” inquired Mrs. MacAllister, duly

shocked at Cubby’s horrified tone.

“Well, sometimes they run away,” returned Cubby virtuously, smoothing

her skirt with a solemn air. Then, as the conversation seemed in danger

of becoming a bit too personal, she changed the subject abruptly.

“This is a pitty house, but you have a drefful lot of windows to

wash,” she announced suddenly, just as Martha entered, wheeling the

tea-wagon.

Martha, with shaking shoulders and a hasty cough, left the room at a

low-voiced remark from Mrs. MacAllister, and Cubby gazed after her

thoughtfully.

“You know, I fink maybe your maid is sick,” she confided in a stage

whisper to the delighted Donald. “Her face is all wed, and she shakes

all over as if she had chills and fever,--and she coughed, too.”

“Maybe she’s getting whooping-cough,” suggested Donald joyously. “Have

you ever had it?”

Cubby shot him a suspicious glance, but his face was perfectly sober.

“Yes, I’ve had it, years and years ago when I was only an itty gur-rl

’bout three,” she replied severely. “You cough and cough and cough, and

sometimes you throw up, too. Does your maid throw up?”

“I--I don’t think so. I guess she just has a cold,” returned Mrs.

MacAllister unsteadily as she poured three cups of cocoa and topped

each with big spoonfuls of whipped cream, while Cubby eyed the dainty

plate of cakes with satisfaction. “Do--do you care for cocoa and cakes?”

“Oh, yes, I like frosted cakes derry much, thank you. And cocoanut

cake, and cheese, and mince pie, and bananas better’n anything else,”

continued Cubby rapidly, naming over with much gusto all the things

that she was not allowed to eat, and which she coveted. “Do the ponies

like bananas?”

“No, but they love apples, and we’ll give them each one when we go out

to see them,” Donald smiled, handing her a gold-and-white cup of cocoa

and passing the cakes.

Cubby stirred her cocoa into swirling eddies, unmindful of the greedy

glance that Boots was giving it. It was the first thing Boots had seen

all that sad afternoon that interested him at all, and the nearness to

the whipped cream was more than he could resist. Down went the baby

bonnet over the cup, and into the froth of cream and cocoa went Boots’

furry face and pink tongue.

“Naughty Boots, aren’t you ’shamed?” scolded Cubby in disgust as he

lifted creamy whiskers and a cocoa-smeared nose from his stolen feast.

“Let me get your kitty a saucer,” suggested Mrs. MacAllister. “I didn’t

know that he enjoyed cocoa, too, or I would have given him some before.”

“He’s young, and hasn’t derry good table-manners,” faltered Cubby

hastily, wiping Boots’ whiskers with the dainty tea-napkin on her lap,

in a panic at this unexpected breach of etiquette.

It was unfortunate that at this moment Bingo, the white collie, should

have come strolling in, unperceived by the others. He eyed the uneasy

bundle in Cubby’s lap casually at first, uncertain as to what it might

be. It moved,--yet it did not look like any cat he had ever seen

before. Then, just as he raised his head to utter a warning growl, the

object lifted a furry head from which two green eyes glared defiantly

at him, and his doubt changed to a certainty. There was a scamper of

feet across the polished floor, a huge white shape planted two paws

right in the cup on Cubby’s lap, sending a trickling stream of cocoa

to the floor, while a flying bundle of fur and lace veil gave a quick

leap to the piano, where it stood spitting violently and uttering

deep-throated yowls.

[Illustration: “OH, YES, I LIKE FROSTED CAKES DERRY MUCH.”--_Page 251._]

Alas for Cubby! Time had flown only too rapidly, and right in the midst

of the excitement, in walked Grandmother, Mother, and the rest. They

stood in startled amazement at the tableau that confronted them, and at

sight of the piteous little figure that climbed down from a big chair

and stood facing them with tearful eyes. If ever guilt was written on

any one’s face, it was on Cubby’s, in spite of its smeary appearance.

But not even the mixture of tears, cocoa, and frosting could disguise

her from her mother’s eyes.

“I--I guess I’d better be going,” she gasped, sidling rapidly toward

the front door, as Donald grabbed Bingo, who was making frantic efforts

to climb up on the piano.

“_Cubby!_” ejaculated all three ladies in horrified tones.

“If it isn’t my new violet hat!” exclaimed Grandma Carr.

“And my gold-brocaded slippers,” put in Aunt Elsie. “Cubby, you wretch!”

“Oh, oh, _oh_! What is _that_?” stammered Jeannette, pointing to a long

gray tail that protruded from an animated bundle of blue gingham. The

bundle spit violently as Wiggles darted forward and peeped under the

bonnet.

“It’s--it’s _Boots_,” she gasped, hardly believing her eyes. “Oh,

Cubby, how could you be so naughty?”

“I--I was making a call,” hiccoughed the wee bear as Grandmother and

Mother swooped down upon her. “I--oh, I didn’t mean to drop the cocoa.”

Her day of judgment had come sooner than she expected.

“Please don’t scold her,” implored Mrs. MacAllister as she cordially

greeted her friends. “You can’t imagine how I have enjoyed her visit,

and the spilled cocoa was entirely Bingo’s fault. Donald, will you

please tell Martha to clear up the débris.”

“I must apologize, Marie, for my bad baby,” Mrs. Eaton began, looking

sorrowfully at the naughty culprit, who sniffed back her tears with

all dignity forgotten. “After all these years I had hoped to renew our

friendship again this afternoon, but I’ll have to excuse myself and

take Evelyn home.”

“I’ll attend to Cubby,” put in Grandma Carr briskly, seizing Boots from

the piano and trying not to smile at the absurd little figure that

gazed piteously at her. “You and Elsie and the children stay and have

your visit.” Through the window she glanced across toward The Lilacs,

where she could see Hannah running excitedly down the path. “I’ll go

and reassure Hannah as to Cubby’s safety, and dispose of the family

wardrobe that she has borrowed.” She lifted off the violet toque, white

hair and all, as she spoke, revealing the rumpled gold of Cubby’s own

soft curls beneath.

Cubby suddenly remembered her manners. “I--I didn’t mean to be bad,”

she gulped sorrowfully, “and--and I’ve had a derry nice visit, and

p-please give the ponies my love. Oh, I did want to pat them!” she

wailed, her tears breaking out afresh. It was too much, to be deprived

of the delicious refreshments of which she had only had a taste, to

miss seeing the ponies after all her anticipation, and to be taken home

in disgrace, with such a disastrous ending to her lovely visit. Her lip

quivered as she looked longingly at the little frosted cakes that now

Jet and Wiggles would enjoy. Donald could not resist the tear-filled

dark eyes.

“Never you mind, Cubby,” he whispered softly in her ear, wondering how

any one could have the heart to scold her. “Keep a stiff upper lip, and

I’ll come over and give you a ride with the ponies just as soon as your

mother says you may go.”

The wee bear’s face brightened as if by magic. She shot an adoring,

grateful glance at this big boy who had not laughed at her a bit,

and who had treated her with as much deference as if she were a real

grown-up young lady.

“Cubby,” broke in Mrs. MacAllister, leaning over to kiss her

cocoa-stained cheek, “I want you to come over to see me again soon.

Miss Helen has told me about the May Frolic, and has invited Donald

to join the games in the afternoon. You know he’s going to feel very

lonesome that day when all the other young people are eating a picnic

luncheon in the meadows. So I wonder if you and Mother, Aunt Elsie and

Grandma, couldn’t come over and have a May Day luncheon with us, and

then we’ll all drive over to see the crowning of the Queen. Don’t you

think that would be fun?”

Cubby’s eyes danced at the idea, and she gave a rainbow smile.

It wouldn’t be quite so hard to leave the tea-party and take the

punishment bound to follow, with the lovely luncheon to look forward to.

“Oh, oh, _oh_, thank you derry, derry much,” she breathed happily,

balancing herself on the tottery heels and dropping a curtsy, as she

had been taught.

“Come, Cubby,” began Grandma firmly, but the small sinner paused once

more as she reached the door, and looked back wistfully.

“I think,” she piped clearly, gazing approvingly at Donald, “that you

are a derry nice itty boy;” and amid the sudden laughter that followed

her grandmother bore her hastily away.

“I do think she’s the cunningest little girl I ever saw,” Donald

repeated enthusiastically half an hour later, as he followed Jeannette

and Elizabeth, to whom he had been introducing the ponies, through the

French doors into the music-room, where Mrs. MacAllister, Aunt Elsie,

and Mrs. Eaton had been having a cozy chat together.

“She’s a very mischievous one,” put in Mrs. Eaton ruefully, with a

sorrowful shake of her head and a smile at Donald, who had been much

amused at Cubby’s escapade.

“Now don’t you punish her, Jean,” pleaded Mrs. MacAllister appealingly.

“She’s a perfect darling, and I never enjoyed a call so much in my

life. You know she puts me so much in mind of Elsie when she was that

age and used to steal your little chocolate-pot. Only Elsie’s eyes were

blue instead of brown, but they had the same twinkle. If you ever could

have heard the grown-up manner in which Cubby assured us she was a

hundred----”

“Or seen the cat’s expression when he saw the cocoa,” broke in Donald

mischievously, as Martha, trying to look as if nothing unusual had

happened, appeared again with the tea-wagon and passed fresh cocoa and

cakes to the visitors. “But, honestly, she was the pluckiest youngster

that I ever saw. Most children would have screamed when that great

big dog rushed across the room and jumped at her when he tried to get

Boots. She never gave a peep.”

“I strongly suspect it was because she saw that ‘fate was upon her,’ as

we appeared just then. Did you ever see such a get-up in your life?”

laughed Aunt Elsie, helping herself to a frosted cake. “The idea of

that little scamp hunting up that white hair and that new violet hat of

Mother’s. She’s been possessed for that hat ever since she saw it.”

“I think, myself, that the black-bordered calling-card was the crowning

touch,” replied Mrs. MacAllister with much enjoyment, and a twinkle

in her brown eyes. “I visualized a widow in her fifties at least, the

name sounded so impressive, and when I saw that cunning mite--” Words

failed her, and she paused to laugh again at the recollection.

Wiggles and Jeannette giggled. They couldn’t help but see the funny

side of the prank, although at first they had been overcome with

mortification. Mrs. MacAllister had been so charming, however, and so

enthusiastic in her praises of their naughty little sister, that she

had put them at ease immediately. Still it was too bad that this should

have happened the first time they met this delightful friend of their

mother’s girlhood days, and the handsome, interesting boy who had lived

all over the globe.

“I’m glad she approves of my nice _little_ son,” Mrs. MacAllister said,

glancing mischievously at the tall boy as she accented the “little.”

Polly Wiggles stole a look at Donald from under her long lashes, as

she daintily drank her cocoa. He certainly was the most self-possessed

boy she had ever met,--but no wonder. No one else she had ever known

had traveled from country to country with a tutor, as she had heard

Grandmother Carr say this lad had done ever since his baby days. You

couldn’t call any boy who had _lived_ in as many lands as she had

studied about in her geography, an everyday boy, and yet he didn’t seem

a bit “stuck-up” either.

“Have a cake,” broke in Donald, holding out a plate of plummy, tempting

little cakes that could not be resisted. “You could jolly well eat a

dozen of these, they’re so small, and still be hungry.”

“They’re delicious,” returned Jeannette, looking about the interesting

room with a little thrill of pleasure. It was even lovelier than she

imagined,--truly an Enchanted Palace.

“I’m _so_ glad that we have a home at last,” continued Donald with

satisfaction, eating three cakes in rapid succession and glancing

approvingly at the cherry-trimmed hats. “It seems jolly to be in

America to stay,--and to think that next fall I’ll really go to school

like other boys. It’s too late to start this spring,” he finished

regretfully.

Polly Wiggles opened her blue eyes wide. “Why, I thought you had a

tutor,” she began, wondering why any boy should express the hope of

going to school in such a happy voice.

“Used to have,” corrected Donald. “It was only because we were always

on the move,” he explained hastily, seeing their look of interest. “You

see, we’d be a month in one place, then two months somewhere else, and

so on; and I couldn’t keep changing schools like that.”

“But didn’t you love traveling?” asked Jeannette.

“Y-yes, it was great seeing different places, but it was hard to make

friends and then go away and leave them, and have to start in getting

acquainted all over again.”

“Donald, I have an idea,” broke in Mrs. MacAllister suddenly, clapping

her hands like a girl. “Elizabeth is to be May Queen on May Day, and

she and her Maids of Honor are to march first in the parade. But who

ever heard of a Queen--walking?”

Donald’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not,” he burst out enthusiastically.

“Imagine a Queen plodding along on foot. Why, she must have a beautiful

chariot, drawn by white ponies----”

“And the chariot must be a bower of flowers, and the ponies must wear

white harness,” continued Mrs. MacAllister, watching Wiggles’ shining

eyes and Jeannette’s happy face. “Now, Jean, don’t you dare say ‘No’ to

all my lovely plans. I have always wanted a daughter to fuss over, and

instead I have a big husky son, who simply _can’t_ wear frilly dresses

and flowery hats. Now you see this solves the problem, and I’ll simply

borrow your girls and pretend that Don has three sisters.”

“That would be _bully_,” beamed Donald, charmed at the idea. “It’s

lonesome being an only child, I can tell you.”

“It’s lovely of you, offering the ponies,” returned Mrs. Eaton, who saw

the delight in the children’s faces at the idea. “But----”

“No ‘buts’ about it,” said Mrs. MacAllister gayly. “You couldn’t

deprive me of such a pleasure. The ponies are as gentle as kittens,

and if you will let us know your color-scheme, the chariot will await

the command of Queen Elizabeth and her attendants on May Day morning.

Donald and I will decorate it, and it will give us a real ‘homey’

feeling to be able to have a finger in the pie.”

So it was settled, and as soon as the call was over, two happy, excited

children raced over to Sweet Briar to tell the news to Alice, Marion,

and Kitty.

“Well,” said Alice solemnly, pinching herself hard to be sure it was

true, “I don’t mind so much now that Donald isn’t a girl. He certainly

looks like a Prince Charming, and his mother is just exactly as good as

a Fairy Godmother, to think of anything as lovely as that. Now sit down

and tell us every single thing about your visit.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

MAY-BASKETS

The clock in the hall chimed four as the sun peeped over the hills

and into the windows of the Forget-me-not room, where Jeannette and

Elizabeth were sleeping soundly.

Birds were already twittering sleepily, and the lilac-plumes along the

pathway nodded to the syringa-bushes opposite, as if to wish a gay

good morning. A fat robin went running across the dewy lawn, busily

searching for his early-morning breakfast, while a plump gray squirrel

did the acrobatic feats that constituted his “daily dozen” on the limb

of the big oak-tree that tapped and whispered against the bedroom

window.

Suddenly through the early-morning silence came the tinkle of a banjo

and the soft strum-strum of a ukelele, punctuated at intervals by

snorts and giggles and a mysterious banging and clashing. Jeannette

turned over uneasily, and Polly Wiggles sat up in bed with a jerk,

rubbing sleepy, bewildered eyes and pushing back tangled curls from her

face.

“For goodness’ sake, Jet, wake up,” she whispered imperatively, leaning

over to the other twin bed and giving her drowsy sister a soft pinch.

“Listen to that clashing and banging. What can it be?”

Jeannette stirred restlessly and opened one sleepy eye. “It’s--why,

it’s music,” she replied in a much surprised tone of voice, stifling a

yawn and listening to the plunk-plunk-plunk beneath the windows. “Why,

Wiggles, if it isn’t May Day!”

“So it is,” responded the May Queen, putting one foot out of bed and

groping about for her blue bedroom slippers. “‘The more haste, the less

speed,’” she quoted with a little giggle, as she dived under the bed

and emerged triumphantly with the elusive slippers in her grasp. “Look

how light it is, Jet; it must be time to get up. I’m going to see what

that noise is, anyway; it sounds like a circus. Where _is_ my kimono?”

“What in the world is going on at this early hour!” exclaimed

Grandmother Carr’s astonished voice from the hall. “It’s only four

o’clock in the morning, and I thought by that racket it was eight at

least.”

“Children,” called Mrs. Eaton, appearing through the doorway,

struggling into her dainty yellow kimono, “it’s those ridiculous boys,

and I do believe they’re giving you a serenade. We’re all so wide-awake

that we might just as well get up and peep out at them. Slip into your

kimonos and slippers.”

Dr. Eaton thrust a tousled head through the door. “The young rascals,”

he yawned, “the idea of waking up respectable people at this unearthly

hour. I suppose this is in honor of the May Queen; that’s what I get

for entertaining royalty unawares. Just look what you’ve let us in for,

Woggsie. Come along, Cubby; I’ll hold you up so you can see.”

Jeannette sighed blissfully as she scrambled into her blue kimono and

donned slippers with pompons to match. “I never dreamed that anything

so grown-uppy would happen to us, did you, Wiggles? It’s just lovely

being in a May Frolic.”

“Listen, oh, listen,” laughed Grandfather, joining the “nightgown

brigade,” as Dr. Eaton called it, and followed by Grandmother and Aunt

Elsie in the first things they could lay their hands on. “I thought I

heard a familiar note. They’re starting the music of “For I’m to be

Queen of the May,’ sure as I live.”

Polly Wiggles and Jeannette dashed to the window and peeped through the

curtains, stifling giggles that nearly overcame them, as they looked in

round-eyed amazement at the group below.

Gabriel and Dick, with cheeks puffed to the bursting-point, were

playing away as if their lives depended upon it, on combs over which

tissue paper had been placed. Donald was strumming on a banjo, and

Billy and Allan joined in with thumps and chords on their “ukes,” while

Hugh gave an occasional bang on a dish-pan he carried as a drum, or a

clash to a pair of pot-lids he was using as cymbals. What he lacked in

music he made up in volume, and his rat-a-tat-tat had awakened others

in the neighborhood as well. Next door, at Sweet Briar, Marion and

Kitty, who were staying with Alice over night, were peeking out at the

serenaders in amazement, while heads were popping from the windows at

White Birches to see what all the music was about.

The combs played the melody through once, and then were laid aside.

Then, accompanied by the banjo in Donald’s capable hands, and

punctuated by resounding clashes on the pot-lids from Hugh, all six

boys sang the following ridiculous parody, giving careful enunciation

to each word while the audience listened with eager ears:

“We woke to call you early, call you early, Wiggles dear,

To-day will be the gladdest time of all the bright New Year;

Of all the bright New Year, Wiggles, so merry and so gay,

For you will be Queen of the May, Wiggles; you will be Queen of the

May.

“You slept so sound all night, Wiggles, we knew you’d never wake,

Unless we called you loudly as the day began to break;

So up we jumped to waken you before the peep of day,

For you’re to be Queen of the May, Wiggles; you’re to be Queen of the

May.

“Jeannette will go out with you as you hasten to the green,

And Marion and Alice, too, will see you crowned the Queen;

The lads and lasses from the school will march with May-poles gay,

And you will be Queen of the May, Woggsie; you will be Queen of the

May.

“So jump from out your bed, Woggsie, and rub your sleepy eyes.

Oh, Marion, and Kitty-Cat, and Alice, too, arise,

And gobble down your breakfast fast, it’s time you were away,

For you’re to be Queen of the May, Woggsie; you’re to be Queen of the

May.

“Arise, fair Queen, we beg of you, and don your dainty gown,

Come polish up your scepter bright and freshen up your crown;

Get out your ermine mantle that’s in moth-balls packed away,

For you’re to be Queen of the May, Wiggles; you’re to be Queen of the

May.

“We’ve gathered buds for you, Wiggles, the best that we could get;

Alas, the dew was heavy, so our feet got sopping wet,

So, if we’ve caught our death, Wiggles, and cough our lives away,

It’s ’cause you’re Queen of the May, Wiggles; ’cause you’re Queen of

the May.”

A final clash on the dish-pan brought to a close the parody which Billy

had written, amid the laughter of the girls and the hollow coughs of

the mischievous boys.

Dr. Eaton leaned perilously far over the sill. “As a physician,” he

remarked gravely, but with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “I recommend

bed for three hours for you all. The May Queen and her Maid of Honor

wish me to extend their thanks for this delightful and unexpected

early-morning concert. But, as beauty sleep is needed even by royalty,

we will bid you a fond--and _hasty_--farewell.”

“Here, Woggsie, toss this out to them,” whispered Mrs. Eaton, handing

her a box of home-made fudge that had been on the table.

Polly Wiggles’ face dimpled with amusement as she popped her head

cautiously between the curtain-frills. “Here’s some medicine for your

coughs,” she twinkled. “Catch! But look out that it doesn’t give you

nightmares,” she warned hastily, as six pairs of hands grasped eagerly

at the coveted prize which Hugh dexterously caught by ingeniously

holding his dish-pan up to receive it.

“Not to be taken except after meals,” sang out Dr. Eaton, popping his

head out again. “Now skip, you young rascals, and let me finish my

early-morning nap in peace and quiet.”

“That prescription holds good for these fair damsels, too,” Mrs. Eaton

announced firmly, as, catching up the sleepy Cubby, whose head was

nodding like a drowsy poppy, she shooed the girls across the room to

bed, to finish their morning snooze.

“To bed, to bed, you sleepy-head,

Or else you may expect

A pale-eyed fright your mirror bright

To-morrow will reflect,”

Aunt Elsie chanted as she scurried back to the Rosery.

“More truth than poetry to that,” Grandpa called over his shoulder. “It

would never do to look like pale, hollow-eyed ghosts for the Frolic,

that’s sure; so scamper back to bed, chicks, and don’t let us hear a

peep out of you till seven-thirty at least.”

“Yes, and eight would be better,” yawned Dr. Eaton drowsily. “Sweet

dreams, youngsters.”

It was hard to settle down again after the exciting interruption.

Jeannette and Polly Wiggles kept breaking into stifled giggles at

the recollection of the funny picture Hugh had made, with his heavy

auburn hair standing up every which-way as he clashed away on the

pot-lids,--and Gabriel’s ear-splitting squeaks and squeals on the comb.

“Isn’t it nice that Donald has got so well acquainted with the boys,”

whispered Wiggles with satisfaction, as she burrowed into her soft

pillow and tried to compose herself for sleep. “I just know I’ll never

sleep another wink, for I feel wide-awake as an owl. I do wonder what

our chariot looks like, don’t you? Donald said yesterday that they

had just finished it, but he wouldn’t tell me a thing about it,--mean

thing.”

Jeannette cuddled down comfortably and stared at the border of

butterflies on the blue walls above. A question flashed in her mind at

sight of the painted blossoms.

“Do you s’pose any one will hang May-baskets for us?” she breathed

cautiously, twisting about to glance at the other bed. “Do you

s’pose----?”

What she supposed did not interest Wiggles at all, for she had gone

fast asleep, and though Jeannette had firmly intended remaining awake

so as to be down bright and early, when she opened her eyes again there

was a tantalizing odor of hot muffins in the air, and Aunt Elsie stood

in the doorway, laughing at her drowsy face.

“You’d better ‘up with the lark,’ Jet,” she said, adding in a louder

tone as she ran on down the hall, “Polly Wiggles has one sock on

already, and the front porch is simply _crammed_ with May-baskets.”

“Hurry up and let Mother fix your hair before she goes down,” advised

Polly Wiggles, appearing suddenly with every glistening curl in place,

and trying to fasten her pink-gingham frock with fingers that quivered

with excitement. “I’ll wait for you, and then, before we look at our

baskets, let’s skip out the back way and leave the baskets for the

girls over at Sweet Briar. It will be lots more fun to wait and see our

own when we come back.”

“All right,” agreed Jeannette, disappearing in haste. “James promised

to leave Miss Helen’s, and all the others for those that lived at a

distance, the first thing this morning,” she called back, as her sister

saved time by pulling back the covers of both beds and hanging the two

blue kimonos in the closet.

Twenty minutes later the baskets had been hung, and, crouched behind

the briar-rose bushes that formed a thick hedge all about the place,

they had the satisfaction of watching Marion, Alice, and Kitty pounce

upon them with cries of delight, while they looked unsuspectingly

right over the spot where their laughing friends were concealed, as

they anxiously scanned the road.

“They never dreamed who left them,” Jeannette said with a little skip,

as she rose from her hiding-place after the girls had given up and gone

back in the house. “Let’s hustle now; I’m dying to see what’s at home

for us.”

The front porch of The Lilacs was filled from steps to doorway, and,

as the two girls scampered up the pathway, a sudden stir and rustle,

followed by flying footsteps around the back of the house, showed

that some one had been there in their absence. There were baskets of

every kind and description, some marked with Jeannette’s and some with

Elizabeth’s name, while Cubby proudly carried in six of her very own.

“Bring them in the dining-room where we may all see them,” called Mrs.

Eaton as she poured the coffee. “Breakfast is ready, girls. What a

beautiful display!” she added admiringly, gazing at the arm-loads of

blossomy baskets that Grandfather and Aunt Elsie were helping arrange

on the tea-wagon and serving-table that Hannah had hastily cleared.

“I really don’t believe I want any breakfast,” began Polly Wiggles.

“Breakfast first, and baskets next,” ordered her father firmly, giving

her curls a playful pull as she hovered like some new species of

bright-hued butterfly over the flowers. “We look like a busy florist’s

shop. In ten minutes the table may be in demand as a resting-place for

more posies, and if many more baskets come in, we shall have to move

out to make room for them. So come along, youngsters, and eat a good

breakfast while you can.”

“I’m really not a bit hungry,” protested Jeannette, seating herself

reluctantly, and languidly spooning her grapefruit.

“Remember that luncheon will not be till after one, as the parade only

starts at twelve-thirty,” warned Mrs. Eaton, buttering a muffin for the

wee bear.

“Yes, and the luncheon will be a cold one,” added Dr. Eaton, looking

up from his bacon and eggs. “Now I want you to eat a good hot

breakfast like healthy, hungry girls, and not a nibble here and there

like--like----”

“’Quirrels,” prompted Cubby brightly, twisting about to gaze lovingly

at her own pretty baskets. “’Quirrels like to nibble, Daddy.”

“So squirrels do,” agreed her father with a shake of his head. “And so

do Cubby bears, and medium-sized bears, and great big bears as well.”

“What a hard-hearted man you are,” mourned Polly Wiggles with an

affectionate glance. “Here you are, cruelly ordering about a Queen,

when I should by rights be seated on a golden throne, eating----”

“Bread and honey,” piped up Cubby, who knew her Mother Goose.

“Yes, honey, and nightingale tongues and delicacies like that,” agreed

Polly Wiggles recklessly. “Not bacon and eggs--oh, my, no! My appetite

is too delicate.” She paused to butter a second muffin as she spoke,

while Cubby listened with rapture to this nonsensical talk. “Then if

Dr. Eaton, my court physician, ordered such coarse, common food,” she

resumed scornfully, “I would merely say with a wave of my golden

scepter, ‘Off with his head,’ and my subjects would fly to do my

bidding.”

“I’d probably order a tonic for that delicate appetite,” returned Dr.

Daddy cheerfully, quite unmoved by Jeannette’s beseeching glance as

Hannah served her with cocoa. “Drink your cocoa, Jet, and, speaking of

flying, I must haste away to see some patients, so farewell, my fairy

fays; I’ll see you later.”

Breakfast at last came to an end, and the children flew to examine the

lovely flower-laden baskets.

“Here, let’s divide them,” Polly Wiggles suggested, clearing a space

for her own share and inspecting the attached cards. “Gracious, Jet,

you popular young lady; here’s five--seven--ten baskets for you, all

beauties, and two apiece for Grandma and Mother, and three for Aunt

Elsie.”

“I never dreamed there would be so many, did you? Nevertheless it seems

to me you have the lion’s share yourself,” Jeannette returned gayly.

“Twelve baskets, no less, and oh, Wiggles, just look at that gorgeous

basket of Aunt Elsie’s. It’s the loveliest I’ve ever seen.”

“I wonder who sent it?” demanded the May Queen with a roguish smile,

as she eyed approvingly the dainty white basket filled with glowing,

velvety Jack roses. “It’s a perfect beauty. Look, Jet, the handle is

made out of pussy-willows. Did you ever see anything so dear?”

“There’s a card, too,” announced Jeannette, pouncing upon it before

Aunt Elsie had the chance. “Oh, ho, I thought so. It says, ‘Bob,’ and,

though my manners forbid my looking, I’ll bet a cookie that there is a

written message on the other side.”

“Look at her blush,” twinkled Polly Wiggles mischievously, adding in

a confidential aside to Jeannette, as Aunt Elsie hastily claimed her

baskets and bore them up-stairs to the privacy of her own room, “Do you

know, I think that Mr. Burnett likes Aunt Elsie, ’cause, ever since he

rescued Cubby, he keeps coming here all the time. He says he comes to

see Daddy,” she finished scornfully, “but almost always Daddy’s out,

and I notice he stays and talks to Aunt Elsie.”

“Polly Wiggles, I didn’t think anything could be lovelier than my lilac

basket, but this one of yours is perfectly exquisite,” Grandmother

Carr said, speaking up from the window-seat, where she and Mrs.

Eaton had comfortably ensconced themselves to act as audience to the

“flower-show.” She held up, as she spoke, a graceful birch-bark basket

shaped like a canoe, in which were growing delicate maidenhair ferns

and yellow and lavender wild orchids.

Mrs. Eaton gave an exclamation of delight and stooped to examine it

more closely. “This looks like the young naturalist’s handiwork,” she

cried admiringly, as she touched the nodding moccasin-flowers with

caressing fingers.

“Yes, I’m sure that’s from Gabriel,” returned Polly Wiggles, giving it

a swift glance, “’cause no one else could ever find those flowers. But

look at Jeannette’s, it’s lovely, too.”

Jeannette exhibited with pride a round birch-bark basket filled with

tiny woodland ferns and pearly-white hyacinths whose fragrance filled

the dining-room.

“Sure there are no snakes concealed within either one?” inquired

Grandpa, shrinking away in mock alarm. “Or spiders, or angleworms, or

any other of those dear little creatures that you girls so adore?”

Wiggles dimpled at a sudden recollection as she thrust her rosy face

amid the fragrant blossoms and drew a breath of sweetness from their

perfumed bells.

“Gabriel promised cross-his-heart that he wouldn’t,” she retorted,

jumping up to examine a lavender-fluted creation brimming with pink and

orchid sweet peas. “But, Grandfather, wouldn’t it have been _dreadful_

if we had found that snake in one of these lovely baskets, as he had

planned at first?” Her tone was tragic, and her grandfather chuckled at

the idea. “Just imagine Grandmother’s face if it had slithered out----”

“Ugh, don’t speak of it,” shuddered Jeannette, making a wry face at the

idea. “It makes me feel shivery even to talk about it. Look at this

darling basket woven of green reeds and filled with daffodils, instead.

Isn’t it a picture?”

Her grandfather privately thought that the two graceful girls in their

dainty morning-dresses were the prettiest part of the picture, but he

duly admired the daffodils, while Wiggles hopped up and down on one

foot, and shook with some sudden amusement.

“Oh, Jet, I’m certain-sure that’s the one Hugh made for you, and you

alone,” she teased, inspecting the pretty basket critically. Then

she clasped her hands and posed dramatically. “He did it with his

lily-white hands, all for you,” she declaimed; breaking off hurriedly

as Jeannette, with a very red face, chased her around the table. “Help,

help, the Queen is being assassinated. Ouch, let go of my hair.”

“Then don’t be a silly,” retorted Jeannette, firmly clutching the thick

black curls that held her agile sister an unwilling captive, while Mrs.

Eaton and Grandmother shook with laughter. “Mother says it’s silly to

act sentimental about boys----”

“And so it is,” acknowledged Polly Wiggles, frankly catching her

sister in an unguarded moment and whisking under her arm and out of

reach. “But I don’t mean it in that silly way.”

“Just the same, it _is_ silly,” insisted Jeannette loftily, “’cause you

know as well as I do, Elizabeth Eaton, that we’re all good friends and

he likes us all.”

But Polly Wiggles was in a teasing mood. “Of course he likes us

all,” she persisted, “and I don’t mean a silly sentimental like--But

everybody knows that Hugh thinks you’re the nicest girl he knows. Why,

even Marion said herself that you were the only one he was going to

make a May-basket for. However, if you prefer to think it was from some

unknown admirer--” She paused abruptly at sound of the front-door bell,

and darted out into the hall, followed by Jeannette, where they nearly

collided with fat Mandy, whose face was all agrin as she waddled toward

the dining-room with more flower-baskets.

“The most scrumptious baskets of all is these Ah’m totin’ in,” she

breathed gustily, as she placed them carefully on the table and stood

with arms akimbo to admire the offerings to her “babies.” “And

pell-mell down the road like a skyclome went dat yeller-haired Harrison

boy, pert as a cricket, while dat handsome-looking Prince Donald, who

is Miss Marie’s own boy, was a-dodgin’ and slippin’ round back of the

trees over yonder, but I seen him jest the same.”

Nothing could induce Mandy to call Donald anything but Prince Donald

or Prince Charming after having heard the children’s chatter about the

Enchanted Palace. “’Cause he holds hisself like a Prince and walks

proud like one,” she had insisted when Mrs. Eaton questioned her about

it. “He’s the one dat ought to be May King, even if he don’t go to

dat school, though, I must say, dat Allan Harrison is a fine looker,

too. But any one with two eyes can see dat Miss Marie’s boy is quality

through and through, and has hobnobbed with the best in the land, yas,

ma’am.”

“These certainly are the handsomest baskets of all,” admitted Grandpa

Carr, as every one came hurrying to see them.

There were two baskets for Elizabeth and one for Jeannette, and it

was hard to choose the prettiest. Jeannette’s basket was of pale-blue

wicker, overflowing with pink sweet peas and blue forget-me-nots, while

huge bows of shimmering blue-satin ribbon fluttered from the handle,

which was twined with pink buds.

Elizabeth’s basket was of wicker, too, but it was the most delicate

shade of pink, and shaped like a big heart. Inside were hundreds of

tiny pink Sweetheart roses and sprays of valley lilies that showered

their perfumed sweetness through all the room. A twisted garland of

moss rosebuds and smilax outlined the basket and formed the handle,

while, tied to the top with long streamers of airy pink gauze, was a

little verse which Polly Wiggles read aloud:

“A poet might try to write verses most fair,

In praise of your dimples, your eyes, and your hair,

But on this glad day,

Allegiance I pay,

And render you homage, fair Queen of the May.”

“Now who has an unknown admirer, I’d like to know?” jeered Jeannette,

doubling up with mirth at her sister’s blushing confusion. “No one has

written poetry about my dimples and hair, and--and--I’m ‘going into the

garden and eat worms,’” she finished laughingly. “Now, do let’s see

this basket that’s shrouded in tissue paper. It looks interesting.”

“Oh it _is_ lovely,” squealed Wiggles, holding up a melon-shaped basket

made entirely out of purple double violets and lined with lemon-yellow

tea-roses. “Dear me, I don’t know which is prettier. Just look at these

yellow and violet gauze butterflies on the handle, Mother; their wings

quiver like honest-truly butterflies.”

“And, bless my soul, if there isn’t another rhyme,” Grandma Carr added,

pointing to a twist of paper thrust in the midst of the dewy violets.

“Your friends seem to be poetically inclined. Read it out, my dear.”

“Yes, _do_ read it out,” implored Billy and Dick, appearing suddenly

from the kitchen with their hands filled with cookies from Mandy’s

cookie-jar. “’Scuse us, Aunt Jean and Grandma, for helping ourselves,

but we made ourselves at home ’cause we were hungry, and we knew you

wouldn’t want us to starve on your doorsteps.”

Mrs. Eaton laughed at their nonsense, while Polly Wiggles hastily

pocketed the first note and tried to keep the other from Billy’s grasp.

“No fair, no fair, go ’long with you,” she cried, as Dick joined the

attacking party. “It’s the Queen’s privilege to read her notes in

private.”

“You won’t be Queen till this afternoon,” objected Dick as an excuse.

“Ah, be a sport.”

“Yes, be a sport,” mimicked Billy teasingly, as he captured the paper

and waved it tantalizingly above her head. “As your older male relative

I consider this my solemn duty. It hurts me more than it does you, but

you know,

“My own convenience counts as nil;

It is my duty, and I will,’”

he quoted from the Bab Ballads in self-defense. “Now, let me see.” He

glanced at the note in his hand with a ferocious frown. “Ah, ha, I

thought so; some miserable unworthy knave is writing to our noble Queen

in verse, without the Lord Chancellor’s permission. Call forth the

guard!”

“Oh, Billy, let me see it,” coaxed Polly Wiggles imploringly. “I don’t

believe it says a single thing.”

“You don’t? Well, keep your hands off and I’ll read it out loud. Just

listen to this tender effusion:

“My every thought a butterfly,

That, wafted by my eager sigh,

Would spread its wings of palest hue,

And far away would fly--to you.”

“What do you think of that, Aunt Jean? No one sends me things like

that,” put in Dick plaintively. “Who sent it?”

“How should I know?” retorted Polly Wiggles coolly, much amused because

she knew that both boys were racking their brains to try and think who

it might be.

“I think it’s lovely,” said Jeannette loyally. “It’s lots better than

most valentines.”

“But I refuse to allow my youthful cousin to receive such missives,”

returned Billy with a grandfatherly air, as he pocketed the note for

his own private purposes, hoping he would be able to find out whose

handwriting it was. “Now, what I really came to say was, that it is

eleven o’clock, and Marion called out to say that she and Alice and

Kitty would be over in fifteen minutes, as they were going to dress

here. So unless our fair Queen wants to be left behind, methinks she’d

better skedaddle and don her glad rags. Don said the chariot would be

at the gate for you at twelve, and three-quarters of an hour will be

far too short a time for you girls to primp.”

Polly Wiggles swept a low curtsy. “The Queen will bid you all good day,

she goes to don her fine array; in coronation robes of state, she’ll

meet you later at the gate. But she would warn that you, as well, had

better hustle home pell-mell, and don your suits of Lincoln green,

or else I fear you’ll not be seen, as Courtiers your Queen to aid,

a-marching in the big parade,” she chanted extemporaneously as she

mounted the stair-case.

It was not until she reached the top, and the ringing of the doorbell

announced the arrival of the Maids of Honor, that Billy discovered that

the note which he had tucked in his pocket--was gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE MAY FROLIC

The grandfather clock was striking twelve as Donald ran lightly up the

front steps of The Lilacs, and hurried on into the hall. He paused at

the foot of the winding staircase to gaze appreciatively at the pretty

scene above.

“An artist ought to paint that and call it ‘Spring,’” he thought to

himself as he admired the bevy of laughing girls who were clustered

in an animated group on the landing above, entirely unaware of his

presence. He drew farther back into a shadowy corner as Jet jumped up

from the window-seat where she had been comfortably ensconced as she

listened to the laughing chatter and good-natured banter that was going

on, and straightened the cherry-blossom wreath on her long dark curls.

Through the casement-windows a straying sunbeam peeped in, making

a glory of Marion’s ruddy locks and bringing out glints of gold in

Alice’s fair hair until it looked like a nimbus about her head.

“Is my wreath on straight?” inquired Marion anxiously, shaking out

her gauzy green ruffles as Alice leaned over to arrange the wreath of

apple-blossoms she was wearing.

Jeannette eyed her admiringly. “Yes, trust Alice for arranging it

artistically, and in those pale-green net dresses over the green slips,

and with those snowy blossoms in your hair, you and Alice look exactly

like wood nymphs.”

“Are you intimately acquainted with many wood nymphs?” quizzed Kitty

mischievously, as she bent her own head, with its short brown curls, so

that Jet could settle the pink cherry-blossom wreath to her liking.

Marion with a hand on the banisters, paused to glance back over

her shoulder. “I _love_ your green dresses over the pink, with the

cherry-blossom crowns,” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “It was such a

pretty idea having two of us in green and white, and two in green and

pink, and I’m so glad they decided this way, ’cause pink would have

sworn at my hair.”

“If we look like wood nymphs,” Alice added approvingly, “you and

Kitty-Cat certainly look like dryads, and Elizabeth looks like a rose

that had come to life.”

“Who’s talking about me? My ears burn,” Polly Wiggles cried gayly, and

Donald caught his breath at the dainty vision that floated down the

polished stairs as lightly as a rose-petal borne along by the breezes.

Never had Elizabeth looked sweeter than in the dainty pink-net frock,

with its fluttering pink ribbons, and slippers and socks to match.

Donald thought that Alice’s description had been a good one, for she

did look like a very rosebud of a girl, in her gauzy gown with its

petal-shaped rosy ruffles. A high-pointed coronet of pink rosebuds

crowned the dusky mass of curls that framed the soft oval of her

face. Half-way down the stairs she paused shyly, while the rose color

deepened in her cheeks, as she spied Donald for the first time, and saw

the admiration in his dark eyes.

“Laws sake, if mah baby don’t look sweet enough to eat,” chuckled

Mandy, popping her bandanna-covered head out from the pantry, with

Hannah peeping from behind. “You-all looks powahful handsome in those

get-ups, jest like a bunch o’ posies. Heah’s Prince Donald a-waiting to

see you, honey.”

Donald looked puzzled as he saw the startled glances the girls

exchanged at Mandy’s remark, and he wondered anew why she always

addressed him as “Prince.” It was not the first time. He had noticed

it before on several occasions, and once even Alice had inadvertently

blurted out “Prince Cha--” when speaking to him, and then quickly

corrected her mistake.

“It’s a lowly prince who humbly kneels before the Queen of May,” he

protested half laughing, as he sank to one knee. “Prithee tell me, fair

Queen, why does yon dusky damsel dub me ‘Prince’? It makes me feel

exactly like a collie pup,” he explained ruefully, with a quick glance

upward.

Much to his astonishment, Polly Wiggles was plainly confused, but she

recovered her composure almost immediately and shot a warning glance

at Alice, who turned a giggle into a cough.

“Oh, oh,--I s’pose Mandy thinks you have hobnobbed with all kinds

of royalty because you’ve lived abroad so much,” she stammered with

heightened color, giving him a swift glance. “How nice he looks!”

thought Polly Wiggles, as she noticed with approval the immaculate

white-linen suit he was wearing. “It’s silly of me to blush like a

goose over Mandy’s remark, but I _can’t_ tell him that we called him

Prince Charming. It would sound too silly,--and yet some day some one

of us is going to call him that to his face and feel like going through

the floor.”

A sudden idea flashed into her mind. “Don’t you think Donald should

be rewarded, or knighted or something, for offering us the chariot?”

she asked meaningly, turning to the others. They seized the idea with

enthusiasm.

“Dub him ‘Sir,’ or ‘Lord,’ or--or ‘Prince,’” suggested Jeannette

daringly, suppressing a smile at her sister’s ready wit.

“I dub you Prince Donald,” Polly Wiggles announced solemnly, as she

tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the rose-garlanded silver

scepter she carried. “Now if we do call him ‘Prince’ by mistake, it

won’t sound so funny,” she reflected with secret satisfaction.

Donald entered into the spirit of make-believe with due solemnity.

“I thank you for the honor, O Queen,” he responded, producing a package

from his pocket which the girls eyed curiously. “Many leagues have

I traversed, and many dangers have I overcome, to bring to you this

casket containing baubles which I offer at your feet. Though they are

unworthy of a Queen’s attention, still, if they might deck the royal

party on this great gala day, it would bring joy and gladness to the

one who sends them, my mother, the Fairy Godmother who dwells at the

Enchanted Castle of White Birches.”

It was coincidence, of course, that his laughing reply should border

so closely on their own fancy of the Enchanted Palace and the Fairy

Godmother, but to the girls it was little short of miraculous.

“How did he know? I’m beginning to think he honestly _is_ a fairy

Prince,” Marion breathed in Jeannette’s ear.

“Oh, Queen of May, I offer you this treasure-casket and trust it may

please your Royal Highness,” continued Donald, banging his head three

times on the lower step, and rising to his feet as he handed her a

pink-satin box.

“What does he mean? What’s in the box?” demanded Kitty, laughing at his

foolishness. “Oh, look at the cunning white-kid cases inside!”

With eager fingers the girls explored the dainty cases marked with

their names.

“A string of pearls for each one of us to wear! Isn’t that lovely!”

breathed Jeannette rapturously, as she lifted the gleaming string from

the pink jeweler’s cotton. Then clasping it about her throat, she ran

to the hall-mirror to admire the effect.

Polly Wiggles gave a little cry of pleasure. “My pearls are just the

color of my dress,” she exclaimed happily, holding up a necklace of

tiny pink pearls for them all to admire. “I just love them, Donald, and

it was dear of your mother to give us such a delightful surprise. She

certainly is a real Fairy Godmother.”

“What did I tell you?” crowed Alice under her breath, as she bent to

fasten the strap of her white slipper. Again the glance flashed about,

and Donald, who had heard the whisper, felt more puzzled than ever.

“There’s some kind of a joke,” he reflected sagely, “and I’ll need to

turn detective to find out what it is, for they’ll never tell me.”

“Girls, do come and see the chariot,” called Aunt Elsie

enthusiastically from the veranda. “It’s a perfect beauty.”

There was a laughing scramble as the five excited girls, with all royal

dignity forgotten, rushed pell-mell for the front door. As he sauntered

along behind, a confused babel of delighted comment floated back to

Donald’s ears.

“Oh, oh, did you ever----?”

“Like a real Cinderella coach.”

“All made of pink roses.”

“The loveliest thing I ever saw.”

Polly Wiggles’ smile alone well repaid Donald for all the time and

labor he had spent in decorating the basket-carriage that had once been

a mere pony cart, but which his clever fingers had transformed into a

flower-chariot fit for Titania herself.

Hundreds of pink tissue-paper roses had been used to conceal the

original carriage, which was now a bower of rosy bloom. Great garlands

of rose-pink buds twined the wheels and festooned the white reins and

harness, while pink plumes nodded behind the ears of Snow Queen and

White Beauty, as they tossed their snowy manes and impatiently pawed

the ground.

“You look like a fairy Princess,” he murmured admiringly, as he helped

Polly Wiggles into the huge pink rose that formed her seat high above

the others, while the Maids of Honor grouped themselves about her.

“I feel more like a Rose Princess,” she dimpled in amusement, as she

gazed with delight at the canopy of rose-petals that shielded her

from the sun. “Where did you ever get all these roses? There must be

thousands.”

“We made them,” Donald explained, as he seated himself at her feet and

gathered up the reins.

“Oh, are you coming with us?” inquired Marion in surprise.

Donald shot her an amused glance. “Who did you suppose was going to

drive? You girls couldn’t, all dressed up in those mermaidy-looking

dresses, so Miss Helen appointed me official coachman,” he returned

with satisfaction. “Are you all comfortably settled now? If you

are, we’d better trot along unless we want to be late. Every one is

assembling at the Post Office, and it’s well past twelve now.”

[Illustration: HE HELPED POLLY WIGGLES INTO THE LARGE PINK ROSE THAT

FORMED HER SEAT.--_Page 299._]

Cubby, standing on the front porch, strained her eyes until the

flower-coach was a mere speck in the distance. Then she trotted happily

in the house to ask endless questions of every one she met. She kept

up a running chatter of excited comment all the while she was being

dressed in her daintiest frock, and danced down at the sound of her

grandfather’s voice, with a beaming face and starry eyes.

“Well, well, if little Miss Snippets isn’t all dressed up in her

bestest frock, too,” teased Grandfather, as she trotted at his heels.

“You ought to see the crowd that has collected,” he continued, turning

to the others. “When I came from the village a few minutes ago, the

streets were lined with carriages and automobiles, and it looks as if

every one and his daddy is out. I do believe that all Meadowbrook and

the surrounding towns have gathered for the fun, and I noticed several

photographers. I never dreamed that a children’s parade would be such a

source of interest.”

Aunt Elsie hurried down the stairs, hastily tucking in a few stray

hairpins. “Let’s go out on the lawn,” she suggested, leading the way to

the rustic seats that James had placed for them on the grass. They were

joined by Mrs. MacAllister, who settled down cozily beside Mrs. Eaton.

“Helen told me,” she explained to the others, “that all the

surrounding towns had been invited, and, from the appearance of the

avenue, it looks as if all invitations had been accepted. Many families

are making a picnic of it, and will bring lunch and spend the day in

the meadows, where seats have been arranged so that they can see the

coronation afterward. It really has been planned very well. There is

parking space for vehicles, and, in addition to the games and races

by the children, the Meadowbrook team will have a ball-game in the

afternoon. It’s really a gala day, and every one is interested in

making it a success.”

“Yes,” replied Aunt Elsie, picking up Boots, who had followed her out,

“there is considerable talk of having the parade every year and calling

it ‘The Children’s Day,’ if this is a success. I think it would be a

lovely scheme.”

“So do I,” responded Mrs. MacAllister vivaciously; “and I think it was

a splendid plan, asking the cottagers to decorate. Won’t that long

line of lanterns down the avenue look lovely when they’re lighted

for the return parade at dusk? Sam is putting ours up now, and your

place looks very festive.” She glanced about as she spoke, at the long

strings of bobbing lanterns that James had festooned from tree to tree

all about the grounds.

“Listen! What’s that?” cried Mrs. Eaton, holding up a warning finger.

Far down the road they could hear a faint strain of music and the tramp

of marching feet. Cubby squirmed with impatience and clambered up on

her grandfather’s knee, holding her breath with eagerness as the sound

came nearer and nearer.

“It’s the Meadowbrook Fife and Drum Corps that they invited to lead the

parade,” volunteered Grandma Carr. “Hark, there’s a bugle. That must be

Gabriel, riding before as Herald. Look, look, Cubby; here they come.”

Cubby folded her chubby hands and stared with eyes like full moons.

Gabriel dashed ahead on a fat brown pony, blowing a bugle and

announcing importantly with every toot, “Make way for the Queen of May,

make way for the Queen of May,” though no one made any effort to block

the road.

Four abreast, the Meadowbrook Fife and Drum Corps marched next, with

the sun flashing on their bugles and on the rows of gilt braid that

trimmed the leaf-green uniforms they wore. They played so valiantly

that it was hard to keep from marching in time to the stirring strains,

and Cubby’s foot went tap-tapping against her chair while ecstatic

shivers ran down her spine.

At Miss Helen’s suggestion the sewing-classes at the school had made

Lincoln-green costumes for the King and his attendants. It gave a

picturesque effect to the parade, and as Dick, Billy, and Hugh went

marching past, with heads in the air and faces all agrin, as they kept

step to the rat-a-tat-tat of the drummer, they made a fine showing.

As body-guard to the King and Queen, they carried the bows and arrows

that were to be used in the archery contest later, and it looked as

if Robin Hood and his merry men from Sherwood Forest had descended on

Meadowbrook for the day.

King Allan, blond as a young Viking, rode a prancing black horse that

curveted and danced each time the music started.

There was a flutter of handkerchiefs all along the avenue as he came

in sight, followed by cheers from the friendly crowd as the Queen’s

coach, with its snow-white ponies, appeared.

“Isn’t she a picture?” whispered Mrs. MacAllister, waving frantically,

as the May Queen, seated in the heart of the big pink rose, rode by,

nodding and smiling shyly to the interested bystanders.

“And don’t the Maids of Honor look sweet and springy in those cool

green dresses?” demanded Grandmother Carr, as she smiled and waved at

the little girls whose faces beamed with delight, and who fluttered

their handkerchiefs in return, regardless of royal etiquette, till the

coach was out of sight.

“Don was pleased as Punch to drive them. It would have been rather

hard to have been out of all the fun,” Mrs. MacAllister continued

reflectively. “Look at these lovely Maypoles. There must be a dozen at

least.”

There were pink Maypoles and blue Maypoles, and yellow, green,

and lavender Maypoles, as well as a red-white-and-blue, and a

rainbow-shaded one, so that Cubby found it difficult to decide

which was the prettiest. In their light-colored summer dresses the

schoolgirls looked like a flock of brilliant-colored butterflies

as they fluttered about the poles, holding fast to the long satin

streamers. Behind them marched the boys, carrying gay-colored balloons

that floated through the air like enormous soap-bubbles.

“There goes the most important part of the parade,” chuckled Grandpa

Carr, as a big wagon, driven by a laughing crowd of schoolteachers,

brought up the rear, loaded to the brim with baskets of lunch.

“Speaking of lunch,” began Mrs. MacAllister quickly, as she rose from

her seat, “our luncheon no doubt awaits us now, and if we want to be

present at the Queen’s coronation--” She paused suggestively and smiled

at the wee bear, who slid from her grandfather’s knee in a hurry,

anxious for the “party” to begin. Only pausing long enough to send

Boots back to the house, the little party strolled across the road to

White Birches.

It was a glorious day for Cubby. To be an invited guest at a

real luncheon party would have been wonderful in itself, but Mrs.

MacAllister had planned the entire luncheon with a thought to her small

guest’s enjoyment. So the first thing that greeted their eyes, as they

entered the paneled dining-room, was a wreath of pink roses suspended

above the table. From the wreath fluttered long pink Maypole ribbons

that were fastened at each place to pink basket-favors filled with

candied rose-leaves.

Donald, who had hurried home after leaving the May party at their

destination, seated Cubby with as much ceremony as if she had been

forty instead of “going on four,” and entertained her with such a

grown-up conversation that her heart was filled with delight, and she

even felt sorry for Jet and Wiggles, who were missing this good time.

Anxious to correct the impression she had made by her naughtiness

before, she copied her grandmother’s dignified manner to perfection,

but nothing escaped the notice of her dancing brown eyes. Mrs.

MacAllister had to repress a smile as she cleared her throat in

unconscious imitation of her mother, and ate her roll with Aunt

Elsie’s very gestures.

“What an unconscious little actress that child is!” she thought,

catching Mrs. Eaton’s amused glance, as she eyed the small mimic, who

was on her best behavior and acting like a baby seraph.

Everything that the wee bear liked best appeared at that lovely May

Day luncheon, and when ice-cream forms frozen into big pink roses were

served, her dark eyes sparkled with delight. Her cup of joy was filled

when Mrs. MacAllister opened a little white case, and clasped about her

neck a short string of small pink pearls, almost exactly like those

that Elizabeth had received.

“It is lovely of you, Marie, to give the children so much pleasure,”

Mrs. Eaton said, as Cubby lifted her face to Mrs. MacAllister for a

kiss.

“If you knew what a pleasure it was to me,” responded Mrs. MacAllister,

rising from the table and leading the way into the hall. “You know I’ve

threatened before to steal your girls.”

Sam, Mrs. MacAllister’s chauffeur, had the automobile ready and

waiting at the door to take them all to the coronation, but Cubby,

proudly fingering her pearls with one hand, stopped short on the steps

to dance up and down and clap her hands with joy, for, coming up the

driveway, was the Queen’s rose chariot, with Donald driving.

“I promised I’d take you riding with the ponies, and I’m keeping my

promise,” he reminded her with a merry glance, as she danced down the

steps and clambered up into the Queen’s rose seat. “Now hold tight so

you don’t tumble out, and we’ll get there in a jiffy.”

“Look at that child’s rapt face,” exclaimed Mrs. MacAllister from the

car, as the ponies trotted down the broad avenue, with Cubby waving

ecstatic farewells.

Over at the picnic-grounds time had slipped by rapidly. After the

basket-luncheons had been eaten, King Allan and Queen Elizabeth were

escorted with pomp and ceremony to their flowery thrones and the real

merrymaking began.

Donald and Evelyn, followed by the automobile, arrived just in time,

for the coronation was about to begin. They were fortunate in finding

parking space near the scene of the ceremonies, where they could watch

all that passed.

It was a pretty sight. Billy, as master of ceremonies, knelt

respectfully before the King and Queen, and then, advancing down the

aisle formed by the Courtiers and Maids of Honor, he fastened a silver

star to the Queen’s coronet, and placed a crown on the King’s blond

hair.

Over the children’s heads dogwood branches formed an arching canopy of

starry white blossoms, while every breeze carried from near-by orchards

the delicious perfume of crab-apple and plum blossoms that filled the

air with fragrance.

Then, in rapid succession there were potato and sack races,

high-jumping contests, and archery and target-shooting, while the

school classes competed in drills and folk-dancing on the green turf.

The enthusiastic audience, that crowded the meadows and golf links

beyond, applauded vigorously each time a winner advanced to the throne

to receive a prize from the May Queen’s hands.

Cubby sat as upright as her swaying seat would allow, beaming on the

world impartially and hoping every one would know that the May Queen

was her big sister. Her eyes danced with delight when Alice received a

bow and a quiver of arrows as the prize-winner in the archery contest,

and when Billy advanced to receive a camera for the best high jump. Her

happiest moment came when Donald, whom she greatly admired, and who had

been invited by Miss Helen to try his hand at target-shooting, knelt at

the Queen’s feet to receive for his clever marksmanship the tiny gold

pin, shaped like a rifle, that Polly Wiggles fastened to his coat.

“Say, aren’t the prizes fine? The teachers gave them all,” puffed Dick,

appearing suddenly, hot and dirty, at the automobile door with a huge

watermelon in his arms.

“Where _did_ you get that?” demanded Mrs. MacAllister much amused. Dick

fished first in one pocket and then in the other, finally producing a

much-soiled handkerchief with which he wiped his flushed face, adding

to its smudgy appearance.

“I won it in a pie-eating contest,” he announced proudly, placing

the watermelon carefully on the running-board of the car and seating

himself beside it. “Say, but isn’t it hot? I ate nine small pies, and

Gabriel ate seven. I won the melon, and he got a box of candy, but

somehow we don’t seem to feel very hungry.”

“I should think not,” gasped Grandmother Carr in horror. “What will

you do next? You’ll probably die with indigestion to-night. I must

confess that I agree with Polly Wiggles when she says, ‘Aren’t boys the

queerest?’”

“Don’t you worry about Dick,” put in Mrs. MacAllister comfortably,

while Dick’s admiration for her mounted sky-high. “Most boys have

digestions like ostriches, and the pies probably won’t hurt him at all.

I remember once when Donald was much younger,” she continued with a

reminiscent smile, “that he ate four large mince pies, and he’s still

here to tell the tale.”

“Marion and Jeannette each won a set of books in the potato races,”

Dick continued hastily, thinking it wise to change the subject, “and

Hugh got a bully knife in the sack race.”

“How about Kitty?” inquired Aunt Elsie presently. “Seems to me that the

royal party have walked off with a good many prizes.”

Dick snickered. “See that sour-looking girl over there that looks as

if she had swallowed a quart of vinegar?” he murmured confidentially,

pointing to a sullen group just a short distance away. “Well, that’s

Jane Juggins, with her few particular cronies, and ever since Kitty

beat her in the obstacle race and won a silver pencil, she’s been sore

as a boil. Kit’s as light as a feather, you know, and simply sailed

along like thistle-down, and Jane has worn a particularly black scowl

ever since. She’s disgruntled, anyway, ’cause she isn’t in the royal

party.”

Aunt Elsie leaned forward to look, and couldn’t help laughing at Dick’s

apt description. “There’s a discontented subject, if ever I saw one,”

she remarked lightly. “She certainly does _not_ love our Polly Wiggles,

and if black looks were dangerous, the May Queen would need a heavy

guard.”

“She makes me sick,” growled Dick. “I only wish that Wiggles and Allan

could have competed in some of the games, but, of course, royalty had

to act dignified. Look, Aunt Jean, the Maypole dances come next, and

they are mighty pretty. May I leave the watermelon here while I go over

to watch the baseball game?”

“Suppose we take it home for you,” suggested Mrs. MacAllister, making

room for it at her feet.

The day passed like a happy dream for Polly Wiggles. Surrounded by her

closest friends, not even Jane Juggins’ cutting speeches could bother

her, though the boys openly laughed each time Jane flounced by with her

nose in the air.

“You’re beneath her notice,” murmured Allan in a teasing undertone, as

Jane spoke sweetly to him, and looked right through the May Queen as if

she did not exist. “Don’t you feel terribly cut up about it?”

“Dreadfully,” sighed Polly Wiggles with a saucy glance at him. “My day

is quite, quite ruined.”

“I heard her tell one of her friends that you lacked a queenly air,”

confided Gabriel, appearing from the ball field and passing his candy

about. “I hope you realize the seriousness of that offense. You should

take lessons in nose-tilting from the scornful Jane and act as if we

were the dirt beneath your feet.”

“None but the noble Jane possesses the lofty dignity, the icy stare,

the haughty carriage, combined with the ‘I know not what,’ that any

queen who is a queen should possess. Now Wiggles couldn’t manage an

icy stare if her throne depended on it. I always wondered what it was

that she lacked, and now, alas, I know,” put in Billy mournfully as he

helped himself to more candy.

“Oh, but the noble Jane can give coy melting glances, too,” grinned

Gabriel, shooting a quick glance at Allan, who scowled in response.

Little by little the crowd dispersed. At seven o’clock the line of

march was resumed, and the parade started its return journey through a

lane of glowing lanterns and colored fire. Every cottage along the way

had decorated, in honor of the day, with bunting, and swaying lanterns

that gleamed through the gathering dusk like enormous scintillating

fireflies.

White Birches had been turned into a fairyland of colored lights, and

the children halted a few minutes while Sam, assisted by James, set off

glowing pinwheels and sparkling flowerpots, with Cubby waving sparklers

to and fro with a happy though sleepy smile.

In front of the post-office the parade disbanded, and most of the

children hurried home for hasty suppers. Down in the grove a band

concert, that would last till nine-thirty, had already begun.

Donald backed the cart up to the sidewalk, and jumped down, almost

colliding with the “noble Jane,” as Billy insisted on calling her, who

was hovering near. As he rounded up the royal party, she watched him

from the corner of her eye, secretly angry because this good-looking

new boy, with the beautiful ponies, should already be on such friendly

terms with the group of girls she disliked.

“All the May-Day royalties pile in,” commanded Donald, hurrying back

with Gabriel and Allan in tow. “We’ll have to squeeze a bit to seat

eleven, but I’m sure we can manage. No one needs to go home to ask, for

Mother has already received permission for you all to come to White

Birches for a little supper party.”

“What fun,” murmured Polly Wiggles, serenely unconscious of Jane’s

angry glances from behind, as the ponies trotted off with the load of

laughing young people. “It’s the lovely end to a lovely day, isn’t it,

Jet?”

“Indeed it is,” Jeannette said smilingly in return, glancing with happy

dark eyes at her sister. “Why, Donald, where are you taking us?”

No wonder she inquired, for the ponies swept past the big porch, where

Mrs. MacAllister was entertaining her friends from The Lilacs and Sweet

Briar, and trotted on down the winding path toward Willow Lake.

“Look, look,” cried Alice, catching Marion’s arm and pointing toward

the rustic summer-house at the edge of the lake. “Oh, how pretty!”

“It looks like fairyland,” added Kitty, leaning forward to gaze at the

bobbing lanterns that swung across the little rustic bridge and cast

fantastic shadows on the round table that had been laid for eleven in

the pavilion. “I never saw anything so lovely.”

“It looks like a Fairy Godmother’s idea,” breathed Alice, as Billy

assisted her from the rose coach. “Probably all she did was to wave a

wand and the table sprang up through the floor, all covered with silver

and china in readiness for us.”

“And at the stroke of twelve ’twill vanish like a puff of smoke,”

declared Allan dramatically, snapping his fingers to illustrate.

“Yum-yum, I smell chicken, and I’m hungry. I hope the clock won’t

strike twelve yet awhile,” said matter-of-fact Marion, interrupting the

chorus of delighted exclamations.

“The idea of speaking of such a prosaic thing as hunger, when you can

feast your eyes on an enchanting scene like that,” rebuked Billy from

the rear. “However, since you have mentioned the subject, let me say

that I could stand a little solid nourishment myself. A chicken wing to

gnaw upon, or ‘Only three grains of corn, Mother,’ would help me stay

the faintness that has come upon me. Lead on, MacDuff.”

“Somebody take this poor starving creature and give him a bowl of

broth,” sang out Donald, giving Allan a laughing push to lead the way.

“I’ll be right along, but I have to wait till Sam comes to get the

ponies.”

Not much urging was necessary, for something did smell wonderfully

appetizing, and they all were hungry. In the gayest of spirits they

rushed pell-mell down the marble steps and across the bridge to the

summer-house, while Donald handed the ponies over to the grinning Sam,

and turned to help Polly Wiggles, whose floating pink ribbons had

caught fast to a rosebush. It wasn’t an easy matter to untangle them,

but at last he was successful.

“Pin them down with this, please do,” he begged eagerly, stooping to

fasten the little pin he had won to the fluttering ribbons. “There,

that holds them fast.”

Polly Wiggles surveyed it doubtfully. “But it’s yours,” she objected,

the color surging in her face as she glanced at him shyly.

“It’s a trophy, won for the Queen in tournament, and she must wear it,”

he jested, but with an air of finality, as he smiled into the blue eyes

raised to his.

“Why, if here isn’t Boots!” exclaimed Polly Wiggles in astonishment,

glancing sharply at a dark object that came purringly forward. “He’s

come to join the party, too.”

A chorus of calls from the summer-house sent them scurrying to join

the others at the table, where sandwiches, chicken, and ice-cream were

appearing as if by magic. There was a clatter of silver and china, and

a babel of laughing voices that could be heard up on the porch of White

Birches as the hungry children did justice to the dainty supper that

Mrs. MacAllister had provided, while the grown-ups smiled in sympathy

at the peals of infectious laughter.

It was the first time that Polly Wiggles had had a near view of

Willow Lake, and, sinking down on the circular seat that ran about

the pavilion, she exclaimed at sight of the loveliness revealed,

as she pushed aside the tangled wisteria vines and looked dreamily

across the waters, where moonbeams were cresting the ripples with

a silvery radiance, and slender white birches leaned down to gaze

at their own reflections. Through the air came the delicious odor

of wild honeysuckle and syringa, while showers of pink-and-white

cherry-blossoms drifted with each puff of the breeze down to the

rush-bordered banks.

With a tired little sigh the May Queen leaned back in her seat, but

looked up with a smile as Donald solicitously tucked a cushion behind

her. “Tired?” he asked sympathetically, amid the laughter and chatter

about them. “It’s been a pretty busy day for you.”

“How about yourself?” she returned with a merry glance, as she settled

herself luxuriously against the soft cushion. “I’ll confess I am a wee

bit tired, but it’s been worth it.”

“Isn’t this fun?” demanded Allan, looking the picture of contentment,

with a sandwich in one hand and a glass of fruit punch in the other.

“I drink to the health of Miss Wiggles, our Queen,

The loveliest sovereign that ever was seen,”

he proposed, rising with his glass in hand, and bowing low to laughing

Polly Wiggles.

“How about the fair Maids of Honor?” inquired Kitty coolly, patting

Boots, that had jumped in her lap. “Don’t they come in for a toast,

too?”

“Stay your impatience, it’s not polite,” reproved Billy, who had been

restored to “life and health,” as he expressed it, by several generous

helpings of sweetbreads and chicken patties. “Now here is a toast to

those that really deserve the honor,” he drawled teasingly, as he

lazily rose to his feet.

“A toast to the Herald, a toast to the King,

To Courtiers noble and gallant, I sing--”

“While for fair Maids of Honor in dainty array,

I propose three loud cheers, and a hip-hip hooray,”

added Jeannette rapidly before Billy could finish. She turned as she

finished to survey her cousin, and couldn’t repress a giggle at sight

of his astonished face at having the words taken from his mouth.

“See here, youngster, don’t you know that interrupting is against all

royal etiquette?” he asked in an aggrieved voice. “What I was going to

say when you so rudely interrupted, was--”

“Don’t say it. Listen to the band concert instead,” Alice advised

mischievously, pulling him down into his seat. “Doesn’t it sound lovely

and dreamy at this distance?”

“And just look at the reflection of these beautiful lanterns in the

water,” added Marion, leaning over the rail of the summer-house to

admire the many colors that sparkled and shimmered in the clear lake.

Allan jumped up to inspect the decorations more closely. “I never saw

any like these before,” he said admiringly as he glanced at the array

of silk lanterns shaped like flowers, fish, and dragons that were

suspended over his head and swayed with every passing breeze.

“We brought those from Japan with us. I don’t believe you could get

them over here,” Donald explained, seeing his interest. “Somebody

throw me a sandwich, please.”

“What a beautiful day we have had!” mused Polly Wiggles softly. “Isn’t

it a shame that such good times have to end?” She sighed regretfully as

she listened to the soft whisper of the ripples against the bank, for

they seemed to murmur mournfully, “All is over, all is over.”

Gabriel looked about glumly. “Yes, all the fun is over, and now we’ll

have to knuckle down to spelling and history and poetry afternoons,” he

finished gloomily as he ate his ice-cream with gusto.

“And arithmetic exams come in the very near future,” put in Alice

dismally as she nibbled a macaroon. “O dear! O dear! How I hate good

times to end.”

“Cheer up, little one, school closes in another two weeks and we always

have fun on the last day. I think it’s great that they’ve decided to

give prizes for the best poems submitted. So let your heart rejoice.

Maybe you’ll get one,” Billy consoled her, tweaking her blonde locks.

“And maybe I won’t,” she retorted witheringly, but Billy refused to be

squelched.

“Now Mary Ann, the star pupil doesn’t seem to be worrying about

exams, or letting the thought interfere with her appetite,” he teased

wickedly, as Marion started leisurely on her second plate of cream.

“You stop calling me ‘Mary Ann.’ You know how I loathe that name, and

if you do it any more, I’ll call you Little Willie.”

“Wow, that would be a hard one to live down,” Donald laughed as he

tossed an olive-pit out on the grass and helped himself to more

sandwiches. “Somebody tell me, please, why good times are at an end,

anyway? I should think they were just beginning, with a lovely long

vacation to look forward to. Just think of the jolly fine times we can

all have together.”

“What kind of times?” demanded practical Marion, absently twining one

of Jet’s long brown curls about her finger as she spoke.

“Oh,--all kinds,” put in Dick rather vaguely. “Say, Don, what’s the

name of that little bit of an island in the middle of Willow Lake? It

would be a bully place for picnics, wouldn’t it?”

“Great,” Donald responded with enthusiasm as he turned to glance where

Dick pointed. “You deserve a vote of thanks for such a fine idea. It’s

called ‘Paradise Island,’ I believe. We’ll paddle out some day and look

it over, it only takes a few minutes to get there.”

“Isn’t it beautiful? It looks like a Paradise,” murmured Polly Wiggles

as she gazed at the moonlight flooded wooded island where willow

branches trailed green boughs down to the water’s edge, and wild azalea

was a riot of color against the background of green. “Oh, I know what

we can do!” She sat up suddenly and clapped her hands. “Each one of

you must tell of the special good time you are looking forward to

this summer,--in verse.” She glanced about expectantly, and smiled at

Gabriel’s stricken face.

“Oh, Wiggles,” protested Marion, “that is dreadfully hard to do.”

“No, it isn’t,” insisted the May Queen shaking her curls. “It’s really

lots of fun, and no one may say a single solitary word till orders

are obeyed. Verse first,--free speech afterward. I’m still May Queen

till the clock strikes twelve,” she added mischievously, seeing signs

of mutiny in Gabriel’s face, “and I _command_ that you all obey. The

penalty will be a ducking in the lake.”

Gabriel gave an anguished howl. “Here’s where I get a bath,” he

groaned. “You _know_ I simply _can’t_ make up poetry.”

“Yes you can,” persisted Polly Wiggles encouragingly. “Now all of you

think hard.”

The silence was profound for a few minutes.

“I want to go fishing,

That’s what I am wishing,”

piped up Dick suddenly. “Now I may talk, may I not, Woggsie? We boys

could go fishing and then build a camp-fire and cook the fish on stones

over at the island, isn’t that a wow of a plan? You girls could help

with the eats of course,” he added hastily.

“Let’s take some horns to toot on loud,

And have a straw-ride for the crowd,

We’d stop some place for tea at night,

Returning when the moon was bright,”

suggested Jeannette, blushing as every one applauded the idea

vigorously.

“Oh, that would be bully good fun,” began Gabriel, forgetting orders,

and looking aghast as Polly Wiggles pointed a stern finger at him.

“And--and I hope you’ll invite me to come,” he brought out at last

apologetically amid much mirth.

Billy gave a loud “ahem.”

“Let’s go on a hot-dog roast,

Take marshmallows, too, to toast.

Corn and ’taters piping hot,

Would taste bully, like as not,”

he proposed, looking about the group and giving a subdued snicker at

sight of Alice’s and Marion’s anguished expressions. “Cheer up, the

worst is yet to come,” he hissed dramatically. Alice made a saucy face

at him.

“Living pictures we could pose,

All dressed up in fancy clothes,

Tableaux would be fun, I know,

And perhaps we’d make some dough,”

she repeated rapidly with the anxious frown leaving her forehead.

“That’s the best of all,” said Polly Wiggles, much pleased.

“Such slang from the Lady Alice! Where did you pick up such a

disgusting expression as ‘dough?’” reproved Billy sadly. “Never do such

slangy words drop from _my_ lips. I fully expected after that choice

phrase to have you continue thusly:

“‘It would be a lot of fun,

For some Cause, we’d make the mon.’

“However, maybe Mary A--excuse me, Marion, can ’render us a selection.’”

“I’d propose to give a fair,

Boys can work and do their share,”

returned Marion, serenely, giggling at the howl of protest that arose

from the boys.

Allan munched a bit of candy reflectively.

“But the boys say, ‘Nay, nay, nay,

We’d far rather give a play,’”

he responded swiftly with a laughing glance in Marion’s direction.

“Hurry up, Don.”

“Let’s go berrying, I say,

Some fine morn at break of day,

Take along this happy bunch,

Big tin pails, and _lots_ of lunch,”

Donald suggested, seating himself on the rail of the summer-house and

whistling under his breath.

“All these suggestions sound grand,” Dick said, “and it’s up to us to

carry them out. But how about the May Queen? Why are you so backward

about coming forward, Woggsie, are you asleep?”

“Picnics morning, noon, and night,

I’d consider a delight,”

Polly Wiggles suggested stifling a yawn, while Kitty chimed in:

“Why not start a club? ’Twould be,

Lots of fun, as you’ll agree.”

“That would be lovely,” chorused the girls, much pleased at the idea.

“Speak up, Hugh and Gay,” ordered the Queen, giving Gabriel a nudge

with her scepter. “You two are last.”

“Why, I did give you a rhyme, don’t you remember?” Gabriel protested in

an injured tone.

“Not a good-time rhyme,” Polly Wiggles objected decidedly. “Hurry up.”

Gabriel pondered desperately.

“I’d like to tramp around the lakes,

And hunt for turtles, bugs, and snakes,”

he volunteered finally, looking thoroughly disgusted when the girls

shrieked at the idea. “Now what’s the matter with that, I’d like to

know?”

“You have no tact, my son,” Billy informed him. “Don’t you know that

such things offend their delicate sensibilities?”

Allan jumped up with determination in his eye. “Into the lake you go,

Hugh,” he cried grabbing his friend’s auburn thatch of hair while Dick

seized his feet and a laughing scuffle started. “Do you mean to say

that _Gay_ can beat you at rhyming?”

“Ouch, let go. You’ve all talked so much that I haven’t had a chance,”

Hugh excused himself, freeing his hair with a jerk, and searching his

mind for an idea. “How’s this?

“Some parties would be fun, I think,

With lots to eat and lots to drink!

“Now gimme another glass of punch.”

“Oh, Hugh,” protested Marion in disgust, “don’t you ever think about

anything but eating? Boys certainly are queer.”

“Well, I think,” Jeannette said, acting as peacemaker, “that we won’t

be able to complain of our good times being over, if all the lovely

things happen this summer that we have suggested in our rhymes. Hark,

Wiggles! Isn’t that Mother calling?”

Sure enough, through the bower of bushes and shrubbery banking the

terraces that sloped up to the house they could hear, “Elizabeth,

Jeannette, it’s time to say ‘good-night.’”

“O dear! May Day is over,” sighed the Queen, rising reluctantly.

“We must go, too,” chorused the other girls, jumping to their feet

regretfully, “but we’ve had a wonderful time.”

Up the path they scampered, pausing at the corner of the big shadowy

veranda where Mrs. MacAllister was swaying gently to and fro in a

swinging chair, and she looked up with a smile at their approach.

“We don’t know how to thank you,” began Polly Wiggles gratefully, as

she stooped to kiss the kind friend who had added so much pleasure to

the May Day for them all.

“I don’t want you to thank me,” broke in Mrs. MacAllister, smiling at

the circle of girlish faces. “I want you all to use the ponies and

boats whenever you wish, and to play in the summer-houses any time.

I just love to have a crowd of rollicking young people about, and so

does Donald. You know I told Mrs. Eaton that I’d like to steal her

daughters, and an even better plan would be to adopt you all,” she

finished jokingly.

“Yes, do,” agreed Donald eagerly. “Adopt them as godsons and

goddaughters.”

“And we’ll adopt you as our Fairy Godmother,” Alice put in contentedly.

“I’ll walk across the road with you,” Donald said as the girls, arm in

arm, skipped down the path between the silvery birch-trees, while the

boys followed close behind. Over at The Lilacs the lanterns had been

taken in and all signs of the revelry were over.

“It must be nine-thirty, for the band is playing ‘Good Night, Ladies,’”

yawned Jeannette as they paused at the gate. “How appropriate. Do sing!”

Up at The Lilacs Mrs. Eaton looked at Grandma Carr and smiled as the

clear voices rang out in the song, followed by what the boys called

“The Nightcap Chant,” as shoulder to shoulder they tramped down the

avenue behind the laughing girls.

“Good night, lovely maidens, we’re grieving,

With sorrow there is no relieving,

But the hour is late,

Ere you give us the gate,

We think it is wise to be leaving,”

they chanted lustily.

As the last strains of the ridiculous song died away, only the rustling

of the trees and the shrill piping of the crickets broke the stillness

of the evening as Donald turned to go.

“See you to-morrow,” he said, pausing with his hand on the gate to

glance back over his shoulder, and Jeannette and Polly Wiggles standing

with their arms about each other beneath the swaying lilac-bushes,

waved “good-night.”

THE END

Transcriber's Notes:

Italics are shown thus: _sloping_.

Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.

Perceived typographical errors have been changed.