THE COMING OF DELIGHT
But though Marjorie made her brave resolutions in good faith, it was hard
to keep them. School was awful. The very sight of Gladys's empty seat
made Midge choke with tears.
Miss Lawrence appreciated the case, and was most gentle and kind to
Marjorie, but still the trouble was there.
"Wouldn't you like to have Katy Black sit with you, dear?" asked the
teacher.
"No, thank you." said Midge, "I can't bear to put any one in Gladys's
place. Don't bother about me, Miss Lawrence, I'm not going to cry."
She didn't cry, but she sighed so frequently and so deeply, that
kind-hearted Miss Lawrence almost wept in sympathy.
At home it was better. The Maynards always had good times at home, and of
course when there, Marjorie didn't miss Gladys so much. But the long
mornings in the school-room, and the long afternoons when she wanted to
run over to Gladys's house were almost unbearable.
Merry, madcap Midget became a sober-faced little girl, who was all the
more pathetic because she tried to be cheerful.
Mrs. Maynard felt worried about the matter, and proposed to her husband
that she should take Marjorie, and go away for a trip somewhere.
"No," said Mr. Maynard; "let her fight it out. It's hard for her, but
it's doing her real good, and bringing out the best side of her nature.
We'll all help her all we can, and if I'm not greatly mistaken our
Marjorie will come out of this ordeal with flying colors."
"It's will-power, little daughter," said Mr. Maynard to her one evening.
"Just determine that this cloud shall not entirely obscure the sun for
you."
"Yes," said Midge, smiling, "it's just an eclipse, isn't it?"
"Yes, and it seems to be a total eclipse; but even total eclipses pass,
if we wait long enough. Any letter from Gladys this week?"
"One came this morning. Would you like to read it?"
"Of course I should, very much."
"It's strange," said Marjorie, as she produced the letter, "for all
Gladys loves school so, and is a good student, she can't seem to spell
right."
"I know another lady who has difficulty in that direction," said Mr.
Maynard, smiling.
"Yes, but Glad is different. She can spell the spelling-book stickers,
'embarrassed,' and 'cleemosynary,' and such words, 'cause she studies
them; and then she'll misspell simple every-day words. Now, you see."
Mr. Maynard smiled a little as he read the letter.
_Los Angeles, Cal._
DEAR MARJORIE:
We are having a lovely time. We have not found a house yet, but are
staying at the hotel till we do find one to suite us, I like it here very
much. I miss you very much, dear Marjorie. There are lovely people in the
hotel, and we go for walks to pick flowers. The flowers here are
beautiful. Now I must close. With lots of love and kisses, your
LOVING GLADYS.
"Between you and me and the post, Midget, I don't think that's a very
interesting letter, do you?"
"No, Father, I don't. I thought Glad would write more as she talks. She
doesn't talk a bit like that, when we're together."
"I know it, Mops, I've heard her. But some people never can write as they
talk. As soon as they get a pen between their fingers, their brain seems
to freeze up, and break off in little, cold, hard sentences. Now, what
sort of a letter do you write?"
"Here's the answer I wrote to-day to Gladys. I haven't sent it yet."
MY DARLING GLADYS:
I wish you would come back. It's perfectly horrid at school without you,
and though Miss Lawrence said Katy Black could sit with me, I don't want
her. She's a nice enough girl, but she isn't you. And nobody is, Dear old
Glad, I do miss you so. Of course as there's no remedy under the sun, I'm
being cheerful and gay about it, but my heart misses you just the same.
We don't have the Jinks Club any more. It made me sick to go to it
without you. I expect you're having good times in California, and I'm
glad of that. Write soon to
YOUR LOVING MOPSY MIDGET.
"Now, of the two, Midge, yours is the much better letter. Don't ever try
to copy Gladys's style, will you?"
"No; I'm glad you like mine best. You see, I write without thinking about
anything except not to spill the ink."
"A very good plan. Stick to it all your life. Midget, I don't want to be
unkind, but has it struck you that Gladys is not so heart-broken over
your separation as you are?"
A look of pain came into Marjorie's loyal eyes, as she said:
"It does seem so, I know. But I think it's because Gladys has all sorts
of new places and new people to amuse her, while I'm left here alone."
"It's partly that, little girl; and partly because Gladys hasn't such a
warm, loving loyal heart as my Marjorie's."
"She is different," admitted Midget; "but I know she loves me, even if it
doesn't say so right out in her letter."
"Perhaps she forgot to put it in, because she was so busy trying not to
spill the ink."
"Perhaps so," agreed Marjorie, answering the twinkle in her father's eye.
"And now, Miss Mops, I have a bit of news for you. The Fulton house is
rented to some people from New York."
"Is it?" said Marjorie, indifferently.
"And in the family is a girl twelve years of age."
"And you think she'll take Glad's place!" cried Midge, indignantly.
"Well, I can just tell you she won't! A girl from New York! She'll be
stuck-up, and superior, and look down on us Rockwell girls!"
"How do you know all this?"
"I know; 'cause Katy Black had a girl from New York visiting her, and she
was just horrid! All stiff and mincy, and dropping curtseys every two
minutes!"
"But you're taught to drop curtseys."
"Yes, when I enter or leave a room where there are ladies, but that girl
was always at it, in school and everywhere."
"Sort of a jumping-jack, wasn't she? Well, try to like this new girl,
dearie; it's the best I can do for you in the way of neighbors."
"Oh, I may like her,--and I'll be polite to her, of course; but I know I
shan't want her for an intimate friend, like Glad."
"Perhaps not; but I was so pleased when I heard a little girl was coming
to live across the street, that I think you ought to be pleased too."
"Well, I will! I am! And if she isn't too stuck-up, I'll try to like
her."
A few afternoons later, King, who was sitting by a front window, called
out:
"Hi! I say, Mops! Here's the new family moving into the Fulton house!"
Marjorie only upset a waste-basket and a very small table as she ran to
the window to look out.
Kitty raced after her, and Rosy Posy toddled up too, so in a moment the
four were eagerly gazing at the new-comers, themselves quite hidden by
the lace curtains.
"Nice looking bunch," commented King, as he watched a well-dressed lady
and gentleman get out of the carriage.
"And there's the girl!" cried Marjorie, as a child followed them. "Oh,
she _is_ a stuck-up!"
"How do you know?" said King. "I think she's a daisy!"
They could only see her back, as the new neighbor walked up the path to
the house, but she seemed to be of a dainty, not to say finicky type.
She wore a large hat with feathers, and a black velvet coat that covered
her frock completely.
A mass of fluffy golden hair hung below the big black hat, and the little
girl tripped along in a way that if not "mincing," was certainly
"citified."
"No, I don't like her," declared Midge, as she watched the stranger go up
the steps and into the house; "she isn't a bit like Gladys."
"Neither am I," said King, "but you like me."
"Yes, you dear, cunning little sweet thing, I do like you," said Midget,
touching King's hair in a teasing way.
He promptly pulled off her hair-ribbon, and as Marjorie felt in the
humor, this began one of their favorite games of make-believe.
"The diamond tiara!" she shrieked, "the villain hath stole it!"
"Horrors!" cried Kitty, "then shall he be captured, and forced to restore
it!"
She pounced on King, and aided by Marjorie, they threw him on the couch,
and wrapped his head in the afghan. Horrible growls came from the
prisoner, but no word of surrender.
"Art vanquished?" asked Kitty pulling the afghan away from one of his
eyes.
"I art not!" he declared in a muffled voice, but with so terrific a glare
from that one eye, that they hastily covered him up again.
But he managed to free himself, and stood towering above the
terror-stricken girls, who now knelt at his feet and begged for mercy.
"Spare us!" moaned Kit. "We are but lorn damsels who seek food and
shelter!"
"Me wants a selter, too," announced Rosy Posy, joining the others, and
clasping her little fat hands as they did. "What is a selter?"
"A selter for none of you!" roared King, with threatening gestures. "To
the dungeon, all three! Ha, varlets, appear, and do my bidding!"
"I'll be a varlet," said Midge, suddenly changing her rôle. "We'll put
Lady Katherine in the dungeon, and let the fair Lady Rosamond go
free!"
"As thou sayest," said King, agreeably, and, though bravely resisting,
Kitty was overpowered, and thrown into a dungeon under the table. From
this she contrived to escape by the clever expedient of creeping out at
the other side, but as it was then time to get ready for dinner, the game
came to an untimely end.
"We've seen the new girl, Father," said Marjorie, as they sat at the
table.
"Have you? Well, I've seen the new man,--that is, if you refer to our new
neighbors across the street."
"Yes, in Gladys's house. What's his name, Father?"
"Mr. Spencer. I met him at the post-office, and Mr. Gage introduced us.
Mr. Gage is the agent who has the Fulton house in charge, and he told we
before that these newcomers are fine people. I liked Mr. Spencer
exceedingly. I'm sorry, Mops, you're so determined not to like the
daughter. Mr. Spencer tells me she's a lovable child."
"Oh, of course he'd think so,--he's her father."
"Well, I admit, fathers are a prejudiced class. Perhaps I have too high
an opinion of my own brood."
"You couldn't have," said Kitty, calmly, and Mr. Maynard laughed as he
looked at the four smiling faces, and responded:
"I don't believe I could!"
"Don't spoil them, Fred," said Mrs. Maynard, warningly, but King broke
in:
"Too late, Mother! We're spoiled already. Father's high opinion of us has
made us puffed up and conceited."
"Nonsense, King," cried Midge; "we're not conceited. Not nearly as much
so as that girl across the way. You ought to see, Father, how she hopped
up the walk! Like a scornful grasshopper!"
"Marjorie," said Mrs. Maynard, repressing a smile, "you must not
criticise people so; especially those you don't know."
"Well, she did, Mother. She thinks because she came from New York,
Rockwell people are no good at all."
"How do you know that, Midge?" said her father, a little gravely.
"Oh, Midget is a reader of character," said King. "She only saw this
girl's yellow hair, hanging down her back, and she knew all about her at
once."
"She had a velvet coat," protested Marjorie, "and a short dress and long
black legs--"
"You wouldn't want her to wear a train, would you?" put in Kitty.
"No, but her frock was awful short, and her hat was piled with feathers."
"That will do, Marjorie," said her father, very decidedly, now. "It isn't
nice to run on like that about some one you've never met."
"But I'm just telling what I saw, Father."
"But not in a kind spirit, my child. You're trying to make the little
girl appear unattractive, or even ridiculous; and you must not do that.
It isn't kind."
"That's so," said Marjorie, contritely; "it's horrid of me, I know, and
I'll stop it. But she did look like a flyaway jib!"
"What is a flyaway jib?" said her father, with an air of one seeking
information.
"I haven't an idea," said Mops, laughing; "but I know I've heard of it
somewhere."
"And so you describe a girl whom you don't know, in words whose meaning
you don't know! Well, that's consistent, at any rate! Now, I _do_ know
something about this young lady. And, to begin with, I know her name."
"Oh, what is it?" said Midge and Kitty together.
"Well, Mops is such a reader of character, she ought to be able to guess
her name. What do you think it is, Midget?"
Marjorie considered. She dearly loved to guess, even when she had no hint
to go by.
"I think," she said, slowly, "it is probably Arabella or Araminta."
"'Way off," said her father; "you're no good at guessing. Kitty, what do
you say?"
"It ought to be Seraphina," said Kitty, promptly. "She looks like a wax
doll."
"Wrong again! King, want to guess?"
"'Course I do. I think her name is Flossy Flouncy. She looks so dressy
and gay."
"That's a good name, King," said Marjorie, "and just suits her. I shall
call her that, what ever her real name is. I suppose it's Mary Jane, or
something not a bit like her. What is it, Father?"
"Well, it's not a common name, exactly. It's Delight."
"Delight!" cried King. "What a funny, name! I never heard of it before."
"I think it's lovely," declared Marjorie. "It's a beautiful name. Why
didn't you name me Delight, Mother?"
"You didn't say you wanted me to," returned Mrs. Maynard, smiling, for
Marjorie often wished for various names that pleased her better than her
own for the moment.
"Well, I think it's sweet, don't you, Kit?"
"Beautiful!" said Kitty, enthusiastically.
"And she's not at all 'stuck-up,'" went on Mr. Maynard; "she's rather
shy, and though she wants to get acquainted with you children, she's
afraid you won't like her. I didn't tell Mr. Spencer that you had decided
already not to like her."
"I like her name," said Marjorie, "but I don't like her because she lives
in Gladys's house, and she isn't Gladys!"
"So that's where the shoe pinches!" said Mr. Maynard, laughing at
Marjorie's troubled face. "A foolish resentment because strangers are in
your friend's home. Why, dearie, Mr. Fulton was most anxious to rent the
house, and he'll be glad to have such good tenants. And, by the way,
Midge, don't say anything more unpleasant about the little Spencer girl.
You've said enough."
"I won't, Father," said Midget, with an honest glance from her big, dark
eyes into his own, for truth to tell, she felt a little ashamed of her
foolish criticisms already.
"Delight!" she said, musingly as she and Kitty were preparing for bed
that night. "Isn't it a dear name, Kit? What does it make you think of?"
"A princess," said Kitty, whose imagination Was always in fine working
order; "one who always wears light blue velvet robes, and eats off of
gold dishes."
"Yes," agreed Marjorie, falling in with the game, "and she has white
doves fluttering about, and black slaves to bow before her."
"No, not black slaves; they're for princesses named Ermengarde or
Fantasmagoria." Kitty was not always particular about any authority for
names, if they sounded well. "A princess named Delight would have
handmaidens,--fair-haired ones, with soft trailing white robes."
"Kit, you're a wonder," said Marjorie, staring at her younger sister;
"how do you know such things?"
"They come to me," said Kitty, mystically.
"Well, they sound all right, but I don't believe handmaidens ought to
wear trailing gowns. How could they handmaid?"
"That's so," said Kitty, a little crestfallen.
"Never mind; I spect they could. They could gracefully throw the trails
over their arms, as they glide along in their sandalled feet."
"Yes, and strains of music came from concealed luters--"
"Huh! looters are burglars, and it's slang besides."
"No, not that kind. Luters that play on lutes, I mean. And the Princess
Delight would sniff attar of rose, and fan herself with waving peacock
feathers."
"A slave ought to do that."
"Well, all right, let him. And then the Princess falls asleep 'neath her
silken coverlet, and lets her sister put out the lights,--like this!" and
with a jump, Kitty bounced into her own little bed, and pulled up the
down coverlet to her chin.
Imitating the white-robed handmaidens, Marjorie swayed around to an
improvised chant of her own, and putting out the electric lights with
much dramatic elaboration, she finally swayed into her own bed, and after
they had both chanted a choric good-night, they soon fell sleep.