A CHANCE ACQUAINTANCE
All of the Maynards were sorry when the time came to leave Grandma
Sherwood's. But they had still three weeks of their trip before them, and
many places yet to be visited. Kitty was almost tempted to stay, since
she was coming back in June anyway, and she wasn't quite so fond of
travelling about as King and Midget were. But they would not hear of
this, and persuaded Kitty to go on the trip, and return to Grandma
Sherwood's later.
So on a fair, sunshiny May morning, the big car started once more on its
travels, with half a dozen Maynards packed in it. They were waving
good-byes, and calling back messages of farewell, and the car rolled
away, leaving Grandma and Uncle Steve watching them out of sight.
Their next destination was New York City, where they were to make a short
visit at Grandma Maynard's.
"Isn't it funny," Marjorie said, voicing the sentiment of many older
travellers, "that when you leave one place you sort of forget it,--and
your thoughts fly ahead to the next place you're going."
"It's so long since I've been at Grandma Maynard's," said Kitty, "and I
was so little when I was there, that I hardly remember it at all."
"It isn't half as much fun as Grandma Sherwood's," declared King, and
then Marjorie, afraid lest her father should feel hurt, added quickly,
"But it's very nice indeed, and Grandma and Grandpa Maynard are lovely.
The only reason we have more fun at Grandma Sherwood's is because we
don't have to be quite so careful of our manners and customs."
"Well, it won't hurt you, Midget," said her mother, "to have a little
experience in that line; and I do hope, children, you will behave
yourselves, and not go to cutting up any of your mischief or jinks."
"Kit will be our star exhibit," said King, "she'll have to do the manners
for the family."
"I'll do my share," said Kitty, taking him literally, "but unless you two
behave, I can't do it all. If you go to pulling hair-ribbons and neckties
off each other, Grandma Maynard will think you're Hottentots!"
"I will be good, dear Mother," said King, with such an angelic expression
on his face that Mrs. Maynard felt sure he was in a specially roguish
mood; and though she thought her children were the dearest in the world,
yet she knew they had a propensity for getting into mischief just when
she wanted them to act most decorously.
But she said no more, for very often special admonitions resulted in
special misbehavior.
They were spinning along a lovely country road, which ran across that
portion of New Jersey, and the children found much to interest them in
the scenes they passed. Mr. Maynard liked to travel rather slowly, and as
it neared noon they stopped at a hotel for luncheon. Here they stayed
for some time, and the children were delighted to find that there were
several other children living at the hotel, and they soon became
acquainted.
One girl, about Marjorie's age, named Ethel Sinclair, seemed an
especially nice child, and Mrs. Maynard was glad to have Marjorie play
with her.
She was sitting on the veranda embroidering, and this interested
Marjorie, for all the girls she knew of her own age liked to run and play
better than to sit and sew.
But when Ethel showed them her work, Kitty and Marjorie, and even King,
took an interest in looking at it. It was a large piece of white linen,
about a yard square, neatly hemstitched, and all over it were names of
people.
Ethel explained that she asked any one whom she chose to write an
autograph on the cloth in pencil, and then afterward she worked them very
carefully with red cotton, taking very small stitches that the names
might be clear and legible.
"But what's it for?" asked King, with a boy's ignorance of such matters.
"It's a teacloth," said Ethel, "to cover a tea table, you know."
"But you don't have afternoon tea, do you?" asked Marjorie, for Ethel,
like herself, was only twelve.
"No, but I'm going to use it for a tablecover in my bedroom, and perhaps
when I grow older I can use it for a teacloth."
Ethel was a prim-mannered child, and had apparently been brought up in a
conventional manner, but Marjorie liked her, and stayed talking with her,
while King and Kitty went off to explore the gardens.
"I wish I could make one," went on Marjorie to Ethel, "where did you get
the linen?"
"There's a little shop just down the road, and they have the squares
already hemstitched. It would be nice for you to make one, for you could
get so many names as you go on your trip."
"So I could; I'm going to ask mother if I may buy one. Will you go with
me, Ethel?"
Ethel went gladly, and when the girls showed the teacloth to Mrs.
Maynard, she approved of the whole plan, for she wanted Marjorie to
become more fond of her needle, and this work would be an incentive to
do so.
So she gave Marjorie the money for the purchase, and the two girls
trotted away to the little shop which was not far from the hotel.
Marjorie found a square just like Ethel's, and bought it with a decidedly
grownup feeling.
"I don't like to sew much," she confessed to Ethel, as they walked back.
"I've tried it a little, but I'd rather read or play."
"But this isn't like regular sewing, and it's such fun to see the names
grow right under your eyes. They're so much prettier after they're
worked in red than when they're just written in pencil."
"Wouldn't they be prettier still worked in white?" asked Marjorie.
"No; I saw one that way once, and the names don't show at all,--you can
hardly read them. Red is the best, and it doesn't fade when it's washed."
Marjorie had bought red cotton at the shop, and she showed her purchases
to her mother with great delight.
"They're fine," said Mrs. Maynard, approvingly. "Now why don't you ask
Ethel to write her name, and then you can always remember that hers was
the first one on the cloth."
"Oh, that will be lovely!" cried Marjorie. "Will you, Ethel?"
"Yes, indeed," and getting a pencil, Ethel wrote her name in a large,
plain, childish hand.
"You must always ask people to write rather large," she advised, "because
it's awfully hard to work the letters if they're too small."
Then Ethel lent Marjorie her needle and thimble so that she might do a
few stitches by way of practice.
But it was not so easy for Marjorie as for Ethel, and her stitches did
not look nearly so nice and neat. However, Mrs. Maynard said that she
felt sure Marjorie's work would improve after she had done more of it,
and she thanked Ethel for her assistance in the matter.
Then Ethel's mother appeared, and the two ladies were made acquainted,
and then it was luncheon time, and the Maynards all went to the
dining-room.
"I think the most fun of the whole trip is eating in restaurants," said
Kitty. "I just love to look around, and see different tables and
different people at them."
"It is fun," agreed King; "but I wouldn't want to live in a hotel all the
time. I think it's more fun to be at home."
"So do I," said Marjorie. "Somehow, in a hotel, you feel sort of stiff
and queer, and you never do at home."
"You needn't feel stiff and queer, Marjorie," said her father; "but
of course there is a certain conventional restraint about a public
dining-room that isn't necessary at home. I want you children to become
accustomed to restaurants, and learn how to act polite and reserved,
without being what Marjorie calls stiff and queer."
"Don't we act right, Father?" inquired Kitty, anxiously.
"Yes, you do very nicely, indeed. Your table manners are all right, and
the less you think about the subject the better. This trip will give you
a certain amount of experience, and anyway you have all your life to
learn in. But I will ask you, children, to be on your good behavior at
Grandma Maynard's. She is more difficult to please than Grandma Sherwood,
but I want her to think my children are the best and the best-behaved in
the whole world."
"How long shall we stay there, Father?" asked Marjorie.
"About three days. I'm sure you can exist that long without falling in
the water or cutting up any pranks in the house."
"Is there any water to fall in?" asked King.
"No, there isn't. I used that as a figure of speech. But I'm sure if you
try to be quiet and well-behaved children you can easily succeed."
"I'm sure we can," said Marjorie, heartily, and deep in her heart she
registered a vow that she would succeed this time.
After luncheon was over, Pompton brought the car around, and they started
off again. Marjorie bade Ethel good-bye with a feeling of regret that she
did not live nearer, so she might have her for a friend. But she had her
autograph as a souvenir, and she intended to work her tablecloth very
neatly, so it would look as good as Ethel's.
The afternoon ride was not a long one, and before four o'clock they came
in sight of the tall towers of the New York buildings.
The children had never approached the city in a motor car before, and
were enthusiastic over the view of it. Mr. Maynard pointed out the
different business buildings, some of which they already recognized. They
had to cross a downtown ferry, and soon they were speeding north through
the streets of crowded traffic.
As they neared Grandma Maynard's house in Fifth Avenue, Mrs. Maynard
looked over her brood carefully to see if they were in proper order for
presentation.
Except for slight evidences of travel, they all looked neat and tidy, and
the girls' pretty motor garb was becoming and correct. Rosy Posy as
usual, looked the pink of perfection, for the child had a knack of
keeping herself dainty and fresh even in difficult circumstances.
Satisfied with her inspection, Mrs. Maynard gave them final injunctions
to behave correctly, and then they reached the house.
The children had been there before, but they did not go often, and for
the last two years the elder Maynards had been travelling abroad. So they
felt almost like strangers as they entered the lofty and dimly lighted
hall, to which they were admitted by an imposing-looking footman in
livery.
Ushered into the reception room, the visitors found themselves in the
presence of their host and hostess.
Grandma and Grandpa Maynard were most worthy and estimable people; but
they were not very young, and they had lived all their lives in an
atmosphere of convention and formality. They did not realize that this
was different from the mode of living preferred by their son's family,
and indeed they were so accustomed to their own ways that it never
occurred to them that there were any others.
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard appreciated and understood all this, and accepted
the situation as it stood.
But the children, impressed by the admonitions of their parents, and
oppressed by the severe and rigid effects of the house, turned into quiet
little puppets, quite different from their usual merry selves.
Although the elder Maynards' greetings were formal, Mr. and Mrs. Maynard,
Jr., were cordial in their manner. Mr. Maynard shook his father heartily
by the hand, and kissed his mother tenderly, and Mrs. Maynard did the
same.
Marjorie endeavored to do exactly as her parents did, but as she began to
chatter to her grandfather, Grandma Maynard told her that children should
be seen and not heard, and bade her sit down on a sofa. The old lady had
no intention of hurting Marjorie's feelings, but she meant exactly what
she said, and it irritated her to hear a child chatter.
"And now," said Grandma Maynard, after the greetings were all over, "you
would like to go to your rooms, I'm sure, and make ready for tea."
Decorously the children filed upstairs and were put in charge of maids
who assisted them with their toilets.
Marjorie and Kitty were in the same room, but owing to the maids'
presence, they could make no comments.
As the trunks had been sent ahead, they had fresh frocks in plenty, and
soon, attired in stiff white kilted piqué, they went downstairs again.
Grandma Maynard nodded approval, and told them to sit down on the divan.
"Of course, you little girls don't drink tea," she said, as she seated
herself behind the elaborately appointed tea-tray which the butler had
brought in. "So I have milk for you."
This was entirely satisfactory, and as there were plenty of lovely little
cakes and dainty sandwiches, the children felt there was no fault to be
found with Grandma's hospitality, even though they were not allowed to
talk.
King adapted himself rather more easily than the girls to this order of
things, and he sat quietly in his chair, speaking only when he was spoken
to; and though Marjorie knew he was fairly aching to shout and race
around, yet he looked so demure that he almost made her laugh.
Not that she did! No, indeed, she knew better than that; but though she
tried very hard to appear at her ease, her nature was so sensitive to
mental atmosphere, that her cakes almost choked her.
Rosy Posy was perfectly at ease. The midget sat quietly, and accepted
with benign grace the milk and crackers fed to her by one of the maids.
But at last the tea hour was over and the Maynards discovered that virtue
is sometimes rewarded.
"You are most pleasant and amiable children," said Grandma Maynard,
looking judicially at the quartet, "and you certainly have very good
manners. I'm glad to see, Ed, that you have brought them up to be quiet
and sedate. I detest noisy children."
"Yes, you are sensible, and not annoying to have around," agreed Grandpa
Maynard, and the three older children smiled respectfully at the
compliment, but offered no reply.
"And now," went on Grandpa Maynard, "I think that you should be amused
for an hour. They don't sit up to dinner, of course, my dear?" he added,
turning to his wife.
"Yes, we do!" was on the tip of Marjorie's tongue, but she checked the
speech just in time, and said nothing.
"No, of course not," replied Grandma Maynard; "our dinner hour is eight,
and that is too late for children. Besides, I have invited some guests to
meet Ed and Helen. So the children will have supper in the small
breakfast-room at half-past six, and meantime, as you say, we must give
them some amusement."
King greatly wondered what these grandparents' idea of amusement would
be, but Marjorie and Kitty had so little hope that it would be anything
very enjoyable that they took little interest in it.
However, when it proved that the amusement was to be a ride in the park,
it sounded rather attractive.