AT GRANDMA MAYNARD'S
The ride in the park, though conducted under rather formal conditions,
proved very enjoyable to the four young Maynards.
Grandpa Maynard's equipage was a Victoria with a span of fine horses. On
the high front seat sat the coachman and footman in livery, who looked
sufficiently dignified and responsible to take care of a merry flock of
children.
But, impressed by their surroundings, the children were not very merry,
and Marjorie sat decorously on the back seat with Rosy Posy beside her,
while King and Kitty sat facing them.
It was a lovely afternoon, and the park drives were crowded with vehicles
of all sorts. Marjorie secretly thought carriage driving rather tame
after motoring, but there was so much to look at that it was really
desirable to go rather slowly.
As they passed the lake, Parker, the footman, turned around, and asked
them if they would like to get out and see the swans.
They welcomed this opportunity, and the footman gravely assisted them
from the carriage. He selected a bench for them, and the four sat down
upon it without a word.
At last the funny side of the situation struck King, and as he looked at
his three demure sisters, he couldn't stand it another minute. "I'll race
you down to that big tree," he whispered to Marjorie, and like a flash
the two were off, with their; heels flying out behind them.
Parker was scandalized at this performance, but he said nothing, and only
looked at Kitty and Rosamond, still sitting demurely on the bench.
"They'll come back in a minute," said Kitty, and the footman answered
respectfully, "Yes, Miss."
"Did you ever see anything like it?" said King to Marjorie, as they
reached the big tree almost at the same time.
"It's awful funny," Midget returned, "but just for a day or two, I don't
mind it. It's such a new experience that it's rather fun. Only it's such
a temptation to shock Grandpa and Grandma Maynard. I feel like doing
something crazy just to see what they would do. But we promised not
to get into any mischief. Shall we go back now?"
"Might as well; if we stay much longer it will be mischief. I'll race you
back to the carriage."
Back they flew as fast as they had come, and when they reached the
others, their cheeks were glowing and their eyes sparkling with the
exercise.
The impassive footman made no comments, and in fact, he said nothing at
all, but stood like a statue with the carriage robe over his arm.
So Marjorie assumed command, and said quietly, "We will go back now,
Parker," and the man said, "Yes, ma'am," and touched his hat, quite as if
she had been Grandma Maynard herself.
But the very fact of being in a position of responsibility made Marjorie
more audacious, and as the man put them into the carriage, she said, "On
the way home, we will stop somewhere for soda water."
"Yes, ma'am," replied Parker, and he took his place on the box.
The others looked at Marjorie a little doubtfully, but greatly pleased at
the suggestion. And after all it certainly was not mischievous to get
soda water, a treat which they were often allowed at home.
They left the park, and drove down Fifth Avenue, and after a while the
carriage stopped in front of a large drug shop.
Parker assisted them from the carriage, and ushered them into the shop,
which had a well-appointed soda fountain. Then Parker proceeded to select
four seats for his charges, and after he had lifted Rosamond up on to her
stool, and the rest were seated, he said to Marjorie, "Will you give the
order, Miss Maynard?"
Feeling very grownup, Marjorie asked the others what flavors they would
like, and then she gave the order to the clerk. The footman stood behind
them, grave and impassive, and as there was a large mirror directly in
front of them, Marjorie could see him all the time. It struck her very
funny to see the four Maynards eating their ice cream soda, without
laughing or chatting, and with a statuesque footman in charge of them!
However, the Maynards' enjoyment of their favorite dainty was not
seriously marred by the conditions, and when at last they laid down their
spoons, Marjorie suddenly realized that she had no money with her to pay
for their treat.
"Have you any money, King?" she asked.
"Not a cent; I never dreamed of having any occasion to use it, and I
didn't bring any with me."
"What shall we do?" said Kitty, who foresaw an embarrassing situation.
"If you have finished, I will pay the check," said Parker, "and then, are
you ready to go home, Miss Maynard?"
"Yes, thank you," said Marjorie, delighted to be relieved from her
anxiety about the money.
So Parker paid the cashier, and then marshalled his charges out of the
shop, and in a moment they were once again on their way home.
"Pretty good soda water," said Marjorie.
"Yes; but you might as well drink it in church," said King, who was
beginning to tire of the atmosphere of restraint.
"I wish they did serve soda water in church," said Kitty; "it would be
very refreshing."
And then they were back again at Grandpa Maynard's, and were admitted
with more footmen and formality.
But Marjorie, with her adaptable nature, was beginning to get used to
conventional observances, and, followed by the other three, she entered
the drawing-room, and went straight to her Grandmother. "We had a very
pleasant drive, thank you," she said, and her pretty, graceful manner
brought a smile of approbation to her grandmother's face.
"I'm glad you did, my dear. Where did you go?"
"We drove in the park, and along the avenue," said King, uncertain
whether to mention the soda water episode or not.
But Marjorie's frankness impelled her to tell the story, "We stopped at a
drug shop, Grandma, on our way home, and had soda water," she said; "I
hope you don't mind."
"You stopped at a drug shop!" exclaimed Grandma Maynard. "You four
children alone!"
"We weren't alone," explained Marjorie "Parker went in with us, and he
paid for it. Wasn't it all right, Grandma?"
"No; children ought not to go in a shop without older people with them."
"But Parker is older than we are," said Kitty, who was of a literal
nature.
"Don't be impertinent, Kitty," said her grandmother. "I do not refer to
servants."
Now Kitty had not had the slightest intention of being impertinent, and
so the reproof seemed a little unfair.
Unable to control her indignation, when she saw Kitty's feelings were
hurt, Marjorie tried to justify her sister.
"Kitty didn't mean that for impertinence, Grandma Maynard," she said. "We
didn't know it wasn't right to go for soda water alone, for we always do
it at home. The only thing that bothered me was because I didn't have the
money to pay for it."
"The money is of no consequence, child; and I suppose you do not know
that in the city, children cannot do quite the same as where you live.
However, we will say no more about the matter."
This was a satisfactory termination of the subject, but Grandma's manner
was not pleasant, and the children felt decidedly uncomfortable.
Their own parents had listened to the discussion in silence, but now
their father said, "Don't be too hard on them, Mother; they didn't mean
to do anything wrong. And they are good children, if not very
conventional ones."
But Grandma Maynard only said, "We need not refer to the matter again,"
and then she told the children to go to their supper, which was ready
for them.
As the four sat down to a prettily-appointed table, they were not a happy
looking crowd. Rosamond was too young to understand what it was all
about, but she knew that the other three were depressed and that was a
very unusual state of things.
"I don't want any supper," began Kitty, but this speech was too much for
King. Kitty was very fond of good things to eat, and for her to lose her
appetite was comical indeed!
A pleasant-faced maid waited on them, and when Kitty saw the creamed
sweet-breads and fresh peas and asparagus, with delightful little tea
biscuits, her drooping spirits revived, and she quite forgot that Grandma
had spoken sharply to her.
"You're all right, Kit," said King, approvingly. "I was frightened when
you said you had lost your appetite, but I guess it was a false alarm."
"It was," said Kitty. "I do love sweet-breads."
"And there's custard pudding to come, Miss Kitty," said the maid, who
smiled kindly on the children. In fact, she smiled so kindly that they
all began to feel more cheerful, and soon were laughing and chatting
quite in their usual way.
"What is your name, please?" inquired Marjorie, and the maid answered,
"Perkins."
"Well, Perkins, do you know what we are to do to-morrow? Has Grandma made
any plans for us?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Marjorie; she made the plans some weeks ago, as soon as
she heard you were coming. She is giving a children's party for you
to-morrow afternoon."
"A children's party! How kind of her!" And Marjorie quite forgot
Grandma's disapproving remarks about the soda water escapade.
"Oh, I don't know," said King. "I expect a children's party here will be
rather grownuppish."
"Oh, no, Master King," said Perkins; "there are only children invited.
Young boys and girls of your own age. I'm sure it will be a very nice
party."
"I'm sure of it, too," said Marjorie, "and I think it was awfully good of
her, as we're to be here such a short time."
"Well, she needn't have said I was impertinent, when I wasn't," said
Kitty, who still felt aggrieved at the recollection.
"Oh, never mind that, Kit," said good-natured Marjorie. "As long as you
didn't mean to be, it doesn't really matter."
When the supper was over, Rosamond was sent to bed, and the other three
were allowed to sit in the library for an hour. The ladies were dressing
for dinner, but Grandpa Maynard came in and talked to them for a while.
At first they were all very grave and formal, but by a lucky chance, King
hit upon a subject that recalled Grandpa's boyish days, and the old
gentleman chuckled at the recollection.
"Tell us something about when you were a boy," said Marjorie. "I do
believe, Grandpa, you were fond of mischief!"
"I was!" and Grandpa Maynard smiled genially. "I believe I got into more
scrapes than any boy in school!"
"Then that's where we inherited it," said Marjorie. "I've often wondered
why we were so full of capers. Was Father mischievous when he was a boy?"
"Yes, he was. He used to drive his mother nearly crazy by the antics he
cut up. And he was always getting into danger. He would climb the highest
trees, and swim in the deepest pools; he was never satisfied to let any
other boy get ahead of him."
"That accounts for his being such a successful man," said King.
"Yes, perhaps it does, my boy. He was energetic and persistent and
ambitious, and those qualities have stood by him all his life."
"But, Grandpa," said Marjorie, who had suddenly begun to feel more
confidential with her grandfather, "why, then, do you and Grandma want us
children to be so sedate and poky and quiet and good? At home we're
awfully noisy, and here if we make a breath of noise we get reprimanded!"
"Well, you see, Marjorie, Grandma and I are not as young as we were, and
we're so unused now to having children about us, that I dare say we do
expect them to act like grown people. And, too, your grandmother is of a
very formal nature, and she requires correct behavior from everybody.
So I hope you will try your best while you're here not to annoy her."
"Indeed, we will try, Grandpa," said Marjorie. "I think she's very kind
to make a party for us to-morrow, and I'm sure we ought to behave
ourselves. But, Grandpa, you don't know what it is to have to sit so
stiff and still when you're accustomed to racing around and yelling."
"Yes, I suppose that is so; though I didn't know that you were noisy
children. Now I'll tell you what you can do. You can go up in the big
billiard room on the top floor of the house, and there you can make all
the noise you like. You can play games or tell stories or do whatever you
choose."
"Oh! that's lovely, Grandpa," and Marjorie threw her arms around his
neck. "And won't anybody hear us if we make an awful racket?"
"No, the room is too far distant. Now run along up there, and you can
have a pillow-fight if you want to. I believe that's what children
enjoy."
"Well, you come with us, Grandpa, and show us the way," said Kitty,
slipping her hand in his.
And with Marjorie on the other side, and King close behind, they all
went upstairs. The billiard room, though not now used for its original
purpose, was large and pleasant. There was not much furniture in it, but
a cushioned seat ran nearly all round the room with many pillows on it.
As soon as they were fairly in the room, Marjorie picked up a soft and
fluffy pillow, and tossed it at her grandfather, hitting him squarely in
the back of the neck.
The others were a little frightened at Marjorie's audacity, and Grandpa
Maynard himself was startled as the pillow hit him. But as he turned
and saw Marjorie's laughing face, he entered into the spirit of the game,
and in a moment pillows were flying among the four, and shouts of
merriment accompanied the fun.
Grandpa Maynard took off his glasses, and put them in his pocket for
safekeeping, and soon he was the merriest one of all.
But suddenly he recollected that it was time for him to attend to his own
duties as host.
"You young rascals," he said, "I don't know how you inveigled me into
this disgraceful performance! Here I am all dishevelled, and in a
few moments I must preside at dinner!"
"Oh, you're all right," said Marjorie, patting his necktie; "just brush
your hair over again, and put your glasses on, and you'll look fine. And
we're much obliged to you, Grandpa, for playing so jolly with us."
"Well, well; I'm surprised at myself! But remember this kind of play is
only to be indulged in when you're up here. When you're downstairs, you
must be polite and quiet-mannered, or else Grandma won't be pleased."
"All right," said Marjorie. "We promise we will," and all the others
agreed.