A RIDE IN MAY
At the breakfast table, the next morning, Grandma Maynard announced her
intention of keeping her oldest grandchild with her as her own.
Marjorie's mother looked up with a frightened glance at this declaration,
and she turned her face appealingly toward her husband. But when she
saw the twinkle in his eye, she knew at once there was not the slightest
danger of her losing her oldest daughter in this way.
But, apparently by way of a joke, Mr. Maynard saw fit to pretend to
approve of his mother's plan.
"Why, Mother," he said, "wouldn't that be fine! This big house needs a
young person in it, and as we have four, we ought to be able to spare
one. You'll have grand times, Midget, living here, won't you?"
If Marjorie had not been so overcome at the very thought of leaving her
own family, she would have realized that her father was only joking; but
she had been so truly afraid that her grandmother's wishes might possibly
be granted that she couldn't realize her father's intent.
"Oh, Father!" she cried, with a perfect wail of woe; and then, jumping
from her seat at the table, she ran to her mother's side, and flung
herself into her arms, where she gave way to one of her tumultuous crying
spells.
Poor little Marjorie was not greatly to blame. She had lain awake the
night before, fearing that this thing might happen, and so was in no mood
to appreciate a jest on the subject.
Unwilling to have such a commotion at the breakfast table, Mrs. Maynard
rose, and with her arm round the sobbing child, drew her away to an
adjoining room, where she reassured her fears, and told her that her
father did not at all mean what he had said.
"Now, you see, Mother," Mr. Maynard went on, "how Midget feels about the
matter. Well, my feelings are exactly the same, only I choose a different
mode of expression. I'm sorry the child is so upset because I jokingly
agreed to the plan, but she'll get over it in a few minutes, with her
mother's help. And as you must know, Mother, we appreciate how fine it
would be for Marjorie to live here, and be the petted darling of you two
dear people, but you must also know that it is just as much out of the
question for us to give you one of our children as it would be to give
you the whole four!"
"That's a gift I wouldn't care for," said Grandma Maynard, smiling at the
other three; "but I have taken a great fancy to Marjorie, and I know I
could make her love me."
At this moment Marjorie and her mother returned, both with smiling, happy
faces. Marjorie heard her grandmother's last words, and running to her,
she threw her arms around the old lady's neck.
"I do love you, Grandma," she cried, "but of course you must know that I
couldn't leave my own Maynards. Why, we're the 'votedest family you ever
did see! We couldn't spare any one of each other! And, Grandma, when you
were a little girl twelve years old, you wouldn't have gone away from
your father and mother to live, would you?"
"No, Marjorie, I don't suppose I would," admitted Grandma Maynard,
patting the little girl's cheek; "but perhaps when you're older, dear,
you may change your mind about this."
Marjorie looked thoughtful a moment, and then she said, "Grandma, I don't
truly think I will, but if I _should_ I'll let you know."
"I hadn't an idea the child would come to live with us," said Grandpa
Maynard, "but how's this for a suggestion? Let her come to visit us for a
time every year. I believe she makes long visits to her other
grandmother."
Marjorie smiled involuntarily at the thought of the difference between
the homes of the two grandmothers, but she said nothing, knowing from
what her mother had told her that she would not be sent away from home
unless she chose.
"Oh, Midget doesn't visit Grandma Sherwood every year," said Marjorie's
father. "She only goes there once in four years. So to even matters up,
suppose we let Marjorie come here and make a little visit next winter,
with the understanding that if she gets homesick, she's to be sent home
at once."
Everybody agreed to this, and though Marjorie felt a positive conviction
that she would get homesick about the second day, yet Grandma Maynard
made a silent resolve that she would make everything so attractive to
Marjorie that the visit would be a long one.
So the matter was settled for the present, and if King and Kitty felt a
little chagrined at Grandma Maynard's preference for Marjorie's company
over their own, they said nothing about it.
* * * * *
That same afternoon, directly after luncheon, the Maynard family started
once more on their automobile trip.
As the big car drew up in front of the house, the children saw it with
joy, but they did not express their feelings, as that would not be polite
to their grandparents.
But they were secretly delighted to see the big car again, with Pompton,
whom they had not seen since they had been in New York, in his seat
waiting for them.
Then good-byes were said, and Grandma affectionately reminded Marjorie
that she was to visit her in the winter, and then in a few moments the
motor party was speeding away.
They were scarcely a block from the house before the children began to
express their relief at being released from the uncongenial atmosphere of
their grandparents' home.
"I do declare," said King. "It was just like being in jail!"
"Have you ever been in jail?" asked Kitty, who was nothing if not
literal.
"Well, no," returned her brother, "and I hope I never shall be after this
experience. Grandpa and Grandma Maynard are the limit! If I had stayed
there another day, I should have run away!"
Mr. Maynard, who was sitting in front with Pompton, turned round to the
children.
"My dear little Maynards," he said, "unless you want to hurt your
father's feelings very badly indeed, you will stop this severe criticism
of your grandparents. You must remember that they are my father and
mother, and that I love them very dearly, and I want you to do the same.
If their ways don't suit you, remember that children should not criticise
their elders, and say nothing about them. If there is anything about
them that you do like, comment on that, but remain silent as to the
things that displeased you."
The Maynard children well knew that when their father talked seriously
like this, it was intended as a grave reproof, and they always took it
so.
"Father," said King, manfully, "I was wrong to speak as I did, and I'm
sorry, and I won't do it again. We didn't any of us like to be at Grandma
Maynard's, but I was the only one who spoke so disrespectfully. Midge and
Kitty were awfully nice about it."
"No, we weren't," confessed Kitty. "At least, I wasn't. Midget said lots
of times that we oughtn't to be disrespectful, but I guess I was. But,
you see, Father, it was awfully hard to please those people."
"We didn't understand them," said Marjorie, thoughtfully. "When I tried
to be good I got scolded, and when I cut up jinks they gave me a present
for it! Who could know what to do in a house like that?"
Mr. Maynard smiled in spite of himself.
"I think you've struck it. Midget," he said. "Grandma and Grandpa Maynard
_are_ a little inconsistent, and don't always know exactly what they do
want. But that is largely because they are not very young, and they live
alone, and are all unused to the vagaries of children. But these facts
are to be accepted, not criticised, and I want you to remember, once for
all, that you're not to say anything further disrespectful or unkind
about your grandparents. And I think I know you well enough to know that
you'll understand and obey these instructions without any more scolding
on my part."
"We will, Fathery," said Midget, pounding on his arm with her little
fists, by way of affectionate emphasis.
"Yes, we will!" agreed King, heartily. "And so now let's cut it out and
have a good time."
And have a good time they did. Swiftly traversing the upper part of New
York City, they continued along delightful roads; sometimes passing
through towns, sometimes getting views of the shining waters of Long
Island Sound, and sometimes travelling through the green, open country.
Partly because of the repression of the past few days, and partly because
of the exhilaration of the fresh spring air and the fast speeding motor,
the four young Maynards were in a state of hilarity. They sang and they
shouted and they laughed, and often they would grab each other with
affectionate squeezes from sheer joy of living.
"I guess we couldn't let old Mopsy go out of this bunch!" exclaimed King,
as with a clever agility he pulled off both Midget's hair-ribbons at
once.
This called for retaliation, and in a flash, Marjorie tweaked off his
necktie.
Nobody knew exactly the particular fun in this performance, for it only
meant an immediate readjustment of the same ribbons, but it was a
frequent occurrence, and usually passed unnoticed.
"And old Mopsy couldn't stay away from this bunch, either," returned
Marjorie, in response to her brother's remark. "Why, if I just tried it,
I'm sure it would kill me!"
"I'm sure so, too," agreed Kitty. "We just have to have each other all
the time, _we_ do! Oh, Mops, there are some marshmallows; mayn't we get
some, Mother?"
Sure enough, the big pink blooms showed on the marshmallow bushes, and in
a minute the children had scrambled out to get some.
It was a muddy performance, for marshmallows have a way of growing in
very swampy places, but the little Maynards didn't mind that, or at
least, they didn't stop to think whether they did or not. Splash and
paddle they went into the mud, but they succeeded in getting several of
the beautiful flowers, and returned with them in triumph.
"Those are fine specimens," said Mr. Maynard, "but I can't possibly let
those six muddy shoes get into this car that Pompton keeps so beautifully
clean! Would you mind walking on to New Haven?"
The three looked at their shoes, and discovered that they were simply
loaded with mud. Even when wiped off on the grass, they presented a most
untidy appearance.
But King came to his sisters' rescue.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "You girls take off your shoes as you get
in, and I'll take off mine as I get in, and then I'll take some
newspaper, and polish them all up."
This really was a good idea, and King worked diligently away until he had
rubbed the muddy shoes into a fair state of civilization.
Mr. Maynard, as he often did, composed a song for the occasion, and after
once hearing it, the children took up the strain and sang heartily:
"Old King Cole
Rubbed a muddy old sole
And a muddy old sole rubbed he;
For he polished each shoe
Of his sisters two,
And his own shoes, they made three!
Hurray, hurroo, hurree!
And his own shoes, they made three!"
Mr. Maynard's doggerel was always highly appreciated by the children, and
they sang the pleasing ditty over and over, while King rubbed away at the
shoes in time to the chorus.
The sun was setting as they neared New Haven. The approach, along the
shores of the beautiful harbor, was most picturesque, and both the
children and their parents were impressed by the beauty of the scene. The
setting sun turned the rippling water to gold, and the shipping loomed
against the sky like a forest of bare tree-trunks.
"Oh," exclaimed Marjorie, clasping her hands, "isn't it lovely to go
motor-carring with your own dear family, and see such beautiful
landscapes on the river?"
"Your expressions are a little mixed," said her father, laughing, "but I
quite agree with your sentiments. And, now, who is ready for a good
dinner?"
"I am," declared Kitty, promptly; and they all laughed, for Kitty was
always the first in the dining-room.
The automobile stopped in front of a large hotel which overlooked the
College Green. While Mr. Maynard was engaging rooms, Mrs. Maynard and the
children lingered on the veranda. The beautiful trees of the City of Elms
waved high above their heads, and across the Green they could see the
stately college buildings.
"Can we go over there?" asked King, who was interested, because he hoped,
himself, some day to go to college.
"Not to-night," said his father, who had just rejoined the group;
"to-morrow morning, King, we will all go through the college grounds and
buildings. But now we will go to our rooms and freshen up a bit, and then
we must get some dinner for our poor, famishing Kitty."
Kitty laughed good-naturedly, for she was used to jokes about her
appetite, and didn't mind them a bit.
They went upstairs to a pleasant suite of rooms, one of which was for the
use of Midge and Kitty.
"You must change your frocks for dinner," said Mrs. Maynard to the girls.
"The suitcases will be sent up, and you may put on your light challies."
So Marjorie and Kitty made their toilettes, stopping now and then for
frantic expressions of joy and delight at the fun they were having; and
soon, with ribbons freshly tied, and dainty house slippers, they were
ready to go downstairs.