THE FESTIVAL
Fortunately, the day of the Festival was a perfectly beautiful, balmy,
lovely spring day. The affair had been well-advertised by circulars, and
the residents of Cambridge had laid in a stock of small change, with
which to buy the wares of the itinerant peddlers.
All was bustle and merriment at the Bryant home. The children were to
start from there at about ten o'clock, and they were now getting on
their costumes.
Each peddler was expected to dress appropriately to the character of the
goods he was selling. This was not always an easy matter, but much
latitude was allowed; and so a Greek peddler sold pastry, an Italian
peddler sold peanuts, and an Indian Chief sold baskets and little Indian
trinkets. There were many others, selling notions, fruits, and even fresh
vegetables. One boy trundled a peanut roaster, and another was a vendor
of lemonade.
When ready to start, the Maynard children and their carts presented a
pretty appearance. The dolls were arranged in a light pushcart, borrowed
from the grocer. It was decorated with frills of crêpe paper, and big
paper bows at the corners. In it were more than a hundred dolls, ranging
from the elaborately-dressed French beauties to the funny little puppets
the children had made.
Marjorie and Bertha Baker were themselves dressed to represent dolls.
Marjorie's dress was of pink muslin, frilled with lace, and a broad pink
sash, tied low, with a big bow in the back. A frilled bonnet of pink
muslin and lace crowned her dark curls, and she had been instructed by
Cousin Ethel to walk stiffly, and move jerkily like a jointed doll.
Bertha's costume was exactly like Marjorie's except that it was blue, and
as Bertha's hair was blonde and curly, she looked very like a Bisque
doll. But Bertha's face wore naturally a discontented expression, which
was far less doll-like than Marjorie's smiling countenance.
As Cousin Ethel had prophesied, Marjorie found her new acquaintance
decidedly ill-natured. But forewarned is forearmed, and Marjorie only
replied pleasantly when Bertha made a sullen remark. Of course she was
not really rude, and of course she had no reason to dislike Marjorie. But
she was continually complaining that she was tired, or that the sun was
too hot, or that she didn't like their cart as well as some of the
others. She had an unfortunate disposition, and had not had the right
training, so the result made her anything but an amiable child.
Gay-hearted Marjorie, however, joked with Bertha, and then giggled at her
own jokes, until Bertha was really forced to smile in return.
King, who pushed the doll-cart, was also dressed like a doll. The boy
looked very handsome, in a black velvet suit with lace ruffles at the
wrists and knees, and long white stockings with black slippers. He was
clever, too, in assuming the character, and walked with stiff, jerky
strides, like a mechanical doll that had just been wound up.
Kitty was a dream of beauty. She was a little flower girl, of course, and
wore the daintiest sort of a Dolly Varden costume. Her overdress of
flowered muslin was caught up at the sides in panniers over a quilted
skirt of light blue satin. A broad-brimmed leghorn hat with a wreath of
roses, and fluttering blue ribbons, sat jauntily on her golden hair. May
Perry, who was Kitty's companion, was costumed the same way, and the boy
who pushed their cart was dressed like a page.
The flower cart held not only bouquets and old-fashioned nosegays, but
little potted plants as well.
Cousin Jack had stayed home from business for the day; for, he said, he
couldn't get away from the glories of his bevy of young people.
"Before you go," he said, as the two carts, with their attendants, were
ready to start from his house, "I'll take a snap-shot of you."
He brought out his large camera, and took several photographs of the
pretty group, which, later, proved to be beautiful pictures, and well
worthy of framing.
"Now, go ahead, young peddlers," he said. "And whatever you do, remember
to charge enough for your wares,--but don't charge too much."
"How shall we know what is just right?" asked Kitty, puckering her brow,
as she pondered this knotty question.
"Well, Kit, if you're in doubt, leave it to the buyers. They'll probably
give you more that way, than if you set the price yourself. And
especially with flowers. People always expect to overpay for them
at a fair."
"But I don't want to cheat the people," said Kitty.
"Don't worry about that; they quite expect to pay more than this trumpery
is worth, because it's all for charity. Now skip along, my hearties! And
come back home if you get tired, no matter whether you've sold all your
truck or not. I'll buy whatever you have left."
So waving good-byes to the group looking after them, the children pranced
gaily down the driveway and out into the street.
As Cousin Ethel had told them, they had no trouble at all in disposing of
their wares. Marjorie concluded that half the population of Cambridge
must be small children, so eager did the ladies seem to buy dolls.
At many of the houses they were cordially invited to come in and partake
of some refreshment, for the whole town seemed bent on entertaining the
peddlers. But the Maynard children preferred not to accept these
invitations, as they were not well enough acquainted, and as for Bertha
Baker, when she was invited in to a house, she would reply bluntly, "No,
I don't want to go in."
Midget and King looked at her in astonishment, for they were not
accustomed to hear children talk like that.
When the cart full of dolls had been about half sold, the children saw a
little girl coming toward them with an empty express wagon.
"Hello, Bertha," she said, "what are you selling?"
"Dolls," said Bertha, shortly, and the Maynard children waited, expecting
that Bertha would introduce the stranger.
But Bertha didn't, and only said, "Come on," to her own companions, and
started on herself.
"Wait a minute," said King, who was growing rather tired of Bertha's
company, and was glad to meet somebody else. "I say, Bertha, introduce
us to your friend."
"She's Elsie Harland," said Bertha, ungraciously, and evidently
unwillingly.
But King took no notice of Bertha's unpleasant manner. "How do you do,
Elsie?" he said, in his frank, boyish fashion. "This is my sister,
Marjorie, and I am Kingdon Maynard. Can't I help you pull your wagon?
I see you've sold all your things."
"Yes; I only had post-cards to sell," said Elsie, "and the people bought
them in such big bunches that now they're all gone. So I thought I'd like
to go around with you, and help sell your dolls." She looked inquiringly
at Bertha, who replied, "I s'pose you can, if you want to, but I should
think you'd go home."
"Don't go home," said Marjorie, cordially; "come along with us, and we'll
all sell dolls together."
"She can't sell our dolls," said Bertha, snappily, and this so irritated
King that he couldn't help speaking out.
"Bertha Baker," he said, "if you don't behave yourself, and act more
pleasant, I'll put you in the cart, and sell you for a doll!"
This so surprised Bertha that she stared at King, wonderingly, but the
other girls laughed, and then they all went on together.
Bertha made no further objections, and Marjorie could see that she did
try to be a little more pleasant. King saw this, too, and he realized
that she was the kind of a girl who obeyed scolding better than coaxing.
So when they reached the next house, King said, "Now we'll all go in here
together to sell the dolls; but we won't go until Bertha puts on a sweet
smile. So, smile away, my lady!"
King's merry speech made Bertha laugh, and the dimples came in her
cheeks, and she looked very pretty as they went up the walk.
"Goodness, Bertha!" exclaimed Elsie. "If you knew how much prettier you
look when you smile, you'd always wear a broad grin!"
Bertha scowled at this, and seeing it, King stopped stock-still.
"Cook up that smile again!" he cried. "Not another step till you do!"
As the lady of the house was waiting for them on the veranda, this was
embarrassing, so Bertha smiled, and then the whole group moved on.
So they kept on for the rest of the trip, King jollying Bertha whenever
it was necessary, and the other girls making merriment for themselves.
Marjorie and Elsie soon became friends, for they were alike merry-hearted
and pleasant-mannered.
It was about noon when they sold their last doll and turned their faces
homeward. Elsie and Bertha went with them, and when they reached Cousin
Jack's house they found Kitty and May Perry already there.
"Here you are, my little peddlers! Here you are, with your empty carts!"
cried Cousin Jack, as the children came upon the veranda. "All sold out,
I see."
"Yes," said Marjorie, "and we could have sold more if we had had them."
"Then there's nothing left for me to buy from you, and I really need a
doll."
"I'll make you one before I go home, Cousin Jack," said Marjorie; "and
then you can keep it to remember me by."
"All right, Mehitabel; good for you! I'll play with it every day,--and
when I go to see my little friends I'll take it with me. And now, my
weary peddlers, let me tell you what you have still before you! A number
of young people, mostly retired peddlers, are coming here to luncheon
with you. But we won't call it luncheon, because that sounds so prosaic.
We'll call it,--what shall we call it?"
"A festival feast," said Kitty. "That sounds gay and jolly."
"So it does," agreed Cousin Jack, "A May Day Festival Feast for the
Maynards, and nothing could be pleasanter nor that!"
And even before Cousin Jack finished speaking, the young guests began to
arrive, and Marjorie realized that it was a party her kind cousins had
made for them.
There were about twenty guests all together, and as they wore the pretty
costumes they had worn as peddlers, it was a picturesque group.
"Ho, for the Festival Feast!" exclaimed Cousin Jack, and taking Marjorie
and Kitty by either hand he went dancing with them across the lawn.
Under a clump of trees they discovered that a table had been set, though
it had not been visible from the house.
The table was like a vision of Fairyland, and Marjorie thought she had
never before seen such a pretty one.
The decorations were of pink, and in the middle of the table was a wicker
pushcart of fairly good size, filled with parcels wrapped in pink tissue
paper. From each parcel a long end of ribbon led to the plate of each
little guest. Also at each place was a much smaller pushcart of gilded
wicker-work tied with pink bows, and filled with candies.
Pink sweet peas and ferns were scattered over the white tablecloth, and
across the table ran a broad pink satin ribbon which bore in gold letters
the legend, "May for the Maynards, the Maynards for May!"
"What a beautiful table!" cried Marjorie, as the lovely sight greeted her
eyes.
"What beautiful guests!" cried Cousin Jack, as he looked at the smiling,
happy crowd of children. And then he helped them to find their places,
which were marked by pretty cards, painted with pink flowers.
As far as possible, everything was trimmed with pink. The china was white
with pink bands, the rolled sandwiches were tied with little pink
ribbons, the little cakes were iced with pink, and there were pink
candies, and pink ice cream, and pink lemonade.
Then after the feast was over, the children were instructed to pull
gently on the ribbons that lay at their plate, and thus draw toward them
the pink paper parcels.
These being opened proved to contain a dainty gift for each one, the
prevailing color, of course, being pink.
"It's the pinkiest party I ever saw!" exclaimed Marjorie. "It makes it
seem more like May, being so pinky!"
"That's because it's for the Pink of Perfection," said Cousin Jack,
looking fondly at Marjorie, whom he considered his chief guest.
Then they all left the table, and with Cousin Jack as ringleader, they
played merry games until late in the afternoon.
At last the children all went home, and Marjorie threw her arms around
Cousin Jack's neck, in a burst of gratitude. "You are too good to us!"
she exclaimed.
"Now, Mehitabel, you know I think nothing could be too good for you,
you're such a gay little Maynard! Can't I induce you to stay here with
me when your people go home to-morrow?"
Marjorie laughed, for this was the second invitation she had had to leave
her family. But she well knew Cousin Jack didn't expect her to do it, and
so she smiled, and said, "I couldn't be induced to do that, Cousin Jack;
but I think it would be awfully nice if you and Cousin Ethel would come
and live in Rockwell. Then we could see you so much oftener."
"I'm not sure that we can go and live there,--but if we were coaxed very
hard, we might come and visit you same time."
"I rather think you will!" said Mr. Maynard, heartily, "and the sooner
you come, and the longer you stay, the better we'll like it!"
And before the Maynards left Cambridge, it was definitely arranged that
Cousin Jack and Cousin Ethel should visit them in the near future.
The next day the Maynards started for home. They were to stop a day or
two in Boston, and then proceed by easy stages back to Rockwell.
As the big car started away from the Bryant house, after farewells both
merry and affectionate, the children sang in gay chorus, one of their
favorite road songs:
"All through the May
The Maynards play;
And every day
Is a holiday.
Glad and gay,
The Maynards play;
Maytime for Maynards,
Maynards for May!
No longer in Cambridge can we stay,
But over the hills and far-a-way;
And so good-day,
For we must away,
May for the Maynards! The Maynards for May!"