MORE FUN
"Now, Helen," said Marjorie, as they left the dining-room, "you must
practise for an hour."
"Oh, Mother, I don't feel a bit like it! Mayn't I skip it to-day?"
This was, in effect, a speech that Marjorie often made, and she had to
laugh at her mother's mimicry.
But she straightened her face, and said, "No, my child; you must do your
practising, or you won't be ready for your lesson when the teacher comes
to-morrow."
"All right, Mother," said Mrs. Maynard, cheerfully, and sitting down at
the piano, she began to rattle off a gay waltz.
"Oh, no, Helen," remonstrated Marjorie, "that won't do! You must play
your scales and exercises. See, here's the book. Now, play that page
over and over for an hour."
Marjorie did hate those tedious "exercises," and she was glad for her
mother to see how poky it was to drum at them for an hour. As a rule,
Marjorie did her practising patiently enough, but sometimes she
revolted, and it made her chuckle to see Mrs. Maynard carefully picking
out the "five-finger drills."
"Keep your hands straight, Helen," she admonished her mother. "Keep the
backs of them so level that a lead pencil wouldn't roll off. I'll get a
lead pencil."
"No, don't!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, in dismay. She liked to play the
piano, but she was far from careful to hold her hands in the position
required by Midget's teacher.
"Yes, I think I'd better, Helen. If you contract bad habits, it's so
difficult to break them."
Roguish Marjorie brought a lead pencil, and laid it carefully across the
back of her mother's hand, from which it immediately rolled off.
"Now, Helen, you must hold your hand level. Try again, dearie, and if it
rolls off, pick it up and put it back in place."
Mrs. Maynard made a wry face, and the other grown-ups laughed, to see
the difficulty she experienced with the pencil.
"One--two--three--four," she counted, aloud.
"Count to yourself, Helen," said Marjorie. "It's annoying to hear you do
that!"
This, too, was quoted, for Mrs. Maynard had often objected to the
monotonous drone of Marjorie's counting aloud.
But the mother began to see that a child's life has its own little
troubles, and she smiled appreciatively at Midget, as she picked up the
pencil from the floor for the twentieth time, and replaced it on the
back of her hand, now stiff and lame from the unwonted restraint.
"You dear old darling!" cried Midget, flying over and kissing the
patient musician; "you sha'n't do that any longer! I declare, King, it's
clearing off, after all! Let's take the children out for a walk."
"Very well, we will. Oh, here comes Ruth! Come in, Ruth."
Ruth Rowland came in, and looked greatly mystified at the appearance of
the elder members of the group before her.
But King and Midget explained what was going on, and said:
"And you can be Aunt Ruth, come to call on us and our children."
Ruth's eyes danced with fun, and she sat down, saying to Marjorie, "I'm
glad to see the children looking so well; have any of them the
whooping-cough? I hear it's around some."
"I have," declared Cousin Jack, and then he began to cough and whoop in
a most exaggerated imitation of the whooping-cough. Indeed, in his
paroxysms, he almost turned somersaults.
"I hab a bad cold id by head," declared Mr. Maynard, and he began a
series of such prodigious sneezes that all the others screamed with
laughter.
"Well, your children aren't so very well, after all, are they?"
commented Ruth, as they watched the two men cutting up their capers.
"The girls are," said Marjorie, looking affectionately at her two
"daughters."
"Oh, I'm not!" declared Mrs. Maynard; "I have a fearful toothache," and
she held her cheek in her hand, and rocked back and forth, pretending
dreadful pain.
"And I have the mumps!" announced Cousin Ethel, puffing out her pretty
pink cheeks, to make believe they were swollen with that ailment.
"Well, you're a crowd of invalids!" said King; "I believe some fresh air
would do you good. Out you all go, for a walk. Get your hats, kiddies,
and be quick about it."
The grown-ups scampered away to get their hats, and the ladies put up
their hair properly and took off their white aprons.
The two men discarded their big collars and ties, but the game was not
yet over, and the group went gayly out and down toward the beach.
"May we go in bathing, Mother?" asked Mr. Maynard.
"Not in bathing, my son," returned Marjorie; "the waves are too strong.
But, if you wish, you may all take off your shoes and stockings and go
'paddling.'"
However, none of the quartette of "children" accepted this permission,
so they all sat on the sand and built forts.
"Now, I guess we'll all go to the pier, and get ice cream," said King.
"How would you like that, kiddies?"
"Fine!" said Cousin Jack. "It's getting warmer, and I'm hungering for
ice cream. Come on, all."
"Gently, my boy, gently," said King, as Cousin Jack scrambled to his
feet, upsetting sand all over everybody. "Now, walk along nicely and
properly, don't go too fast, and we'll reach the pier in good time."
"Turn out your toes," directed Marjorie; "hold up your head, Ethel.
Don't swing your arms, Edward."
As a matter of fact the four grown people found it a little difficult to
follow these bits of good advice they had so often given carelessly to
the children, and they marched along rather stiffly.
"Try to be a little more graceful, Helen," said King, and they all
laughed, for Mrs. Maynard was really a very graceful lady, and was
spoiling her gait by over-attention to Midget's rules. At the pier,
King selected a pleasant table, and ranged his party around it.
"Bring three plates of ice cream, and four half-portions," he directed
the waiter. And when it was brought, he calmly gave the four small
pieces to his parents and the Bryants.
Cousin Jack's face fell, for he was warm and tired, and he wanted more
than a spoonful of the refreshing delicacy. But a surreptitious glance
at his watch showed him it was almost five o'clock; so he accepted his
plate without a murmur.
"It's very nice, Mother," he said demurely, eating it by tiny bits,
scraped from the edges as he had sometimes seen Marjorie do, when her
share had been limited to half a plate.
"I'm glad you like it, son," she returned; "don't eat too fast,--hold
your spoon properly,--take small bites of cake."
Ruth was convulsed by this new sort of fun, and asked Marjorie if they
had ever played the game before.
"No," Cousin Jack answered for her, "and I'm jolly well sure we never
will again! I've had enough of being 'a child again, just for to-night!'
And, if you please, ladies and gentlemen, it's now five o'clock! the jig
is up! the game is played out! the ball is over! Here, waiter; bring
some ice cream, please. Full-sized plates, all around!"
The amused waiter hurried away on his errand, and Mr. and Mrs. Maynard
sat up suddenly, as if relieved of a great responsibility.
"Bring some cake, too," said Mrs. Maynard, "and a pot of tea. Don't you
want some tea, Ethel?"
"Indeed, I do, Helen; I'm exhausted. Jack, if you ever propose such a
game again!"
"I didn't propose it, my dear! Now, will you look at that! Everything
always gets blamed on me!"
And now there was plenty of ice cream for everybody, and the children
were allowed to have all they wanted, and they were all glad to get back
to their rightful places again.
"But it was fun!" said Marjorie, and then she told Ruth all about the
funny things they had done before she arrived on the scene.
Then they all walked around by Ruth's house to take her home, and then
they walked around by Bryant Bower to take the Bryants home, and then
the Maynards went home themselves.
"I'm going to write Kit all about it," said Marjorie; "she'd have loved
that game, if she'd been here."
"She loves any make-believe game," said King. "You write to her, Midget;
I've got to write up _The Jolly Sandboy_ paper."
"I should think you had! You haven't done one for two weeks."
"I know it; but it's because nobody sends in any contributions. I can't
make it all up alone."
"'Course you can't. When I write to Kitty, I'll ask her if she hasn't
some things we could put in it. She and Uncle Steve are always making up
poetry and stories."
"Good idea, Mops! Tell her to be _sure_ to send me a lot of stuff, first
thing she does!"
"Well, I will;" and Marjorie set to work at her letter.
It was finished by dinner time, for Marjorie's letters to her sister
were not marked by any undue precision of style or penmanship, and as
Marjorie laid it on the hall table to be mailed, she told King that she
had given Kitty his message.
"Father," said Midget, at dinner, that night, "what day did Cousin Jack
say was Pocahontas' birthday?"
"I don't remember, my dear; but I'm quite sure he doesn't really know,
nor any one else. I fancy he made up that date."
"Well, do you know of anybody, anybody nice and celebrated, whose
birthday comes about now?"
"The latter part of July? No, Midget, I don't. Why?"
"Oh, 'cause I think it would be nice to have a celebration, and you
can't celebrate without a hero."
"Do you call Pocahontas a hero?" asked King, quizzically.
"Well, she's a heroine,--it's all the same. When do you s'pose her
birthday was, Father?"
"I've no idea, Midget; and Cousin Jack hasn't, either. But if you want
to celebrate her, you can choose any day. You see, it isn't like a
birthday that's celebrated every year, Washington's, Lincoln's, or
yours. If you're just going to celebrate once, you can take one day as
well as another."
"Oh, can I, Father? Then, we'll have it next week. I'll choose August
first,--that's a nice day."
"What's it all about, Midge?" asked King.
"Oh, nothing; only I took a notion for a celebration. We had such good
times on Fourth of July and on my birthday, I want another birthday."
"I think it's a good idea to choose some uncelebrated person like
Pocahontas," said Mrs. Maynard; "for if you don't celebrate her I doubt
if anybody ever will."
"And you see we can have it all sort of Indian," went on Midget. "You
know we've a good many Indian baskets and beads and things,--and,
Father, couldn't you build us a wigwam?"
"Oh, yes, a whole reservation, if you like."
"No, just one wigwam. And we'll only have the Sand Club. I don't mean to
have a party."
"All right, I'm in for it," declared King, and right after dinner, the
two set to work making plans for the celebration.
"Cousin Jack will help, I know," said Marjorie; "remember how he played
Indians with us, up in Cambridge, last year?"
"Yep, 'course I do. He'll be fine! He always is."
"Let's telephone, and ask him right away."
"All right;" and in a few moments Cousin Jack's cheery "Hello!" came
over the wire.
"Well!" he exclaimed, "if it isn't those Maynard scamps again! Now, see
here, Mehitabel, it's time you and Hezekiah went to bed. It's nearly
nine o'clock."
"But, Cousin Jack, I just want to ask you something."
"Not to-night, my Angel Child. Whatever you ask me to-night, I shall say
no to! Besides, I'm reading my paper, and I can't be disturbed."
"But, Cousin Jack----"
"The Interstate Commerce Commission has to-day handed down a decision in
favor of----"
"Oh, King, he's reading out of his newspaper, just to tease us! You try
him."
King took the telephone. "Please, Cousin Jack, listen a minute," he
said.
But all the reply he heard was:
"Ephraim Hardenburg has been elected chairman of the executive committee
of the Great Coal Tar Company, to succeed James H.----"
King hung up the receiver in disgust.
"No use," he said; "Cousin Jack just read more of that newspaper stuff!
Never mind, Midget, we can wait till we see him. I guess I will scoot to
bed, now; I'm awful sleepy."
But when Cousin Jack heard of their project, a day or two later, he was
more than willing to help with the celebration.
"Well, I just guess!" he cried. "We'll have a jamboree that'll make all
the good Indians wish they were alive now, instead of four hundred
thousand years ago! We'll have a wigwam and a wampum and a tomahawk and
all the ancient improvements! Hooray for Pocahontas!"
"Gracious, Jack! you're the biggest child of the lot!" exclaimed Mrs.
Maynard, who sat on the veranda, watching the enthusiasm going on.
"Of course, I am, ma'am! I'm having a merry playtime this summer with my
little friends, and as I have to work hard all winter, I really need
this vacation."
"Of course you do! But don't let those two energetic children wear you
out."
"No, ma'am! More likely I'll wear them out. Now, for the wigwam,
kiddies. Have you a couple of Navajo blankets?"
"Yes, we have! and a Bulgarian one, or whatever you call it, to piece
out," cried Midget, as she ran to get them.
"Just the thing!" declared Cousin Jack. "Put them aside, we won't use
them till the day of the show. 'Cause why? 'Cause it _might_ rain,--but,
of course it won't. Now, for feathers,--we want lots of feathers."
"Old hat feathers?" asked Midget.
"Ostrich plumes? Nay, nay, me child. Good stiff quill feathers,--turkey
feathers preferred. Well, never mind those,--I'll fish some up from
somewhere. Now, blankets for the braves and fringed gowns for the
squaws. I'll show you how, Mehitabel, and you and your respected mother
can do the sewing act."
Well, Cousin Jack planned just about everything, and he and the children
turned the house upside down in their quest for materials. But Mrs.
Maynard didn't mind. She was used to it, for the Maynard children would
always rather "celebrate" than play any ordinary game.