AN EXASPERATING GUEST
"Aren't hard-boiled eggs the very best things to eat in all the world?"
said Marjorie, as she looked lovingly at the golden sphere she had just
extracted from its ivory setting.
"They're awful good," agreed King, "but I like oranges better."
"Me eat lollunge," piped up Rosy Posy. "Buffaro Bill would 'ike a
lollunge."
"So you shall, Baby. Brother'll fix one for you."
And the shipwrecked Captain carefully prepared an orange, and gave it
bit by bit into the eager, rosy fingers.
"Of all things in the world," said Kitty, "I like chocolate creams
best."
"Oh, so do I, if I'm not hungry!" said Marjorie. "I think I like
different things at different times."
"Well, it doesn't matter much what you like now," said King, as he gave
the last section of orange to Rosy Posy, "for everything is all eaten
up. Where'd you get those eggs, Mops? We never hardly have them except
on picnics."
"I saw them in the pantry. Ellen had them for a salad or something. So I
just took them, and told her she could boil some more."
"You're a good one, Mopsy," said her brother, looking at her in evident
admiration. "The servants never get mad at you. Now if I had hooked
those eggs, Ellen would have blown me up sky-high."
"Oh, I just smiled at her," said Marjorie, "and then it was all right.
Now, what are we going to do next?"
"Hark!" said Kingdon, who was again the shipwrecked mariner. "I hear a
distant sound as of fierce wild beasts growling and roaring."
"My child, my child!" shrieked Kitty, snatching up Arabella. "She will
be torn by dreadful lions and tigers!"
"We must protect ourselves," declared Marjorie. "Captain, can't you
build a barricade? They always do that in books."
"Ay, ay, ma'am. But also we must hoist a flag, a signal of distress. For
should a ship come by, they might stop and rescue us."
"But we have no flag. What can we use for one?"
"Give me your daughter's petticoat," said the Captain to Kitty.
"Not so!" said Kitty, who was fond of dramatic phrases. "Arabella's
petticoat is spandy clean, and I won't have it used to make a flag."
"I'll give you a flag," said Marjorie. "Take my hair-ribbon." She began
to pull off her red ribbon, but Kingdon stopped her.
"No," he said, "that won't do. We're not playing Pirates. It must be a
white flag. It's for a signal of distress."
Marjorie thought a moment. There really seemed to be no white flag
available.
"All right!" she cried, in a moment. "I'll give you a piece of my
petticoat. It's an old one, and the ruffle is torn anyhow."
In a flash, impetuous Marjorie had torn a good-sized bit out of her
little white petticoat, and the Captain fastened it to a long branch he
had broken from the maple tree.
This he managed, with the aid of some stones, to fasten in an upright
position, and then they sat down to watch for a passing sail.
"Buffaro Bill so s'eepy," announced that small person, and, with fat old
Boffin for a pillow, Rosy Posy calmly dropped off into a morning nap.
But the others suffered various dreadful vicissitudes. They were
attacked by wild beasts, which, though entirely imaginary, required
almost as much killing as if they had been real.
Kitty shot or lassoed a great many, but she declined to engage in the
hand-to-hand encounters with tigers and wolves, such as Marjorie and
Kingdon undertook, for fear she'd be thrown down on the ground. And,
indeed, her fears were well founded, for the valiant fighters were often
thrown by their fierce adversaries, and rolled over and over, only to
pick themselves up and renew the fray.
More exciting still was an attack from the natives of the island. They
were horrible savages, with tomahawks, and they approached with
blood-curdling yells.
Needless to say that, after a fearful battle, the natives were all slain
or put to rout, and the conquerors, exhausted but triumphant, sat round
their camp-fire and boasted of their valorous deeds.
As noontime drew near, the settlers on the island began to grow hungry
again, and, strange to say, the imaginary birds they shot and ate were
not entirely satisfying.
Buffalo Bill, too, waked up, and demanded a jink of water.
But none could leave the island and brave the perils of the boundless
ocean, unless in a rescuing ship.
For a long time they waited. They waved their white flag, and they even
shouted for help.
But the "island" was at some distance from the house or street and none
came to rescue them.
At last, they saw a huge, white-covered wagon slowly moving along the
back drive.
"A sail! A sail!" cried the Captain. "What, ho! Help! Help!"
The other shipwrecked ones joined the cry, and soon the wagon drew a
little nearer, and then stopped.
"Help! Help!" cried the children in chorus.
It was the butcher's wagon, and they knew it well, but this season
there was a new driver who didn't know the Maynard children.
"What's the matther?" he cried, jumping from his seat, and running
across the grass to the quartette.
"We're shipwrecked!" cried Marjorie. "We can't get home. Oh, save us
from a cruel fate! Carry us back to our far-away fireside!"
"Help!" cried Kitty, faintly. "My child is ill, and I can no longer
survive!"
Dramatic Kitty sank in a heap on the ground, and the butcher's boy was
more bewildered than ever.
"Save me!" cried Rosy Posy, toddling straight to him, and putting up her
arms. "Save Buffaro Bill first,--me an' Boffin."
This was more intelligible, and the butcher's boy picked up the smiling
child, and with a few long strides reached his cart, and deposited her
therein.
"Me next! Me next!" screamed Marjorie. "I'm fainting, too!" With a thud,
she fell in a heap beside Kitty.
"The saints presarve us!" exclaimed the frightened Irishman. "Whativer
is the matther wid these childher? Is it pizened ye are?"
"No, only starving," said Marjorie, but her faint voice was belied by
the merry twinkle in her eyes, which she couldn't suppress at the sight
of the man's consternation.
"Aha! It's shammin' ye are! I see now."
"It's a game," explained Kingdon. "We're shipwrecked on a desert island,
and you're a passing captain of a small sailing vessel. Will you take us
aboard?"
"Shure, sir," said the other, his face aglow with Irish wit and
intelligence. "I persave yer manin'. 'Deed I will resky ye, but how will
ye get through the deep wathers to me ship forninst?"
"You wade over, and carry this lady," said King, pointing to Kitty, "and
the rest of us will swim."
"Thot's a foine plan; come along, miss;" and in a moment Kitty was swung
up to the brave rescuer's shoulder, while King and Midget were already
"swimming" across the grass to the rescue ship.
All clambered into the wagon, and the butcher drove them in triumph to
the back door. Here they jumped out, and, after thanking their kind
rescuer, they scampered into the house.
"Such a fun!" said Rosy Posy, as her mother bathed her heated little
face. "Us was all shipperecked, an' I was Buffaro Bill, an' Boffin was
my big wild bear!"
"You two are sights!" said Mrs. Maynard; laughing as she looked at the
muddied, grass-stained, and torn condition of Kingdon and Marjorie. "I'm
glad you had your play-clothes on, but I don't see why you always have
to have such rough-and-tumble plays."
"'Cause we're a rough-and-tumble pair, Mothery," said King; "look at
Kitty there! she kept herself almost spick and span."
"Well, I'm glad I have all sorts of children," said Mrs. Maynard. "Go
and get into clean clothes, and be ready for luncheon promptly on time.
I'm expecting Miss Larkin."
"Larky! Oh!" groaned Kingdon. "I say, Mothery, can't we--us children, I
mean--have lunch in the playroom?" He had sidled up to his mother and
was caressing her cheek with his far-from-clean little hands.
"No," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling as she kissed the brown fingers, "no,
my boy, I want all my olive-branches at my table to-day. So, run along
now and get civilized."
"Come on, Mops," said Kingdon, in a despairing tone, and, with their
arms about each other, the two dawdled away.
Kitty had already gone to Nurse to be freshened up. Kitty loved company,
and was always ready to put on her best manners.
But King and Midget had so much talking to do, and so many plans to
make, that they disliked the restraint that company necessarily put upon
their own conversation.
"I do detest old Larky," said the boy, as they went away.
"I don't mind her so much," said Marjorie, "except when she asks me
questions."
"She's always doing that."
"Yes, I know it. But I promised Mother I'd be extra good to-day, and try
to talk politely to her. Of course, I can do it if I try."
"So can I," said King, with an air of pride in his own powers. "All
right, Mops, let's be 'specially 'stremely good and treat Miss Larkin
just lovely."
Nearly an hour later the four shipwrecked unfortunates, now transformed
into clean, well-dressed civilians, were grouped in the library to await
Miss Larkin's arrival.
The lady was an old friend of Mrs. Maynard's, and though by no means
elderly, was yet far from being as young as she tried to look and act.
She came tripping in, and after greeting her hostess effusively, she
turned to the children.
"My, my!" she said. "What a group of little dears! How you have
grown,--every one of you. Kingdon, my dear boy, would you like to kiss
me?"
The request was far from acceptable to King, but the simper that
accompanied it so repelled him that he almost forgot his determination
to be very cordial to the unwelcome guest. But Midge gave him a warning
pinch on his arm, and with an unintelligible murmur of consent, he put
up his cheek for the lady's salute.
"Oh, what a dear boy!" she gurgled. "I really think I shall have to take
you home with me! And, now, here's Marjorie. How are you, my dear? Do
you go to school now? And what are you learning?"
Miss Larkin's questions always irritated Marjorie, but she answered
politely, and then stepped aside in Kitty's favor.
"Sweet little Katharine," said the visitor. "You are really an angel
child. With your golden hair and blue eyes, you're a perfect cherub;
isn't she, Mrs. Maynard?"
"She's a dear little girl," said her mother, smiling, "but not always
angelic. Here's our baby, our Rosamond."
"No, I'se Buffaro Bill!" declared Rosy Posy, assuming a valiant
attitude, quite out of keeping with her smiling baby face and chubby
body.
"Oh, what delicious children! Dear Mrs. Maynard, how good of you to let
me come to see them."
As Miss Larkin always invited herself, this speech was literally true,
but as she and Mrs. Maynard had been schoolmates long ago, the latter
felt it her duty to give her friend such pleasure as she could.
At the luncheon table, Miss Larkin kept up a running fire of questions.
This, she seemed to think, was the only way to entertain children.
"Do you like to read?" she asked of Marjorie.
"Yes, indeed," said Midget, politely.
"And what books do you like best?"
"Fairy stories," said Marjorie, promptly.
"Oh, tut, tut!" and Miss Larkin shook a playful finger. "You should
like history. Shouldn't she, now?" she asked, appealing to Kingdon.
"We like history, too," said Kingdon. "At least, we like it some; but we
both like fairy stories better."
"Ah, well, children will be children. Do you like summer or winter
best?"
This was a poser. It had never occurred to Marjorie to think which she
liked best.
"I like them both alike," she said, truthfully.
"Oh, come now; children should have some mind of their own! Little Miss
Kitty, I'm sure you know whether you like summer or winter best."
Kitty considered.
"I like winter best for Christmas, and summer for Fourth of July," she
said at last, with the air of one settling a weighty matter.
But Miss Larkin really cared nothing to know about these things; it was
only her idea of making herself entertaining to her young audience.
"And you, Baby Rosamond," she went on, "what do you like best in all the
world?"
"Boffin," was the ready reply, "an' Buffaro Bill, 'cause I'm it."
They all laughed at this, for in the Maynard family Rosy Posy's high
estimation of herself was well known.
Although it seemed as if it never would, the luncheon at last came to an
end.
Mrs. Maynard told the children they might be excused, and she and Miss
Larkin would chat by themselves.
Decorously enough, the four left the room, but once outside the house,
King gave a wild whoop of joy and turned a double somersault.
Midget threw herself down on a veranda-seat, but with a beaming face,
she said:
"Well, we behaved all right, anyway; but I was 'most afraid I'd be saucy
to her one time. It's _such_ a temptation, when people talk like that."
"She talked all the time," said Kitty. "I don't see when she ate
anything."
"She didn't," said King. "I suppose she'd rather talk than eat. She's
not a bit like us."
"No," said Marjorie, emphatically, "she's not a bit like us!"