A FAREWELL TEA-PARTY
The summer, as all summers will do, came to an end, and at last it was
the very day before Marjorie was to leave Haslemere and go back to her
own home.
The three friends were having a farewell tea-party at "Breezy Inn," and
very sad were the three little faces at the thought of parting.
"And the worst of it is," said Midget, "I can't come again for four
years, and then I'll be sixteen years old, just think of that!"
"So will I," said Molly; "we'll be almost young ladies. Isn't it
horrid?"
"At least we won't get into such mischief," said Marjorie, laughing as
she remembered the scrapes they had been in all summer. "And next year
it's Kitty's turn to come, and you'll have fun with her here in "Breezy
Inn," and I won't be here."
At this pathetic announcement, Stella began to cry in earnest, and
merry Molly tried to cheer the others up.
"Well, we can't help it," she said, "and I suppose, Marjorie, you'll be
having a good time somewhere else."
"I s'pose so. They were all at the seashore this summer, and Kitty
wrote to me that she had had a lovely time."
"Maybe she'll trade off with you," said Stella, "and let you come up
here next summer, while she goes to the seashore again."
"Maybe she will," said Midget, brightening up; "I'd like that, but I
don't believe Mother will let us. You see, we take regular turns
spending the summer with Grandma. Baby Rosamond never has been yet, but
when it's her turn again, she'll be old enough, and so that puts me off
for four years."
"Don't let's talk about it," said Molly, as she took her eleventh
ginger-snap from the plate; "we can't help it, and we may as well look
on the bright side. Let's write letters to each other this winter;
shall we?"
"Yes, indeed," said Stella; "I'll write you every week, Marjorie, and
you must write to me, and we'll all send each other Christmas presents,
and, of course 'Breezy Inn' will be shut up for the winter anyway, I
suppose."
"I suppose it will," said Marjorie, "and I s'pose it's time for us to
go now; it's six o'clock."
There was a little choke in her voice as she said this, and a little
mist in her eyes as she looked for the last time at the familiar
treasures of "Breezy Inn."
Stella was weeping undisguisedly, and with her wet little mop of a
handkerchief pressed into her eyes, she could scarcely see her way down
the ladder.
But Uncle Steve, who came across the fields to meet them, promptly put
a stop to this state of things.
"That's enough," he said, "of weeps and wails! Away with your
handkerchiefs and out with your smiles, every one of you! Suppose
Marjorie IS going away to-morrow, she's going off in a blaze of glory
and amid shouts of laughter, and she's not going to leave behind any
such doleful-looking creatures as you two tearful maidens."
Uncle Steve's manner was infectiously cheery, and the girls obeyed him
in spite of themselves.
And so, when the next morning Uncle Steve drove Marjorie to the
station, the girls were not allowed to go with her, but were commanded
to wave gay and laughing good-bys after her until she was out of sight.
And so, all through the winter Marjorie's last recollection of
Haslemere was of Molly and Stella standing on her own little porch
waving two handkerchiefs apiece and smiling gayly as they called out:
"Good-by, Marjorie! Good-by, Mopsy Midget! Good-by!"