LETTERS AND CARDS
“IT’S awful to have Father and Mother away so long, but it’s lovely to
get their letters,” said Marjorie, as Sarah brought in a big budget of
mail that the postman had just brought. The Maynards were at breakfast,
and as King distributed the various letters, postcards, and parcels,
there proved to be something for everybody at the table.
Mr. and Mrs. Maynard were now in Florida, and they sent many souvenirs
of their trip.
Marjorie had a silver teaspoon, King a book-mark, Kitty a pin-tray, and
Rosy Posy a queer little doll, all of which were marked with the name of
the beautiful hotel where the travellers were then staying.
Miss Larkin received a lovely lace handkerchief, which was a more
elaborate gift than the others, though not so specially a souvenir.
Then each had two or three postcards of the Florida scenery, and, best
of all, each had a letter addressed separately and individually.
As they eagerly opened and read them, Rosy Posy, only slightly assisted
by Sarah, also opened her letter and pretended to read it, nodding her
curly head and smiling as if she could really make out the written
pages.
And then, each in turn, they read their letters aloud.
“Is yours in poetry, Miss Larkin?” asked Marjorie. “Ours are.”
“Partly,” said Miss Larkin, smiling. “Your father is quite a poet, isn’t
he?”
“He says he isn’t,” said Kitty; “but I think his verses are lovely. You
read yours out first, Miss Larkin, and then we’ll read ours.”
So Miss Larkin began:
“Dear Miss Larkin, here we are
Seeming near, though really far.
Wondering how you get along
With those children, so headstrong.
Are your dark locks turning gray
With their worry day by day?
Are they jumping at the chance
To be leading you a dance?
Or has your devoted care
Tamed them into angels fair?
Well, whate’er may be the case,
We are glad you’re in our place.
So forgive their naughty pranks,
And accept our love and thanks—
Blessings be upon your head:
Always yours,
HELEN and ED.”
“Oh, isn’t that lovely!” sighed Kitty. “I ’spect they made that up
together. They can both make rhymes, you know.”
“You next, King,” said Marjorie. “We always go by ages, you know.”
“All right,” said King. “Mine isn’t very long. I guess Father wrote it
all himself.
“Dear old King,
Everything
Is going fine,
So here’s a line
To let you know
That, as we go,
Our thoughts turn back
Along the track
Until, in our mind’s eye, we see
Our King Cole and his Sisters Three.
So to the girls and to the brother
We send much love,
FATHER and MOTHER.”
“That’s a nice one,” said Kitty, who loved the jingles. “Now I’ll read
mine. Oh, no, it’s your turn first, Mops.”
“Mine’s from Mother. I guess she thinks I’m up to some mischief. She
says:
“Marjorie, dear, dearie, derious,
I think I’ll write you a line that’s serious—
Only to say, Be good, sweet child,
And don’t do anything wrong or wild.
If mischievous pranks you want to play,
Put them off till a future day.
For I would rather at home be found
When Marjorie Mischief comes around.
But I feel quite sure I need feel no fears,
For my bonnie lassie of twelve sweet years
Is trying, I know, to be good as gold.
So here’s all the love that a heart can hold
To my darling Daughter, far away
From your ownest, lovingest
MOTHERY MAY.”
“May is short for Maynard,” Marjorie explained to Miss Larkin. “We often
call her Mothery May. It’s such a pretty name.”
“Yes, it is,” said Miss Larkin. “I didn’t know Helen could rhyme as well
as that.”
“She learned it from Father,” said Kitty. “She told me so once. She says
it isn’t poetry, it’s just jingle. But I love it all. We’re going to
save all these letters and cards and things, and make a big scrap-book.”
“That will be fine,” said Miss Larkin. “Let’s begin it at once. I’ll
help you.”
“All right; thank you,” said Kitty. “Now I’ll read mine.
“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty,
What an awful pity
That we couldn’t have you here
To enjoy this country, dear.
You would love the sky and sun
And the blossoms, every one.
And the waves upon the shore,
Rolling, tumbling, o’er and o’er.
Never mind, Miss Kittiwinks,
Sometime it will chance, methinks,
That we’ll come down here again
And we’ll bring you with us then.
You and King and Mops, and maybe
That small Rosy Posy baby!
Now, good-bye, for I’ve no time
To waste on further foolish rhyme.
I don’t like to work my brain hard.
From your fond old
FATHER MAYNARD.”
“Oh,” cried Kitty, “don’t you just love that! Brain hard and Maynard is
a grand rhyme!”
“Great!” agreed King, “though it joggles a little, I think.”
“Well, of course, it isn’t a real rhyme,” said Kitty, looking
thoughtful; “it’s just a sort of a joke rhyme. That’s why I like it so
much. Now, Rosy Posy, I’ll read yours.”
“Ess, Kitty; wead it out loud to me.”
“I want my Rosy Posy,
Yes, I do!
I want to cuddle cosy
Just with you.
I want my little girlie,
Pink and white;
Hair so soft and curly,
Eyes so bright.
There are but a few, love,
Sweet as you.
Rosy Posy, Truelove,
I love you.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Kitty, enraptured, “what a sweet little love-poem! Why,
it’s a valentine!”
“Ess,” said the happy recipient; “it’s my ballytine. Muvver sended it
all to me.”
“So she did, Baby,” said Midget. “And it’s a lovely one. We’ll put it in
the big scrap-book. Now, Miss Larkin, I must skip to school.”
“So say we all of us,” said King, rising from the table. “Let’s put all
these letters and gifts and things away together, and get them out again
to-night. Can we begin the scrap-book to-night, Miss Larkin?”
“Yes, King, I’ll get the book to-day. I’d like to make you a present of
it.”
“Oh, thank you, Miss Larkin. You’re a trump! You’ll sure get it, won’t
you?”
“Yes, indeed. I have to go downtown this afternoon, and I’ll get a real
nice one.”
“Mayn’t I take all the postcards over to Delight’s with me?” said
Marjorie. “I want to show them to her and to Miss Hart.”
“Sure, take mine,” said King, heartily; and Kitty, too, was willing.
“I’ll be awful careful of ’em,” said Midget. “And I know Miss Hart will
be so interested to see them.”
Miss Hart was, indeed, interested. She changed her mind about the
lessons she had planned for the day, and took Florida for the theme
instead. She had been there herself, so she recognized the places
pictured on the postcards, and described them in a most interesting way.
The map of Florida was found in the Geography, and Miss Hart told her
pupils all about its wonderful fruits and flowers. Then, taking down a
United States History, she read to them of the settlement of the state,
of its growth and present condition, and many other interesting details.
The other Southern states were touched on, and when the lesson was over
Delight and Marjorie felt quite well informed about that section of our
country.
Then Miss Hart asked them each to write a short composition about
Florida. These she corrected, and explained her corrections so clearly
that, almost without knowing it, the girls had had a lesson in English
composition.
“Oh,” sighed Marjorie, as she put on her hat to go home; “it has been a
lovely morning. Isn’t it strange, Miss Hart, how I used to hate to go to
school, and now I just love it.”
Miss Hart smiled.
“You hate routine work, Marjorie,” she said; “and you disliked the
confinement and discipline of the regular schoolroom. Our lessons are so
varied and unsystematic, they don’t tire you in the same way.”
“They don’t tire me at all, Miss Hart; but it is you who make them so
pleasant. Nobody else ever could teach things as you do. You make
lessons seem play.”
“They are play, if you enjoy them. Anything we enjoy is a recreation,
and, therefore, pleasant.”
“You’re coming over this afternoon, you know, Mops; the Jinks Club meets
here.”
“’Course I am, Delight. We’re all coming. What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know. Miss Hart said she’d help us. You know, my mother won’t
let us rampage all over the house, as your mother does.”
“I know it,” said Marjorie, smiling to think of Mrs. Spencer’s carefully
placed furniture and immaculately kept rooms, subjected to such
invasions as frequently turned the Maynard house topsy-turvy.
“In fact,” Delight went on, “Mother says I can’t have the Jinks Club
meet here, unless we promise to stay in just the two rooms—the library
and dining-room.”
“All right,” assented Midget, cheerfully. “We can have plenty of fun in
two rooms. Can’t we, Miss Hart?”
“Yes, I’m sure you can. Quiet fun, you know. And perhaps you’ll enjoy
that—for a change, you know.”
“I know we’ll enjoy it, if you’re with us, Miss Hart,” and with a loving
good-bye to the governess and to Delight, Midget scampered home.
“Oh, fiddlesticks!” said King, as, at the luncheon table, Marjorie told
of the meeting of the Club that afternoon. “I don’t see any fun cooped
up in two rooms. Why can’t we play outdoors?”
“Oh, Mrs. Spencer hardly ever lets Delight go out to play in March. She
says it’s a dangerous month.”
“Huh! We play outdoors any day in the year.”
“I know we do, King. ’Cause Mother wants us to. But Mrs. Spencer is
different.”
“Different! I should say she was! She’s about as much like our mother as
chalk’s like cheese. Let’s have the Club over here, Mops.”
“No,” said Marjorie, looking thoughtful. “I think we’d better not have
it here while Mother’s away. For you know we always break things, or
’most kill ourselves, and after ‘Julius Cæsar’ I think we want to beware
of our sort of games.”
“My! but you’re getting cautious! Well, all right; I’ll go to Delight’s
this time, but if it’s poky, I won’t go again. Anyway, it’ll be at Flip
Henderson’s next time, and I guess we’ll have fun there.”
“I’d just as lieve play quiet games, anyway,” put in Kitty. “I’ve had
enough of accidents.”
She glanced at Rosy Posy’s bandaged arm, which, though it didn’t
incommode the baby in the least, was a silent reminder to the others.
So, at three o’clock, the three Maynards went across the street to
Delight’s house.
Dorothy Adams and Flip Henderson came at the same time, and they all
went in together.
It is strange how the atmosphere of a home will affect its guests.
Mrs. Spencer was a kind and pleasant lady enough, and yet no sooner were
the members of the Jinks Club inside her house, than they suddenly
became silent and a little self-conscious. They had an undefined feeling
that they must “behave,” and it made them a little stiff and unnatural.
The Maynard house, on the other hand, was like a playground. Once inside
those hospitable doors, they felt an unspoken welcome that was homelike
and cordial to the last degree.
So they decorously laid off their hats and coats, taking pains to place
them neatly on the hatrack or hall table, and then primly seated
themselves around the library. King began to fidget; he was always
impatient under restraint of any sort. But Marjorie felt more at home in
the Spencer house, and, too, she had faith in Miss Hart’s plans,
whatever they might be.
Kitty was of an adaptable nature, and didn’t care much what they played.
Dorothy was with her, and that was fun of itself.
Soon Miss Hart came in, and her smiling face, and cordial manner, did
much to cheer the hearts of the Jinks Club.
“I was so interested in Marjorie’s postcards,” she began, “that I
thought you might like to play a postcard game this afternoon. So I’ve
arranged it for you. As you see, in this room, and the dining-room, are
many postcards pinned to the walls and window-frames, and on tables and
mantels. Some are partly hidden, others in plain sight. In every case
the printed title is cut off, and each card is numbered. Now, we will go
travelling.”
This began to look promising. King glanced around at the postcards, and
noticed some attractive-looking parcels tied with ribbons, and decided
it was to be a sort of a party. Now, a party was about as much fun as a
regular Jinks Club meeting, so his spirits rose to the occasion.
“Here is your luggage,” Miss Hart went on, giving each a pencil and
blank card. “Write down the number of any postcard, and write against it
what you think it represents. Don’t look at each other’s lists, and the
one who has most correct answers will receive a prize. Good-bye, my
tourist friends; start now on your travels.”
It was fun. Some of the pictures were impossible to mistake. The Eiffel
Tower, the Pyramids of Egypt, and the Bunker Hill Monument were easily
recognized. But others were not so well known, and sometimes the
tourists had to think hard to remember where some of the buildings or
monuments were situated. The scenes were from all over the world; from
the Coliseum in Rome to the Flatiron Building in New York; and the Jinks
members giggled when they came across a picture of their own town
library and the Rockwell Railway Station. It was an absorbing game, and
the tourists went about from picture to picture, and then back on their
tracks again to try once more to recall some half-forgotten arch or
statue.
At last, the allotted time was up, and the tourists all returned to the
library, while Miss Hart looked over the cards. To her surprise, King
had the greatest number of correct answers, for though he was the oldest
one present, he had not studied ancient history as much as Marjorie and
Delight had.
“How do you happen to be so well-informed?” asked Miss Hart, as she
handed him the first prize.
“I don’t know,” said King. “I think I see pictures in the illustrated
papers, and somehow I remember them.”
“That’s what we call a ‘photographic memory,’” said Miss Hart, smiling,
“and it’s a very good thing to have.”