ROMPS AND RHYMES
FOR the next few days the children were left to their own devices. Miss
Larkin was busy as a bee getting the house ready for her expected
company. The two pretty guest rooms were appointed for their use, and
Miss Larkin herself moved into Mrs. Maynard’s room.
Astonishing preparations were made in the kitchen department, and even
Ellen, the good-natured cook, was amazed at the lavish orders given to
the grocer, butcher, and caterer.
“Shure, an’ annybuddy’d think the hull rile fam’ly was a-comin’,” she
said to Sarah.
But they were well-trained servants, and as Miss Larkin was temporarily
mistress of the house, they obeyed her wishes.
The day that the Mortimers were expected, the children came home from
school to find the house in specially immaculate order, flowers in
almost every room, and a general air of festivity all about.
“We have only a ‘pick-up’ luncheon,” said Miss Larkin, who was looking
over a timetable as she talked. “You see, I forgot to order anything—I
was so absorbed in my dinner preparations. But Ellen has found something
for you, I see.”
And, indeed, Ellen had not forgotten the children’s midday appetites,
and so there was plenty to eat, if not so carefully served as usual.
“I don’t want to hurry you too much,” Miss Larkin went on, as they sat
down to the table, “but please get through as soon as you can; for I
want the table lengthened, and then I shall myself set it for dinner.”
“We’ll make sandwiches, and take ’em up in the playroom to eat, if you
say so, Miss Larkin,” volunteered Kingdon, who was willing to help in
any way he could.
“Mercy, no, child! That would only make extra work for Sarah, clearing
up after you. No, eat your lunch here. Don’t gobble, but make all the
haste you can.”
This was a rather mixed direction, and caused much hilarity among the
young Maynards.
“I’ll spread my bread on both sides,” announced Marjorie, “that’ll use
up my butter faster.”
“I’ll put sugar on mine,” declared Kitty, quick to see the possibilities
of this new game; “so, you see, I can eat butter and sugar both at once,
and so hurry up things.”
“I’ll eat with both hands,” giggled King, as he broke a slice of bread
in two, and took alternate bites.
“Oh, children!” exclaimed Miss Larkin, in despair, “now you’ve commenced
carrying on, I don’t know where you’ll end up! I know how you act when
you once begin your nonsense!”
“Aw, truly, Larky, we’re going to be good,” said King, in the wheedling
tone that often betokened “cutting up.” “And as I know you want this
table to set for King and Queen Mortimer, I’ll now remove all these
bothering children. Girls, I’ll race you to the front door!”
Marjorie jumped up, dropping her fork and upsetting a cup of cocoa;
Kitty flew after her, over-turning her chair as she ran; but as the
girls reached the door between the dining-room and hall, King slammed it
to, and turned the key on the other side.
This meant they couldn’t reach the front door, except by going through
the kitchen and thence to the hall again. Of course, King would get
there before them, but this was all the more reason to fly after him and
avenge themselves. Back they ran around the table. Midget tripped over
the rug, caught at the tablecloth, and upset a glass of water on her
head.
Kitty paused to lift Rosy Posy down from her high chair, for the baby
was clamoring to join the fray.
Through the pantry and into the kitchen the whirlwind passed, nearly
upsetting Ellen and Sarah on their mad flight to the front hall.
Miss Larkin, still at the table, sat looking distracted. What would the
Mortimers think of such actions as these! And the Maynard children, even
when meaning to behave their best, were so easily started off on a romp
by the least provocation.
“Look at that!” said Miss Larkin, as Sarah came in. “A nice mess, just
as I’m preparing for a dinner party!”
“Yes’m,” said Sarah, respectfully. “But them children do be in such a
hurry sometimes. I’ll clear it all up, mem. And then I’ll help ye with
the table.”
But Miss Larkin was really irate, and Sarah’s air of apology for the
children only made her more so.
“Call them to me, Sarah,” she said. “I wish to speak to them.”
Sarah obediently went in search of the children, and found them in a
scrambled heap near the front door. A good-natured wrestling match was
on and, as a consequence, hair ribbons and neckties were off.
“She wants you,” said Sarah, as she looked at the by no means unfamiliar
performance. “I’ll take Rosy Posy, and the rest of ye had better go, an’
have it over with.”
“Come on, then,” said King, already sorry for their boisterous
misdemeanors.
Unlocking the door, he marched into the dining-room, followed by his two
sisters.
“Dear Miss Larkin,” he said, with a low and elaborate bow, “we’re
’ceedingly sorry we went off in such a hurry, and we’ve come back to
’pollergize.”
Kitty caught the dramatic tone of his apology, and falling on her knees,
with clasped hands, she looked beseechingly up into Miss Larkin’s face,
and wailed:
“_Do_ forgive us—ah, do!”
Marjorie, not to be outdone, fell down in a posture which she fondly
hoped represented an Oriental salaam.
Crouching on the floor, she buried her face in her folded arms, and
rocked her plump body from side to side, as, she gave voice to long,
deep groans supposed to be expressive of abject repentance. Her position
was temptingly insecure, and King couldn’t resist a tiny push which sent
her rolling over against Kitty, and the girls both lost their
equilibrium.
Then Miss Larkin lost her temper.
“You’re the worst children I ever saw!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know
civilized beings _could_ be such rude and unmannerly and barbarous——”
“Cannibals,” prompted King, as she paused for lack of a sufficiently
opprobrious name.
This made the girls giggle, and they at once began to eat each other, in
dumb show.
But Miss Larkin saw nothing humorous in the situation.
“I don’t see how I _can_ have those people,” she went on. “I invited
them, thinking you children would at least act fairly decent, and now as
you’ve begun this hoodlum business, I just know you’ll keep it up and
mortify me to death.”
“No, we won’t,” declared King. “Honest and truly, black and bluely, Miss
Larkin, we’ll begin now, and we’ll be as good as pie—custard pie!”
“Mince pie!” supplemented Marjorie.
“Lemon meringue pie,” said Kitty, rolling her eyes, as she thought of a
lovely big one even now on the pantry shelf.
“If I could only trust you,” said Miss Larkin, sighing. “But I can’t.
You’re too uncertain.”
“Oh, no, we aren’t,” said King, sidling up to her, and patting her
shoulder. “And, anyway, after a bang-up tussle, like that, we’re always
better’n ever, for a long time.”
“Yes, we are,” corroborated Kitty; “it’s what Father calls the clam
after the storm. Oh, Miss Larkin, we _will_ be good!”
“You ought to be punished,” said the tormented lady, looking at the
merry, if repentant, faces.
“Oh, do punish us!” cried Marjorie. “That would square it all up; and,
besides, punishments are gen’rally fun. You can most always make a game
out of ’em.”
“You can, can you!” exclaimed Miss Larkin; “well, I rather think I’ll
give you a punishment that you can’t make a _noisy_ game out of, at any
rate. Now, listen to me. I expect my friends on the five o’clock train.
I shall go in the carriage to meet them at the station. At half-past
four, I want you all to be dressed nicely, and wait in the drawing-room
till we return. Marjorie, you may wear your new white serge; and, Kitty,
put on your light-blue voile.”
“Yes’m,” said the two little girls.
“Now, be sure to allow time enough to make your toilets properly, but
before that you must each learn a piece of poetry and recite it to me
without missing a word. This is your punishment, and I trust it will at
least keep you quiet for the afternoon.”
It was, indeed, a punishment. The Maynard children loved to read poetry,
or have it read to them, but memorizing it was another matter.
“How long a poem, Miss Larkin?” asked Kitty, disconsolately.
Miss Larkin considered. If she set them a long task, they might not get
through in time to dress; if a short one, time would be left for
mischief.
“About ten lines,” she said, at last. “Not less than ten, and more, if
you choose.”
“May we select our poems ourselves?”
“Yes; that is, you may take anything that you find printed in any book
in the library. Now, go on, and when you have learned them, I will hear
you recite them.”
The three culprits walked slowly away to their punishment, and Miss
Larkin felt satisfied that she had at least quelled their boisterous
spirits for a time.
She turned to her own occupations, and was soon lost in the pleasant
flutter of arranging her elaborate dinner-table.
The three in the library stared at the book-shelves.
“Ten lines!” muttered King. “I’m going to pick out something with short
lines, I can tell you.”
“I wish she hadn’t said ‘printed,’” said Marjorie; “then I’d learn some
of the poems Mother and Father write us in letters. That would be fun.”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Kitty. “Let’s learn things out of our
scrap-book. Don’t you know, the one Mother made, and pasted in verses
cut out of the papers and magazines.”
“That’s so!” cried King. “They’re printed, sure enough; and a lot more
fun than these Tennysons and Longfellows sitting up here on the
shelves.”
Kitty brought the scrap-book, and the three sat down on the floor to
look it over. It was a jolly book, filled with pictures and jingles, and
they became so interested in reading it, that they almost forgot they
were being punished.
“Well, I s’pose we must each pick out one to learn,” said King, at last.
“I guess I’ll take this ‘Two Old Kings.’ It has a lot more’n ten lines,
but I don’t care; they’re short ones.”
“All right,” said Marjorie. “I’ll choose ‘The Merry Prince.’ It has
fourteen lines, but they’re so gay and jolly, I think I can learn it
pretty easy. What’s yours, Kit?”
“I’ll choose ‘Ice Cream.’ Partly ’cause I love it, and partly ’cause
it’s just ten lines.”
“All right; now we’ll fix the book,” said King. “We’ll put it on the
floor, so. Now, Kit, your piece comes first, so you lie down, and stick
your feet out that way, toward the window. Mops, your piece is ’most at
the end of the book, so you sprawl out the other way. Mine is between,
so I’ll sneak in here, and I’ll hold up the leaves for you girls.”
The plan was not as complicated as it sounds, for the Maynards’ favorite
position for reading was lying prone, with the book open on the floor,
and their heads supported by their hands.
But the three made a funny picture, as, quite oblivious of each other,
they studied hard to learn the rhymes they had selected.
“Don’t gabble out loud, Kit,” begged her brother. “How can I study, when
you’re sissing ‘Ice Cream, Ice Cream,’ all the time?”
“All right, I’ll study to myself,” said Kitty, agreeably, and went on
hissing her sibilant syllables in a whisper.
Marjorie stared into space, and studied without moving her lips, and
King silently read his lines over and over, trusting to his
“photographic memory” to retain them.
Miss Larkin peeped in, and seeing the absorbed students, kicking their
heels or tapping their toes, went away again, unnoticed, but rejoicing
that at least they were out of mischief.
“Hooray!” cried King, at last; “I know mine! I’ve said it over three
times without looking.”
“Go away, then,” said Marjorie, her fingers in her ears, “until we know
ours.”
“All right; here, hold up these middle pages,” and King left his sisters
in possession of the book.
Kitty finished next, for Midget’s lines turned out to be pretty hard
ones to learn. But, after a while, they were firmly fixed in her curly
head, and the three went in search of Miss Larkin.
“We’re ready,” King announced, cheerfully, as he offered her the book.
As they had found Miss Larkin in the pantry, and as she was just turning
some jelly out of a mold—a proceeding which required extreme care—she
did not extend a hearty welcome.
Moreover, the pantry, though roomy as a pantry, was not well adapted to
the invasion of three eager and wide-awake children.
“Oh!” sighed Kitty, gazing rapturously at the laden shelves; “what
beautiful desserty things! I thought you said only two people were
coming, Miss Larkin.”
In her zeal for entertainment, Miss Larkin _had_ provided an
over-abundance, and as she felt a little sensitive on the subject,
Kitty’s remark irritated her.
“Little girls shouldn’t criticize their elders,” she said, severely.
“Oh, I didn’t mean to, Miss Larkin,” cried Kitty, apologetically. “I’m
sure I think the things are lovely. And prob’ly Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer
have very large appetites.”
“I hope they haven’t,” observed King; “I could eat most of these things
myself. How about letting us try these little cakes, Miss Larkin?”
“Don’t touch those!” was the rejoinder, as King’s fingers hovered
dangerously near the dainties; “that basket is filled, ready for the
table. Come away from here. If you’ve learned your poems, I’ll hear
them, and then it’s time for you to go and dress.”
Miss Larkin pushed the reluctant children out of the fascinating pantry,
and they all went to the library.
“Well, King,” she said; “which is your poem?”
“Oh, let me say mine first,” said Kitty, “’fore I forget it.”
“You must have a short memory, child! Well, say yours first, then. Why,
what sort of a book is this?”
“It’s our scrap-book,” explained Marjorie. “You didn’t say what sort of
poems, ’cept that they must be printed. So we took these. They’re much
more interesting than those in reg’lar books.”
“Very well,” said Miss Larkin, whose only intent had been to keep the
children quiet for an hour. “Say yours first, then, Kitty.”
So Kitty stood up, and with her hands behind her, recited her little
jingle about
ICE CREAM.
I love to talk of my fav’rite theme,
So of course my subject is Ice Cream!
My Mother says that my eyes just beam
Whenever I even _think_ Ice Cream!
When I’ve sewed a _’specially_ long, hard seam,
She takes me to town to get Ice Cream!
Sometimes the clouds in the blue sky seem
Like heaping saucers of white Ice Cream!
And often when I’m asleep, I dream
Of millions of platters of pink Ice Cream!
“You certainly know it perfectly, and you recite very nicely,” said Miss
Larkin. “Marjorie, you may say yours next.”
“Mine is a jolly-sounding one,” said Midget; “that’s why I like it. It’s
called
“THE MERRY PRINCE.”
The gay Prince Popinjay Peacock-Feather
Would play on his lute for hours together;
And feathery-weathery afternoons
He’d warble hilarious, various tunes.
He’d airily, merrily roam the street,
And sing to all he might chance to meet;
And if any were grumpy or gloomy or glum,
Along the Prince Peacock-Feather would come,
And sing them an affable, laughable lay,
Until they were gleeful, and glad, and gay,
They’d forget their bothers, and pothers, and wrongs,
When they listened to Popinjay’s popular songs.
So let’s be light-hearted, every one,
Like this frolicksome, rollicksome Prince of Fun!
“I don’t wonder you like it,” said Miss Larkin, smiling. “You’re a
Princess of Fun, yourself.”
“So you are, Mopsy!” cried King. “I’ll call you that, after this. Here
goes for mine now, Miss Larkin, and then it’s all over. Mine is one of
those nonsense songs. Maybe you won’t care for it, but we all love
nonsense.”
And then in an exaggerated declamatory style, and with dramatic
gestures, Kingdon recited
TWO OLD KINGS.
Oh! the King of Kanoodledum
And the King of Kanoodledee,
They went to sea
In a jigamaree—
A full-rigged jigamaree.
And one king couldn’t steer
And the other, no more could he;
So they both upset
And they both got wet—
As wet as wet could be.
And one king couldn’t swim
And the other, he couldn’t, too;
So they had to float,
While their empty boat
Danced away o’er the sea so blue.
Then the King of Kanoodledum
He turned a trifle pale,
And so did he
Of Kanoodledee,
But they saw a passing sail!
And one king screamed like fun
And the other king screeched like mad,
And a boat was lowered
And took them aboard;
And, My! but those kings were glad!
“I don’t see much sense to it,” admitted Miss Larkin, “but you have all
done as I asked you to, and you’ve done it very nicely. Now you may each
have a little cake, and then go and get dressed. And oh, children, do,
please, be good while my visitors are here.”
“We will, we truly will!” was the earnest reply.