Marjorie's Maytime Part 24

CHAPTER XV

A RIDE IN MAY

At the breakfast table, the next morning, Grandma Maynard announced her intention of keeping her oldest grandchild with her as her own.

Marjorie's mother looked up with a frightened glance at this declaration, and she turned her face appealingly toward her husband. But when she saw the twinkle in his eye, she knew at once there was not the slightest danger of her losing her oldest daughter in this way.

But, apparently by way of a joke, Mr. Maynard saw fit to pretend to approve of his mother's plan.

"Why, Mother," he said, "wouldn't that be fine! This big house needs a young person in it, and as we have four, we ought to be able to spare one. You'll have grand times, Midget, living here, won't you?"

If Marjorie had not been so overcome at the very thought of leaving her own family, she would have realized that her father was only joking; but she had been so truly afraid that her grandmother's wishes might possibly be granted that she couldn't realize her father's intent.

"Oh, Father!" she cried, with a perfect wail of woe; and then, jumping from her seat at the table, she ran to her mother's side, and flung herself into her arms, where she gave way to one of her tumultuous crying spells.

Poor little Marjorie was not greatly to blame. She had lain awake the night before, fearing that this thing might happen, and so was in no mood to appreciate a jest on the subject.

Unwilling to have such a commotion at the breakfast table, Mrs. Maynard rose, and with her arm round the sobbing child, drew her away to an adjoining room, where she rea.s.sured her fears, and told her that her father did not at all mean what he had said.

"Now, you see, Mother," Mr. Maynard went on, "how Midget feels about the matter. Well, my feelings are exactly the same, only I choose a different mode of expression. I'm sorry the child is so upset because I jokingly agreed to the plan, but she'll get over it in a few minutes, with her mother's help. And as you must know, Mother, we appreciate how fine it would be for Marjorie to live here, and be the petted darling of you two dear people, but you must also know that it is just as much out of the question for us to give you one of our children as it would be to give you the whole four!"

"That's a gift I wouldn't care for," said Grandma Maynard, smiling at the other three; "but I have taken a great fancy to Marjorie, and I know I could make her love me."

At this moment Marjorie and her mother returned, both with smiling, happy faces. Marjorie heard her grandmother's last words, and running to her, she threw her arms around the old lady's neck.

"I do love you, Grandma," she cried, "but of course you must know that I couldn't leave my own Maynards. Why, we're the 'votedest family you ever did see! We couldn't spare any one of each other! And, Grandma, when you were a little girl twelve years old, you wouldn't have gone away from your father and mother to live, would you?"

"No, Marjorie, I don't suppose I would," admitted Grandma Maynard, patting the little girl's cheek; "but perhaps when you're older, dear, you may change your mind about this."

Marjorie looked thoughtful a moment, and then she said, "Grandma, I don't truly think I will, but if I _should_ I'll let you know."

"I hadn't an idea the child would come to live with us," said Grandpa Maynard, "but how's this for a suggestion? Let her come to visit us for a time every year. I believe she makes long visits to her other grandmother."

Marjorie smiled involuntarily at the thought of the difference between the homes of the two grandmothers, but she said nothing, knowing from what her mother had told her that she would not be sent away from home unless she chose.

"Oh, Midget doesn't visit Grandma Sherwood every year," said Marjorie's father. "She only goes there once in four years. So to even matters up, suppose we let Marjorie come here and make a little visit next winter, with the understanding that if she gets homesick, she's to be sent home at once."

Everybody agreed to this, and though Marjorie felt a positive conviction that she would get homesick about the second day, yet Grandma Maynard made a silent resolve that she would make everything so attractive to Marjorie that the visit would be a long one.

So the matter was settled for the present, and if King and Kitty felt a little chagrined at Grandma Maynard's preference for Marjorie's company over their own, they said nothing about it.

That same afternoon, directly after luncheon, the Maynard family started once more on their automobile trip.

As the big car drew up in front of the house, the children saw it with joy, but they did not express their feelings, as that would not be polite to their grandparents.

But they were secretly delighted to see the big car again, with Pompton, whom they had not seen since they had been in New York, in his seat waiting for them.

Then good-byes were said, and Grandma affectionately reminded Marjorie that she was to visit her in the winter, and then in a few moments the motor party was speeding away.

They were scarcely a block from the house before the children began to express their relief at being released from the uncongenial atmosphere of their grandparents' home.

"I do declare," said King. "It was just like being in jail!"

"Have you ever been in jail?" asked Kitty, who was nothing if not literal.

"Well, no," returned her brother, "and I hope I never shall be after this experience. Grandpa and Grandma Maynard are the limit! If I had stayed there another day, I should have run away!"

Mr. Maynard, who was sitting in front with Pompton, turned round to the children.

"My dear little Maynards," he said, "unless you want to hurt your father's feelings very badly indeed, you will stop this severe criticism of your grandparents. You must remember that they are my father and mother, and that I love them very dearly, and I want you to do the same.

If their ways don't suit you, remember that children should not criticise their elders, and say nothing about them. If there is anything about them that you do like, comment on that, but remain silent as to the things that displeased you."

The Maynard children well knew that when their father talked seriously like this, it was intended as a grave reproof, and they always took it so.

"Father," said King, manfully, "I was wrong to speak as I did, and I'm sorry, and I won't do it again. We didn't any of us like to be at Grandma Maynard's, but I was the only one who spoke so disrespectfully. Midge and Kitty were awfully nice about it."

"No, we weren't," confessed Kitty. "At least, I wasn't. Midget said lots of times that we oughtn't to be disrespectful, but I guess I was. But, you see, Father, it was awfully hard to please those people."

"We didn't understand them," said Marjorie, thoughtfully. "When I tried to be good I got scolded, and when I cut up jinks they gave me a present for it! Who could know what to do in a house like that?"

Mr. Maynard smiled in spite of himself.

"I think you've struck it. Midget," he said. "Grandma and Grandpa Maynard _are_ a little inconsistent, and don't always know exactly what they do want. But that is largely because they are not very young, and they live alone, and are all unused to the vagaries of children. But these facts are to be accepted, not criticised, and I want you to remember, once for all, that you're not to say anything further disrespectful or unkind about your grandparents. And I think I know you well enough to know that you'll understand and obey these instructions without any more scolding on my part."

"We will, Fathery," said Midget, pounding on his arm with her little fists, by way of affectionate emphasis.

"Yes, we will!" agreed King, heartily. "And so now let's cut it out and have a good time."

And have a good time they did. Swiftly traversing the upper part of New York City, they continued along delightful roads; sometimes pa.s.sing through towns, sometimes getting views of the s.h.i.+ning waters of Long Island Sound, and sometimes travelling through the green, open country.

Partly because of the repression of the past few days, and partly because of the exhilaration of the fresh spring air and the fast speeding motor, the four young Maynards were in a state of hilarity. They sang and they shouted and they laughed, and often they would grab each other with affectionate squeezes from sheer joy of living.

"I guess we couldn't let old Mopsy go out of this bunch!" exclaimed King, as with a clever agility he pulled off both Midget's hair-ribbons at once.

This called for retaliation, and in a flash, Marjorie tweaked off his necktie.

n.o.body knew exactly the particular fun in this performance, for it only meant an immediate readjustment of the same ribbons, but it was a frequent occurrence, and usually pa.s.sed unnoticed.

"And old Mopsy couldn't stay away from this bunch, either," returned Marjorie, in response to her brother's remark. "Why, if I just tried it, I'm sure it would kill me!"

"I'm sure so, too," agreed Kitty. "We just have to have each other all the time, _we_ do! Oh, Mops, there are some marshmallows; mayn't we get some, Mother?"

Sure enough, the big pink blooms showed on the marshmallow bushes, and in a minute the children had scrambled out to get some.