Marjorie's Busy Days Part 20

The inky little girl, so earnestly explaining why she was inky, was a funny sight, indeed. And, as they laughed at her, some big tears of mortification rolled down her cheeks.

These she furtively wiped away with her hand, and it is needless to say that this added the finis.h.i.+ng touch to the smudgy black and white countenance.

Miss Lawrence gave up. She laughed until the tears ran down her own cheeks, for Marjorie was really crying now, and her little handkerchief only served to spread the inky area around her features.

"My dear child," said the teacher, at last, "I don't know exactly what to do with you. I can't wash that ink from your face, because it won't come off with only cold water. You must go home, and yet you can't go through the streets that way. But I have a brown veil I will lend you.

It is fairly thick, and will at least s.h.i.+eld you from observation."

So Miss Lawrence took Marjorie to the cloak-room, arrayed her in her own hat and her teacher's veil, and then went with the little girl downstairs to the front door. On the way she talked to her kindly, but she did not attempt to gloss over her naughty deed.

"I am sending you home, Marjorie," she said, "because you are not fit to stay here. If you were, I should keep you in, and punish you. You surely knew it was wrong to spill ink all over everything. You have ruined your desk, to say nothing of your clothes and your own belongings."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Lawrence," said penitent Midget. "I just tried to be good this morning. But I happened to think what fun it would be to have a big, high-peaked witch's hat to prance around in at recess; and I thought I could make the paper black without such a fuss."

"Well," said Miss Lawrence, with a sigh, "I don't know what to say to you. Go home now, and tell your mother all about it. I'll leave the matter of punishment in her hands. I'm sure you didn't mean to do wrong,--you never do,--but, oh, Marjorie, it _was_ wrong!"

"Yes, it was, Miss Lawrence, and I'm awful sorry. I do hope Mother will punish me."

Marjorie's hope was so funny that Miss Lawrence smiled, as she kissed the stained little face through the sheltering veil, and then Midget trudged off home, thinking that as Miss Lawrence had kissed her, she hadn't been so very bad, after all.

"What _is_ the matter, child?" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard, as Marjorie marched into her mother's room. "Why have you that thing on your head, and why are you home from school at this hour?"

Midget couldn't resist this dramatic situation.

"Guess," she said, blithely. Her inky hands were in her coat pockets, her ap.r.o.n was covered by her outer garment, and her face was obscured by the thick brown veil.

"I can't guess just what's the trouble," said her mother, "but I do guess you've been getting into some mischief."

Marjorie was disappointed.

"Oh," she said, "I thought you'd guess that I've broken out with smallpox or measles or something!"

Mrs. Maynard was preoccupied with some intricate sewing, and did not quite catch the first part of Marjorie's remark. But the last words sent a shock to her mother-heart.

"What!" she cried. "What do you mean? Smallpox! Measles! Has it broken out in the school? Take off that veil!" As she spoke, Mrs. Maynard jumped up from her chair, and ran to her daughter with outstretched arms.

This was more interesting, and Midget danced about as she turned her back to her mother to have the veil untied.

With trembling fingers Mrs. Maynard loosened the knot Miss Lawrence had tied, and hastily pulled off the veil. Meantime, Midget had thrown off her coat, and stood revealed in all her dreadful inkiness.

The saucy, blackened face was so roguishly smiling, and Mrs. Maynard was so grateful not to see a red, feverish countenance, that she sat down in a chair and shook with laughter.

This was just what Marjorie wanted, and, running to her mother's side, she laughed, too.

"Get away from me, you disreputable individual," said Mrs. Maynard, drawing her pretty morning dress away from possible contamination.

"Oh, Mothery, it's all dry now; it can't hurt you a bit! But isn't it awful?"

"Awful! You scamp, what does it mean?"

"Why, it's ink, Mother, dear; and do you s'pose it will ever come off?"

"No, I don't! I think it's there for the rest of your life. Is that what you wanted?"

"No. Not for my whole life. Oh, Mother, can't you get it off with milk, or something?"

Marjorie had seen her mother try to take ink-stains out of white linen with milk, and, though the operation was rarely entirely successful, she hoped it would work better on her own skin.

"Milk! No, indeed. Pumice stone might do it, but it would take your skin off, too. Tell me all about it."

So the inky little girl cuddled into her mother's arms, which somehow opened to receive the culprit, and she told the whole dreadful story.

Mrs. Maynard was truly shocked.

"I don't wonder Miss Lawrence didn't know what to do with you," she said; "for I'm sure I don't, either. Marjorie, you _must_ have known you were doing wrong when you began that performance. Now, listen! If somebody had told you of another little girl who cut up just such a prank, what would you have said?"

"I'd have said she ought to know better than to fool with ink, anyway.

It's the most get-all-overy stuff."

"Well, why did you fool with it, then?"

"Well, you see, Mother, I did know it was awful messy, but that know was in the back of my head, and somehow it slipped away from my memory when the thought that I wanted a witch hat came and pushed it out."

"Now, you're trying to be funny, and I want you to talk sensibly."

"Yes'm, I am sensible. Honest, the thought about the witch hat was so quick it pushed everything else out of my mind."

"Even your sense of duty, and your determination to be a good little girl."

"Yes'm; they all flew away, and my whole head was full of how to make the white paper black. And that was the only way I could think of."

"Well, have your thoughts that were pushed out come back yet?"

"Oh, yes, Mother; they came back as soon as I found myself all inky."

"Then, if they've come back, you know you did wrong?"

"Yes, I do know it now."

"And you know that little girls who do wrong have to be punished?"

"Ye-es; I s'pose I know that. How are you going to punish me?"

"We must discuss that. _I_ think you deserve a rather severe punishment, for this was really, truly mischief. What do you think of staying home from Gladys' Hallowe'en party as a punishment?"

"Oh, Moth-er May-nard! You just _can't_ mean _that_!"

"I'm not sure but I do. You _must_ learn, somehow, Midget, that if you do these awful things, you must have awful punishments."