Marjorie at Seacote

"Well, I will then. How's this?

"'—and a turnip letter, and a boiled-beef letter, and a baked-apple letter, and a soft-boiled egg letter.'"

"That's better. It may not sound like the fashionable people write, but it will please them. Now thank them for taking care of you."

"'I thank you a whole heap for being so good to me, and speaking kindly to me in the railroad train, when I wasn't so very polite to you.'"

"Weren't you, Mops?"

"No; I squeezed away from him, 'cause I thought he was rough and rude."

"Well, you can't tell him that."

"No; I'll say this:

"'I wasn't very sociable, Sir, because I have been taught not to talk to strangers, but, of course, those rules, when made, did not know I would be obliged to run away.'"

"You weren't obliged to, Midget."

"Yes I was, King! I just simply couldn't stay here if I didn't belong, could I? Could you?"

"No, I s'pose not. I'd go off and go to work."

"Well, isn't that what I did?

"'But you were kind and good to me, Mr. Geary and Mrs. Geary Both, and I am very much obliged. I guess I didn't work very well for you, but I am out of practice, and I haven't much talent for houseworking, anyway. You seem to have, dear Mrs. Geary.'

"That's a sort of a compliment, King. Really, she isn't a very good housekeeper."

"Oh, that's all right. It's like when people say you have musical talent, and you know you play like the dickens."

"Yes, I do. Well, now I'll finish this, then we can go down to the beach."

"'And so, dear Mr. and Mrs. Geary Both, I write to say I am much obliged–'

"Oh, my gracious, King, I ought to tell them how it happened. About my mistake, you know, thinking Mother was talking in earnest."

"Oh, don't tell 'em all that, you'll never get it done. But I suppose they are curious to know. Well, cut it short."

"'You see, dear Mr. and Mrs. Geary Both, I am not a findling, as I supposed.'"

"That's not findling, Midget,—you mean foundling."

"I don't think so. And, anyway, they mean just the same,—I'm going to leave it.

"'I find I have quite a large family, with a nice father and mother, some sisters and a brother. You saw my father. Also, I have lovely cousins and four grand-parents and an uncle. So you see I am well supplied with this world's goods. So now, good-by, dear Mr. and Mrs. Geary Both, and with further thanks and obliges, I am,

"'Your friend,"'Marjorie Maynard.

"'P.S. The Jessica Brown was a made-up name.'

"Do you think that's all right, King?"

"Yep, it's fine! Seal her up, and write the address and leave it on the hall table, and come on."

And so the "bread-and-butter" letter went to Mr. and Mrs. Geary both, and was kept and treasured by them as one of their choicest possessions.

"I knew she was a little lady by the way she pretended not to notice our poor things," said old Zeb.

"I knew by her petticoats," said his wife.

And so the episode of Marjorie's runaway passed into history. Mrs. Maynard, at first, wanted to give up her part in the play of "The Stepmother," but she was urged by all to retain it, and so she did. As Mr. Maynard said, it was the merest coincidence that Marjorie overheard the words without knowing why they were spoken, and there was no possibility of such a thing ever happening again. So Mrs. Maynard kept her part in the pretty little comedy, but she never repeated those sentences that had so appalled poor Marjorie, without a thrill of sorrow for the child and a thrill of gladness for her quick and safe restoration to them.

And the days hurried on, bringing Marjorie's birthday nearer and nearer.

On the fifteenth of July she would be thirteen years old.

"You see," said Cousin Jack, who was, as usual, Director General of the celebration, "you see, Mehitabel, thirteen is said to be an unlucky number."

"And must I be unlucky all the year?" asked Marjorie, in dismay.

"On the contrary, my child. We will eradicate the unluck from the number,—we will cut the claws of the tiger,—and draw the fangs of the serpent. In other words, we shall so override and overrule that foolish superstition about thirteen being unlucky that we shall prove the contrary."

"Hooray for you, Cousin Jack! I'm lucky to have you around for this particular birthday, I think."

"You're always lucky, Mehitabel, and you always will be. You see, this business they call Luck is largely a matter of our own will-power and determination. Now, I propose to consider thirteen a lucky number, and before your birthday is over, you'll agree with me, I know."

"I 'spect I shall, Cousin Jack. And I'm much obliged to you."

"That's right, Mehitabel. Always be grateful to your elders. They do a lot for you."

"You needn't laugh, Cousin Jack. You're awful good to me."

"Good to myself, you mean. Not having any olive-branches of my own, I have to play with my neighbors'. As I understand it, Mehitabel, you're to have a party on this birthday of yours."

"Yes, sir-ee, sir! Mother says I can invite as many as I like. You know there are lots of girls and boys down here that I know, but I don't know them as well as I do the Craigs and Hester. But at a party, I'll ask them all."

"All right. Now, this is going to be a Good-Luck Party, to counteract that foolish thirteen notion. You don't need to know all about the details. Your mother and I will plan it all, and you can just be the lucky little hostess."

So Marjorie was not admitted to the long confabs between her mother and Cousin Jack. She didn't mind, for she knew perfectly well that delightful plans were being made for the party, and they would all be carried out. But there was much speculation in Sand Court as to what the fun would be.

"I know it will be lovely," said Hester, with a sigh. "You are the luckiest girl I ever saw, Marjorie. You always have all the good times."

"Why, Hester, don't you have good times, too?"

"Not like you do. Your mother and father, and those Bryants just do things for you all the time. I don't think it's fair!"

"Well, your mother does things for you,—all mothers do," said Tom Craig.

"Not as much as Marjorie's. My mother said so. She said she never saw anything like the way Marjorie Maynard is petted. And it makes her stuck up and spoiled!"

"Did your mother say my sister was stuck-up and spoiled?" demanded King, flaring up instantly.

"Well,—she didn't say just that,—but she is, all the same!" And Hester scowled crossly at Midget.

"Why, Hester Corey, I am not!" declared Marjorie. "What do I do that's stuck-up?"

"Oh, you think yourself so smart,—and you always want to boss everything."

"Maybe I am too bossy," said Marjorie, ruefully, for she knew that she loved to choose and direct their games.

"Yes, you are! and I'm not going to stand it!"

"All right, Hester Corey, you can get out of this club, then," said Tom, glaring at her angrily; "Marjorie Maynard is Queen, anyway, and if she hasn't got a right to boss, who has?"

"Well, she's been Queen long enough. Somebody else ought to have a chance."

"Huh!" spoke up Dick; "a nice queen you'd make, wouldn't you? I s'pose that's what you want! You're a bad girl, Hester Corey!"

"I am not, neither!"

"You are, too!"

"Jiminy Crickets!" exclaimed King; "can't this Club get along without scrapping? If not, the Club'd better break up. I'm ashamed of you, Dick, to hear you talk like that!"

"Hester began it," said Dick, sullenly.

"Oh, yes; blame it all on Hester!" cried that angry maiden, herself; "blame everything on Hester, and nothing on Marjorie. Dear, sweet, angel Marjorie!"

"Now, Hester Corey, you stop talking about my sister like that, or I'll get mad," stormed King. "She's Queen of this Club, and she's got a right to boss. And you needn't get mad about it, either."

"You can be Queen, if you want to, Hester," said Midget, slowly. "I guess I am a pig to be Queen all the time."

"No, you're not!" shouted Tom. "If Hester's Queen, I resign myself from this Club! So there, now!"

"Go on, and resign!" said Hester; "nobody cares. I'm going to be Queen, Marjorie said I could. Give me your crown, Marjorie."

Midget didn't want to give up her crown a bit, but she had a strong sense of justice, and it did seem that Hester ought to have her turn at being Queen. So she began to lift the crown from her head, when King interposed:

"Don't you do it, Midget! We can't change Queens in a minute, like that! If we do change, it's got to be by election and nomination and things like that."

"It isn't!" screamed Hester; "I won't have it so! I'm going to be Queen!"

She fairly snatched the crown from Marjorie's head, and whisked it onto her own head.

As it had been made to fit Midget's thick mop of curls, it was too big for Hester, and came down over her ears, and well over her eyes.

"Ho! ho!" jeered Dick; "a nice Queen you look! Ho! ho!"

But by this time Hester was in one of her regular tantrums.

"I will be Queen!" she shrieked; "I will, I tell you!"

"Come on, Mops, let's go home," said King, quietly.

The Maynard children were unaccustomed to outbursts of temper, and King didn't know exactly what to say to the little termagant.

"All right, we'll go home, too," said Tom; "come on, boys!"

They all started off, leaving Hester in solitary possession of Sand Court.

The child, when in one of her rages, had an ungovernable temper, and, left alone, she vented it by smashing everything she could. She upset the throne, tore down the decorations, and flew around like a wildcat.

Marjorie, who had turned to look at her, said:

"You go on, King; I'm going back to speak to Hester."

"I'm afraid she'll hurt you," objected King.

"No, she won't; I'll be kind to her."

"All right, Midge; a soft answer turneth away rats, but I don't know about wildcats!"

"Well, you go on." And Marjorie turned, and went back to Sand Court.

"Say, Hester," she began a little timidly.

"Go away from here, Stuck-up! Spoiled child! I don't want to see you!"

As a matter of fact, Hester presented a funny sight. She was a plain child, and her shock of red hair was straight and untractable. Her scowling face was flushed with anger, and the gold paper crown was pushed down over one ear in ridiculous fashion.

Marjorie couldn't help laughing, which, naturally, only irritated Hester the more.

"Yes, giggle!" she cried; "old Smarty-Cat! old Proudy!"

"Oh, Hester, don't!" said Midget, bursting into tears. "How can you be so cross to me? I don't mean to be stuck-up and proud, and I don't think I am. You can be Queen if you want to, and we'll have the election thing all right. Please don't be so mean to me!"

"Can I be Queen?" demanded Hester, a little mollified; "can I, really?"

"Why, yes, if the boys agree. They have as much say as I do."

"They don't either! You have all the say! You always do! Now, promise you'll make the boys let me be Queen, or,—or I won't play!"

Hester ended her threat rather lamely, as she couldn't think of any dire punishment which she felt sure she could carry out.

"I promise," said Marjorie, who really felt it was just that Hester should be Queen for a time.

"All right, then," and Hester's stormy face cleared a little. "See that you keep your promise."

"I always keep my promises," said Marjorie, with dignity; "and I'll tell you what I think of you, Hester Corey! I think you ought to be Queen,—it isn't fair for me to be it all the time. But I think you might have asked me in a nicer way, and not call names, and smash things all about! There, that's what I think!" and Marjorie glared at her in righteous indignation.

"Maybe I ought," said Hester, suddenly becoming humble, as is the way of hot-tempered people after gaining their point. "I've got an awful temper, Marjorie, but I can't help it!"

"You can help it, Hester; you don't try."

"Oh, it's all very well for you to talk! You never have anything to bother you! Nothing goes wrong, and everybody spoils you! Why should you have a bad temper?"

"Now, Hester, don't be silly! You have just as good a home and just as kind friends as I have."

"No, I haven't! Nobody likes me. And everybody likes you. Why, the Craig boys think you're made of gold!"

Marjorie laughed. "Well, Hester, it's your own fault if they don't think you are, too. But how can they, when you fly into these rages and tear everything to pieces?"

"Well, they make me so mad, I have to! Now, I'm going home, and I'm going to stay there till you do as you promised, and get the boys to let me be Queen."

"Well, I'll try–" began Marjorie, but Hester had flung the torn gilt crown on the ground, and stalked away toward home. Midget picked up the crown and tried to straighten it out, but it was battered past repair.

"I'll make a new one," she thought, "and I'll try to make the boys agree to having Hester for Queen. But I don't believe Tom will. I know it's selfish for me to be Queen all the time, and I don't want to be selfish."

Seeing Hester go away, Tom came back, and reached Sand Court just as Midget was about to leave.

"Hello, Queen Sandy!" he called out; "wait a minute. I saw that spitfire going away, so I came back. Now, look here, Mopsy Maynard, don't you let that old crosspatch be Queen!"

"I can't, unless we all elect her," returned Midget, smiling at Tom; "but I wish you would agree to do that. It isn't fair, Tom, for me to be Queen all the time."

"Why isn't it? It's your Club! You got it up, and Hester came and poked herself in where she wasn't wanted."

"Well, we took her in, and now we ought to be kind to her."

"Kind to such an old Meany as she is!"

"Don't call her names, Tom. I don't believe she can help flying into a temper, and then, when she gets mad, she doesn't care what she says."

"I should think she didn't! Well, make her Queen if you want to, but if you do, you can get somebody else to take my place."

"Oh, Tom, don't act like that," and Marjorie looked at him, with pleading eyes.

"Yes, I will act like that! Just exactly like that! I won't belong to any Court that Hester Corey is queen of!"

Marjorie sighed. What could she do with this intractable boy? And, she almost knew that King would feel the same way. Perhaps, if she could win Tom over to her way of thinking, King might be more easily influenced.

"Tom," she began, "don't you like me?"

"Yes, I do. You're the squarest girl I ever knew."

"Then, don't you think you might do this much for me?"

"What much?"

"Why, just let Hester be Queen for a while."

"No, I don't. That wouldn't be any favor to you."

"Yes, it would. If I ask you, and you refuse, I'll think you're real unkind. And yet you say you like me!"

Marjorie had struck a right chord in the boy's heart. He didn't want Hester for Queen, but still less did he want to refuse Midget her earnest request.

"Oh, pshaw!" he said, digging his toe in the sand; "if you put it that way, I'll have to say yes. Don't put it that way, Midget."

"Yes, I will put it that way! And if you're my friend, you'll say yes, yourself, and then you'll help me to make the other boys say yes. Will you?"

"Yes, I s'pose so," said Tom, looking a little dubious.

CHAPTER XIII

THIRTEEN!

Marjorie's thirteenth birthday dawned bright and clear.

Her opening eyes rested on some strange thing sticking up at the foot of her bed, but a fully-awakened glance proved it to be a big No. 13, painted on a square of white pasteboard, and decorated with painted four-leaved clovers.

The motto "Good Luck" was traced in ornamental letters, and the whole was in a narrow wood frame.

"That's my birthday greeting from Cousin Jack and Cousin Ethel!" Marjorie said to herself; "I recognize her lovely painting, and it's just like them, anyway. I'll hang that on my bedroom wall, till I'm as old as Methusaleh."

"Happy Birthday, darling!" said her mother, coming in, and sitting on the side of the bed; "many happy returns of the day."

"Oh, dearie Mother! I'm so glad I've got you! and I'm so glad you're really my very own mother! Give me thirteen kisses, please, ma'am!"

"Merry Birthday, Midget!" called her father, through the crack of the door. "You two had better stop that love-feast and get down to breakfast!"

So Marjorie sprang up, and made haste with her bathing and dressing, so that in less than half an hour she was dancing downstairs to begin her Lucky Birthday. Her presents were heaped round her plate, and the parcels were so enticing in appearance, that she could scarcely eat for impatience.

"Breakfast first," decreed her father, "or I fear you'll become so excited you'll never eat at all."

So Marjorie contented herself with pinching and punching the bundles, while she ate peaches and cream and cereal.

"Oh, what is in this squnchy one?" she cried, feeling of a loosely done-up parcel. "It smells so sweet, and it crackles like silk!"

"Kitty sent that," answered her mother, smiling, "and she wrote me that she made it herself."

But at last the cereal-saucer was empty, and the ribbons could be untied.

Kitty's gift proved to be a lovely bag, of pink and blue Dresden silk.

"What's it for?" asked King, not much impressed with its desirability.

"Oh, for anything!" cried Marjorie. "Handkerchiefs,—or hair-ribbons,—or,—or just to hang up and look pretty."

"Pretty foolish," opined King, but he greeted with joy the opening of the next bundle.

"Jumping Hornets!" he exclaimed; "isn't that a beauty! Just what I wanted!"

"Whose birthday is this, anyhow?" laughed Marjorie, as she carefully unrolled the tissue-paper packing from a fine microscope. Uncle Steve had sent it, and it was both valuable and practical, and a thing the children had long wished for.

"Well, you'll let a fellow take a peep once in a while, won't you?"

"Yes, if you'll be goody-boy," said Midget, patronizingly.

Grandma Sherwood's gift was a cover for a sofa-pillow, of rich Oriental fabric, embroidered in gold thread.

"Just the thing for my couch, at home," said Midget, greatly pleased.

"Just the thing to pitch at you, after it gets stuffed," commented King. "Go on, Mops, open the big one."

The big one proved to be a case, from Mother and Father, containing a complete set of brushes and toilet articles for Marjorie's dressing-table. They were plain shapes, of ivory, with her monogram on each in dark blue.

"Gorgeous!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Just what I longed for,—and so much nicer than silver, 'cause that has to be cleaned every minute. Oh, Mothery, they are lovely, and Fathery, too. Consider yourselves kissed thirteen hundred times! Oh, what's this?"

"That's my present," said King. "Open it carefully, Mops."

She did so, and revealed a pincushion, but a pincushion so befrilled and belaced and beflowered one could scarce tell what it was.

"I picked it out myself," said King, with obvious pride in his selection. "I know how you girls love flummadiddles, and I took the very flummadiddlyest the old lady had. Like it, Mops?"

"Like it! I love it! I adore it! And it will go fine with this beauty ivory set."

"Yes, you'll have a Louis Umpsteenth boudoir, when you get back to Rockwell."

"I shan't use it down here," said Marjorie, fingering the pretty trifle, "for the sea air spoils such things. But when I get home I'll fix my room all up gay,—may I, Mother?"

"I 'spect so. It's time you had a new wallpaper, anyway, and we'll get one with little pink rosebuds to match King's pincushion."

The Bryants' gift came next.

It was in a small jeweller's box, and was a slender gold neck chain and pendant, representing a four-leafed clover in green enamel on gold, on one petal of which were the figures thirteen in tiny diamonds.

"Oh, ho! Diamonds!" cried King. "You're altogether too young to wear diamonds, Mops. Better give it to me for a watch fob."

"I'm not, am I, Father?" said Marjorie, turning troubled eyes to her father.

"No, Midget. Not those little chips of stones. A baby could wear those. And by the way, where is Baby's gift?"

"My p'esent!" cried Rosy Posy, who had sat until now silent, in admiration of the unfolding wonders. "My p'esent, Middy! It's a palumasol!"

"Then it's this long bundle," said Marjorie, and she unwrapped a beautiful little parasol of embroidered white linen.

"Oh, Rosy Posyeums!" she cried. "This is too booful! I never saw such a pretty one!"

"Me buyed it! Me and Muvver! Oh, it's too booful!" and the baby kicked her fat, bare legs in glee at her own gift.

Grandma and Grandpa Maynard sent a silver frame, containing their photographs, and Grandma sent also a piece of fine lace, which was to be laid away until Marjorie was old enough to put it to use. It was her custom to send such a piece each year, and Marjorie's collection was already a valuable one.

There were many small gifts and cards from friends in Rockwell, and from some of the Seacote children, and when all were opened, Midget begged King to help her take them to the living-room, where they might be displayed on a table.

And then the Bryants arrived, and the house rang with their greetings and congratulations.

"Unlucky Midget!" cried Cousin Jack. "Poor little unlucky Mopsy Midget Mehitabel! Oh, what a sad fate to be thirteen years old, and to be so loaded down with birthday gifts that you don't know where you're at!

"Mopsy Midget Mehitabel MayHas come to a most unlucky day!Nothing will happen but feasting and fun,And gifts,—pretty nearly a hundred and one!Jolly good times, and jolly good wishes,A jolly good party with jolly good dishes.Every one happy and everything bright,Good Luck is here—and bad Luck out of sight.'Tis the luckiest day that ever was seen,For Marjorie Maynard is just thirteen!"

"Oh, Cousin Jack, what a beautiful birthday poem! I'm sure there couldn't be a luckier little girl than I! I've got everything!"

"And we've got you!" cried her father, catching her in his arms with a heart full of gratitude that she was safe at home with them.

The party was to begin at four o'clock, and the guests were invited to stay until seven. In good season Marjorie was dressed, and down on the veranda ready to receive her little friends.

She wore a pretty, thin white frock, with delicate embroidery, and the pendant that had been her birthday gift.

The family were all assembled when she came down, and though it would be half an hour before they could expect the guests, they all seemed filled with eager anticipation.

"What's the matter?" asked Midget, looking from one smiling face to another.

"Nothing, nothing!" said King, trying to look unconcerned.

"Nothing, nothing," said Cousin Jack, pulling a wry face.

But Mrs. Maynard said, "There's another birthday surprise for you, Marjorie dear. It has just come, and it's in the living-room. Go and hunt for it."

Marjorie danced into the house, and they all followed. She began looking about for some small object, peering into vases and under books, till her father said:

"Look for something larger, Midget; something quite large."

"And be careful of your frock," warned her mother, for Midget was down on her hands and knees, looking under the big divan.

"Keep on your feet!" advised King. "And look everywhere."

"Pooh! If I keep on my feet, I can't find anything big!" exclaimed Midget. "Where could it be hidden?"

"That's for you to find out!" returned King.

"I'll give you a hint," said Cousin Jack. "Turn, Mehitabel, turn."

Marjorie turned slowly round and round, but that didn't help her any.

"Turn, turn, turn, turn," Cousin Jack kept saying in a monotone, and suddenly it flashed on Marjorie that he meant for her to turn something else beside herself.

She turned the key of a bookshelf door, and opened it, but found nothing but books.

"Turn, turn, turn, turn," droned Cousin Jack.

"Oh," thought Marjorie, "the closet!" and flying to the door of a large closet in the room, she turned the knob, the door flew open, and there she saw,—Uncle Steve and Kitty!