Marjorie at Seacote

"Oh, Kit!" she cried, and in a moment the two girls were so tangled up that detriment to their party frocks seemed inevitable.

But they were persuaded to separate before too much damage was done, and then Marjorie turned to greet Uncle Steve.

"I daren't rumple your fine feathers," he said, standing 'way off, and extending his fingertips to her. "But I'm terrible glad to see you, and to find that you've grown up as good as you are beautiful."

This made Marjorie laugh, for she didn't think she was either.

"How did you happen to come?" she cried, for she couldn't realize that Kitty was really there.

"Oh, it was just a stroke of good luck," said Cousin Jack. "You know to-day is your lucky day."

"'Deed it is!" declared Marjorie. "Come on, Kit, let's go and sit in the swing till the people come to the party."

The sisters had time for a short, merry chat, and then the guests began to arrive. There were about twenty-five boys and girls, and with the grown-ups this made quite a party.

It was fun, indeed, to have both Cousin Jack and Uncle Steve present, for these two men just devoted themselves to the cause, and made so much fun and merriment that they seemed like big children themselves.

They gave a burlesque wrestling match on the lawn that sent the young people off into peals of laughter. They made up funny dialogue, and were always playing good-natured tricks on some of the children. Then Cousin Jack said:

"Now we will play the Good Luck game. Into the hall, all of you!"

The children scampered into the hall, and on the wall they saw a large placard which read:

Each guest was given a small fancy basket, with ribbons tied to the handle. Then they were instructed to hunt all the rooms on the lower floor, the veranda, and the nearby lawns, and gather into their baskets such of the above mentioned articles as they could find. A prize would be given to the one who had the most valuable collection, according to the values given on the placard.

At the word "go!" they scuttled away, and hunted eagerly, now and then stooping to pick up a pin from the floor, or reaching up to get a horseshoe from the mantelpiece. The rooms had been literally sown with the small objects; the clovers and horseshoes being cut from pasteboard and painted, and the black cats being tiny china, wooden, or bronze affairs.

Cousin Jack must have had an immense store of these findings, for the baskets filled rapidly, and yet there seemed always more to be found.

"How are you getting along, Hester?" asked Marjorie as she met her.

"Can't find any hardly. I never have any luck! I s'pose you have a basket full!"

"Nearly," said Marjorie, laughing at Hester's ill-nature in the midst of the others' merriment.

"Say, Hester, I'll tell you what! I'll change baskets with you. Want to?"

"Will you?" and Hester's eyes sparkled. "Oh, Marjorie, will you?"

"Yes, I will, on condition that you'll be nice and pleasant, and not go around looking as cross as a magpie!"

"All right, give me your basket," and Hester put on a very bright smile in anticipation of winning the game.

"What did you do that for?" asked Kitty, who saw the transfer of baskets.

"Oh, because. Never mind now, Kit, I'll tell you to-morrow," and Midget danced away with Hester's almost empty basket hanging from her arm.

She picked up a few more things here and there, and then Cousin Jack rang a bell to announce that the game was over. The baskets, each having its owner's name on a card tied to it, were all put on the hall table, and Mrs. Maynard and Cousin Ethel appraised the contents, while the children went to another game.

This time Uncle Steve conducted affairs. Several tables in the living-room were surrounded by the players, and each was given a paper and pencil.

"I see," Uncle Steve began, "that this is a Good Luck party. So each of you write the words 'good luck' at the top of your paper. Have you done so? Good! Now, I hope you will all of you have all good luck always, but if you can't get it all, get part. So try your hand at it by making words of four letters out of those two words you have written. Use each letter only once,—unless it is repeated, like o in 'good.' However, that's the only one that is a repeater, so use the others only once in any word you make. The words must be each of four letters,—no more and no less. And they must all be good, common, well-known English words. Now go ahead, and the best list takes a prize."

How the children scribbled! How they nibbled their pencils and thought! How they whispered to each other to ask if such a word was right!

Marjorie was quick at puzzles, but she didn't think it would be polite to take the prize at her own party, so she didn't hand in her list. Neither did Kitty nor King. So when the lists were handed in, Uncle Steve rapidly looked them over.

"The longest list," he announced, "contains ten words."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Hester. "Isn't that just my bad luck! I had nine."

"So did I," said several others, but it was Tom Craig's list that had ten, so he received the prize. His list, as Uncle Steve read it out, was: Cook, loud, duck, cool, cold, lock, look, dock, clod, gold. The prize was a box of candy made in the shape of a four-leafed clover, so it was really four boxes.

Tom generously offered to pass the sweets around at once, but Uncle Steve advised him not to, as supper would be served pretty soon.

The children all liked the game, and clamored for a repetition of it, but Cousin Jack said it was his turn for a game now, and if they'd all stay at the tables, he'd give it to them.

"This is my own game," he said, "because it is called jackstraws, and my name is Jack. I am not a man of straw, however, as you'd soon find if you tried to knock me over! The game is almost like ordinary jackstraws, but with slight additions."

Then there were passed around bunches of jackstraws for each table. They were just like ordinary jackstraws, except they were of different colors, and a little card told how to count. White ones were one; red ones, two; blue ones, five; silver ones, ten; and gold ones, twenty. Then one marked Good Luck counted fifteen, and another, marked thirteen, counted twenty-five. This proved that thirteen was not an unlucky number!

It's always fun to play jackstraws, and the children went at it with a zest. Midget, at the next table, was not surprised to hear Hester complaining, "Oh, you joggled me! That isn't fair! I ought to have another turn! I never have any luck!" Marjorie smiled across at her, and, seeming to remember the condition of the basket exchange, Hester tried to smile, and succeeded fairly well.

Milly Fosdick won that prize, and they all laughed when it turned out to be a straw hat of Indian make. It was of gay pattern basket work, and adorned with beads and feathers. Milly was delighted with it, and said she should always keep it as a souvenir.

By that time the ladies had completed their task, and the prize for the Good Luck hunt fell to Hester Corey. This was the prettiest prize of all, being a beautifully illustrated copy of Grimms' "Fairy Tales," and Hester was enchanted with it. She took it eagerly, and never seemed to think for a moment that perhaps it wasn't quite fairly won; nor did she thank Marjorie for the assistance she gave.

Then they all went out to supper. And such a supper as it was! The table was decorated with green four-leafed clovers, and gilt horseshoes, and black cats, and yellow new moons. And every one had a little rabbit's foot, mounted like a charm, for a souvenir; and also a bright lucky penny of that very year.

And the sandwiches were cut like clovers, and the cakes like new moons, and the ice-cream was shaped like horseshoes, and everybody wished everybody else good luck all through Marjorie's thirteenth year. And when the young guests went away they all sang:

"Good luck, ladies; good luck, ladies;Good luck, ladies;We're going to leave you now."

CHAPTER XIV

QUEEN HESTER

"Kit's my bestest birthday present," declared Marjorie, as they sat together in the veranda swing the morning after the party.

Kitty pulled her sister's curls in absent-minded affection, and remarked, thoughtfully:

"Mopsy, I don't seem to care much for that red-headed Hester girl."

"She's a queer thing," Marjorie returned, "but I sort of like her, too. You see, Kit, she has a fearful temper, and she can't help being spiteful."

"Oh, fiddlesticks, Mops! Anybody can help being spiteful if they want to."

"No, she can't, Kit. She flies into a rage over nothing. And then she's sorry afterward."

"Will she be at the Sand Court thing, or whatever you call it, to-day?"

"Yes, all the club will be there. Come on, let's go."

The sisters ran down to Sand Court and found King and the Craig boys already there.

"Old Crosspatch hasn't come yet," observed Dick, after they had all said "Hello!"

"Dick," said Midget, "I wish you wouldn't call our Sand Witch such unkind names."

"Well, she is a crosspatch."

"Well, never mind if she is. Don't let's call names, anyway."

And then Hester arrived. It was easily seen she was prepared for a fray. She was not smiling, and she said "Hello" with a very sour expression of face. Then she turned to Midget.

"Did you make me a new crown?" she said. "Are you going to let me be Queen?"

"We have to vote about that," returned Marjorie, "and I do hope, my courtiers, that we won't have any squabbling before our royal visitor, Miss Princess Sand,—Sand—well, San Diego is the only name I can think of for Kit!"

"Hail, Princess Sandeago!" cried Tom, and all the courtiers ducked almost to the ground in low bows.

"Now," went on Marjorie, "our first business this morning is the election of a new Queen."

"Queens aren't elected," growled Tom, "they,—they,—what do they do? Oh, they succeed!"

"That's exactly what they do!" cried Midget. "And I'm going to succeed! I mean I'm going to succeed in my plan of having Hester succeed me! I asked Father about elections, and he said people could be instructed to vote a certain way. So I hereby instruct you all, my beloved courtiers, to vote for a new Queen. The same to be our beloved Sand Witch."

"Beloved grandmother!" exclaimed Tom, irrepressibly.

"No, my Grand Sandjandrum," went on Midget, looking sternly at him, "she isn't your grandmother, but she's to be your new sovereign, so you may as well make up your mind to it."

As Hester began to think Midget was going to make the change, whether the boys wanted to or not, she suddenly became very light-hearted and smiled at everybody.

"I'll be a good Queen," she said, ingratiatingly, "and I'll do whatever you want me to."

And then King waked up to the fact that since Midget desired this change, and since it might have the effect of keeping Hester pleasant and good-natured, perhaps it was a good plan after all. So he said:

"All right; I'll vote as Queen Sandy instructs."

Tom looked at him in surprise, and then, remembering he had practically promised to do as Marjorie asked, he said:

"Well, I will too. But only on condition that the new Queen promises to be pleasant and nice all the time."

"I will," declared Hester, earnestly, her face fairly radiant now at the thought of wearing the crown.

"You ought to take an oath of office and say so," advised Kitty, who was critically watching the proceedings.

"What's that mean?" demanded Hester.

"Why, swear that you won't lose your temper."

"Oh, I wouldn't swear!" cried Hester, in dismay.

"Kit doesn't mean bad swearing," explained King. "She means official swearing, or something like that. All Queens do it, and juries, and presidents, and everything. It's only promising or vowing."

"Well, I'll promise or vow," agreed Hester, "but I won't swear."

"All right," said Marjorie. "You must hold up both hands, and say 'I promise or vow to be a good Queen and not get mad at my courtiers.' Say it now."

So Hester raised both hands as high as she could and repeated Marjorie's words.

"Now you've taken your oath of office, and you're queen," said Kitty, who was unconsciously taking charge of affairs. "Where's the crown, Mops?"

"The new Queen tore it up the other day," said Midget, demurely.

"Then she must make a new one," commanded Kitty. "Never mind; for to-day this will do."

The Princess San Diego hastily twisted some vines into a wreath, and laid it gently on the brilliant locks of the new Queen.

"I crown you Queen Sandy!" she said, dramatically.

"It's all right, Kit," said King, looking quizzical, "but just how do you happen to be running this court?"

"Oh, I might as well," returned Kitty carelessly. "I don't think the rest of you are very good at it."

"That's so," admitted Tom. "I guess we do squabble a lot."

"It isn't only that," said Kitty, "but you don't have much order and ceremony."

"I've noticed that," put in Dick. "We just talk every-day sort of talk. I think we ought to be grander."

"So do I," agreed Kitty. "Here, Hester, give me that crown; I'll be Queen for to-day, and show you how."

There was nothing bumptious or even dictatorial in Kitty's manner; she merely wanted to show them how a Queen ought to act. So she put the vine wreath on her own head, and breaking a branch from a tall shrub nearby for a sceptre, she seated herself on the dilapidated throne.

"I pray you sit," she said, condescendingly, to her court. "Ha! where is my page?"

"There is no page, O Queen," said the Grand Sandjandrum, looking mortified.

"Thus I create one!" announced Kitty, calmly. "Sand Crab, kneel before me!"

Harry sprang forward to obey, and kneeled at Kitty's feet.

"Thus I anoint thee page!" declared the Queen, dramatically tapping him three times on his shoulder. "Rise, Sir Page, and attend upon me!"

"Yes, ma'am! What shall I do?" asked the new page, greatly flustered.

"Stand thou here at my right hand. It may be I might have an errand or two now and then."

"Aye, aye, O Queen!" declaimed Dick, who was catching the spirit of Kitty's rule.

"Well spoke, fair sir. Stand thou there, I prithee. And now, Courtiers, is there any business to be discussed?"

"Nay, O Queen," said Tom, "we but wait thy pleasure."

"Then my pleasure is now to install the new Queen. And, prithee, my courtiers, when that the new Queen is enthroned, then does the receding Queen become the Sand Witch?"

"Yea, O fair Queen," said Marjorie, coming up with mincing steps and bowing before Kitty. "From now on I am the Sand Witch of this court, and I humbly beg thy favor."

"Favor be thine!" announced the temporary Queen. "And now, O my courtiers, lead to me Queen Hester Sandy, Queen of Sand Court!"

Reconciled at last to this state of things, King and Tom sprang to escort Hester. Dick and Harry marched gravely behind, while Midget stalked along ahead, and thus quite an imposing procession approached Queen Kitty and ranged themselves before her.

"O Queen," Kitty began, "you have already taken oath of office, O Queen! So now naught remains but to take the seat of royalty, the honored throne of Sand Court, O Queen!"

And then Hester scored her success. She stepped up on the sand mound that was the throne, and bowed her head while Kitty transferred the vine wreath that represented the crown. Then Hester drew herself up majestically, waved her sceptre, and declaimed:

"I, the Queen of Sand Court, accept this honor that is thus thrust upon me!"

There were some astonished faces among the courtiers at this speech, but nobody interrupted.

"I, Queen Sandy, promise to be a good Queen to my beloved courtiers, and never to lose my temper or speak cross, but to emulate the sweet and sunlighty disposition of our departing and beloved Queen, who is now a Sand Witch. Wherefore, my courtiers, I beseech your fealty and faith, and I present my compliments, and the compliments of this court to our visitor, the Princess San Diego. This lovely lady has been a great help, and we now salute her. I bid thee all salute!"

They all saluted by bowing low to Kitty; indeed, the page bowed so low that he tumbled over, but soon scrambled up again.

"And now," went on Queen Sandy, "I bid thee salute our Sand Witch. She is a witch of goodness and joy. We all love her, the court honors her, and one and all we now salute her!"

More low bows followed, and then the court resumed its upright attitude and awaited orders.

"There is no more saluting necessary," explained the gracious Queen. "You boy courtiers can't expect it. Now the court is dismissed and the Sand Club will play something."

The Queen came down from the throne, and courtly manners and speeches were laid aside.

"Let's fix up the court instead of playing," suggested Kitty, and as all thought this a good idea, they went at it.

Everybody worked with a will, for it was fun to get the court in order again, and Kitty and Midget were so fond of fixing up and decorating that when the task was over, Sand Court was far handsomer than ever before.

Shell borders outlined the throne and the courtier's seat, and the old legless chair was so draped with cheesecloth and green vines that it was a picture in itself. Then it was luncheon time, and the courtiers said good-bye and parted to go to their homes.

"She's a funny girl," said Kitty, as the Maynard trio reached their house. "As soon as she got what she wanted, she was sweet as pie. But if you hadn't given up the Queen to her, Mops, she would have been madder'n hops."

"I know it," said Midget, "but that wasn't the reason I did it. I did it 'cause I thought it was fairer for her to have a turn at being Queen."

"And it was," said Kitty, judicially. "I think you did right, Mopsy; but, all the same, she'll never keep that promise to be sweet and pleasant."

"Oh, Kitty, she'll have to! Why, she vowed it!"

"Oh, pshaw, she'll get mad and forget all about that vow. Say, Mops, what do you think? I've learned to make cake."

"You have! Who taught you?"

"Eliza did, up at Grandma's. It was fine. I'll teach you, if you like."

"Do!" urged King. "Then Midge can make little cakes for the Sand Club. Ellen makes 'em sometimes, but she says it's a bother."

Permission being granted by Mrs. Maynard, the girls tried cake-making that very afternoon.

"I'll help yez, shall I?" asked Ellen, as the two energetic damsels raided her pantry.

"No, Ellen," said Marjorie. "Miss Kitty is going to teach me. You go,—go—why, Ellen, you take an afternoon out!"

"It isn't me day out, Miss Midget, but I'll go to me room, an' if yez wants me, yez can send Sarah afther me, sure."

"Can I help?" asked King, who wanted to be in the fun.

"Yes, you can stone raisins," said Kitty, kindly.

At home in Rockwell, Marjorie had always been chief directress in all their doings, but down here Kitty was more like a visitor, and the others politely deferred to her. So King went contentedly to work, stoning raisins, and the girls made the cake.

"I didn't bring my recipe book," said Kitty, "but I guess I remember how to make it. You see, Eliza is going to teach me to make lots of things, so I've quite a big book for recipes."

"How many have you so far?" asked Midget, greatly interested.

"Well, only this one; but it's sponge cake, you know. I shall have more later."

"Yes, of course," said Midget, politely, and suddenly feeling that her younger sister was getting very grown-up, with her recipe book and her sponge cake.

"Now," proceeded Kitty, "if I'm to show you, Midget, you must pay close attention."

"I will,—oh, I will!"

"First, you break the eggs, and separate them, white from yolk, like this,—see!"

But whether she was rattled at having such an interested audience, or whether she was not very expert as yet, Kitty couldn't make the eggs "separate" neatly. Every one she broke persisted in spilling out its yellow and white together.

"Let me try," said Marjorie, but her efforts were not much more successful. Bits of shell would fall in the bowl, and even if she got most of the white in safely, some yellow would spill in, too.

"Does it matter much?" asked King.

"Oh, I don't believe so," said Kitty. "I guess we'll beat the eggs all up together, white and yellow both."

Kitty put in the Dover eggbeater with an air of experience, and whisked its wheel "round and round."

"Let me in, too," said Midget. "There's another beater I found in the cupboard."

There was room in the big bowl for both beaters, and the two girls whizzed the wheels around like mad.

"Hold on!" cried King. "You're flirting that yellow stuff all over!"

"Well, anyway, it's well beaten," declared Kitty, looking at the frothy yellow mass with satisfaction. "Now we put in the flour,—no, the sugar, I think."

"Butter?" suggested Marjorie.

"No, there's no butter in it. This is sponge cake."

Properly subdued, Marjorie awaited orders.

"Sugar," Kitty decided at last; "and bring a cup."

Midget brought the cup, and Kitty measured the sugar, and dumped it into the bowl of egg.

"I can't think whether it's three or four cups full," she said, holding a cup full uncertainly over the bowl.

"Dump it in!" advised King. "I like 'em pretty sweet."

So in went the sugar, and Midget was allowed to stir, while Kitty measured flour.

"We have to sift this four times," she announced, with an air of great wisdom. "I'll do this part."

She did, but she was so energetic about it, and the flour sieve so uncertain on its three iron legs, that much of the flour flew over the table, the floor, and the clothing of the workers.

"Hold up, Kit!" cried Marjorie, as a cloud of flour almost blinded her. "I can't see to beat, if you fly that flour around so!"

"Well, it has to be sifted four times," apologized Kitty, and turned it into the sieve again.

Much was lost in transit, and King declared it was already sifted as fine as it would ever be, but Kitty was unmoved by comment or criticism.

"Now it's all right," she said, peering into the pan of finally prepared flour, and ignoring the white dust that was all over everything. "But first a cup of hot water must go in."

"I'll pour it," said King, rising quickly, and taking the tea-kettle from Kitty, who was in imminent danger of scalding herself.

"Just a cup full!" said Kitty, warningly, as the hot water ran over the brimming cup and fell to the floor.

"Never mind," said King, "we'll only use what's in the cup," and carrying it as carefully as possible he poured it into the bowl of batter that Marjorie was faithfully beating.

"Oh, not all at once!" cried Kitty. "It should have been put in little by little."

"Can't help it now," said Midget, cheerfully. "I guess it won't matter. Now in with the flour, Kit; and you must have baking powder."

"I don't think Eliza put in any baking powder," said Kitty, dubiously.

"Oh, she must have!" said Midget. "That's what baking powder is for,—to bake with. It's on that shelf, Kitty."

Kitty was uncertain about the baking powder, so took Marjorie's advice.

"But I don't know how much," she said, as she opened the tin box.

"About a tablespoonful to a cup of flour," said Marjorie. "I think I heard Mother say that once." She was not at all sure, but she greatly wanted to help Kitty if possible.

"All right," said Kitty, and having already put in three cups of flour, she added to the mixture three heaping tablespoonfuls of baking powder.

"Now for the raisins," she said.

"I didn't know sponge cake ever had raisins in it," said Marjorie.

"It doesn't, usually," said Kitty, "but I thought it would add an extra touch."

She stirred them in, and then they poured the batter into a cake tin.

"It does look lovely," said Midget, tasting it with a spoon. "It tastes pretty good, but not as good as it looks. I guess it'll be lovely when it's baked. Open the oven, King."

King threw open the oven door with a flourish, and the girls pushed the big pan inside.

"Shut it quick!" warned Kitty. "The cake falls unless you do! It must bake three-quarters of an hour."