Marjorie's New Friend

"Square it is, then," said Marjorie, skipping back to her place; "Kit, did you ever hear of anything so lovely!"

"Never," said Kitty, "for you. I'd rather go to school and be with the girls."

"I didn't mind when Gladys was here, but I've hated it ever since I was alone. But to study with Miss Hart,—oh, goody! Is she willing, Mother?"

"Of course, I've discussed it with her and with Mrs. Spencer. Indeed, Mrs. Spencer proposed the plan herself, when I was over there yesterday. She and Miss Hart think it will be good for Delight to have some one with her. So, Midge, you must be a good girl, and not teach Delight all sorts of mischief."

"Oh, yes, Mother, I'll be so good you won't know me. Can I start to-day?"

"Yes, if you're sure you want to."

"Want to? I just guess I do!" and Midget danced upstairs to dress for "school."

The plan worked admirably. Miss Hart was not only a skilled teacher, but a most tactful and clever woman, and as she really loved her two little pupils, she taught them so pleasantly that they learned without drudgery.

As the clock hands neared nine every morning, there were no more long drawn sighs from Marjorie, but smiles and cheery good-byes, as the little girl gaily left the house and skipped across the street.

The daily association, too, brought her into closer friendship with

Delight, and the two girls became real chums. Their natures were so

different, that they reacted favorably on one another, and under Miss

Hart's gentle and wise guidance the two girls improved in every way.

It was one day in the very last part of February that Midge came home to find a letter for her on the hall table.

"From Gladys," she cried and tore it open.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, "I didn't think! Miss Hart told me never to open a letter with my finger, but to wait till I could get a letter-opener. Well, it's too late now, I'll remember next time."

She looked ruefully at the untidy edges of the envelope, but pulled the letter out and began to read it.

"DEAR MARJORIE:

"I'm coming to see you, that is, if you want me to. Father has to go East, and he will leave me at your house while he goes to New York. I will get there on Friday and stay four days. I will be glad to see you again.

"Sincerely yours,

"GLADYS FULTON."

Marjorie smiled at the stiff formal letter, which was the sort Gladys always wrote, and then she went in search of her mother.

"Gladys is coming on Friday," she announced.

"That's very nice, my dear," said Mrs. Maynard; "you'll be so glad to see her again, won't you?"

"Yes," said Midget, but she said it slowly, and with a troubled look in her eyes.

"Well, what is it, dear? Tell Mother."

"I don't know exactly,—but somehow I'm not so awfully pleased to have Gladys come. You see, she may not like Delight, and I want them to like each other."

"Why do you want them to?"

"Why do I? Mother, what a funny question! Why, I want them to like each other because I like them both."

"But you don't seem anxious lest Delight won't like Gladys."

"Oh, of course she'll like her! Delight is so sweet and amiable, she'd like anybody that I like. But Gladys is,—well,—touchy."

"Which do you care more for, dearie?"

"Mothery, that's just what bothers me I'm getting to like Delight better and better. And that doesn't seem fair to Gladys, for she's my old friend, and I wouldn't be unloyal to her for anything. So you see, I don't know which I like best."

"Well, Marjorie, I'll tell you. In the first place, you mustn't take it so seriously. Friendships among children are very apt to change when one moves away and another comes. Now both these little girls are your good friends, but it stands to reason that the one you're with every day should be nearer and dearer than one who lives thousands of miles away. So I want you to enjoy Delight's friendship, and consider her your dearest friend, if you choose, without feeling that you are disloyal to Gladys."

"Could I, Mother?"

"Certainly, dear. That is all quite right. Now, when Gladys comes, for a few days, you must devote yourself especially to her, as she will be your house-guest; and if she and Delight aren't entirely congenial, then you must exclude Delight while Gladys is here. You may not like to do this, and it may not be necessary, but if it is, then devote yourself to Gladys' pleasure and preferences, because it is your duty. To be a good hostess is an important lesson for any girl or woman to learn, and you are not too young to begin."

"Shall I tell Delight I'm going to do this?"

"Not before Gladys comes. They may admire each other immensely; then there will be no occasion to mention it. When is Gladys coming?"

"On Friday. That's only three days off."

"Then we must begin to plan a little for her pleasures. As she will only be here four days, we can't do very much. Suppose we have a little party Saturday afternoon, then she can meet all her Rockwell friends."

"Yes, that will be lovely. And I do hope she and Delight will like each other."

"Why of course they will, Midget. There's no reason why they shouldn't."

CHAPTER XIX

A VISIT FROM GLADYS

Gladys came Friday afternoon and Marjorie welcomed her with open arms, truly happy to see her friend again.

"Tell me all about your new home, Glad," said Midge, as the two settled themselves on either end of the sofa for a chat.

"Oh, it's just lovely, Mops. It's like summer all the time. And the flowers are in bloom all about, and the birds sing in the trees, and everybody wears white dresses and summer hats even in February."

"That is lovely. And is your father getting better?"

"Yes, some better. He just had to come to New York on some business, but the doctor said he must not stay but a few days. So we have to start back on Tuesday."

"It's a shame. I wish you could stay longer."

"So do I. But I'm glad to go back, too. I go to a lovely school there, and I know the nicest girls and boys."

"Nicer than Rockwell children?"

"Oh, I don't know. Yes, I guess so. My most intimate friend is a lovely girl. Her name is Florence Lawton. Isn't that a pretty name?"

"Why, Gladys Fulton! I'm your most intimate friend! Do you like her better than me?"

Gladys' eyes opened wide.

"Midget Maynard," she said, "what do you mean? Of course you were my best friend here, but when I'm out there don't you s'pose I've got to have somebody else to play with and to tell secrets to?"

Somehow this idea made Midget's heart lighter. It justified her in taking

Delight as a chum in Gladys' place.

"Yes, of course," she responded. "Our letters don't seem to amount to much, do they, Glad?"

"No, I'm no good at all at writing letters. Don't you have any chum in my place, Mopsy?"

"Why, yes, I s'pose I do," said Marjorie, slowly, for it was just beginning to dawn on her that Delight had taken Gladys' place. "I'm awfully good friends with Delight Spencer, who lives in the house you used to live in."

"Delight! what a pretty name."

"Yes, and she's an awfully pretty girl. You'll see her while you're here, of course."

Very soon the first strangeness of the reunion was over, and the two were chatting away as gaily as if they had never been separated.

Then Delight came over. She had promised Marjorie she'd come over to see Gladys, but she came rather unwillingly. The truth is, she felt a little jealous of Marjorie's older friend, and was not prepared to like her.

Delight was dressed in some of her prettiest clothes, and the big black velvet hat on her fair golden hair made a lovely picture.

Gladys thought she was beautiful, and welcomed her warmly, but Delight, when introduced, seemed to shrink back into herself and sat stiffly on the edge of a chair, holding her muff and saying nothing.

"Oh, Delight," cried Midget, "don't act like that. Take off your things, and let's play."

"No, I can't stay but a few minutes," said Delight, primly.

She sat there, looking very uncomfortable, and though Midge and Gladys tried to make her more chummy, they didn't succeed.

Finally, Delight rose to go, and as Gladys didn't care much for such a spoil sport, she said nothing to detain her. Midget went to the door with her, and as Delight went out she turned to Midge, with her eyes full of tears, and said: "You like her better than you do me, so I'll go."

"Go on, then," said Marjorie, utterly exasperated by such foolishness, as she considered it.

"What ails her?" said Gladys, as Marjorie returned.

"Why, I suppose it's because you're here. She never acted that way before. You see, she's a spoiled child, and she always wants everything her own way. It's awfully funny, Gladys, but I thought maybe you wouldn't like her and here it's the other way about!"

"Oh, I like her, or at least I would if she'd let me. I think she's the prettiest girl I ever saw. Don't you?"

"Yes, I do. And she's awfully nice, too, if she didn't have this tantrum about you."

"Oh, well, she'll get over it," returned Gladys; "I shan't be here long, anyway."

The day after Gladys' arrival was the first Saturday in March.

First Saturdays were usually "Ourdays," when Mr. Maynard took a whole day from his business and devoted it to the entertainment of his children.

It was King's turn to choose how the day should be spent, but, as a party in honor of Gladys had been arranged for the afternoon, there was only the morning to choose for.

They were all discussing the matter the night before, and King kindly offered to give his turn to one of the girls, that they might choose something to please Gladys.

"No, indeed," said Midget. "We like boys' fun as well as girls' fun; so you choose ahead, King."

"All right, then. If you girls agree, I'd like to build a snow fort. This is a jolly deep snow, the best we've had this winter, and likely the last we'll have. Father's a jim dandy at snow games, and we could have an out-of-door frolic in the morning, and then Glad's party in the house in the afternoon."

"Goody! I say yes to that," cried Midget.

"I too," said Gladys. "We don't have any snow in California, and I don't know when I'll see any again."

"I'm satisfied," said Kitty, "can I ask Dorothy over?"

"Yes," said Mr. Maynard; "ask anybody you choose."

So next morning, soon after breakfast, the children put on all the warmest wraps they could find, and in tam o'shanter caps, tippets, mittens and leggings, started out for their Ourday fun.

The snow was more than a foot deep all over the great lawn, and Mr. Maynard selected a fine place for a fort. He taught the boys,—for King had asked Flip to come over,—how to cut and pack great blocks of solid snow, and the girls he showed how to make balls and cones for decoration.

Once Midget caught sight of Delight peeping across at them from behind a curtain. "I'm going over to ask her to come," she said; "I didn't ask her before, because I thought she wouldn't come. But, I believe she will."

So Midge scampered across the street and rang the Spencer's door bell.

"Won't you come over?" she said, as soon as she saw Delight. "It's an Ourday, and we're having such fun!"

"No, thank you," said Delight; "you don't need me when you have Gladys."

"Don't be silly!" said Midget. "What's the reason I can't play with you both? Come on."

"Oh, I don't want to come," said Delight pettishly. "Go on back."

So Marjorie went back, alone, walking slowly, for she couldn't understand

Delight's behavior.

But once again in the fun of the snow play, she forgot all about her ill-natured little neighbor.

They built a grand fort, with a flag waving from its summit, and then with soft snowballs for ammunition, they chose sides and had the merriest kind of a battle. Afterward they built a snow man and a snow woman.

These were of heroic size, so big that Mr. Maynard had to climb a step-ladder to put their heads in place.

The man, according to the time-honored tradition of all snow men, wore a battered old high hat, and had a pipe in his mouth, while the old woman wore a sun bonnet and checked apron.

They were comical figures, indeed, and when they were completed it was time to go in to luncheon, and Dorothy and Flip scampered for their homes.

"Now, gentlemen of the jury," said Mr. Maynard, at the lunch table, "as we have still two good hours before it's time to array ourselves in purple and fine linen for the party, suppose we continue our outdoor sports and go for a sleigh ride? It's up to you, King."

"Fine!" agreed King. "If it suits the ladies of the castle."

"It do," said Kitty; "the ladies fair would fain go for a sleigh ride.

May I ask Dorothy?"

"Not this time, Kittums," said her father. "I've ordered a big double sleigh, and we'll just fill it comfortably."

And so they did, with Mr. and Mrs. Maynard on the wide back seat and Rosy Posy between, them; Midget, Gladys, and Kitty facing them, and King up on the box with the driver.

A span of big powerful horses took them flying over the snow, and the crisp, keen air made their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright.

It was a fine sleigh ride, and the jingling bells made a merry accompaniment to the children's chatter and laughter.

"Ice cream, Kitty?" asked her father as they entered a small town, and drew up before the funny little inn that was its principal hostelry—

"No, sir!" said Kitty, whose teeth were chattering, "it's too cold!"

"Well, I never expected to live long enough to hear Kitty say no to ice cream!" exclaimed Mrs. Maynard in surprise.

"It's a cold day when that happens, isn't it Kit?" asked her father.

"Well, jump out then, and stamp your toes, and thaw your ears."

They all went into the little inn, and warmed themselves by the fire, and had a drink of hot milk or hot soup, as they preferred, and then bundled back into the sleigh for the homeward ride.

"I'm not cold now," said Kitty, cuddling into the fur robes.

The horses dashed back again over the snow, and soon after three o'clock they were at home.

The party was at four, so there was ample time to get ready.

"What kind of a party is it to be father?" asked Midge. "Any special kind?"

"Special kind?" said Mr. Maynard; "I should say so! It's an animal party, to be sure!"

"An animal party?" said Gladys, to Midge, as they went upstairs to dress; "what does he mean?"

"I don't know. You never can tell what Father's going to do. Especially on an Ourday. He always gets up lovely things for Ourdays."

"He's a jolly man," said Gladys; "I never saw anybody like him."

"Nor I either," agreed Midge; "I think he's just perfect."

The little girls all wore white dresses, each with a different colored ribbon, and were all ready, and sitting in state, at ten minutes before the hour appointed for the party.

"Isn't Delight coming, Mopsy?" asked Mrs. Maynard.

"No, mother; I just telephoned her, and she won't come. She's acting up foolish about Glad, you know."

"Indeed it is foolish," said Mrs. Maynard, looking annoyed; "I think

I'll run over there and see what I can do."

"Oh, do, Mother; you always make everything come out all right."

"But I don't know whether I can make a silly little girl come out all right; however, I'll try."

Mrs. Maynard threw on some wraps and went over to the house across the street.

What arguments she used, or what she said to Delight, Marjorie never knew, but she returned, after a time, bringing both Delight and Miss Hart with her.

Delight made a beautiful picture in a filmy, lacy white frock, and a big blue bow on her golden curls.

"Hello, Flossy Flouncy!" cried King, and this broke the ice, and made it easier for Delight than a more formal greeting would have done.

"Hello, Old King Cole!" she responded, and then a number of other people came, and a general hubbub of conversation ensued.

"This is an animal party," said Mr. Maynard, when all the guests had arrived. "Now where were the most animals ever gathered together?"

"In the circus!" cried one boy, and another said, "In the menagerie."

"Try again," said Mr. Maynard; "not right yet!"

"Hippodrome," shouted somebody, and "zoo!" cried somebody else, but to each Mr. Maynard shook his head.

"Go farther back," he said; "what was the first collection of animals in the world?"

And then Delight thought what he meant, and cried out, "Noah's Ark!"

"Of course!" said Mr. Maynard. "That's the place I meant. Well, then, here's an ark for each of you, and you can each play you're Noah."

He whisked a table cover off of a table by his side, and there was a great pile of toy Noah's arks. King and Flip distributed them, until everybody had one.

"Why, they're empty?" cried Midge, looking into hers.

"They won't be long," said her father. "Now, young people, scatter, and fill your arks with animals. Pretend you're hunting in the jungle, or whatever you like, but capture all the animals you can find for your arks. There are hundreds in these two rooms and the halls."

"Hidden?" asked Kitty.

"Yes, hidden and in plain sight, both. But wait; there's a schedule."

Mr. Maynard unfolded a paper, and read:

"Elephants count five, tigers ten, lions fifteen, bears five, kangaroos five, cats five; all two-legged animals or birds two, fishes one, camels twenty-five, and zebras fifty. After your arks are filled, we'll count them up according to schedule, and award prizes. Now, scoot!" They scooted, and spent a merry half hour hunting the animals. They found them in all sorts of places,—tucked in behind curtains, under sofa-pillows, between books, and round among the bric-a-brac on mantels and tables. They were the little wooden animals that belonged in the arks, and the children were greatly amused when they discovered, also, the small, queer little people that represent Noah and his family.

"I s'pose as these are two-legged animals they count as birds," said King.

"Yes," said Mr. Maynard, "all bipeds count alike."

As Marjorie made a dive for a tiger which she saw in the lower part of the hall hatrack, somebody else dived for it at the very same moment.

It was Delight, and both girls sat suddenly down on the floor, laughing at their bumped heads.

But when Delight saw that it was Midget, she stopped laughing and looked sober, and even sour.

"Don't, Delight," said Marjorie, gently, and putting her arms round her friend, she kissed her lovingly.

This melted Delight's foolish little heart, and she whispered, "Oh,

Midge, you do like me best, don't you?"

But Midge was in no mood for emotional demonstration down under the hatrack, so she scrambled up, saying, "I shan't if you act as foolish as you have done. You behave decently to Gladys and to me, and then see what'll happen."

With this Midge calmly walked away and collected more animals, while Delight, rather stunned by this summary advice, jumped up and went after animals, too.

At last the collecting was over and the children brought their arks to Mr. Maynard. With Miss Hart to help him, it didn't take very long to figure out the schedule value of each ark-full, and prizes were given to those three whose score was highest.

Flip Henderson had first prize, and Delight had second, while the third went to Harry Frost. Delight was greatly pleased, and Marjorie was glad, too, for she thought it might make her more amiable.

But that wasn't the reason; the real reason was because Midge had kissed her, and then had scolded her roundly. This combination of treatment affected the strange little heart of Delight, and she began at once to be nice and pleasant to Gladys and to everybody.

The next game was like Jackstraws, but it wasn't Jackstraws.

All the ark-fulls of animals were emptied out into a heap on the table, and the children sat round. Each was given a teaspoon, and with this they must remove as many animals as possible without moving any other than the one touched. They might use either end of the teaspoon, but must not use their fingers.

The animals counted as in the former schedule and as each was picked from the pile it was given to Miss Hart, and she credited it to the player who took it.

Of course, as in Jackstraws, if one made a mis-play it was the next player's turn. This game was great fun, and they watched each other breathlessly, though careful not to joggle anybody.

"Now, Flossy Flouncy," cried King, "it's your turn. In you go! Catch a camel first thing!"

Delight was a little embarrassed at King's raillery, but she was bound she wouldn't show it, and her slim little white fingers grasped the teaspoon firmly.

She only took off a few, for the excitement of it made her nervous and her hand shook. But she was glad she didn't win a prize in that game, for nobody likes to win two prizes at the same party.

CHAPTER XX

CHESSY CATS

After that game they played several other animal games, some quiet and some noisy, and then Mr. Maynard announced that they would play "Chessy Cats."

"What in the world is that?" said Gladys to King. "I never heard of it."

"Nor I," he responded; "probably Father made it up. Well, we'll soon see."

Mr. Maynard chose two captains, one being Gladys, as it was really her party, and the other Flip Henderson.

These two captains were asked to stand opposite each other at the end of the room, and to "choose sides."

"You must each," said Mr. Maynard, "choose the girls or boys who seem to you most like Chessy Cats."

This advice was not very intelligible, but as it was Gladys' turn to choose first, she chose King.

Then Flip chose Marjorie, as it seemed to him polite to take his hostess.

Then in a burst of good feeling Gladys chose Delight, and though she wanted to refuse, she stifled her ill-nature and stood up next to King.

Then the choosing went on until all were taken, and the two long lines stood on either side of the room.

"You see," said Mr. Maynard, "this is a contest of happiness. I want to see which line of children represents the greater amount of merriment. Will you all please smile?"

Every face broke into a grin, and Mr. Maynard looked at them thoughtfully.

"You all seem happy," he said; "a fine lot of Chessy Cats. You know Chessy Cats are remarkable for their wide grins. But as I have a prize for the side that shows most grin, I have to be careful of my decision. Miss Hart, if you will help me, I think we'll have to find out exactly which row of Chessy Cats grins the widest."

Miss Hart, smiling like a Chessy Cat herself, came forward with a lot of short strips of white paper in her hand. She gave half of these to Mr. Maynard, and then the fun began.

They actually measured each child's grin, marking on the paper with a pencil the exact length of each mouth from corner to corner as it was stretched in a smile. Of course a fresh paper was used for each, and wide indeed was the grin when the grinner realized the absurdity of having his smile measured!

Then, of course, each tried to grin his very widest, for the success of his line and the glory of his captain. Delight's little rosebud mouth couldn't make a very wide grin, but she stretched it as wide as possible, showing her pretty white teeth, and held it motionless while it was measured.

It was astonishing how wide some of them could stretch their smiling mouths, and how absurd they looked while standing stock still to be measured. Their ridiculous grimaces caused shouts of laughter from the Chessy Cats who were not being measured at the moment.

"Midget! she's the one that counts!" cried King. "She's got a smile like an earthquake! Flossy Flouncy, here, she won't count half as much!"

Marjorie only laughed at King's comment, and spread her rosy lips in a desperate effort to beat the record.

At last all were measured, and taking a pair of scissors, Miss Hart clipped the ends off the papers where the mark was, and thus each paper represented the exact width of a smile.

The papers of each side were then placed end to end, and the whole length measured. The result was fifty-four inches of smile for Flip's side, and fifty-two for Gladys'.

"Hooray, Mopsy!" cried King. "I knew your mouth was two inches bigger than Delight's!"