Marjorie's New Friend

"Oh, no, brother," rejoined Midge, "it's because your mouth is so tiny you can't smile very well!"

But whatever the reason, there was a good two inches difference in the aggregate, so Flip Henderson's side was the winner.

"As all the Chessy Cats grinned nobly, you must all have prizes," said Mr. Maynard, and so to the winning side were given boxes of candy with a funny figure of a grinning Chessy Cat on top. Both boxes and cats were bright red, and gay little prizes they were.

"But as the other side were too sad and solemn to grin broadly, we'll give them black cats," said Mr. Maynard, and all of Gladys' line received prizes exactly like the others, except that the cats were black. Of course, they were equally pretty and desirable, and were really souvenirs of the party instead of prizes.

Then they all went to the dining-room for supper. Miss Hart played a merry march on the piano, and King, escorting Gladys, went first, Marjorie and Flip followed, and then all the children came, two by two.

To carry out the idea of an "animal party," the table had been cleverly arranged to represent a farmyard. All the middle part of it was enclosed by a little fence that ran along just inside the plates, and in the enclosure were toy animals of all sorts. Downy yellow chickens, furry cats, woolly sheep, and comical roosters stood about in gay array. Also there were Teddy Bears, and possums and even lions and tigers, which though not usually found in farmyards, seemed amicably disposed enough. A delightful feast was eaten, and then, for dessert, Sarah brought in a great platter of ice cream in forms of animals. And with these animals crackers were served, and many merry jests were made as the children bit off the heads of ferocious wild beasts, or stabbed the ice cream animals with their spoons. As they left the table, each guest was invited to take one animal from the "farmyard," to carry away.

Rosy Posy announced frankly, "Don't anybuddy take de Teddy Bear, 'cause me wants it."

They all laughed, and needless to say, the bear was left for the baby, whose turn came last.

Delight chose a little white kitten, with a blue ribbon round its neck, and Gladys took a fierce-looking tiger.

Everybody agreed they had never attended a jollier party, and the smiles, as they said good-bye, were indeed of the Chessy Cat variety.

"Ourday isn't over yet, Father," said Midge, after the last guest had gone.

"Oho, I think it's time little Chessy Cats went to bed," said Mr.

Maynard.

"No, indeed! the party was from four to seven, and though they staid a little later, it's only half-past seven now. And Ourday nights we always stay up till half-past eight."

"My stars! a whole hour more of Chessy Cats! That's enough to make any one grin. All right Midgety, what do you want me to do?"

"It's King's choose," said Marjorie; "it's his Ourday, you know."

So King chose "Twenty Questions," a game of which he never tired, and a jolly hour they all spent in playing it.

Then bedtime was definitely announced, and it was a lot of rather tired

Chessy Cats who climbed the stairs, after many and repeated good-nights.

As Gladys' visit was to be such a short one Mrs. Maynard advised Midget not to go to lessons during her stay.

Marjorie was a little disappointed at this, but she couldn't very well go off and leave Gladys, and it would have been awkward to take her, so she staid away herself. The two girls had good times, and both Mr. and Mrs. Maynard planned many pleasant things for their enjoyment, but still Marjorie was not altogether sorry when on Tuesday Gladys took her departure.

"What's this fuss about Gladys and Delight?" asked Mr. Maynard, as they all sat chatting Tuesday evening.

"Oh, Father, it's so silly!" said Marjorie; "I don't know what to make of

Delight. It isn't a bit Glad's fault. She was as sweet as pie; but

Delight was as sour as buttermilk."

"She's jealous, I suppose."

"Yes, I suppose that's it. But, you see, Father, she's a different girl from us."

"Different how?"

"Oh, I don't know exactly. But she's sort of a spoiled child, you know, and whatever she has, she hates to have any one else touch it."

"Even you."

"Yes, even me. I like Delight an awful lot, but I like Gladys too."

"Of course you do. Now, Midget, listen to your old and wise Father. Forget all this foolishness. Gladys is gone now, and Delight is your very good friend, your best friend in Rockwell. Just keep on being friends with her, and do all you can to be a good friend. Don't discuss Gladys with her, don't discuss her actions, or her jealousy, or whatever foolishness is in her pretty little noddle. You are both too young to take these things seriously. But if you are a kind, loyal little friend to her, she will soon learn to be the same to you."

"But, Father, she wants me all to herself. She doesn't like to have me be friends with the other girls in Rockwell even."

"That you mustn't stand. Just go on in your own way. Be friendly with whom you choose, but always be kind and considerate of Delight's feelings. Of course, you two having your lessons alone together is largely responsible for this state of things. School would be better for you both in many ways. But you like the present arrangement, and Miss Hart is a blessing to you both. I think she can help you in persuading Delight to be a little less exacting."

"Yes, Father, she does; she understands the case, and she's always trying to make Delight less selfish."

"And perhaps,—I hate to suggest it,—but possibly Miss Mopsy Maynard might have some little tiny speck of a fault,—just a microscopic flaw in her character—"

"Now, Father, don't tease! I know I have! I'm a bad, impulsive, mischievous old thing, and I never think in time,—then the first thing I know I've done something awful! Delight's not a bit like that."

"Oh, you needn't give yourself such a dreadful character. I know you pretty well, and I'm quite pleased, on the whole, with my eldest daughter. But I do want you to learn to be a little less heedless; you know heedlessness is, after all, a sort of selfishness,—a disregard of others' convenience."

"I'm going to try, Father. I'll try real hard, and if I don't succeed,

I'll try, try again."

"That's my good little Mopsy. Now, skip to bed, and don't let these serious matters keep you awake. Forget them, and dream of fairies and princesses dressed in pearls and roses and all sorts of lovely things."

"And blue velvet robes trimmed with ermine?"

"Yes, and golden sceptres, and swanboats to ride in on lakes where pond lilies bloom."

"And golden chariots, with milk white steeds, garlanded with flowers."

"Yes,—and that's about all; good-night."

"And enchanted carpets that carry you in a minute to India and Arabia."

"Yes, and upstairs to bed! Good-night."

"And knights in armor, with glittering spears—"

"Good-night, Marjorie Maynard!"

"Good-night, Father. And rose-gardens with fountains and singing birds—"

"Skip, you rascal! Scamper, fly, scoot! Good-night for the last time!"

"Good-night," called Marjorie, half way up-stairs, "good-night, Father dear."

"Good-night, Midget, good-night."