Kitabı oku: «Marjorie's New Friend», sayfa 6
"I don't suppose they do it on purpose," said Midge, half laughing and half serious; "but I'm sorry for your cook anyway."
"I'm sorry for us! But, gracious, Marjorie, hear her cry! The little boy must be awfully sick!"
"Yes, indeed! She's just screaming! Shall we go down?"
"No, I'm sure mother wouldn't like us to. But I don't feel like playing princess, do you?"
"No, not while she screams like that. There goes the doctor away."
From the window, the girls saw the doctor hasten down the path, jump into his electric runabout, and whiz rapidly away.
They could still hear sobbing from the kitchen, and now and then the moans of the baby.
At last, Mary, the waitress, came to take the tray away.
"What is the matter with Maggie's little boy, Mary?" asked Delight.
"He's sick, Miss Delight."
"But why does Maggie scream so?"
"It's near crazy she is, fearin' he'll die."
"Oh," said Marjorie, "is he as bad as that! What's the matter with him,
Mary?"
"He,—he has a cold, Miss."
"But babies don't die of a cold! Is that all that ails him?"
"He has,—he has a fever, Miss."
"A high fever, I s'pose. Rosy Posy had that when she had croup. Is it croup, Mary?"
"No, Miss,—I don't know, Miss, oh, don't be askin' me!"
With a flurried gesture, Mary took the tray and left the room.
"It's very queer," said Delight, "they're making an awful fuss over a sick baby. Here's the doctor back again, and another man with him."
The two men came in quickly, and Mrs. Spencer met them at the front door. They held a rapid consultation, and then the doctor went to the telephone and called up several different people to whom he talked one after another.
And then Mrs. Spencer went to the telephone.
"Oh," said Delight, looking at Marjorie with startled eyes, "she's calling up father in New York. It must be something awful!"
CHAPTER XI
MARJORIE CAPTIVE
It was something awful. The doctor diagnosed the child's case as diphtheria, and proceeded at once to take the steps ordered by the Board of Health in such cases.
Mrs. Spencer wanted to send the little one to the hospital, but Doctor Mendel said that would not be allowed. So the house was to be disinfected, and a strict quarantine maintained until all danger should be past.
"The woman and her child must be put in certain rooms, and not allowed to leave them," said the doctor; "and no one in the house must go out of it, and no one out of it may come in."
"What!" cried Mrs. Spencer, in dismay, thinking of Marjorie. And Marjorie and Delight, unable to keep away any longer, came into the room just in time to hear the doctor's statement.
"What's the matter, mother?" cried Delight. "Tell me about it! Is
Maggie's little boy going away?"
"You tell her, Doctor Mendel," said Mrs. Spencer; "I can't."
"Why, Marjorie Maynard?" exclaimed the doctor, "are you here? Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish!"
Although the Spencers had never seen Doctor Mendel before, he was the Maynards' family physician, and he realized at once the great misfortune of Marjorie's presence in the infected house.
"Yes, I'm here," said Midget; "can't I go home?"
"No, child," said Doctor Mendel, gravely; "you cannot leave this house until all danger of infection is over. That will be two weeks at least, and perhaps more."
"And can't Mr. Spencer come home?" asked Mrs. Spencer.
"No; unless he stays here after he comes in. He can not go back and forth to New York every day."
Mrs. Spencer looked utterly bewildered. Accustomed to depend upon her husband in any emergency, she felt quite unable to meet this situation.
"And there is danger of these two girls having diphtheria?" she said, in a scared voice, as if anxious to know the worst at once.
"There is grave danger, Mrs. Spencer, for all in the house. But we will hope by careful treatment to avoid that. The quarantine, however, is imperative. You must not let your servants or your family go out into the street, nor must you allow any one except myself to come in."
"Oh, Doctor Mendel," cried Marjorie, "how can I see Mother?"
"You can't see her. I'm sorry, Marjorie, but you simply can not go home, nor can she come here."
"And I'll have to have diphtheria, and die, without seeing her at all!"
"Tut, tut! You're not going to have diphtheria, I hope. These precautions are necessary, because of the law, but you're by no means sure to take the disease."
"Delight will," said Mrs. Spencer, in a hopeless tone. "She's so delicate, and so subject to throat affections. Oh, how can I stand all this without any one to help me? Can't I have a trained nurse?"
Doctor Mendel almost laughed at the lady's request.
"Of course you may, as soon as there's a patient for her to take care of. But you surely don't want one when there's no illness in this part of the house."
"Why, so there isn't!" said Mrs. Spencer, looking greatly relieved. "I'm so bewildered I felt that these two children were already down with diphtheria."
"It's a very trying situation," went on Doctor Mendel, looking kindly at Mrs. Spencer. "For I do not see how your husband can come home, if he wants to continue at his business. And surely, there's no use of his coming home, so long as there's no illness in your immediate family. He would better stay in New York."
"Oh, not in New York," cried Mrs. Spencer. "He can come to Rockwell every night, and stay at the hotel or some place."
"Yes, that would be better; then you can telephone often."
"And I can telephone to Mother!" said Midget, who was beginning to see a brighter side.
"Yes, of course," agreed the doctor. "I'll go there, and tell her all about it."
"Won't she be surprised!"
"Yes, I fancy she will! Do you want her to send you some clothes?"
"Why, yes; I s'pose so. I never thought of that! Oh, I'd rather go home!"
The bright side suddenly faded, and Midget's curly head went down in her arm, and she shook with sobs. A vision of home, and the dear family around the dinner-table, while she was exiled in a strange house, was too much for her.
"Now, Marjorie," said the doctor, "you must bear this bravely. It is hard, I know, but Mrs. Spencer is by far the greatest sufferer. Here she is, with two children to look after, and her husband shut out from his home, and her servants in a state of unreasoning terror. I think you two girls should brace up, and help Mrs. Spencer all you can."
"I think so, t-too," said Midget, in a voice still choking with tears, and then Delight began to cry.
Her crying wasn't a sudden outburst like Marjorie's, but a permanent sort of affair, which she pursued diligently and without cessation.
Mrs. Spencer paid little attention to the two weeping children, for the poor lady had other responsibilities that required her attention.
"What about Maggie, Doctor?" she asked.
"She must stay here, of course. And, as she can't go to a hospital, she will probably prefer to stay here. Your waitress may desert you, but I will tell her if she goes, it is in defiance of the law, and she will be punished. I trust, Mrs. Spencer, that there will be no more illness here, and the worst will be the inconvenience of this quarantine. At any rate we will look at it that way, so long as there are no signs of infection. Now, I will go over to the Maynards and explain matters to them, and I will meet Mr. Spencer at the train, and he will telephone you at once. Meantime, I will myself superintend the disinfection of this house. And remember, while there is danger for the two little girls, I do not think it probable that they will be affected."
"I hope not," said Mrs. Spencer, sighing. "And here's another thing, Doctor. I expect a governess for Delight, a Miss Hart, who is to come with Mr. Spencer on the train this evening. She should be warned."
"Yes, indeed. I'll meet them at the train, and attend to that for you. Probably she'll remain at the hotel over night, and go back to the city to-morrow."
"She could go to our house to stay," said Marjorie. She was still crying, but she loved to make plans. "Then she could telephone the lessons over to Delight, and I could learn a little too. Oh, I won't have to go to school for two weeks!"
This was a consolation, and the happy thought entirely stopped Marjorie's tears.
Not so Delight. She cried on, softly, but steadily, until Midget looked at her with real curiosity.
"What do you cry that way for, Delight?" she said. "It doesn't do any good."
Delight looked at her, but wept industriously on.
"Oh, come," said Midget, "let's look for the bright side. Let's pretend I've come to visit you for two weeks, and let's have some fun out of this thing."
"How can you talk so?" said Delight, through her tears. "We may both be dead in two weeks."
"Nonsense!" cried Doctor Mendel; "no more of that sort of talk! If you're so sure of having diphtheria, I'll send you to the hospital at once."
Delight did not know the doctor as well as Marjorie did, and this suggestion frightened her.
She tried to stop crying, and smile, and she succeeded fairly well.
"That's better," said the doctor. "Now, I'm going across the street. Marjorie, what message do you want to send your mother? Of course she'll send over some clothes and things. You can have anything you want sent, but don't have needless things, for they must all be disinfected later, and it might harm your best clothes."
"Oh, I shan't want my best clothes, since we can't have company or parties," said Midget, interested now, in spite of herself. "Tell Mother to send my night things; and my red cashmere for to-morrow morning, and my other red hair ribbons, and my pink kimono, and my worsted slippers, and that book on my bureau, the one with the leaf turned down, and some handkerchiefs, and—"
"There, there, child, I can't remember those things, and your mother will know, anyway,—except about the book with the leaf turned down,—I'll tell her that. And you can telephone her, you know."
"Oh, so I can! That will be almost like seeing her. Can't I telephone now?"
"No, I'd rather tell her about it myself. Then I'll tell her to call you up, and you can give her your list of hair ribbons and jimcracks."
"All right then. Hurry up, Doctor, so I can talk to her soon."
Doctor Mendel went away, and Marjorie and Delight sat and looked at each other. Mrs. Spencer had gone to the kitchen to arrange for the comfort of the distressed mother, and the little girls were trying to realize what had happened.
"I'm glad you're here," said Delight, "for I'd be terribly lonely without you, in all this trouble."
Midget was silent. She couldn't honestly say she was glad she was there, and yet to say she was sorry seemed unkind.
"Well, as long as I am here," she said at last, "I'm glad you're glad. It's all so strange! To be here staying in Gladys's house, and Gladys not here, and I can't get away even if I want to,—why, I can't seem to get used to it."
"It's awful!" said Mrs. Spencer, coming in from the kitchen. "I hope your mother won't blame me, Marjorie; I'm sure I couldn't help it."
"Of course she won't blame you, Mrs. Spencer. She'll only be sorry for you."
"But she'll be so worried about you."
"Yes'm; I s'pose she will. But maybe, if I do take it, it will be a light case."
"Oh, don't talk of light cases! I hope you won't have it at all,—either of you."
After what seemed to Marjorie a long time of waiting, her mother called her up on the telephone.
"My dear little girl," said Mrs. Maynard, "how shall I get along without you for two weeks?"
"Oh, Mother," said Marjorie, "you have the others, but I haven't anybody!
How shall I get along without you?"
Marjorie's voice was trembling, and though Mrs. Maynard was heart-broken she forced herself to be cheerful for Midget's sake.
"Well, dearie," she said, "we must make the best of it. I'll telephone you three times a day,—or at least, some of us will,—and I'll write you letters."
"Oh, will you, Mother? That will be lovely!"
"Yes, I'll write you every day. You can receive letters although you can't send any. Now, I want you to be my own brave little daughter, and not only try to be cheerful and pleasant yourself, but cheer up Mrs. Spencer and Delight."
"Yes, Mother, I will try. I feel better already, since I've heard your voice."
"Of course you do. And Father will talk to you when he comes home, and to-morrow Kitty and King can talk, and you'll almost feel as if you were at home."
"Yes,—but oh, Mother, it's awful, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't awful at all, unless you get ill But we won't cross that bridge until we come to it. Now, I'll send over a suitcase to-night, and then I can send more things to-morrow."
"Yes, Mother. And put in your picture, won't you? The one on my mantelpiece, I mean. Then I'll have it to kiss good-night to."
Mrs. Maynard's voice choked a little, but she said:
"Yes, dear, I will. Good-bye for now; we mustn't monopolize Mrs.
Spencer's telephone."
"Good-bye," said Midget, reluctantly, and hung up the receiver, feeling that now she was indeed an exile from her home. But not long after, she was called to the telephone again, and her father's cheery voice said:
"Why, Marjorie Midget Mopsy Maynard! What's this I hear about your deserting your home and family?"
"Oh, Father dear, isn't it terrible!"
"Why, I don't know as it is. You'll have a fine visit with your little friend, and you won't have to go to school, and I should think you'd have a fine time! But some people are never satisfied!"
"Now, don't tease, Father. You know I'll just go crazy with homesickness to see you all again!"
"Oh, well, if you really do go crazy, I'll put you in a nice pretty little lunatic asylum that I know of. But before your mind is entirely gone, I want you to have a good time with Delight, and I'll help all I can."
"I don't see how you can help much, if I can't see you."
"You don't, eh? Well, you'll find out, later on. But just now, I'm going to give you three rules, and I want you to obey them. Will you?"
"Of course I will, Father. What are they?"
"First, never think for a moment that you're going to catch that sore throat that the cook's little boy has. I don't think you are, and I don't want to think so. Promise?"
"Yes, I promise. What next?"
"Next; never think that you're to stay over there two weeks. Never use the words at all. Just think each day, that you're merely staying that one night, and that you're just staying for fun. See?"
"Yes; I'll promise, but it won't be easy."
"Make it easy then. I'll help you. And third, don't feel sorry for yourself."
"Oh, Father, I do!"
"Well, don't! If you want to feel sorry for somebody, choose some one else, a poor Hottentot, or a lame kangaroo, or even your old father. But, mind, it's a rule, you're not to feel sorry for Marjorie Maynard."
"That's a funny rule. But I'll try to mind it."
"That's my own dear daughter. Now, to begin. As you're to stay with Delight to-night, we're sending over your night things. Go to bed early and sleep well, so you can wake bright and fresh and have fun playing all day to-morrow."
All this sounded so gay and pleasant that Marjorie was really very much cheered up, and replied gaily:
"All right, Daddy; I'll do just as you say. And will you call me up to-morrow morning before you go to New York?"
"Yes, of course I will. Now, good-night,—just the same as a good-night at home."
"Good-night, Father," and Midget hung up the receiver again.
By this time Delight had stopped her crying, and Mrs. Spencer had become a little more resigned to the unpleasant state of things. The servants had consented to stay, for the present, and their decision was more due to Doctor Mendel's hints about the law, than their own loyalty to Mrs. Spencer.
Then Doctor Mendel had met Mr. Spencer at the railroad station, and had explained affairs to him.
Although it seemed very hard it was thought advisable by all interested, that Mr. Spencer should not go to his home at all. His business, which was large and important, required his presence every day, and to take two weeks away from it just at that time would be disastrous in effect.
Mr. Maynard, who was present at the interview, invited Mr. Spencer to stay at his home until the quarantine should be raised, and this offer of hospitality was gratefully accepted.
"It seems only fair," said Mr. Maynard, "that we should entertain you, as you have our Marjorie as a guest at your house."
"An unwilling guest, I fear," said Mr. Spencer, with a sad smile.
"But ready to make the best of it, as we all must be," rejoined Mr. Maynard.
CHAPTER XII
MISS HART HELPS
Miss Hart, Delight's new governess, who came out from New York with Mr.
Spencer, listened to the doctor's story with a grave face.
"And I think, Miss Hart," said Doctor Mendel, in conclusion, "that you would better stay in Rockwell over night, and return to the city tomorrow."
"I don't think so!" said Miss Hart, with such emphasis that the three men looked at her in surprise.
"If you will go home with me," said Mr. Maynard, "Mrs. Maynard will give you a warm welcome, and then you can decide to-morrow on your further plans."
"No," said Miss Hart, who seemed to be a young woman of great decision of character, "I shall go straight to Mrs. Spencer's. I am engaged to go there to-night, and I want to go. I am not at all afraid of the diphtheria, and as Delight is perfectly well, she can begin her lessons just as we planned to do. This will keep her interested and prevent her from worrying as much as if she were idle. And then, if anything should happen, I will be there to assist Mrs. Spencer."
"Thank you, Miss Hart," said Mr. Spencer, shaking her hand. "You are a noble woman, and I shall be so glad to have you there with my wife. I've been trying to think how I could get a companion for her, but none of her city friends would enter the house, nor could they be expected to. And, of course, no Rockwell neighbors can go in. But you will be a tower of strength, and I shall be immensely relieved to have you there."
Doctor Mendel was pleased too, at the turn affairs had taken, for he feared Mrs. Spencer would break down under the nervous strain, if she had to bear her trouble alone.
So when Mr. Maynard took Mr. Spencer to his own home, Doctor Mendel took
Miss Hart to Mrs. Spencer's.
"I've brought you another visitor," he cried, cheerily, as he entered the quarantined house.
"Why, Doctor," said Mrs. Spencer, "you said nobody could come in!"
"No, not if they're to go out again. But Miss Hart has come to stay."
"Oh, how splendid!" cried Mrs. Spencer, "are you really willing to do so?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Miss Hart. "And it looks to me as if I should have two pupils instead of one." She looked kindly at Marjorie, who smiled in return, though she did not at all feel sure that she wanted lessons added to her other troubles.
But Miss Hart seemed to ignore the fact that there were any troubles for anybody.
She talked pleasantly, even gaily, with Mrs. Spencer. She chatted merrily with Delight and Marjorie; and she even went out and spoke very kindly to the afflicted Maggie. And it was partly due to her suggestions that Mary, who was acting as cook, added some special dainties to the menu, and sent up an unusually good dinner. The party that gathered round the table was not a sad one, but this was due to the combined efforts of Miss Hart and Marjorie.
Midget remembered her father's rules, and pretended she was just staying with the Spencers for one night. She was so fond of "pretending," that this part came easy. Then she had put out of her mind the idea that she might have the diphtheria, and moreover, she was trying really hard not to be sorry for herself. In consequence of all this, she was gay and merry, and she was helped to be so by Miss Hart, who was good cheer itself.
The new governess was a pretty little woman, with smooth dark hair, and snapping black eyes, that seemed to read people's innermost thoughts. Although not entirely unacquainted with the Spencers, she had never before lived with them, but had been governess in the family of a friend of theirs. She was anxious for this new position, and Mrs. Spencer, who had been pleased to have her come, was doubly glad to have her in this emergency.
"We won't begin to-morrow," said Miss Hart, when the subject of lessons was broached, "but I think we'll begin next day. We'll spend to-morrow getting acquainted, and learning to like each other. You'll join the class, won't you, Marjorie?"
"Yes, I think I'd like study that way," said Midge; "but I don't like school."
"I'll guarantee you'll like study in our class," said Miss Hart, smiling; "you'll be sorry when school hours are over."
Midge could hardly think this, but of one thing she was certain, that
Miss Hart would be a pleasant teacher.
Soon after dinner, Marjorie's suitcase arrived.
James brought it over, and set it on the front porch and rang the bell. Then he went away before the door was opened, as he had been instructed to do.
When Marjorie opened the bag she found a note from each of the family, and they were all written in verse.
She read them aloud to the Spencer household and soon they were all laughing at the nonsense rhymes.
Her mother had written:
"Midget, Midget,
Don't be in a fidget.
Don't be sad and tearful,
Just be gay and cheerful;
Don't be sadly sighing,
For the days are flying,
And some day or other
You'll come home to
MOTHER."
"Why, that's as good as a valentine," said Miss Hart, as Midget finished reading the lines.
"So it is!" said Marjorie, smiling; "I'm going to pretend they're all valentines. Here's father's."
"Marjorie, Midget Mopsy,
The world is tipsy-topsy!
When I am here
And you are there
I feel all wipsy-wopsy!
But soon you will be home once more,
And all will be as it was before;
So make the most of your fortnight's stay,
For I cannot spare you another day!"
By this time Delight's spirits had risen to such an extent that she exclaimed:
"I think it's splendid to have Marjorie here for two weeks!"
"We'll make a picnic of it," said Miss Hart. "You girls won't often have two weeks together, so we must cram all the pleasure into it we can."
Cramming pleasure into this dreadful time was a new idea to Delight, but she was willing to agree to it, and Marjorie said:
"I think we can be happy if we try. But we have to forget the bad parts and only remember the good."
"That's it," said Miss Hart. "Now read us another of your letters. I'm sure they're good parts."
"This one is from King,—that's Kingdon, my brother," explained Marjorie, as she took up the next note.
"Mops is a captive Princess now,
She can't get out of prison;
But when it's time to let her go,
Oh, won't she come home whizzin'!
This poetry isn't very good,
But it's the best that I can sing,
I would do better if I could,
And I'm your loving brother
KING."
"What a jolly boy!" said Miss Hart, "I'd like to know him."
"You will," said Midget, "after our two weeks' picnic is over." She smiled at Miss Hart as she said this, accepting her idea of making a picnic of their enforced imprisonment.
"Now, here's Kitty's," she went on. "Kitty's not a very good poet, but she always wants to do what the rest do."
"Marjorie Maynard nice and sweet,
Has to stay across the street.
Fourteen days and fourteen nights,
Visiting her friend Delight.
Marjorie Maynard, nice and pretty,
Come home soon to sister
KITTY."
"Why, I think that's fine," said Miss Hart. "Your family are certainly devoted to you."
"Yes, they are," said Midget. "There's another,—Rosy Posy,—but she's only five. She can't write poetry."
"Can you?" asked Miss Hart.
"Yes, I can make as good verses as Kit; but not as good as King or father. We always make verses for each other on birthdays, so we get lots of practise. And we made some valentine verses this afternoon, didn't we, Delight?"
"Yes, that is, you did. But, oh, Marjorie, we can't send those valentines! Nothing like that can go out of the house!"
"Oh, pshaw, I don't believe they could do any harm."
"Well, Doctor Mendel said we mustn't send a letter of any sort, and a valentine is just the same, you know."
"What do you think, Miss Hart?" asked Marjorie.
"I'm afraid you can't send them, my dear. But we'll ask the doctor.
Perhaps, if they're disinfected—"
"Oh, horrors!" cried Midget; "a valentine disinfected! Of all things! Why, it would smell of that horrid sulphur stuff instead of a sweet violet scent! Nobody would want that sort of a valentine."
"No, they wouldn't," agreed Delight. "Oh, dear, it's too bad!"
"Never mind, Delight," said Marjorie. "We can send valentines to each other, and to Miss Hart, and to your mother. Oh, yes, and to Maggie and Mary. I guess that's about all. But everybody can send them to us! That will be lots of fun! It seems selfish, doesn't it, to get lots of valentines and not send any? But it isn't selfish, because we can't help it."
"I can send to my friends in New York," said Delight, thoughtfully, "by letting father get them and send them. I can telephone him a list, you know. It isn't as much fun as if I picked them out myself, but I don't want the girls to think I've forgotten them."
"If they know about the quarantine, they won't open the valentines," suggested Marjorie; "they'll think they came from this house, and they'll be frightened."
"That's so," agreed Delight; "unless they look at the postmark and it's
New York."
"Well, then, if they don't know your father's writing, they'll never know they came from you anyway."
"No, they won't. But then people never are supposed to know who sends a valentine."
"Then what's the good of sending any?"
"Oh, it always comes out afterward. I hardly ever get any that I don't find out who they're from, sooner or later."
"Nor I either. Well, we'll do the best we can."
Marjorie sighed a little, for Valentine Day was always a gay season in the Maynard home, but she had promised not to be sorry for herself, so she put the thought away from her mind.
As Mrs. Spencer's room opened into Delight's, she decided to give that to Marjorie, and take the guest room herself. She felt sorry for the child, held there by an unfortunate accident, and determined to do all she could to make her stay pleasant. And she thought, too, it would please Delight to have Marjorie in the room next her own. So when the two girls went upstairs that night, they were greatly pleased to find themselves in communicating rooms.
"We can pretend, while we're getting ready for bed," said Delight, and soon, in her little kimono, and bedroom slippers, she stalked into Midget's room and said, with despairing gestures:
"Fellow princess, our doom hath befell. We are belocked in a prison grim, and I fear me, nevermore will we be liberated."
"Say not so, Monongahela," answered Marjorie, clasping her hands.
"Methinks ere morning dawns, we may yet be free."
"Nay, oh, nay! the terrible jailer, the Baron Mendel, he hast decreed that we stay be jailed for two years."
"Two years!" gasped Midget, falling in a pretended swoon. "Ere that time passes, I shall be but a giggling maniac."
"Gibbering, you mean. Aye, so shall I."
"Well, stop your gibbering for to-night," said Mrs. Spencer, who came in, laughing; "you can gibber to-morrow, if you like, but now you must go to bed. Fly, fair princess, with golden hair!"
Delight flew, and Mrs. Spencer tucked Marjorie up in bed, in an effort to make the child feel at home.
There wasn't the least resemblance between Mrs. Spencer's ways, and those of her own mother, but Marjorie was appreciative of her hostess's kind intent, and said good-night to Mrs. Spencer very lovingly. At first, there was a strong inclination to cry a little, but remembering she must not be sorry for herself, Marjorie smiled instead, and in a few moments she was smiling in her sleep. Next morning, she put on the morning dress that had come over in the suitcase, and went downstairs with Delight.
"It's just like having a sister," said Delight. "I do believe, Marjorie, I'm glad all this happened. Of course, I don't mean I'm glad Maggie's baby is so sick, but I'm glad you're staying here."
"I can't quite say that, Delight, but as I am here, I'm not going to fuss about it. There's the telephone! perhaps it's Father!"
It was Mr. Maynard, and his cheery good-morning did Marjorie's heart good.
"All serene on the Rappahannock?" he asked.
"All serene!" replied Marjorie. "The verses were fine! I was so glad to get them."
"Did you sleep well? Have you a good appetite for breakfast? Did you remember my rules? May I send you a small gift to-day? Do you think it will rain? Don't you want your kitten sent over?"
"Wait,—wait a minute," cried Marjorie. "Your questions come so fast I can't answer them,—but, yes, I would like a small gift to-day."
"Aha! I thought you'd pick out that question of all the bunch to answer. Well, you'll get it when I return from the great city. Meantime, be good and you'll be happy, and I'm proud of you, my little girl."
"Proud of me! Why?"
"Because I can tell by your voice that you're cheerful and pleasant, and that's all I ask of you. Good-bye, Mopsy, I must go for my train. The others will talk to you later on."
"Good-bye, Father, and I would like the kitten sent over."
Marjorie left the telephone with such a happy face that Miss Hart, who had just come downstairs, said:
"I'm sure you had pleasant messages from home."
"Yes, indeed," said Midget. "It was Father. He's always so merry and jolly."
"And you inherit those traits. I like fun, too. I think we shall be great friends."
"I think so too," agreed Midget, and then they all went to breakfast.
The day started auspiciously enough, but after Midge had telephoned to the rest of her family there seemed to be nothing to do. Delight had a headache, brought on probably by the excitement of the day before, and she didn't feel like playing princess.
There was no use finishing the valentines, for Doctor Mendel said they must not send them to anybody.
Miss Hart was in her own room, and the morning dragged.
Marjorie almost wished she could go to school, and she certainly wished she could go out to play. But the doctor's orders were strict against their leaving the house, so she sat down in the library to read a story-book. Delight wandered in.
