Marjorie at Seacote Part 17

"Yes; we each have fifty cents a week, Mops and Kitty and I."

"Well, Kitty isn't here, so I can't ask her; but I'm going to ask you two dear friends of mine, to give away one-tenth of your income to charity. Now, how much would that be?"

"Five cents a week," replied Marjorie.

"Well, will you do it? Every week give a nickel, or a nickel's worth of peanuts or lemonade or something to some poor little kiddie who doesn't have much fun in life? And you needn't do it every week, if it isn't convenient, but lay aside the nickel each week, and then give a larger sum, as it acc.u.mulates."

"Sure we will, Cousin Jack," said King, and Midget said, "Yes, indeed!

I'll be glad to. We can most always catch a poor child, somewhere."

"Well, if not, just save it up till you do. You'll find plenty of opportunities in the winter, in Rockwell, I'm sure."

"Yes, sir-ee!" said Midget, remembering the poor family whose house burned down not long ago. "And I'm glad you advised us about this, Cousin Jack. I'm going to ask the Craig boys and Hester to do it, too."

"Better be careful, Mehitabel. I can advise you, because we're good chums, and I'm a little older than you, though I don't look it! But I'm not sure you ought to take the responsibility of advising your young friends. You might suggest it to them,--merely suggest it, you know, and if their agree and their parents agree, why, then, all right. And now home to our own luncheon. I declare it made me hungry to see those children eat!"

Promptly at three o'clock that afternoon the Sand Club gathered for the Sand-Pail Picnic. By making two trips the Maynards' big motor carried them all to the picnic grove, about a mile distant.

Here Cousin Jack provided all sorts of sports for them. At a target, they shot with bows and arrows, and the boys were allowed a little rifle-shooting.

There was that funny game of picking up potatoes with teaspoons, followed by a rollicking romp at Blindman's Buff. Then Cousin Jack marshalled his young friends into line, and they all sang "Star-Spangled Banner," and "Columbia," and "America," and cheered, and fired off mild explosives, and had a real Fourth of July celebration. Then the feast was brought on.

The children sat cross-legged on the gra.s.s, and each one was given a tin sand-pail.

But instead of sand, the pail was found to contain sandwiches and crisp little cakes known as sand-tarts.

After these there were served dainty little paper pails, from a caterer's, filled with ice cream.

"What a lovely sand picnic!" exclaimed Marjorie, as she sat on the sand, blissfully disposing of her ice cream. "I'm going to call Cousin Jack, The Sandman!"

"Ho! a Sandman puts you to sleep!" cried Tom Craig; "let's get a better name than that for Mr. Bryant."

"Call him Sandy Claus," piped up d.i.c.k, and they all laughed.

"A little out of season, but it's all right, my boy," said Cousin Jack.

"Call me anything you like, as long as you call me early and often. Now, shall we be trotting home again, to continue our revels?"

With a sigh of utter content, Marjorie climbed into the motor, and they went spinning home to dress for the "Reception."

At the reception more guests were invited, and Bryant Bower quite justified its pretty name.

j.a.panese lanterns dotted the grounds, and hung among the vines of the veranda. Flags and bunting were everywhere, and a small platform, draped with red, white, and blue, had been erected for the receiving party.

This consisted of King, Midget, and Rosy Posy in patriotic costume.

King, as Uncle Sam, presented a funny figure with his white beaver hat, his long-tailed blue coat, and red and white striped trousers. Midget wore a becoming "Miss Columbia" costume, with a liberty cap and liberty pole and flag. Rosamond was a chubby little G.o.ddess of Liberty, but she preferred to run around everywhere, rather than stand still and receive.

King and Midget did the honors gracefully, and after all the guests had a.s.sembled, they took seats on the lawn to watch the fireworks.

These were of a fine quality, and as the flowerpots and bombs burst into stars in the sky both children and grown-ups joined in loud applause.

There was patriotic music, and more ice cream, and when, at last, it was all over, the Sand Club went together to thank Cousin Jack for the entertainment.

"Glad you liked it," he said, heartily; "and now, scamper home and to bed, all of you, so your parents won't say I made you lose your beauty sleep."

CHAPTER VIII

A REVELATION

Marjorie was practising.

It was a lovely afternoon, and she wanted to go out and play, but her hour's practising must be done first. She was conscientious about it, and tried very hard to hold her hands just right, as she counted, one--two--three--four; one--two--three--four.

Mrs. Corey, Hester's mother, was calling on Mrs. Maynard, and the two ladies sat on the veranda, just outside the window near which the piano stood.

Marjorie did not listen to their conversation, for it was of no interest to her, and, too, she was devoting all her attention to her exercises.

Usually, she didn't mind practising, but to-day the Sand Club was waiting for her, and her practice hour seemed interminable.

"One--two--three--four," she counted to herself, when something Mrs.

Corey said arrested her attention.

"Your oldest daughter?" Marjorie heard her exclaim; "you amaze me!"

Midget had no thought of eavesdropping, and as the piano was near the open window, surely they could hear her practising, and so knew she was there.

But Mrs. Maynard answered, in a low, serious voice, "Yes, my oldest girl. She is not our child. She is a foundling. We adopted her when an infant."

"Really?" said Mrs. Corey, much interested. "How did that happen?"

"Well," said Mrs. Maynard, "my husband desired it, and I consented. She has grown up a good girl, but of course I can't feel toward her as I feel toward my own children."

"No, of course not," agreed Mrs. Corey. "The others are all your own?"

"Yes, they are my own."

"She doesn't know this, does she?"

"Oh, no, we have never let her suspect it. She thinks I am her mother, and she thinks I love her as I do my own children. But it is hard for me to pretend affection for her, when I remember her humble origin."

"Your husband? Does he care for her?"

"He feels much as I do. You see, she is not of as fine a nature as our own children. Of course he can't help seeing that. But we both do our best for the girl."

"Good for you, Mrs. Maynard; that's fine!"