CHAPTER XVII
A SUBSTITUTE GUEST
Thanksgiving Day came late that year. The red-lettered Thursday on thecalendar didn't appear until the last part of the month. But winter hadset in early, and already there was fine coasting and skating.
Marjorie loved all out-of-door sports, and the jolly afternoons spent onthe hill or on the lake sent her home with cheeks as rosy as a hard,sound, winter apple.
The Thanksgiving season always meant festivity of some sort. Sometimesthey all went to Grandma Sherwood's in orthodox traditional fashion, andsometimes they went to Grandma Maynard's, who lived in New York.
But this year Mr. and Mrs. Maynard expected friends of their own, somegrown-ups from the city, to spend the holiday.
"No children!" exclaimed Marjorie, when she heard about it.
"No, Midge," said her mother. "You must help me entertain my guests thistime, as I sometimes help you entertain yours."
"Indeed you do, you sweetest mother in all the world!" cried impetuousMidget, as she flung herself into her mother's arms. Midget's embraceswere of the strenuous order, and, though Mrs. Maynard never warded themoff, she was often obliged to brace herself for the sudden impact.
"And I'll help you a heap," went on Marjorie. "What can I do? May I makeIndian pudding with raisins in it?"
Midge was just having a spell of learning to cook, and good-naturedEllen had taught her a few simple dishes, of which Indian pudding wasthe favorite.
"No thank you, dearie. As it is a festival occasion, I think we'll havesomething a little more elaborate than that. You can help me better bytrying to behave decorously, and by keeping the other children quietwhen they are in the drawing-room. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford have never hadany children, and they don't like noise and confusion."
"You're more used to it, aren't you, Mother?" said Marjorie, againspringing to give her mother one of her spasmodic embraces, andincidentally upsetting that long-suffering lady's work-basket.
"I have to be if I live with my whirlwind of an eldest daughter," saidMrs. Maynard, when she could get her breath once more.
"Yes'm. And I'm awful sorry I upset your basket, but now I'll just dumpit out entirely, and clear it up from the beginning; shall I?"
"Yes, do; it always looks so nice after you put it in order."
And so it did, for Marjorie was methodical in details, and she arrangedthe little reels of silk, and put the needles tidily in their cushion,until the basket was in fine order.
"There," she said, admiring her own work, "don't you touch that, Mother,until after Thanksgiving Day; and then it will be all in order for Mrs.Crawford to see. When is she coming?"
"They'll arrive Wednesday night and stay over until Friday morning. Youmay help me make the guest-rooms fresh and pretty for them."
"Yes; I'll stick pins in the cushions to make the letters of theirnames. Shall I?"
"Well, no; I don't believe I care for that particular fancy. But I'llshow you how I do like the pins put in, and you may do it for me. Now,run out and play, we'll have ample time for our housekeeping affairslater on."
Away went Marjorie, after bestowing another tumultuous bear-hug on hermother. She whisked on her hat and coat, and with her mittens still inher hand, flew out of the door, banging it after her.
"Cold weather always goes to that child's muscles," thought Mrs.Maynard, as she heard the noise. "She never bangs doors in summer time."
"Wherever have you been?" cried the others, as Marjorie joined them onthe hill.
"Talking to Mother. I meant to come out right away after school, but Iforgot about it."
Gladys Fulton looked at her curiously. She wasn't "intimate" with hermother, as Marjorie was, and she didn't quite understand therelationship.
In another minute Midge was on her sled, and, with one red-mittenedhand waving on high, was whizzing down the hill.
King caught up to her, and the others followed, and then they all walkedback up the hill together.
"Going to have fun, Thanksgiving Day?" asked Dick Fulton, as theyclimbed along.
"No. We're going to have a silly old Thanksgiving," said Marjorie. "Onlygrown-ups to visit us, and that means we don't have any good of Fatherat all."
"Aw, horrid!" said King. "Is that the programme? I didn't know it."
"Yes!" went on Marjorie, "and I've promised Mother to behave myself andto make all you others behave, too." Her own eyes danced, as she saidthis, and King burst into laughter.
"That's a good one!" he cried. "Why, it will take the whole Maynardfamily to make you behave yourself, let alone the rest of us."
"No, truly, I'm going to be good, 'cause Mother asked me most'specially." Marjorie's earnest air was convincing, but King wasskeptical.
"You mean to be good, all right," he said, "but at the party you'll dosome crazy thing without thinking."
"Very likely," said Mopsy, cheerfully, and then they all slid down hillagain.
The day before Thanksgiving Day everything was in readiness for theguests.
Mr. Maynard had come home early, and the whole family were in thedrawing-room to await the arrival.
This, in itself, was depressing, for to be dressed up and sitting instate at four o'clock in the afternoon is unusual, and, therefore,uncomfortable.
Marjorie had a new frock, of the material that Kitty called "AlbertaRoss." It was very pretty, being white, trimmed here and there withknots of scarlet velvet, and Midget was greatly pleased with it, thoughshe looked longingly out of the window, and thought of her red clothplay-dress and her shining skates.
However, she had promised to be good, and she looked as demure as St.Cecilia, as she sat quietly on the sofa with an eye on the behavior ofher younger sisters.
Kitty and Rosy Posy, both in freshly-laundered, white muslin frocks,also sat demurely, with folded hands, while King, rather restlessly,moved about the room, now and then looking from the window.
"You children get on my nerves!" said Mr. Maynard, at last. "I begin tothink you're not my own brood at all. Is it necessary, Mother, to havethis solemn stillness, just because we expect some friends to see us?"
Mrs. Maynard smiled.
"These children," she said, "have no idea of moderation. It _isn't_necessary for them to sit like wax-works, but if they didn't they'd beturning somersaults, or upsetting tables,--though, of course, theywouldn't mean to."
"I daresay you're right," said Mr. Maynard, with a sigh, "and I do wantthem to behave like civilized beings, when our friends come."
"There they are, now!" cried King, as the doorbell was heard. "But Idon't see any carriage," he added, looking from the window. In a momentSarah appeared with a telegram for Mrs. Maynard.
"They are delayed," said that lady, prophetically, "and won't arrivetill the next train." But this she said while she was opening theenvelope. As she read the message, her face fell, and she exclaimed,"Oh, they're not coming at all."
"Not coming?" said Mr. Maynard, taking the yellow paper.
"No; Mrs. Crawford's sister is ill, and she can't leave her. Oh, I'm sodisappointed!"
"It is too bad, my dear; I'm very sorry for you. I wish they could havelet you know sooner."
"Yes, I wish so, too. Then we could have gone out to Grandma Sherwood'sfor the day."
"Is it too late for that?" asked Marjorie, eagerly. "Can't we get ready,and fly off in a hurry?"
"_You_ could," said her father, smiling. "And probably we all could. ButGrandma Sherwood couldn't get ready for six starving savages in suchshort order. Moreover, I fancy Mother has a larder full of good thingshere that must be eaten by somebody. What shall we do, Helen?"
"I don't know, Ed. I'll leave it to you. Plan anything you like."
"Then I'll leave it to the children. Speak up, friends. Who would youlike to ask to eat Thanksgiving dinner with you?"
The children considered.
"It ought to be somebody from out of town," said Marjorie. "That makesit seem more like a special party."
"I'll tell yo
u!" exclaimed Kitty. "Let's ask Molly Moss."
"Just the one!" cried Marjorie. "How'd you come to think of her, Kit?But I 'most know her people won't let her come, and there isn't time,anyway."
"There's time enough," said Mr. Maynard. "I'll call them up on thelong-distance telephone now. Then if Molly can come, they can put her onthe train to-morrow morning, and we'll meet her here. But I doubt if hermother will spare her on Thanksgiving Day."
However, to Mr. Maynard's surprise, Mrs. Moss consented to let Molly go,and as a neighbor was going on the early morning train, and could lookafter her, the matter was easily arranged.
Marjorie was in transports of glee.
"I'm truly sorry, Mother," she said, "that you can't have your owncompany, but, as you can't, I'm so glad Molly is coming. Now, that fixesto-morrow, but what can we do to-day to have fun?"
"I think it's King's turn," said Mr. Maynard. "Let him invite somebodyto dine with us to-night."
"That's easy," said Kingdon. "I choose Dick and Gladys. We can telephonefor them right away."
"They don't seem much like company," said Marjorie, "but I'd rather havethem than anybody else I know of."
"Then it's all right," said Mrs. Maynard, "and, as they're not formalcompany, you'd better all change those partified clothes for somethingyou can romp about in."
"Yes, let's do that," said Kitty. "I can't have fun in dress-up things."
And so it was an informal lot of children who gathered about thedinner-table, instead of the guests who had been expected.
But Mr. Maynard exerted himself quite as much to be entertaining as ifhe had had grown-up companions, and the party was a merry one indeed.
After dinner the young people were sent to the playroom, as the elderswere expecting callers.
"Tell me about Molly Moss," said Gladys to Marjorie. "What sort of agirl is she?"
"Crazy," said Marjorie, promptly. "You never knew anybody, Glad, whocould get up such plays and games as she does. And she gets intoterrible mischief, too. She's going to stay several days, and we'll havelots of fun while she's here. At Grandma's last summer, we playedtogether nearly all the time. You'll like her, I know. And she'll like_you_, of course. We'll all have fun together."
Gladys was somewhat reassured, but she had a touch of jealousy in hernature, and, as she was really Marjorie's most intimate friend, sheresented a little bit the coming of this stranger.
"She sounds fine," was Dick's comment, as he heard about Molly. "We'llgive her the time of her life. Can she skate, Mops?"
"Oh, I guess so. I only knew her last summer, but I'm sure she can doanything."
When Molly arrived the next morning, she flew into the house like asmall and well-wrapped-up cyclone. She threw her muff in one direction,and her gloves in another, and made a mad dash for Marjorie.
Then, remembering her manners, she spoke politely to Mrs. Maynard.
"How do you do?" she said; "it was very kind of you to invite me here,and I hope you won't make me any trouble. There! Mother told me to saythat, and I've been studying it all the way, for fear I'd forget it."
Mrs. Maynard smiled, for Molly was entirely unaware of the mistake shehad made in her mother's message, and the other children had not noticedit, either.
"We're glad to have you with us, my dear," Mrs. Maynard replied; "and Ihope you'll enjoy yourself and have a real good time."
"Yes'm," said Molly, "I always do."
Then the children ran away to play out-of-doors until dinner-time.
"It's so queer to be here," said Molly, who had never before been awayfrom home alone.
"It's queer to have you, but it's nice," said Marjorie. "Which do youlike best, summer or winter?"
"Both!" declared Molly. "Whichever one it is, I like that one; don'tyou?"
"Yes, I s'pose so. But I like winter best. There's so much to do. Why,Molly, I'm busy every minute. Of course, school takes most of the time,so I have to crowd all the fun into the afternoons and Saturdays."
"Oh, is this your hill?" exclaimed Molly, as they reached their favoritecoasting-ground. "What a little one! Why, the hills at home are twice aslong as this."
"I know it," said Mopsy, apologetically; "but this is the longest onehere. Won't it do?"
"Oh, yes," said Molly, who did not mean to be unpleasantly critical, butwho was merely surprised. "But you have to be going up and down all thetime."
"We do," agreed King. "But it's fun. And, anyway, you have to go up anddown all the time if it's a longer hill, don't you?"
"So you do," admitted Molly, "but it seems different."
However, after a few journeys up and down, she declared the hill was afirst-rate coaster, and she liked it better than a long one, because itwas easier to walk up.
They all liked Molly. Gladys concluded she was a welcome addition totheir crowd, and both Kingdon and Dick thought her a jolly girl.
She was daring,--sometimes a little too much so,--but she wasgood-natured, and very kind and pleasant.
"Don't you ever hitch on?" she asked, as they all trudged up hill.
"What's that mean?" asked Gladys.
"Why, hitch on behind sleighs. Or big wagon-sleds."
"With horses?"
"Yes, of course. It's lots of fun. Come on, let's try it."
Out to the road they went, and waited for a passing sleigh. Soon Mr.Abercrombie's turnout came by.
This gentleman was one of the richest men in Rockwell, and verydignified and exclusive. Indeed, he was a bit surly, and not very wellliked by his fellow townsmen. But he had a fine sleigh and a magnificentpair of horses, which were driven by a coachman in a brave livery andfur cape.
"Please give us a hitch," called out Molly, as the glittering equipagedrew near.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Mr. Abercrombie, as he looked at the child.
Molly was always elf-like in appearance, but the wind had reddened hercheeks, and blown wisps of her straight black hair about her face,until she looked crazier than ever.
The big sleigh had stopped, and Mr. Abercrombie glared at the group ofchildren.
"What did you say?" he demanded, and Molly repeated her request.
Marjorie was a little shocked at the performance, but she thoughtloyalty to her guest required that she should stand by her, so shestepped to Molly's side and took hold of her hand.
The two surprised boys were about to enter a protest, when Mr.Abercrombie smiled a little grimly, and said:
"Yes, indeed. That's what I'm out for. Martin, fasten these sleds onbehind somehow."
The obedient footman left his place, and, though the order must havebeen an unusual one, he showed no sign of surprise.
"Yes, sir," he said, touching his hat. "Beg pardon, sir, but what shallI fasten them to, sir?"
"I said fasten them to this sleigh! If there isn't any way to do it,invent one. Fasten one sled, and then that can hold the next one, allthe way along. Blockhead!"
"Yes, sir; very good, sir." And, touching his hat again, theunperturbed footman went to work. How he did it, they never knew, forthe sleigh had not been constructed for the purpose of "giving a hitch"to children's sleds, but somehow the ingenious Martin attached a sledsecurely to the back of the big sleigh. Molly took her seat thereon, andthen another sled was easily fastened to the back of hers. And so on,until all were arranged.
Then the footman calmly returned to his own place, the coachman touchedup the horses, the bells jingled gaily, and they were off!
Such a ride as they had! It was ever so much more fun than riding in thesleigh, and though the boys, who were at the end of the line of sleds,fell off occasionally, they floundered on again, and were all rightuntil they turned another sharp corner.
"Thank you, _very_ much, mister," said Molly, heartily, as they nearedthe Maynard home; "we're going to leave you now."
Again the sleigh stopped, the dignified footman came and released thesleds, and, after a chorus of thanks from the merry children, Mr.Abercrombie drove away in his solitary splendor.<
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"You beat the Dutch, Molly!" cried King. "I never should have dreamed ofasking Lord Abercrombie, as people call him, to give us a ride."
"I think he liked it as well as we did," said Molly.
"I think so, too," said Marjorie, "and I hope some day he'll take usagain."
Marjorie's Busy Days Page 17
