Marjorie's Busy Days

by Carolyn Wells

  CHAPTER XX

  THE CHARITY BAZAAR

  The Bazaar opened Thursday afternoon, and was to continue the rest ofthe week. As it was for a public charity, the whole town was interested,and the Town Hall, where the Bazaar was held, was gaily decorated forthe occasion.

  Marjorie was allowed to stay home from school, and in the morning shewent over to the hall to take her contributions and to help MissMerington arrange the booth.

  Uncle Steve had responded nobly to Marjorie's letter asking him to sendher some M things. A box came to her by express, and in it were someIndian beaded moccasins that were unique and beautiful. Then there wereseveral pocket mirrors and hand mirrors; half a dozen mousetraps; apackage of matches; some funny masks, and a plaster cast of "Mercury."

  There was also a large wicker thing shaped like the arc of a circle. Atfirst Marjorie didn't know the name of this, though she had seen themused to protect carriage wheels.

  "Why, it's a mudguard!" cried Mr. Maynard. "How clever of old Steve!"

  Also in the box were some mufflers, which Grandma Sherwood had made byneatly hemming large squares of silk.

  Mr. Maynard had brought Marjorie some inexpensive pieces of jewelry,which, he told her, were Florentine mosaics, and so, with all her M's,the little girl had a fine lot of wares to contribute.

  James took them over to the hall for her, and Miss Merington was greatlypleased.

  "You're a worth-while assistant," said the young lady, as she bustledabout, arranging her pretty booth.

  True to the spirit of the plan, Miss Merington had made her booth ofmauve-colored tissue-paper, and decorated it with morning-glories, alsomade of paper, of delicate violet shades.

  It was one of the prettiest booths in the room, and Marjorie was gladshe belonged to it.

  "Now, Moppet," said Miss Merington, "what are you going to wear thisafternoon? I have a beautiful mauve costume, but I suppose you haven't.And as I don't want you to be a jarring note, I'm going to ask you notto wear any red or blue. Can't you wear all white?"

  "My frock is white, Miss Merington," said Marjorie; and then she added,laughing, "and it's muslin, so I suppose that's all right. And Motherbought me a mauve sash and hair-ribbon and silk stockings, all to match.And I've white slippers. Will that do?"

  "Do! I should think it would. You'll be sweet in mauve and white. Now,I'll tell you your duties. You must just look pleasant and smiling, sothat people will want to come to our booth to buy things. Then when theycome, you may tell them the prices of things if they ask you, but don'task them to buy. I hate people at fairs who insist on everybody's buyingtheir goods. Don't you?"

  Marjorie felt quite important at being consulted on this matter, and shehastened to agree with Miss Merington.

  "Yes," she said. "But you won't have to ask the people to buy; I thinkthey'll want to come here, because this is the prettiest booth in thewhole room."

  "I'm glad you think so. But Miss Frost's booth is lovely. All made ofcotton-wool snow, and tinsel ice."

  "Oh, it's beautiful. My friend Gladys Fulton belongs there, and DaisyFerris, too. I thought you were going to have more assistants, MissMerington. Am I the only one?"

  "Yes; to tell you the truth, I didn't know of any other nice little girlwhose name began with M. You don't mind, do you, dear?"

  "Oh, no, indeed! I'm glad to be here alone with you. And I'll do all Ican to help."

  "I'm sure you will. But now there's nothing more for you to do thismorning, so skip along home and get a good rest; then be back herepromptly at three o'clock this afternoon with all your mauve millineryon."

  "I don't wear a hat, Miss Merington!" exclaimed Midge, in dismay.

  "Of course not. I said millinery, meaning your ribbons and finery. Iused the word because it begins with M. Do you know, Marjorie, I fairly_think_ in words beginning with M!"

  "Oh, is that it?" said Marjorie, laughing. "Well, good-morningMademoiselle Merington!"

  "You're a clever little thing," said Miss Merington; "and now run alonghome to Mother Maynard's mansion."

  Marjorie laughed at this sally, and started for home. But at MissFrost's booth she found Gladys, and the two walked around the hall,looking at the other booths. They were very interesting, for each ladyin charge had endeavored to get all the novel ideas possible for whichher special initial could be used.

  X, Y, and Z had been declared impossible, but some clever girls hadconcluded it would be a pity to omit them, and said that they wouldcombine the three in one booth. For X, which, they said, alwaysrepresented "an unknown quantity," they had prepared some expresspackages. These contained merchandise of some sort, and had been sentthrough the express office, in order to give the proper appearance ofexpressed parcels. They were for sale at a price that was fair for theircontents, and people were asked to buy them unopened, thus purchasing"an unknown quantity." Then there were yeast-cakes for sale; and toyyachts, marked "For Sail"; and yellow things of any kind; and zephyrgarments, such as shawls and sacques and slippers.

  This booth was very attractive, and was draped with yellow cheesecloth,with black X's and Y's and Z's all over it.

  In order to make a variety, the R booth was a restaurant, the L boothserved lemonade, and the C booth, candy and cakes.

  "Isn't it fun?" said Marjorie to Gladys, as at last they startedhomeward. "What are you going to wear, Glad? I don't know of any colorthat begins with F."

  "No," said Gladys. "Miss Frost says there's nothing but fawn-color, andthat won't do. So we're all to wear white, with lots of _frills_. Andwe're to have feathers on our heads instead of ribbon bows, and we're tocarry feather fans. I wish I was in your booth, Midget."

  "Yes, I wish so, too; but of course we couldn't be in the same. ButFather's coming at six to take us all to supper in the restaurant booth.Perhaps we can get together then."

  "Yes, I hope we can. I'll ask Mother about it."

  The girls parted at Gladys' gate, and Marjorie went on home to luncheon.

  "It's perfectly lovely, Mother!" she cried, as she entered the house. "Inever saw such a beautiful fair."

  "That's good, girlie; and now you must eat your luncheon and then liedown for a little rest before you go this afternoon."

  "Oh, Mother Maynard! Why, I'm not a bit tired. You must think I'm an oldlady."

  Mrs. Maynard smiled at the bright face and dancing eyes, which certainlyshowed no trace of weariness.

  But after luncheon she said: "Now, Midget, you must go to your room, andlie down for half an hour. Close your eyes, and rest even if you do notsleep."

  Midget drew a long sigh, and walked slowly off to obey. She lay down onher own little white bed, but though she managed to close her eyes fornearly half a minute, they then flew wide open.

  "Mother!" she called out. "I can't keep my eyes shut, unless I pin them.Shall I do that?"

  "Don't be foolish, Marjorie," called back Mrs. Maynard, from her ownroom. "Go to sleep."

  "But, Mother, I can't go to sleep. I'm as wide-awake as a--a weasel.Mother, what time are you going to the fair?"

  "At four o'clock. Now, be quiet, Marjorie, and don't ask any morequestions."

  "No'm. But, Mother, mayn't I get up now? I've been here nearly six orseven hours."

  "It isn't six or seven minutes, yet. You must stay there half an hour,so you may as well make your mind up to it."

  "Yes'm; I've made up my mind. But I think this clock has stopped. Ithasn't moved but a teenty, taunty speck in all these hours. What time isit by your clock, Mother?"

  "Marjorie! You'll drive me distracted! Will you be still?"

  "Yes'm, if you'll let me come in your room. May I, Mother? I'll just liestill on your couch, and I won't speak. I'll just look at you. You knowyou're so pretty, Mother."

  Mrs. Maynard stifled a laugh.

  "Come on, then," she called. "I simply can't yell like this any longer."

  "I should think not," said Marjorie, as she appeared in her mother'sdoorway. "My throat's exhausted, too."

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p; "Now, remember," said Mrs. Maynard, "you said you'd be quiet in here.Lie down on the couch, and put the afghan over you, and go to sleep."

  "I'll lie down on the couch,--so," said Marjorie, suiting the action tothe word; "and I'll put the afghan over me,--so; but I can't go tosleep--because I can't."

  "Well, shut your eyes, and try to go to sleep; and, at any rate, stoptalking."

  "Yes'm; I'll try." Marjorie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and in amoment she began to talk in a droning voice. "I'm asleep now, Mother,thank you. I'm having a lovely nap. I'm just talking in my sleep, youknow. Nobody can help that, can they?"

  "No; but they can't expect to be answered. So, talk in your sleep if youchoose, but keep your eyes shut."

  "Oh, dear, that's the hardest part! Oh, Mother, I've such a good idea!Mayn't I begin to dress while I'm asleep? Just put on my slippers andstockings, you know. It would be such a help toward dressing to havethat done. May I,--Mother? Mother, may I?"

  "Marjorie, you are incorrigible! Get up, do, and go for your bath, now.And if you're ready too early, you'll have to sit still and not moveuntil it's time to go."

  "Oh, Mother, what a dear, sweet mother you are!"

  With a bound, Marjorie was off of the couch and tumbling into hermother's arms.

  Mrs. Maynard well understood the impatient young nature, and said nomore about a nap.

  But at last the time came for Marjorie to start, and very sweet anddainty she looked in her mauve and white costume. She had never wornthat color before, as it isn't usually considered appropriate for littlegirls, but it proved becoming, and her dancing eyes and rosy cheeksbrightened up an effect otherwise too demure for a twelve-year-oldchild.

  Gladys was waiting at her own gate, and off they went to the hall.

  Of course, the customers hadn't yet arrived, but soon after Marjorie hadtaken her place inside the booth, the people began to flock to thefair.

  Miss Merington looked lovely in a violet crepe-de-chine gown, which justsuited her exquisite complexion and golden hair.

  She greeted Marjorie as a companion and fellow-worker, and Midgeresolved to do her best to please the lovely lady. Somehow there seemedto be a great deal to do. As the afternoon wore on the M booth had agreat many customers, and Miss Merington was kept so busy that Marjoriehad to be on the alert to assist her. She made change; she answered thecustomers' questions; and sometimes she had to go to the department ofsupplies for wrapping paper, string, and such things. She was veryhappy, for Marjorie dearly loved a bustle of excitement, and the Bazaarwas a gay place.

  After a time old Mr. Abercrombie came to the M booth. Marjorie hadn'tforgotten the day they rode behind his sleigh, and she wondered if hewould buy anything from her.

  He looked at her quizzically through his big glasses, and said:

  "Well, well, little girl, and what have you for sale? Old gentlemen likemyself are fond of sweet things, you know. Have you any sweet cakes?"

  "Yes, sir," said Marjorie, and as Miss Merington was occupied with othercustomers she felt justified in trying to make a sale herself.

  "Yes, sir; we have these very nice cocoanut macaroons."

  "Ah, yes; and how do you know they're nice? You must never make astatement unless you're sure."

  "Oh, but I am sure," said Marjorie, very earnestly. "Ellen, our cook,made them, and she's a very superior cook. I know she is, because mymother says so. And, besides, I know these are good because I've hadsome of them myself."

  "You've proved your case," said the old gentleman. "But now I'll catchyou! I'll buy your whole stock of macaroons if----"

  "If what, sir?" said Marjorie, breathlessly, for his suggestion meant alarge sale, indeed.

  "If you can spell macaroons," was the unexpected reply.

  "Oh!" Marjorie gave a little gasp of dismay, for she had never had theword in her spelling lessons, and she didn't remember ever seeing it inprint.

  "May I think a minute?" she asked.

  "Yes," said Mr. Abercrombie, taking out his watch; "but just a minute,no more."

  This embarrassed Marjorie a little, but she was determined to win ifpossible, so she set her wits to work.

  It was confusing, for she was uncertain whether to say double c ordouble r, or whether both those letters were single. Then, like a flash,came to her mind the way her father had taught her to spell _macaroni_.The words _might_ not be alike, but more likely they were, so before theminute had elapsed, she said, bravely:

  "M-a-c-a-r-double o-n-s."

  "Good for you!" cried Mr. Abercrombie. "You're a smart little girl, anda good speller. I'll take all the macaroons you have."

  Greatly elated, Marjorie referred the sale to Miss Merington, and thatlady was very much pleased when Mr. Abercrombie gave her a good-sizedbanknote, and declined to take any change.

  "For the good of the cause," he said, waiving away the proffered change.

  "And now," their eccentric customer went on, "I've just a little moremoney to spend at this booth, for I've promised one or two otherfriends to buy some of their wares. But, Miss Rosycheeks, I'll tell youwhat I'll do."

  He looked at Marjorie so teasingly that she felt sure he was going toask her to spell something else, and this time she feared she wouldfail.

  "I'll do this," proceeded Mr. Abercrombie: "I'll buy anything for saleat this booth that our young friend, the paragon speller, can _not_spell!"

  Marjorie's eyes sparkled. She wasn't really a "paragon speller," and shefelt sure there must be something that was beyond her knowledge. But,somehow, all the things seemed to have simple names. Any one could spellmittens and muffs and mats. And though mandolin and marmalade wereharder, yet she conscientiously realized that she could spell thosecorrectly.

  "I don't see anything," she said, at last, slowly and regretfully.

  "Then I save my money, and you save your reputation as a speller," saidMr. Abercrombie, jocosely, as he jingled some silver in his pocket.

  "Oh, wait a minute!" cried Marjorie. "There's that handsome clock! MissMerington said it's malachite, and I haven't the least idea how to spellthat!"

  "Fairly caught!" said the old gentleman, chuckling at his own defeat. "Isee by your honest eyes that you really don't know how to spellmalachite, and it _is_ a hard word. Now, listen, and I'll teach you."

  Mr. Abercrombie spelled the word, and then said:

  "Would you have guessed it was spelled like that?"

  "No, sir," said Midge, truthfully; "I should have thought there was a'k' in it."

  "I almost wish there had been," said the gentleman, ruefully, "then Ishould not have to buy the most expensive article on your table.However, it will look well on my library mantel, and I shall rejoicewhenever I look at it and remember that you know how to spell it."

  Marjorie smiled at this idea, and the queer customer paid to MissMerington the rather large price that was marked on the handsome clock.

  "Marjorie, you're a trump!" said she, as Mr. Abercrombie walked away."He's about the only one here rich enough to buy that clock, and I'mglad he took it. This will swell our fund finely."

  When it was supper-time, the Maynards and Fultons all went together tothe restaurant in the R booth. They had a merry time, and Marjorie toldthe story of her "Spelling Lesson," as she called it.

  "You're a born merchant, Midge," said King. "You make money by knowinghow to spell--and then you make money by not knowing!"

  "But such occasions don't happen often," said Mr. Maynard. "I thinkyou'd better continue your spelling lessons for a few years yet. Andnow, as it's time for ice-cream, I'll try your friend's plan, Midget. Ifyou can spell _Biscuit Tortoni_, you can have it!"

  "Thank you, Father," said Marjorie, smiling; "but I'd rather havevanilla and chocolate. They're easier to spell, and just as good toeat."

  After supper, the children had to go home. Marjorie looked backreluctantly at the brilliant hall, even more gay since the lights wereburning, but she remembered that she could yet come two more afternoons,so she said no word of regret.


  "But I do hope," she said to her mother, as she tucked her tired littlegirl into bed that night, "I do hope that when I'm a grown-up younglady I'll be exactly like that lovely, sweet Miss Merington."

  "I'm thankful to say that your grown-up-young-lady days are yet faroff," responded her mother; "but when that time comes I'll be quitesatisfied to have you the lovely, sweet Miss Maynard."