Books: Marjorie\'s Vacation
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Carolyn Wells >> Marjorie\'s Vacation
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11 Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
MARJORIE'S VACATION
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
AUTHOR OF "PATTY FAIRFIELD," "PATTY AT HOME," ETC.
TO
MY LITTLE FRIEND
MURIEL DUNHAM PRATT
THIS BOOK
IS
LOVINGLY DEDICATED
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. MARJORIE'S HOME
II. THE TRIP TO HASLEMERE
III. ON THE ROOF
IV. A PAPER-DOLL HOUSE
V. SOME INTERESTING LETTERS
VI. BOO!
VII. A BOAT-RIDE
VIII. A MEMORY BOOK
IX. THE FRONT STAIRS
X. A LONG DAY
XI. THE DUNNS
XII. THE BAZAAR
XIII. A BIRTHDAY
XIV. "BREEZY INN"
XV. THE BROKEN LADDER
XVI. FIRECRACKERS
XVII. PENNYROYAL
XVIII. WELCOME GIFTS
XIX. THE OLD WELL
XX. AN EVENTFUL DAY
XXI. A FAREWELL TEA-PARTY
MARJORIE'S VACATION
CHAPTER I
MARJORIE'S HOME
In the Maynards' side yard at Rockwell, a swingful of children was
slowly swaying back and forth.
The swing was one of those big double wooden affairs that hold
four people, so the Maynards just filled it comfortably.
It was a lovely soft summer day in the very beginning of June; the
kind of day that makes anybody feel happy but a little bit
subdued. The kind of day when the sky is so blue, and the air so
clear, that everything seems dreamy and quiet.
But the Maynard children were little, if any, affected by the
atmosphere, and though they did seem a trifle subdued, it was a
most unusual state of things, and was brought about by reasons far
more definite than sky or atmosphere.
Kingdon Maynard, the oldest of the four, and the only boy, was
fourteen. These facts had long ago fixed his position as autocrat,
dictator, and final court of appeal. Whatever King said, was law
to the three girls, but as the boy was really a mild-mannered
tyrant, no trouble ensued. Of late, though, he had begun to show a
slight inclination to go off on expeditions with other boys, in
which girls were not included. But this was accepted by his
sisters as a natural course of events, for of course, if King did
it, it must be all right.
Next to Kingdon in the swing sat the baby, Rosamond, who was five
years old, and who was always called Rosy Posy. She held in her
arms a good-sized white Teddy Bear, who was adorned with a large
blue bow and whose name was Boffin. He was the child's inseparable
companion, and, as he was greatly beloved by the other children,
he was generally regarded as a member of the family.
On the opposite seat of the swing sat Kitty, who was nine years
old, and who closely embraced her favorite doll, Arabella.
And by Kitty's side sat Marjorie, who was almost twelve, and who
also held a pet, which, in her case, was a gray Persian kitten.
This kitten was of a most amiable disposition, and was named Puff,
because of its fluffy silver fur and fat little body.
Wherever Marjorie went, Puff was usually with her, and oftenest
hung over her arm, looking more like a fur boa than a cat.
At the moment, however, Puff was curled up in Marjorie's lap, and
was merely a nondescript ball of fur.
These, then, were the Maynards, and though their parents would
have said they had four children, yet the children themselves
always said, "We are seven," and insisted on considering the
kitten, the doll, and the bear as members of the Maynard family.
Kingdon scorned pets, which the girls considered quite the right
thing for a boy to do; and, anyway, Kingdon had enough to attend
to, to keep the swing going.
"I 'most wish it wasn't my turn," said Marjorie, with a little
sigh. "Of course I want to go for lots of reasons, but I'd love to
be in Rockwell this summer, too."
"As you're not twins you can't very well be in two places at
once," said her brother; "but you'll have a gay old time, Mops;
there's the new boathouse, you know, since you were there."
"I haven't been there for three years," said Marjorie, "and I
suppose there'll be lots of changes."
"I was there two years ago," said Kitty, "but Arabella has never
been."
"I'se never been, eever," said Rosy Posy, wistfully, "and so
Boffin hasn't, too. But we don't want to go, us wants to stay home
wiv Muvver."
"And I say, Mops, look out for the Baltimore oriole," went on
Kingdon. "He had a nest in the big white birch last year, and like
as not he'll be there again."
"There was a red-headed woodpecker two years ago," said Kitty;
"perhaps he'll be there this summer."
"I hope so," said Marjorie; "I'm going to take my big Bird book,
and then I can tell them all."
It was the custom in the Maynard household for one of the children
to go each summer to Grandma Sherwood's farm near Morristown. They
took turns, but as Rosy Posy was so little she had not begun yet.
The children always enjoyed the vacation at Grandma's, but they
were a chummy little crowd and dreaded the separation. This was
the reason of their subdued and depressed air to-day.
It was Marjorie's turn, and she was to leave home the next
morning. Mrs. Maynard was to accompany her on the journey, and
then return, leaving Marjorie in the country for three months.
"I wonder how Puffy will like it," she said, as she picked up the
kitten, and looked into its blue eyes.
"She'll be all right," said Kingdon, "if she doesn't fight with
Grandma's cats. There were about a dozen there last year, and they
may object to Puff's style of hair-dressing. Perhaps we'd better
cut her hair before she starts."
"No, indeed!" cried Marjorie, "not a hair shall be touched, unless
you'd like a lock to keep to remember her while she's gone."
"No, thank you," said King, loftily; "I don't carry bits of cat
around in my pockets."
"I'd like a lock," said Kitty; "I'd tie it with a little blue
ribbon, and keep it for a forget-me-not. And I'll give you a
little curl of Arabella's, and you can keep that to remember her
by."
"All right," said Marjorie; "and I'll take a lock of Boffin Bear's
hair too. Then I'll have a memento of all the family, because I
have pictures of all of you, you know."
With the Maynards to suggest was to act. So the four scrambled out
of the swing, and ran to the house.
The Maynard house was a large square affair, with verandas all
around. Not pretentious, but homelike and comfortable, and largely
given over to the children's use. Though not often in the drawing-
room, the four young Maynards frequently monopolized the large
living-room, and were allowed free access to the library as well.
Also they had a general playroom and a nursery; and Kingdon had a
small den or workroom for his own use, which was oftener than not
invaded by the girls.
To the playroom they went, and Kingdon carefully cut small locks
from the kitten, the doll, and the bear, and Marjorie neatly tied
them with narrow blue ribbons. These mementoes the girls put away,
and carefully treasured all through the summer.
Another Maynard custom was a farewell feast at dinner, the night
before vacation began. Ordinarily, only the two older children
dined with their parents, the other two having their tea in the
nursery. But on this occasion, all were allowed at dinner, and the
feast was made a special honor for the one who was going away.
Gifts were made, as on a birthday, and festival dress was in
order.
A little later, then, the four children presented themselves in
the library, where their parents awaited them.
Mr. Maynard was a man of merry disposition and rollicking nature,
and sometimes joined so heartily in the children's play that he
seemed scarcely older than they.
Mrs. Maynard was more sedate, and was a loving mother, though not
at all a fussy one. She was glad in many ways to have one of her
children spend the summer each year with her mother, but it always
saddened her when the time of departure came.
She put her arm around Marjorie, without a word, as the girl came
into the room, for it had been three years since the two had been
parted, and Mrs. Maynard felt a little sad at the thought of
separation.
"Don't look like that, Mother," said Marjorie, "for if you do,
I'll begin to feel weepy, and I won't go at all."
"Oh, yes, you will, Miss Midge," cried her father; "you'll go, and
you'll stay all summer, and you'll have a perfectly beautiful
time. And, then, the first of September I'll come flying up there
to get you, and bring you home, and it'll be all over. Now, such a
short vacation as that isn't worth worrying about, is it?"
"No," put in Kingdon, "and last year when I went there wasn't any
sad good-by."
"That's because you're a boy," said his mother, smiling at him
proudly; "tearful good-bys are only for girls and women."
"Yes," said Mr. Maynard, "they enjoy them, you know. Now, _I_
think it is an occasion of rejoicing that Marjorie is to go to
Grandma's and have a happy, jolly vacation. We can all write
letters to her, and she will write a big budget of a family letter
that we can all enjoy together."
"And Mopsy must wite me a little letter, all for my own sef,"
remarked Rosy Posy, "'cause I like to get letters all to me."
Baby Rosamond was dressed up for the occasion in a very frilly
white frock, and being much impressed by the grandeur of staying
up to dinner, she had solemnly seated herself in state on a big
sofa, holding Boffin Bear in her arms. Her words, therefore,
seemed to have more weight than when she was her everyday roly-
poly self, tumbling about on the floor, and Marjorie at once
promised that she should have some letters all to herself.
When dinner was announced, Mr. Maynard, with Marjorie, led the
procession to the diningroom. They were followed by Mrs. Maynard
and Rosamond, and after them came Kingdon and Kitty.
Kitty was a golden-haired little girl, quite in contrast to
Marjorie, who had tangled masses of dark, curly hair and large,
dark eyes. Her cheeks were round and rosy, and her little white
teeth could almost always be seen, for merry Marjorie was laughing
most of the time. To-night she wore one of her prettiest white
dresses, and her dark curls were clustered at the top of her head
into a big scarlet bow. The excitement of the occasion made her
cheeks red and her eyes bright, and Mrs. Maynard looked at her
pretty eldest daughter with a pardonable pride.
"Midge," she said, "there are just about a hundred things I ought
to tell you before you go to Grandma's, but if I were to tell you
now, you wouldn't remember one of them; so I have written them all
down, and you must take the list with you, and read it every
morning so that you may remember and obey the instructions."
Midge was one of the numerous nicknames by which Marjorie was
called. Her tumbling, curly hair, which was everlastingly escaping
from its ribbon, had gained for her the title of Mops or Mopsy.
Midge and Midget had clung to her from babyhood, because she was
an active and energetic child, and so quick of motion that she
seemed to dart like a midge from place to place. She never did
anything slowly. Whether it was an errand for her mother or a game
of play, Midge always moved rapidly. Her tasks were always done in
half the time it took the other children to do theirs; but in
consequence of this haste, they were not always done as well or as
thoroughly as could be desired.
This, her mother often told her, was her besetting sin, and
Marjorie truly tried to correct it when she thought of it; but
often she was too busy with the occupation in hand to remember the
good instructions she had received.
"I'm glad you did that, Mother," she replied to her mother's
remark, "for I really haven't time to study the list now. But I'll
promise to read it over every morning at Grandma's, and honest and
true, I'll try to be good."
"Of course you will," said her father, heartily; "you'll be the
best little girl in the world, except the two you leave here
behind you."
"Me's the bestest," calmly remarked Rosamond, who seemed
especially satisfied with herself that evening.
"You are," agreed King; "you look good enough to eat, to-night."
Rosamond beamed happily, for she was not unused to flattering
observations from the family. And, indeed, she was a delicious-
looking morsel of humanity, as she sat in her high chair, and
tried her best to "behave like a lady."
The table was decorated with June roses and daisies. The dinner
included Marjorie's favorite dishes, and the dessert was
strawberries and ice cream, which, Kitty declared, always made a
party, anyway.
So with the general air of celebration, and Mr. Maynard's gay
chatter and jokes, the little trace of sadness that threatened to
appear was kept out of sight, and all through the summer Marjorie
had only pleasant memories of her last evening at home.
After the dessert the waitress appeared again with a trayful of
parcels, done up in the most fascinating way, in tissue paper and
dainty ribbons.
This, too, was always a part of the farewell feast, and Marjorie
gave a little sigh of satisfaction, as the well-filled tray was
placed before her.
"That's mine! Open mine first!" cried Rosamond, as Marjorie picked
up a good-sized bundle.
"Yes, that's Rosy Posy's," said her mother, laughing, "and she
picked it out herself, because she thought it would please you.
Open it first, Midge."
So Marjorie opened the package, and discovered a little clock, on
the top of which was perched a brilliant red bird.
Rosamond clapped her hands in glee. "I knew you'd love it," she
cried, "'cause it's a birdie, a yed birdie. And I finded it all
mysef in the man's shop. Do you yike it, Mopsy?"
"Indeed I do," cried Marjorie; "it's just what I wanted. I shall
keep it on my dressing-table at Grandma's, and then I'll know just
when to get up every morning."
"Open mine next," said Kitty; "it's the square flat one, with the
blue ribbon."
So Marjorie opened Kitty's present and it was a picture,
beautifully framed to hang on the wall at Grandma's. The picture
was of birds, two beautiful orioles on a branch. The colors were
so bright, and so true to nature, that Marjorie exclaimed in
delight:
"Now I shall have orioles there, anyway, whether there are real
ones in the trees or not. It is lovely, Kitsie, and I don't see
how you ever found such a beautiful bird picture."
Marjorie had always been fond of birds, and lately had begun
studying them in earnest. Orioles were among her favorites, and so
Kitty's picture was a truly welcome gift. King's present came
next, and was a beautiful gold pen with a pearl holder.
"That," he explained, "is so you'll write to us often. For I know,
Mops, your old penholder is broken, and it's silver, anyway. This
is nicer, because it's no trouble to keep it clean and bright."
"That's so, King, and I'm delighted with this one. I shall write
you a letter with it, first of all, and I'll tell you all about
the farm."
Mrs. Maynard's gift was in a very small parcel, and when Marjorie
opened it she found a dear little pearl ring.
"Oh, goody!" she cried. "I do love rings, and I never had one
before! May I wear it always, Mother?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling. "I don't approve of much
jewelry for a little girl not yet twelve years old, but you may
wear that."
Marjorie put it on her finger with great satisfaction, and Kitty
looked at it lovingly.
"May I have one when I am twelve, Mother?" she asked.
"May I, may I?" chimed in Rosy Posy.
"Yes," said Mr. Maynard; "you girls may each have one just like
Marjorie's when you are as old as she is now. That last parcel,
Mops, is my present for you. I'm not sure that you can learn to
use it, but perhaps you can, and if not I'll take it back and
exchange it for something else."
Marjorie eagerly untied the wrappings of her father's gift, and
found a little snapshot camera.
"Indeed I can learn to use it," she cried; "I took some pictures
once with a camera that belonged to one of the girls at school,
and they were all right. Thank you heaps and heaps, father dear;
I'll send you pictures of everything on the place; from Grandma
herself down to the littlest, weeniest, yellow chicken."
"Next year it will be my turn to go," said Kitty; "I hope I'll get
as lovely presents as Mopsy has."
"You will," said Kingdon; "because last year mine were just as
good, and so, of course, yours will be."
"I'm sure they will," said Kitty.
CHAPTER II
THE TRIP TO HASLEMERE
The next morning all was bustle and excitement.
Mr. Maynard stayed at home from business to escort the travellers
to the train. The trunks were packed, and everything was in
readiness for their departure. Marjorie herself, in a spick-and-
span pink gingham dress, a tan-colored travelling cloak, and a
broad-brimmed white straw hat, stood in the hall saying good-bye
to the other children. She carried Puff in her arm, and the
sleepy, indifferent kitten cared little whither she was going.
"Be sure," Kingdon was saying, "to plant the seeds I gave you in a
sunny place, for if you don't they won't grow right."
"What are the seeds?" asked Marjorie.
"Never mind that," said her brother; "you just plant them in a
warm, sunny bed, in good, rich soil, and then you wait and see
what comes up. It's a surprise."
"All right, I'll do that, and I suppose Grandma will give me a lot
of seeds besides; we always have gardens, you know."
"Be sure to write to me," said Kitty, "about Molly Moss. She's the
one that lives in the next house but one to Grandma's. You've
never seen her, but I saw her two years ago, and she's an awfully
nice girl. You'll like her, I know."
"And what shall I remember to do for you, Rosy Posy?" asked
Marjorie, as she kissed the baby good-bye.
"Don't know," responded the little one; "I've never been to
Gamma's. Is they piggy-wigs there?"
"No," said Marjorie, laughing; "no piggy-wigs, but some nice
ducks."
"All wite; b'ing me a duck."
"I will, if Grandma will give me one"; and then Marjorie was
hurried down the steps by her father, and into the carriage, and
away she went, with many a backward look at the three children who
stood on the veranda waving good-byes to her.
The railroad trip to Morristown lasted about four hours, and
Marjorie greatly enjoyed it. Mr. Maynard had put the two
travellers into their chairs in the parlor car, and arranged their
belongings for them. Marjorie had brought a book to read and a
game to play, but with the novel attractions of the trip and the
care of her kitten, she was not likely to have time hang heavily
on her hands.
Mrs. Maynard read a magazine for a time, and then they were
summoned to luncheon in the diningcar. Marjorie thought this great
fun, for what is nicer than to be a hungry little girl of twelve,
and to eat all sorts of good things, while flying swiftly along in
a railroad train, and gazing out of the window at towns and cities
rushing by?
Marjorie sat opposite her mother, and observed with great interest
the other passengers about. Across the car was a little girl who
seemed to be about her own age, and Marjorie greatly wished that
they might become acquainted. Mrs. Maynard said that after
luncheon she might go and speak to the little stranger if she
chose, and Marjorie gladly did so.
"I wonder if you belong in my car," said Marjorie, by way of
opening the conversation.
"I don't know," said the other child; "our seats are in the car
just back of this."
"We are two cars back," said Marjorie, "but perhaps your mother
will let you come into my car a while. I have my kitten with me."
"Where is it?" asked the other little girl.
"I had to leave it with the porter while we came to luncheon. Oh,
she's the loveliest kitten you ever saw, and her name is Puff.
What's your name?"
"My name is Stella Martin. What's yours?"
"My real name is Marjorie Maynard. But I'm almost always called
Midge or Mops or some name like that. We all have nicknames at
home; don't you?"
"No, because you see I haven't any brothers or sisters. Mother
always calls me Stella."
"Well, let's go and ask her if you can't come into my car for a
while. My mother will look after you, and then you can see the
kitten."
After some courteous words of explanation between the two mothers,
Stella was allowed to play with Marjorie for the rest of the
journey.
Seated together in one of the big Pullman easy chairs, with the
kitten cuddled between them, they rapidly made each other's
acquaintance, and soon became good friends. They were not at all
alike, for Stella Martin was a thin, pale child with a long braid
of straight, light hair, and light blue eyes. She was timid, too,
and absolutely devoid of Marjorie's impetuosity and daring. But
they were both pleased at the discovery that they were to be near
neighbors throughout the summer. Stella's home was next-door to
Grandma Sherwood's, although, as both country places were so
large, the houses were some distance apart.
Next beyond Stella's house, Marjorie remembered, was where Molly
Moss lived, and so the outlook seemed to promise plenty of
pleasant company.
About three o'clock in the afternoon the train reached Morristown,
and springing out on the platform, Marjorie soon spied Grandma
Sherwood's carriage there to meet them. Old Moses was still in
charge of the horses, as he had been ever since Marjorie could
remember, and in a moment she heard a hearty voice cry, "Oh, there
you are!" and there was Uncle Steve waiting for them on the
platform.
Uncle Steve was a great friend of Marjorie's, and she flew to
greet him almost before he had time to welcome her mother. Then in
a few moments the luggage was looked after, and they were all in
the carriage, rolling away toward Haslemere.
Marjorie chatted away like a magpie, for she had many questions to
ask Uncle Steve, and as she was looking out to renew acquaintance
with old landmarks along the road, the drive to the house seemed
very short, and soon they were turning in at the gate.
Haslemere was not a large, old-fashioned farm, but a fair-sized
and well-kept country place. Grandma Sherwood, who had been a
widow for many years, lived there with her son Stephen. It was
like a farm, because there were chickens and ducks, and cows and
horses, and also a large garden where fresh vegetables of all
sorts were raised. But there were no grain fields or large pasture
lands, or pigs or turkeys, such as belong to larger farms. The
drive from the gate up to the house was a long avenue, shaded on
both sides by beautiful old trees, and the wide expanse of lawn
was kept as carefully mowed as if at a town house. There were
flower beds in abundance, and among the trees and shrubbery were
rustic seats and arbors, hammocks and swings, and a delightful
tent where the children loved to play. Back of the house the land
sloped down to the river, which was quite large enough for
delightful boating and fishing.
The house was of that old-fashioned type which has two front doors
and two halls, with large parlors between them, and wings on
either side. A broad veranda ran across the front, and, turning
both corners, ran along either side.
As they drove up to the house, Grandma Sherwood was on the piazza
waiting for them. She was not a very old lady, that is, she was
not of the white-haired, white-capped, and silver-spectacled
variety. She was perhaps sixty years old, and seemed quite as
energetic and enthusiastic as her daughter, if perhaps not quite
so much so as her granddaughter.
Marjorie sprang out of the carriage, and flew like a young
whirlwind to her grandmother's arms, which were open to receive
her.
"My dear child, how you have grown!"
"I knew you'd say that, Grandma," said Marjorie, laughing merrily,
"and, indeed, I have grown since I was here last. Just think, that
was three years ago! I'm almost twelve years old now."
"Well, you are a great girl; run in the house, and lay off your
things, while I speak to your mother."
Marjorie danced into the house, flung her coat and gloves on the
hall rack, and still holding her kitten, went on through to the
kitchen, in search of Eliza the cook.
"The saints presarve us!" cried Eliza. "An' is it yersilf, Miss
Midget! Why, ye're as big as a tellygraft pole, so ye are!"
"I know I am, Eliza, but you're just the same as ever; and just
look at the kitten I have brought! Have you any here now?"
"Cats, is it? Indade we have, then! I'm thinkin' there do be a
hundred dozen of thim; they're undher me feet continual! But what
kind of a baste is thot ye have there? I niver saw such a woolly
one!"
"This is a Persian kitten, Eliza, and her name is Puff. Isn't she
pretty?"
"I'll not be sayin' she's purty, till I see how she doos be
behavin'. Is she a good little cat, Miss Midget dear?"
"Good! Indeed she is a good kitty. And I wish you'd give her some
milk, Eliza, while I run out to see the chickens. Is Carter out
there?"
But without waiting for an answer, Marjorie was already flying
down through the garden, and soon found Carter, the gardener, at
his work.
"Hello, Carter!" she cried. "How are you this summer?"
"Welcome, Miss Midge! I'm glad to see you back," exclaimed the old
gardener, who was very fond of the Maynard children.
"And I'm glad to be here, Carter; and I have some seeds to plant;
will you help me plant them?"
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