Marjorie in Command

“WELL,” said Marjorie, “I think it’s too perfectly, awfully, horribly dreadful for anything in all this world!”

“I do, too,” agreed King. “It’s a calamity, and a catastrophe and a cat,—a cata—cataclysm!”

“Of course it is,” said Kitty, who was philosophical. “But as it’s all settled, and we’ve got to live through it, we may as well make the best of it.”

“The best of it!” grumbled King; “there isn’t any best! It’s all outrageously horrid, and that’s all there is about it! I don’t see how we can stand it.”

“S’pose we say we just won’t stand it,” suggested Marjorie; “do you think they’d stay home?”

“No, indeedy!” declared King. “You know as well as I do, the tickets are bought, and everything is arranged for.”

“Even us,” said Kitty, sadly.

“Yes; even us,” repeated her brother. “And how are we arranged for? Left in charge of Larkin! Old Loony Larkin!”

“Hush, King, that’s disrespectful,” said Marjorie, laughing in spite of herself.

“Well, she is old; and she is Larkin; and I think she’s loony!”

“But you mustn’t say so, if you do,” persisted Marjorie.

“Indeed you mustn’t,” said Mrs. Maynard, coming into the living room where the three children were holding an indignation meeting. “I’m ashamed of you, King!”

“Aw, Mother, forgive me this once, and I won’t ever say such a thing again till next time.”

Kingdon sidled up to his mother, and nestled his cheek against hers in such a cajoling way, that Mrs. Maynard smiled, and forbore further reproof just then.

“But, dearies all,” she went on, “you mustn’t take such an attitude toward Miss Larkin; she’s good and kind and will look after you nicely till I return.”

“Larkin, Larkin, All the time a-barkin’,”

chanted King, pinching his mother’s lips together, so she couldn’t reprimand him.

The whole tale of the Maynard children’s tribulations may be told in a few words.

Mrs. Maynard’s health was not quite up to its usual standard, and her husband had decided to take her for a short Southern trip. They would be absent from home about six weeks, and Miss Larkin, a friend of Mrs. Maynard’s, was to come and take care of the household of four children.

Now, though the little Maynards were perhaps more inclined to mischief than model children ought to be, they were a loving and affectionate little brood, and, moreover, they truly tried to correct their faults as pointed out to them by their parents.

The fundamental principle of Mr. and Mrs. Maynard’s training was common-sense, and this, added to deep parental love, made their discipline both wise and kind.

Mrs. Maynard, herself, had some doubts of Miss Larkin’s ability to manage the children tactfully, but there was no one else to ask to stay with them, and they could not be left entirely in charge of the servants, trusted and tried though they were.

But it was only for six weeks, anyway, and as Mr. Maynard said, they couldn’t become thorough-going reprobates in that short time.

Miss Larkin was delighted with the prospect. A quiet and rather lonely spinster, she welcomed the idea of a stay in a merry, lively home, where she should be the commanding spirit over both children and servants.

And so, it was only the four small Maynards who raised objections. Though they didn’t actively dislike Miss Larkin, they felt she was not in sympathy with their childish affairs and they could not know that this arose from ignorance, not unwillingness on her part.

It was a long time since Miss Larkin had been a child, and when she was, she was not like the children of to-day.

She thought she understood young people, but her ideas were old-fashioned, and often quite contradictory to the Maynards’ views.

However, as Kitty had said, the matter was settled. Mr. and Mrs. Maynard were going, Miss Larkin was coming, and all they had to do was to accept the situation and make the best of it.

“And perhaps it won’t be so bad,” said Mother Maynard, as they talked it over. “When Miss Larkin is living here with you, she’ll be more chummy and jolly than when she just comes to call or to spend the day.”

“I hope so,” sighed Marjorie; “you see, it’ll be the worst for me. King’s a boy, and he won’t have to have much to do with her; Kitty doesn’t seem to mind her so much, anyway; and, of course Rosy Posy is too little to care. But I shall have to entertain her, and go walking with her, and,—and, oh, Mother, how I shall miss you!”

Marjorie fairly pulled King out of Mrs. Maynard’s arms, and flung herself into them, with one of her sudden bursts of demonstrative affection.

“Take me with you, Mothery,” she wailed; “oh, do take me with you!”

“Nonsense, Midget,” said Mrs. Maynard, knowing it was best to treat the matter lightly; “why, the family would all go to pieces if you weren’t here. As you just now implied you’re the most important member of the household, and you’re needed here to keep all running smoothly in my absence.”

This was a new view of things, and Marjorie brightened up considerably.

“Shall I be head of the house, Mother? May I sit at the head of the table?”

Mrs. Maynard took a moment to think this over. Marjorie was only twelve, and she was sometimes a harum-scarum little girl; but, on the other hand, if she felt a sense of importance, she often acted with good sense and judgment beyond her years. At last Mrs. Maynard said:

“Yes, Midget; I believe I will let you sit at the head of the table. Miss Larkin is really a guest, and I think it would be better for you to be hostess in my place. Kingdon will sit in his father’s place, and I shall trust you two to uphold the dignity and decorum of the Maynard household.”

“Will Miss Larkin like that?” said Marjorie.

“I think so; or I should not consent to the arrangement. Miss Larkin is, I know, more anxious to please you children, than you are to please her. And so, to please me, I want you all to be very good to her. Kind, polite, deferential, considerate, all the things that a host and hostess should be to their guest.”

“H’m,” said Marjorie, considering; “p’raps she’d better be hostess, and let me be guest.”