“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.
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.