“I hope not; that would be a terrible state of affairs!  And so I owe you two Ourdays, do I?”

“Yes, one for April, and one for May.”

It was the custom in the Maynard household to have an Ourday each month.  On these occasions both Mr. and Mrs. Maynard devoted themselves all day long to the entertainment of the four children, and the four took turns in deciding what the nature of the entertainment should be.  Much of the previous month their parents had been away, and the children looked forward to the celebration of the belated Ourday in connection with the one that belonged to the month of May.

“Before we discuss the question further,” said Mr. Maynard, “I must tell you of something I did to-day.  I adopted a new pet.”

“Oh, Father, what is it—­a dog?” cried Marjorie.

“No, it isn’t a dog; guess again.”

“A cat!” Kitty guessed, while King said, “A goat?”

“Wrong, all of you,” said Mr. Maynard; “now see if you can’t guess it by asking twenty questions.”

“All right,” said Marjorie, who was always ready for a game.  “Is it animal, vegetable, or mineral?”

“All three; that is, it belongs to all three kingdoms.”

“Is it a house?” asked Kitty.

“No, it is not as big as a house.”

“Is it useful or ornamental?” asked King.

“Both; but its principal use is to give pleasure.”

“How lovely!” cried Marjorie.  “I guess it’s a fountain!  Oh, Father, where are you going to put it—­on the side lawn?  And will it have goldfish in it, and shiny stones, and green water plants growing in it?”

“Wait a minute, Mops; don’t go so fast!  You see, it isn’t a fountain, and if you should put water and goldfish in it, you’d spoil it entirely.”

“And any way, Father,” said King, “you said it was a pet, didn’t you?”

“Yes, my boy, a sort of pet.”

“Can it talk?”

“No, it can’t talk.”

“Oh, I made sure it was a talking machine.  What kind of a sound does it make?”

“Well, it purrs sometimes.”

“Then it is a kitten after all,” cried Kitty.

“No, it isn’t a kitten.  It’s bigger than a kitten.”

“An old cat!” said Marjorie, scornfully.

“Pooh,” said King, “we’ll never get at it this way.  Of course it isn’t a cat!  Father wouldn’t make so much fuss over just a cat.”

“But I’m not making a fuss,” protested Mr. Maynard; “I only told you I had adopted a new pet, and suggested you guess what it is.  If you give up I’ll tell you.”

“I don’t give up,” cried Kitty; “what color is it?”

“Red,” answered her father.

“Ho!” cried Kitty, with a sudden flash of inspiration, “it’s an automobile!”

“Right you are, Kitsie,” said her father, “though I don’t know why you guessed it so quick.”

“Well, nothing else is red and big.  But why do you call it a pet?  And how does it purr?”