Good-natured Mr. Maynard consented, and though there was no vacant seat, Dorothy was bundled in somehow, and the crowd of shouting, laughing children were driven around several blocks.
The quiet little town of Rockwell was amazed at the sight, and thought it must be some new kind of a circus advertisement, until they realized that it was the Maynard family, and people had long ceased to be surprised at what the Maynards did.
But at last the children who were not Maynards were left at their respective homes, and the big red car again turned in at its own home.
"Where are you going to keep it, Father?" asked King, as they all scrambled out.
"I shall have a garage built on the place as soon as we get back; but for to-night our pet will have to sleep in other lodgings. Skip into the house now, you children, for I want to talk to Pompton without the interruption of a crowd of chatter-boxes."
So the three went into the house and stood together at a front window, flattening their noses against the glass, as they looked out at their new treasure. King was in the middle, behind his two sisters, with an arm around both their necks, and he explained to them in a very learned way, a great many points about the machine that they did not understand. His explanations were far from being correct or true, but as he didn't know that, nor the girls either, it really made no difference.
At last Pompton drove away with the car, and they watched it disappear down the street, and then turned to greet Mr. Maynard as he entered.
Marjorie went straight up to her father, and stood in front of him.
"I do think you are the most wonderful Father in the whole world," she said, eyeing him in a judicial manner.
"And the grandest!" said Kitty, snuggling herself in under his arm.
"And the tip-toppest!" declared King, grasping his father's other hand.
"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Maynard, dropping into an armchair, "I am certainly catching some fine compliments! And I'd like to return them. I don't mind confessing that I think you young people just about the highest class of goods in the market!"
"But we're not as splendid as you are," said Marjorie, thoughtfully; "because you do things for us, and we never do anything for you."
"Oh, yes, you do," returned her father; "you do all I want you to, by just living, and growing, and trying to behave yourselves properly."
"But we don't always do that," said Kitty, with a repentant air.
"You do, Kit," said King, generously, "you're always good. Mops and I are the ones that slip up."
"It's human nature to slip up occasionally," said Mr. Maynard, "but I think on the whole my kiddies do pretty well. Now, as you know, we start to-morrow for Grandma Sherwood's, and while I'm not going to give you a lecture on the subject, I am going to ask you to behave pretty fairly well while you're at her house. You know she's not as young as she once was, and a lot of mischievous children may make her a great deal of trouble if they wish to,—or they can refrain from doing so. Need I say any more?"
"Not another word, Father," declared Marjorie; "I promise to be as good as pie,—custard pie!"
"And I'll be as good as mince pie," said King, "you can't beat that!"
"Yes, I can," said Kitty; "I shall be as good as lemon meringue pie,—with a high, fluffy meringue, and little browny wiggles all over the top."
"You've struck it, Kit," said her brother, admiringly; "that is the best kind of pie,—and you'll be the best of the Maynard bunch! Say, Kitty, doesn't it hurt you to be so good?"
"No," said Kitty, placidly, "I like it."
There was not much fun in teasing Kitty, she was too matter-of-fact, so King turned his attentions to Marjorie, and with apparent innocence kicked out his foot just in time for her to stumble over it. This led to a general scrimmage, in which two Maynards, two sofa-pillows, and a footstool became very much tangled up, and Mr. Maynard and Kitty sat smiling indulgently at them, with the air of enjoying the performance and not caring to take part in it.
Of course the dinner hour and all the hours until bedtime were occupied in conversation about the projected trip, and when at last the little Maynards were tucked into bed, their dreams still continued to hover around the same subject.
* * * * *
The next day proved to be most kindly disposed as to weather, and the brilliant May sunshine sparkled on the big red car as it stood waiting for its passengers.
There was more or less hurry and scurry of getting ready, but the elder Maynards were of systematic and methodical habits, so that really everything was ready ahead of time. Two trunks had been sent on by express to Grandma Sherwood's, and one large trunk which was to accompany them on their trip, was already fastened in place at the back of the car.
The children all had new motor coats of pongee, which they could wear over other wraps if necessary. The girls also had fascinating little hoods of shirred silk, Marjorie's being rose color, and Kitty's blue. They greatly admired themselves and each other in these costumes, and Marjorie declared it gave her a trippy feeling just to look at them.
They started at ten o'clock. Mrs. Maynard and Kitty sat back with Rosamond between them. Midget and King in the next two seats, and Mr. Maynard in front with the chauffeur.
They went flying down the drive to a chorus of good-byes from the servants, who assembled to see them off, and who would take care of the house in their absence.
As they whizzed across the street, and paused for a moment in front of Delight's house, Delight and Miss Hart came running down to wave a good-bye, and their hands were full of flowers which they flung into the automobile all over its merry occupants.
"Good-bye, good-bye!" they called, for the Maynards had not stopped, but merely slowed down a little, and were now again speeding on their way. Marjorie and King stood up in their places, and waved handkerchiefs and flowers, and shouted good-bye until they could no longer be seen or heard.
"Now we are really started," said Marjorie, settling back into her seat with an air of great satisfaction. "Having all these flowers thrown at us seems like a wedding trip or something. There's not nearly so much wind to-day, and then, with this hood, my hair doesn't blow about so, anyway. Oh, Father, I'm awful hungry! Can't we stop at the grocer's and get some ginger-snaps and apples?"
"You've just had your breakfast, but I suppose automobile kiddies must have something to nibble on!" So a stop was made at the grocer's, and a supply of ginger-snaps and apples was added to their other luggage.
Mr. Hiller, the grocer, was very much interested in the motor party, and came out himself to wish them good speed.
"I don't know what Rockwell will do without the Maynard tribe," he said; "you youngsters keep things lively around town. And you're going to be away a month, you say. Well, well!"
"Perhaps it's a good thing to give the town a little rest, Mr. Hiller," said Mr. Maynard, laughing.
"No, sir; no, sir; them children of yours never does anything vicious. Full of mischief they may be, full of fun they may be, but never really naughty. No, no!"
Mr. Maynard expressed a laughing appreciation of these compliments, and then they started once more.
"Now we're really off," said King, "we won't have to stop again."
"Oh, I think most of the fun is stopping," said Marjorie; "I love to stop and then go on again. Perhaps we can get out and pick some wild flowers or wade in a brook."
"Not to-day," said her father, "but some days you may do that to your heart's content. The whole trip is going to be just one long picnic, and we're going to get all the fun out of it we possibly can."
"I think it's delicious," said Kitty, in her quiet way; "I think it's fun enough just to glide along like this, with the blue sky shining all over us, and the trees waving their boughs at us, and even the fences jig-jigging along at our side."
"You're so poetical, Kitty," said Marjorie; "I love the blue sky and the green trees too, but just now I want to see a red apple and a brown ginger-snap!"
"Midget, I believe you could eat at any time," said her mother, laughing.
"Yes, I could," said Midget, contentedly, "'cept when I've just had enough. And I do feel like eating, but I feel like singing, too."
"You can't do both at once," said her brother.
"No, but I can do first one and then the other. Now I'll tell you, Father, what to do. You make a little song for us, while I eat this apple. A kind of a little motor song, you know."
So while Marjorie ate her apple, and the other children engaged in the same pursuit, Mr. Maynard made a little song for them.
This was a favorite game of the Maynards. Father Maynard had a knack of turning off verses, and they usually sang them to some well-known air, or perhaps made up a little crooning tune of their own.
So when the apples were finished and the cores flung away, Mr. Maynard lined out his little song, and the children quickly learned it.
After two or three attempts they were able to sing it correctly, and they stowed it away in their memory as one of their favorite songs, and at intervals throughout the day their young voices filled the air with these sentiments:
CHAPTER IV
VISITING A CAMP
Rockwell was soon left far behind, and the Maynards' car flew along the country road, now passing through a bit of woods, and now through a little town, or again crossing a picturesque brook.
The children were delighted with the new experience, and chatted all at once, about the roadside sights.
Pompton, the English chauffeur, though he said little or nothing, was secretly amazed at the gaiety and volubility of the young people. The children were allowed to take turns sitting in the front seat, and, as was their nature, they talked rapidly and steadily to the somewhat taciturn driver.
"What a funny name you have, Pompton," said Marjorie, as she sat beside him; "at least it seems funny to me, because I never heard it before."
"It's a good old English name, Miss," he returned, a little gruffly, "and never been dishonored, as I know of."
"Oh, I think it's a very nice name," said Marjorie, quickly, for she had had no intention of being unpleasantly critical, "only I think it's a funny name. You see Pompton sounds so much like pumpkin."
"Do you think so, Miss?"
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter about a name, anyway. Tell me about your people. Have you any little boys and girls?"
"No, Miss; I never was married, Miss. And I ain't overly fond of children."
"Really, aren't you, Pompton? Well, you'll have to begin being fond of them, because you see, us Maynard children just can't stand anybody around who isn't fond of us. Though of course we've never tried, for everybody who has lived with us has always been terribly fond of us."
"Maybe it'll be a pleasant change then, Miss, to try another sort." Pompton's eyes twinkled good-naturedly as he said this, and Marjorie instinctively recognized that he was trying to joke.
"Ah, you're fond of us already, Pompton, and you needn't say you're not! It's a funny thing," she went on, confidentially, "but everybody loves us Maynards,—and yet we're such a bad lot."
"A bad lot, Miss?"
"Well, full of the old scratch, you know; always cutting up jinks. Do you know what jinks are, Pompton?"
"No, Miss; what are they?"
"Why they're just jinks; something to cut up, you know."
"Cut up, Miss?"
"Oh, Pompton, you're just like a parrot! You just repeat what I say! Don't you know anything?"
"Very little, Miss."
But as they rode along, and Marjorie asked her interminable string of questions about the car, or about the trees or flowers they were passing, or about sundry roadside matters, she found that Pompton was a very well-informed man, indeed, as well as being kind and obliging in answering questions.
As they spun along a bit of straight road, Marjorie saw, some distance ahead, a girl sitting on a large stone by the roadside. The girl's face was so weary and pained-looking that Marjorie felt a sudden thrill of pity for her, and as a second glance showed that the girl was lame, she impulsively begged Pompton to stop a moment that they might speak to her.
The chauffeur turned around to see if the order were corroborated by the older people, and Mrs. Maynard said, "Yes, Pompton, let us stop and see what the poor girl wants."
So the car stopped, and Marjorie impetuously jumped out, and ran to speak to the girl, who seemed ill and suffering. Mr. Maynard joined them at once, and they listened to the girl's story.
She said her name was Minnie Meyer, and that she had to walk to the neighboring town to buy some provisions for her mother. But being lame she had become so tired that she sat down to rest by the way.
"How far have you to go, child?" asked Mr. Maynard, kindly.
"I have already walked a mile, sir, and it's two miles more to Pelton, where I must go. I have often walked the distance, but my foot is very bad just now, and it is hard going. I have been ill, and I am not yet very strong."
"I should think not!" exclaimed King, who had jumped out to see what was going on. "Look here, Father, we're going directly to Pelton; it is a straight road, and I can't miss the way. You let this girl take my place in the car, and I'll walk."
"Now that's good of you, King," said his father with an approving glance at the boy, "for this poor child is pretty well tired out. How can you get home again, Minnie?"
"Oh, sir, I shall have a ride home. A neighbor of ours will take me; but I have to walk over to Pelton and get my things by the time he's ready to start."
"And what time does he start for home?"
"About two o'clock, sir."
The child's face was very white, and her eyes were large and dark. Though probably no older than Marjorie, she looked careworn and troubled beyond her years.
"You are a good boy, King," his mother called out from the car, "and I think, Ed, we had better take the girl with us. Kingdon won't mind a two miles' walk, I know, when it is in such a good cause."
"I'm going with King," announced Marjorie; "I shan't mind the walk, either, and it will be fun for both of us to be together, while it would be awful lonesome for King all alone."
"Good for you, Mopsy Midget!" cried King, "you're a trump! Come on, we'll get there before the car does." King grasped his sister's hand, and they set off merrily at a good pace along the straight road to Pelton.
Meantime, Mr. Maynard had assisted the lame girl into the car, and Kitty tucked rugs and shawls around her to make her comfortable.
Minnie Meyer was both awestruck and delighted. She had never been in an automobile before, and it had all happened so quickly she scarcely realized her good fortune.
"I think you must all be angels," she said; "and I'm sorry the young lady and gentleman have to walk so far, and all just for me."
"But they're better able to walk than you are," said practical Kitty.
"That may be, Miss, but it seems queer for the likes of me to be riding in their place. My! But it goes fast!"
The car passed King and Marjorie, who waved their hands gaily, and watched it rapidly disappear along the road in front of them.
"I'm glad we're doing a deed of charity, Midget," said her brother, "for if we weren't I shouldn't relish this long walk very much."
"Now, King, don't go and spoil your noble deed by growling about it! It was lovely of you to let that girl ride in your place, but if you're going to kick about walking, you'll spoil it all."
"I'm not kicking. And anyway, Mops, you were the noble one yourself. You walked just so I shouldn't be lonesome."
"'Course I did! What's lots of fun for two is awful poky for one. Come on, I'll race you to that big sticking-out tree!"
They flew along the road with their heels kicking out behind, and though King reached the tree first, he was only a few steps ahead of Marjorie, who came up panting, and threw herself on the grass by his side.