"Oh, it's all very well for you to talk! You never have anything to bother you! Nothing goes wrong, and everybody spoils you! Why should _you_ have a bad temper?"

"Now, Hester, don't be silly! You have just as good a home and just as kind friends as I have."

"No, I haven't! n.o.body likes me. And everybody likes you. Why, the Craig boys think you're made of gold!"

Marjorie laughed. "Well, Hester, it's _your_ own fault if they don't think you are, too. But how can they, when you fly into these rages and tear everything to pieces?"

"Well, they make me so mad, I have to! Now, I'm going home, and I'm going to stay there till you do as you promised, and get the boys to let me be Queen."

"Well, I'll try----" began Marjorie, but Hester had flung the torn gilt crown on the ground, and stalked away toward home. Midget picked up the crown and tried to straighten it out, but it was battered past repair.

"I'll make a new one," she thought, "and I'll try to make the boys agree to having Hester for Queen. But I don't believe Tom will. I know it's selfish for me to be Queen all the time, and I don't want to be selfish."

Seeing Hester go away, Tom came back, and reached Sand Court just as Midget was about to leave.

"h.e.l.lo, Queen Sandy!" he called out; "wait a minute. I saw that spitfire going away, so I came back. Now, look here, Mopsy Maynard, don't you let that old crosspatch be Queen!"

"I can't, unless we all elect her," returned Midget, smiling at Tom; "but I wish you would agree to do that. It isn't fair, Tom, for me to be Queen all the time."

"Why isn't it? It's your Club! You got it up, and Hester came and poked herself in where she wasn't wanted."

"Well, we took her in, and now we ought to be kind to her."

"Kind to such an old Meany as she is!"

"Don't call her names, Tom. I don't believe she can help flying into a temper, and then, when she gets mad, she doesn't care what she says."

"I should think she didn't! Well, make her Queen if you want to, but if you do, you can get somebody else to take my place."

"Oh, Tom, don't act like that," and Marjorie looked at him, with pleading eyes.

"Yes, I _will act_ like that! Just exactly like that! I won't belong to any Court that Hester Corey is queen of!"

Marjorie sighed. What _could_ she do with this intractable boy? And, she almost knew that King would feel the same way. Perhaps, if she could win Tom over to her way of thinking, King might be more easily influenced.

"Tom," she began, "don't you like me?"

"Yes, I do. You're the squarest girl I ever knew."

"Then, don't you think you might do this much for me?"

"What much?"

"Why, just let Hester be Queen for a while."

"No, I don't. That wouldn't be any favor to you."

"Yes, it would. If I ask you, and you refuse, I'll think you're real unkind. And yet you say you like me!"

Marjorie had struck a right chord in the boy's heart. He didn't want Hester for Queen, but still less did he want to refuse Midget her earnest request.

"Oh, pshaw!" he said, digging his toe in the sand; "if you put it that way, I'll _have_ to say yes. Don't put it that way, Midget."

"Yes, I _will_ put it that way! And if you're my friend, you'll say yes, yourself, and then you'll help me to make the other boys say yes. Will you?"

"Yes, I s'pose so," said Tom, looking a little dubious.

CHAPTER XIII

THIRTEEN!

Marjorie's thirteenth birthday dawned bright and clear.

Her opening eyes rested on some strange thing sticking up at the foot of her bed, but a fully-awakened glance proved it to be a big No. 13, painted on a square of white pasteboard, and decorated with painted four-leaved clovers.

The motto "Good Luck" was traced in ornamental letters, and the whole was in a narrow wood frame.

"That's my birthday greeting from Cousin Jack and Cousin Ethel!"

Marjorie said to herself; "I recognize her lovely painting, and it's just like them, anyway. I'll hang that on my bedroom wall, till I'm as old as Methusaleh."

"Happy Birthday, darling!" said her mother, coming in, and sitting on the side of the bed; "many happy returns of the day."

"Oh, dearie Mother! I'm so glad I've got you! and I'm _so_ glad you're really my very own mother! Give me thirteen kisses, please, ma'am!"

"Merry Birthday, Midget!" called her father, through the crack of the door. "You two had better stop that love-feast and get down to breakfast!"

So Marjorie sprang up, and made haste with her bathing and dressing, so that in less than half an hour she was dancing downstairs to begin her Lucky Birthday. Her presents were heaped round her plate, and the parcels were so enticing in appearance, that she could scarcely eat for impatience.

"Breakfast first," decreed her father, "or I fear you'll become so excited you'll never eat at all."

So Marjorie contented herself with pinching and punching the bundles, while she ate peaches and cream and cereal.

"Oh, what _is_ in this squnchy one?" she cried, feeling of a loosely done-up parcel. "It smells so sweet, and it crackles like silk!"

"Kitty sent that," answered her mother, smiling, "and she wrote me that she made it herself."

But at last the cereal-saucer was empty, and the ribbons could be untied.

Kitty's gift proved to be a lovely bag, of pink and blue Dresden silk.

"What's it for?" asked King, not much impressed with its desirability.

"Oh, for anything!" cried Marjorie. "Handkerchiefs,--or hair-ribbons,--or,--or just to hang up and look pretty."