"A nice citizen you are!" growled King. "But," he added, "I haven't any extra money, either. Christmas is coming, and that's a fact!"

"Father'll give us Christmas money," said Kitty.

"Yes; but he likes to have us save some of our allowance, too. He says it makes better gifts."

"Well," said d.i.c.k, "let's do things that don't cost money, then. Father said the streets and lanes ought to be kept in better order. Let's go around and pick up the old cans and things."

"No, thank you," said Marjorie, turning up her small nose. "I'm no ragpicker."

"I wouldn't do that, either," said Gladys; "that is, unless I had a horse and cart. A pony-cart, I mean; not a dump-cart. But, d.i.c.k, I heard Father talking last night, too; and he said a society like that would send out letters to the citizens, asking them to keep their yards in better order."

"That's the ticket, Gladys!" cried Kingdon, admiringly. "You've struck it now. Of course that's the way to accomplish what we are after, in a dignified manner. Let's write a lot of those letters, and then when the people fix their places all up, we'll say that we started the movement."

"All right," said d.i.c.k, "I think that's just what Father meant. But he said 'a circular letter.' That means have it printed."

"Oh, well, we can't afford to have it printed. Why, we can't sc.r.a.pe up postage for very many letters. Sixty cents; that would mail thirty letters."

"We can't write more than that," said Marjorie. "That would be five apiece for all of us. And I don't know as Kit and Dorothy write well enough, anyway."

"Dorothy does," said Kitty, generously. "But I write like hen's tracks."

"Well, you can write those that don't matter so much," said Midge, kindly. "I'll tell you, Kitty, you can write the one to Father."

"Pooh, Father doesn't need any. Our place is always in order."

"So is ours!" cried d.i.c.k. "And ours!" piped up Dorothy.

"But don't the citizens all have to have letters?" asked Gladys. "If you just pick out the ones who don't keep their lawns nice, they'll be mad."

"No, they won't," said d.i.c.k; "or, if they are, why, let 'em _be_ mad."

"I say so, too," agreed King. "If we write to the ones that need writing to, we'll have all we can do. Make out a list of 'em, d.i.c.k."

"Put down Mr. Bolton first," said Gladys. "He hasn't mowed his gra.s.s all summer. Father says his place is a disgrace to the comminity."

"Community, child," corrected her brother. "But old Bolton's place _is_ awful. So is Crane's."

"Let's write their letters now, and see how they sound," suggested King, who was always in favor of quick action.

The club was meeting in the Maynards' big playroom, so paper and pencils were handy.

"It ought to be in ink, I s'pose," said King, "but I hardly ever use it, it spills about so. Let's take pencil this time."

After many suggestions and corrections on the part of each of the interested members the following letter was achieved:

"MR. BOLTON,

"_Dear Sir_: We wish kindly to ask you to keep your place in better order. We are trying to improve our fair city, and how can we do it when places like yours are a disgrace to the community? We trust you will be nice about this, and not get mad, for we mean well, and hope you are enjoying the same blessing."

"That's all right," said Marjorie, as d.i.c.k read it aloud. "Now, what do we sign it?"

"Just sign it 'The Village Improvement Society,' that's all," said Gladys.

"Wait a minute," said King. "In all letters of this sort they always abbreviate some words; it looks more business-like."

"Mother hates abbreviations," said Marjorie; "she won't let me say 'phone for telephone, or auto for motor-car."

"That's different," said King. "She means in polite society; talking, you know, or writing notes to your friends."

"Isn't a Village Improvement Society a polite society?" asked Kitty.

"Yes, of course, sister. But I don't mean that. I mean, in a business letter like this they always abbreviate some words."

"Well, abbreviate 'community,' that's the longest word," suggested d.i.c.k.

"No, that isn't the right kind of a word to abbreviate. It ought to be something like acc't for account."

"Oh, that kind? Well, perhaps we can use that word in some other letter.

But can't we do the abbreviating in the signature? That's pretty long."

"So we can," said King. "Let's sign it, 'The Village Imp. Society.'"

This was adopted, as it didn't occur to any of the children that the abbreviated word might convey an unintended meaning.

Mr. Crane was attended to next, and, as they warmed to their subject, his letter was a little more peremptory. It ran:

"MR. CRANE,

"_Dear Sir_: We're improving our village, and, unless you fix up your place pretty quick, we will call and argue with you. On no acc't let it go another week looking as disreputibil as it now does. We mean well, if you do; but if you don't,--beware!

"THE VILLAGE IMP. SOCIETY."

"That's fine!" exclaimed Gladys, as this effusion was read out. "Now, let's do two more, and then we can each take one for a copy, and make a lot of them, just put different names at the top, you know."

"Let's make a more gentle one," said Marjorie. "Those are all right for men, but there's old Mrs. Hill, she ought to be told pleasantly to fix up her garden and keep her pigs and chickens shut up. We almost ran over a lot of them the other day."

So a gentle pet.i.tion was framed:

"DEAR MRS. HILL:

"Won't you please be so kind as to straighten out your garden a little? We'd like to see it look neat like Mr. Fulton's, or Mr.

Maynard's, or Mr. Adams'. Don't go to too much trouble in this matter, but just kill or shut up your pigs and chickens, and we will all help you if need be.

"Lovingly yours, "THE VILLAGE IMP. SOCIETY."

"That's sweet," said Marjorie; "I like that 'Lovingly yours'; it shows we have no hard feelings."

One more was framed, with a special intent toward the shopkeepers: