Mr. Maynard had come home early, and the whole family were in the drawing-room to await the arrival.

This, in itself, was depressing, for to be dressed up and sitting in state at four o'clock in the afternoon is unusual, and, therefore, uncomfortable.

Marjorie had a new frock, of the material that Kitty called "Alberta Ross." It was very pretty, being white, trimmed here and there with knots of scarlet velvet, and Midget was greatly pleased with it, though she looked longingly out of the window, and thought of her red cloth play-dress and her shining skates.

However, she had promised to be good, and she looked as demure as St.

Cecilia, as she sat quietly on the sofa with an eye on the behavior of her younger sisters.

Kitty and Rosy Posy, both in freshly-laundered, white muslin frocks, also sat demurely, with folded hands, while King, rather restlessly, moved about the room, now and then looking from the window.

"You children get on my nerves!" said Mr. Maynard, at last. "I begin to think you're not my own brood at all. Is it necessary, Mother, to have this solemn stillness, just because we expect some friends to see us?"

Mrs. Maynard smiled.

"These children," she said, "have no idea of moderation. It _isn't_ necessary for them to sit like wax-works, but if they didn't they'd be turning somersaults, or upsetting tables,--though, of course, they wouldn't mean to."

"I daresay you're right," said Mr. Maynard, with a sigh, "and I do want them to behave like civilized beings, when our friends come."

"There they are, now!" cried King, as the doorbell was heard. "But I don't see any carriage," he added, looking from the window. In a moment Sarah appeared with a telegram for Mrs. Maynard.

"They are delayed," said that lady, prophetically, "and won't arrive till the next train." But this she said while she was opening the envelope. As she read the message, her face fell, and she exclaimed, "Oh, they're not coming at all."

"Not coming?" said Mr. Maynard, taking the yellow paper.

"No; Mrs. Crawford's sister is ill, and she can't leave her. Oh, I'm so disappointed!"

"It is too bad, my dear; I'm very sorry for you. I wish they could have let you know sooner."

"Yes, I wish so, too. Then we could have gone out to Grandma Sherwood's for the day."

"Is it too late for that?" asked Marjorie, eagerly. "Can't we get ready, and fly off in a hurry?"

"_You_ could," said her father, smiling. "And probably we all could. But Grandma Sherwood couldn't get ready for six starving savages in such short order. Moreover, I fancy Mother has a larder full of good things here that must be eaten by somebody. What shall we do, Helen?"

"I don't know, Ed. I'll leave it to you. Plan anything you like."

"Then I'll leave it to the children. Speak up, friends. Who would you like to ask to eat Thanksgiving dinner with you?"

The children considered.

"It ought to be somebody from out of town," said Marjorie. "That makes it seem more like a special party."

"I'll tell you!" exclaimed Kitty. "Let's ask Molly Moss."

"Just the one!" cried Marjorie. "How'd you come to think of her, Kit?

But I 'most know her people won't let her come, and there isn't time, anyway."

"There's time enough," said Mr. Maynard. "I'll call them up on the long-distance telephone now. Then if Molly can come, they can put her on the train to-morrow morning, and we'll meet her here. But I doubt if her mother will spare her on Thanksgiving Day."

However, to Mr. Maynard's surprise, Mrs. Moss consented to let Molly go, and as a neighbor was going on the early morning train, and could look after her, the matter was easily arranged.

Marjorie was in transports of glee.

"I'm truly sorry, Mother," she said, "that you can't have your own company, but, as you can't, I'm so glad Molly is coming. Now, that fixes to-morrow, but what can we do to-day to have fun?"

"I think it's King's turn," said Mr. Maynard. "Let him invite somebody to dine with us to-night."

"That's easy," said Kingdon. "I choose d.i.c.k and Gladys. We can telephone for them right away."

"They don't seem much like company," said Marjorie, "but I'd rather have them than anybody else I know of."

"Then it's all right," said Mrs. Maynard, "and, as they're not formal company, you'd better all change those partified clothes for something you can romp about in."

"Yes, let's do that," said Kitty. "I can't have fun in dress-up things."

And so it was an informal lot of children who gathered about the dinner-table, instead of the guests who had been expected.

But Mr. Maynard exerted himself quite as much to be entertaining as if he had had grown-up companions, and the party was a merry one indeed.

After dinner the young people were sent to the playroom, as the elders were expecting callers.

"Tell me about Molly Moss," said Gladys to Marjorie. "What sort of a girl is she?"

"Crazy," said Marjorie, promptly. "You never knew anybody, Glad, who could get up such plays and games as she does. And she gets into terrible mischief, too. She's going to stay several days, and we'll have lots of fun while she's here. At Grandma's last summer, we played together nearly all the time. You'll like her, I know. And she'll like _you_, of course. We'll all have fun together."

Gladys was somewhat rea.s.sured, but she had a touch of jealousy in her nature, and, as she was really Marjorie's most intimate friend, she resented a little bit the coming of this stranger.

"She sounds fine," was d.i.c.k's comment, as he heard about Molly. "We'll give her the time of her life. Can she skate, Mops?"

"Oh, I guess so. I only knew her last summer, but I'm sure she can do anything."

When Molly arrived the next morning, she flew into the house like a small and well-wrapped-up cyclone. She threw her m.u.f.f in one direction, and her gloves in another, and made a mad dash for Marjorie.

Then, remembering her manners, she spoke politely to Mrs. Maynard.

"How do you do?" she said; "it was very kind of you to invite me here, and I hope you won't make me any trouble. There! Mother told me to say that, and I've been studying it all the way, for fear I'd forget it."

Mrs. Maynard smiled, for Molly was entirely unaware of the mistake she had made in her mother's message, and the other children had not noticed it, either.

"We're glad to have you with us, my dear," Mrs. Maynard replied; "and I hope you'll enjoy yourself and have a real good time."

"Yes'm," said Molly, "I always do."

Then the children ran away to play out-of-doors until dinner-time.

"It's so queer to be here," said Molly, who had never before been away from home alone.

"It's queer to have you, but it's nice," said Marjorie. "Which do you like best, summer or winter?"