“Girls,” said she, “Aunt Annie was at our house, and she taught me a new soup. It’s wonderful, and I’ll make it for you, if you want it, the first thing.”
“Of course we want it the first thing,” said Nan. “Did you suppose we thought it was a dessert?”
“Come, girls!” called Mr. Bond, from the platform, as the train that was to have the honor of carrying the party puffed into the station and came noisily to a standstill. “Are you ready? All aboard! Good-by, Margy dear; don’t set the house afire. Who is the Matron of this crowd, anyway? I’d like a word with her.”
Marjorie looked at the girls. “I think Marguerite is,” she said. “She’s the youngest and smallest and rattle-patedest. Yes, she shall be our Matron.”
“Very well, then, Matron Daisy, I consign these young barbarians to your care, and I put them and my house in your charge, and I shall expect you to render me an account when you come back.”
“Don’t scare me, Mr. Bond,” pleaded Marguerite, shaking her yellow curls. “If the responsibility proves too much for me I shall run away and leave them to their fate. But I think I can manage them, and I’ll rule them with a rod of iron.”
And then the bell rang, and Mr. Bond jumped off the train just in time; and he waved his hat, and the girls waved their handkerchiefs from the windows, until they were whisked away out of his sight.
“Now, my children,” said Marguerite, highly elated at her absurd title of Matron, “you are in my care, and I must look after you. Why, where are Nan and Helen?”
Sure enough, only six of the girls were to be seen; but just at that moment the two missing ones were escorted through the now wabbling doorway by an official. They were rather red-faced, and explained that they had seated themselves in the smoking-car by mistake, and the brakeman had kindly brought them back to their friends.
“I am shocked,” said Marguerite, severely. “Sit down there at once, and after this follow my directions more closely.”