“I’m glad, myself, but Mops, do stop singing a dirge about it.”
“What is a dirge, Kit?” asked King. “You do use such awfully grown-up words. You oughtn’t to do it at nine years old. What’ll you be when you’re as old as I am?”
“I hope I’ll be less noisy than you two are,” said Kitty, but she smiled good-naturedly at her more boisterous brother and sister. “Anyway, I think we all might be quiet long enough to let Miss Larkin say what she wants to.”
“I think so, too,” said Midget. “Go ahead, Larky, dear. Tell us about this digging scheme of yours.”
“Well,” began Miss Larkin, almost timidly, for when the children grew noisy, it always made her nervous, “it seemed to me it would be nice to prepare a little surprise for your parents’ homecoming.”
“Oh!” groaned King; “no more pageants for me! No more floats or celebrations or North Poles at present! No more marching half a mile wrapped in buffalo robes! Nay, nay, Pauline.”
“Oh, King, do be still,” begged Kitty. “Go on, Miss Larkin.”
“And I thought, children dear, that it would be nice to get some window boxes and piazza boxes, and plant bright flowers in them. Then, you see, Marjorie, you can dig and plant, and yet not disobey your father’s command not to make a garden. For, of course, he meant a garden on the ground, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did,” said Midget. “I think window boxes would be fine! Tell us more about it, Larky, dear.”
Pleased at the interest they all showed, Miss Larkin went on: