Mr. Abercrombie was a genial old gentleman, beloved by everybody in the town. He was both rich and generous, so at a public fair or bazaar he was always expected to do his share, and more, too, and these expectations were always realized.
As he passed by the Maynards’ supper table, he stopped to pat Marjorie on the head.
“Well, my little orange maiden,” he said, “you look so like an orange, I think I shall squeeze you.”
Marjorie smiled at him gaily, and he squeezed her plump arm as he said:
“Are you going to guess trees with us, this evening?”
“I’d like to,” said Midge, “but I only know our common trees. I don’t know about tropical or foreign trees.”
“Well, the quizzes are pretty hard,” admitted Mr. Abercrombie, “but you’d better have a try at it. I hope you’ll all try,” he added, genially; “the more, the merrier.”
He passed on, and the Jinks Club resumed their supper.
“I wish Father and Mother were here,” said Marjorie, as she looked round on the pretty scene. “I know we’ll never have such a lovely show in town again.”
“Well, they’re seeing trees down South to beat these,” said King.