The four danced into the dining-room, where Miss Larkin and breakfast awaited them.
“I do think,” said Midget, as she ate her cereal, “that, considering we’re Maynards, we have behaved pretty well since Mother’s been away.”
“Sure we have!” agreed King; “if I get much better, I’ll spoil.”
“I’m spoiling for some mischief, as it is,” said Marjorie, with dancing eyes.
“Oh, Mops,” begged Kitty, “don’t cut up any jinks before Mother gets home.”
“Well, I won’t,” said Mops, who didn’t mean her speech as seriously as Kitty took it; “but after she gets home, I’m going to cut up the biggest jink I can think of.”
“Are you, really?” said Miss Larkin, with such a horrified expression that the three children could not help giggling.
“I dunno, Larky,” said Midge, teasingly. “P’raps I will, and p’raps I won’t. But I’ll promise to be good as pie till Mother does come; only it seems as if to-day will be a hundred years long.”
However, the morning passed rapidly enough to three Maynards, and it was not until after luncheon that they grew restless again.
“Oh, deary, deary me!” sighed Marjorie. “They can’t come until five o’clock, and now it’s only two. We can’t dress up for them until about four—’cause there’s no use dressing sooner, and getting all messy. Let’s do something or go somewhere.”