“We’re a worse-looking crowd than anybody ever was anywhere,” said King, with conviction. “Here, Rosy Posy, you walking mud-puddle, brother’ll carry you up the steps.”
Rosy Posy nestled her soft, muddy cheek against King’s equally muddy one, for she dearly loved her big brother, and liked to have him carry her now and then.
Up the steps they went, and in at the front door, and there, in the hall, stood—Mr. and Mrs. Maynard!
“Oh, Mother!” cried Marjorie; “oh, Mother!”
“Oh, Midget!” was the response, and then, regardless of the muddiness of Midget, and the tidiness of Mrs. Maynard, the two little arms flew round the mother’s neck, and Marjorie’s kisses left visible evidence on her mother’s pretty pink cheeks.
“It was nice of you to fix up like this to welcome us,” said Mr. Maynard, who had Rosy Posy in his arm now, and Kitty clinging to his other side.
Then muddy Kingdon was folded in his mother’s embrace, and then, somehow, everybody embraced everybody else, quite thoughtless of mud or scratches.
“But what’s it all about?” went on Mr. Maynard. “I like it—oh, don’t think I don’t like it! but—it’s a new style to me.”
“I feel that I am responsible for the children,” began Miss Larkin, and all at once Marjorie saw that Miss Larkin was painfully embarrassed at having seemingly neglected her charge.
“Not a bit of it!” declared Midget, flying to Miss Larkin’s side, and embracing the muddy lady; “it isn’t the least bit Larky’s fault! Is it, King? We went for a spring ramble——”