Marjorie’s brow cleared. A sense of responsibility always called out her better nature, and she agreed to go with the others to see Miss Larkin. Upstairs they tramped, King between his two sisters, and as the Maynards rarely did anything quietly, they sounded like a small army pounding up the steps.
“What is the matter?” exclaimed Miss Larkin, flying to her door as they approached.
“Why, we came to tell you,” began Marjorie, somewhat out of breath, “that—that——”
“That if you’d rather not have that racket of ‘Welcome’ stuff in your room, you can pitch it out,” continued King.
“Just tell Thomas,” went on Kitty, in her soft, cooing way, “and he’ll carry it all away for you.”
“But why shouldn’t I like it?” said Miss Larkin, who hadn’t quite grasped the rapid speech of the children.
“Oh, ’cause it is trumpery,” said King. “And we think that you just hate it——”
“And that you said it was nice, so not to ’fend us,” went on Kitty, “and so, we’ll freely forgive you if you don’t want it. But we do want our ribbons back.”
“And we may as well keep the ‘Welcome’ and the mournful signs,” added Marjorie; “for you see, our next guest might be of a more—more gay and festive nature.”
“Oh, I’m gay and festive,” said Miss Larkin, with her funny little giggle, which somehow always irritated the children; “but since you insist, I believe I will have these greens taken away. The scent of evergreens is a little overpowering to my delicate nerves. I shouldn’t have dreamed of suggesting it, but since you have done so—ah, may I ring for Thomas at once?”