“You ought to be punished,” said the tormented lady, looking at the merry, if repentant, faces.
“Oh, do punish us!” cried Marjorie. “That would square it all up; and, besides, punishments are gen’rally fun. You can most always make a game out of ’em.”
“You can, can you!” exclaimed Miss Larkin; “well, I rather think I’ll give you a punishment that you can’t make a noisy game out of, at any rate. Now, listen to me. I expect my friends on the five o’clock train. I shall go in the carriage to meet them at the station. At half-past four, I want you all to be dressed nicely, and wait in the drawing-room till we return. Marjorie, you may wear your new white serge; and, Kitty, put on your light-blue voile.”
“Yes’m,” said the two little girls.
“Now, be sure to allow time enough to make your toilets properly, but before that you must each learn a piece of poetry and recite it to me without missing a word. This is your punishment, and I trust it will at least keep you quiet for the afternoon.”
It was, indeed, a punishment. The Maynard children loved to read poetry, or have it read to them, but memorizing it was another matter.
“How long a poem, Miss Larkin?” asked Kitty, disconsolately.
Miss Larkin considered. If she set them a long task, they might not get through in time to dress; if a short one, time would be left for mischief.
“About ten lines,” she said, at last. “Not less than ten, and more, if you choose.”
“May we select our poems ourselves?”