“Yes, sir; but then, you see, I love Mother.”
This simple explanation seemed to please Mr. Maynard, and he said:
“Well, I wouldn’t bother much about this obedience matter. I doubt if Miss Larkin lays down very strict laws, anyway. Suppose you take this for a rule. Don’t do anything that you think Mother would forbid if she were at home.”
“That’s ever so much better,” said King, with a sigh of relief. “I did hate to be tied to old Larky’s apron strings.”
“Hold on, King, my boy. Stop right there. Obedience is one thing, respect another. You are, at my orders, to be respectful to Miss Larkin, both in speech and in spirit. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” said Kingdon, looking ashamed. “I understand, and I’ll obey; but, Father, we always call her Larky.”
“But you won’t any more. I don’t think you realize what bad taste it is, for a child to speak so of an elder person. Call your school friends by nicknames, if you like, but show to grown-ups the civility and respect that good-breeding calls for.”
“All right; I’ll call her the Honorable Miss Larkin; Dear Madam,” and King swept a magnificent bow nearly to the floor, in token of his great respect for the lady.
“But do hurry home as soon as you can,” said Marjorie, as she squeezed her father’s coat sleeve with one hand, and with the other reached out to grasp a fold of her mother’s trailing gown.
“We’ll be gone just six weeks, dearie,” said Mr. Maynard. “I can’t remain away longer than that. And I think that will be long enough to make the roses bloom once more on Mother’s wan cheeks.” Mrs. Maynard smiled.