Midge was just having a spell of learning to cook, and good-natured Ellen had taught her a few simple dishes, of which Indian pudding was the favorite.
"No thank you, dearie. As it is a festival occasion, I think we'll have something a little more elaborate than that. You can help me better by trying to behave decorously, and by keeping the other children quiet when they are in the drawing-room. Mr. and Mrs. Crawford have never had any children, and they don't like noise and confusion."
"You're more used to it, aren't you, Mother?" said Marjorie, again springing to give her mother one of her spasmodic embraces, and incidentally upsetting that long-suffering lady's work-basket.
"I have to be if I live with my whirlwind of an eldest daughter," said Mrs. Maynard, when she could get her breath once more.
"Yes'm. And I'm awful sorry I upset your basket, but now I'll just dump it out entirely, and clear it up from the beginning; shall I?"
"Yes, do; it always looks so nice after you put it in order."
And so it did, for Marjorie was methodical in details, and she arranged the little reels of silk, and put the needles tidily in their cushion, until the basket was in fine order.
"There," she said, admiring her own work, "don't you touch that, Mother, until after Thanksgiving Day; and then it will be all in order for Mrs. Crawford to see. When is she coming?"
"They'll arrive Wednesday night and stay over until Friday morning. You may help me make the guest-rooms fresh and pretty for them."
"Yes; I'll stick pins in the cushions to make the letters of their names. Shall I?"