"Well, no; I don't believe I care for that particular fancy. But I'll show you how I do like the pins put in, and you may do it for me. Now, run out and play, we'll have ample time for our housekeeping affairs later on."
Away went Marjorie, after bestowing another tumultuous bear-hug on her mother. She whisked on her hat and coat, and with her mittens still in her hand, flew out of the door, banging it after her.
"Cold weather always goes to that child's muscles," thought Mrs. Maynard, as she heard the noise. "She never bangs doors in summer time."
"Wherever have you been?" cried the others, as Marjorie joined them on the hill.
"Talking to Mother. I meant to come out right away after school, but I forgot about it."
Gladys Fulton looked at her curiously. She wasn't "intimate" with her mother, as Marjorie was, and she didn't quite understand the relationship.
In another minute Midge was on her sled, and, with one red-mittened hand waving on high, was whizzing down the hill.
King caught up to her, and the others followed, and then they all walked back up the hill together.
"Going to have fun, Thanksgiving Day?" asked Dick Fulton, as they climbed along.
"No. We're going to have a silly old Thanksgiving," said Marjorie. "Only grown-ups to visit us, and that means we don't have any good of Father at all."