CHAPTER XIII

A BIRTHDAY PLAN

“KING,” said Marjorie, suddenly, “I have the beautifullest idea in the world!”

“Spring it,” said Kingdon, not looking particularly expectant. “Is it one of your crazy ones, or a really good one?”

“Oh, a really good one,” declared Marjorie, whose enthusiasm was never dampened by King’s preliminary lack of interest.

It was a rainy afternoon, and the children were amusing themselves in the living-room. Miss Larkin was up in her own room, writing letters, and the time really seemed ripe for an escapade of some sort.

“It’s a big idea,” went on Midget, “and you two must listen while I tell about it.”

King and Kitty put both hands behind their ears, and leaned forward in exaggerated anxiety to hear the plan.

“Hope it’s mischief,” said King; “I’ve been good so long I’m just about ready to sprout wings. Let’s cut up jinks.”

“No,” said Marjorie, severely; “it isn’t mischief, and we’re not going to cut up jinks. At least, not bad jinks. Not till Mother and Father come home, anyway. But I’m sort of hungry for a racket of some kind, myself. So let’s do this. You know next week Wednesday is Miss Larkin’s birthday.”

“Yes, I know it,” said Kitty; “how old is she?”

“Kit,” said her brother, “I’m ashamed of you! You mustn’t talk about grown-up people’s ages. You ought to know that.”

“Well, what’s the sense of a birthday, if it doesn’t mean how old you are?” demanded Kitty.

“Never mind that,” resumed Marjorie; “we mustn’t say a word about her age. I know that much myself. But, you see, we did upset her awf’ly when we bounced the Simpsons right into the middle of her grand dinner party, and I don’t think she ever got over it.”

“She’s been nice about it, though,” said King, thoughtfully.

“Yes, she has. Hasn’t scolded us hardly a bit about it. And that’s just why I think we might do something nice for her on her birthday, to sort of make up, you know.”

“Hooray!” cried King. “That _is_ a good idea, Mops. Let’s have a regular celebration for her.”

“And let’s keep it secret,” said Kitty. “A surprise is most of the fun of a birthday party.”

“All right,” agreed Midget. “Only I don’t mean a party, you know. For a party, for her, we’d have to invite grown-ups—and we can’t do that. I mean just a celebration in the afternoon to show her that we remember her birthday.”

“And that we’re sorry we spoiled her dinner party,” added Kitty.

“Yep,” said King. “Now, what sort of a celebration have you thought of, Mopsy?”

“Well, I haven’t finished thinking yet, but I had a sort of idea of a parade.”

“With drums and banners?” cried King, eagerly.

“Oh, I’ll tell you,” broke in Kitty, “we’ll have floats!”

“Floats?” echoed the other two.

“Yes,” declared Kitty, warming to her subject; “floats, like they had in the big parade in New York.”

The magnitude of this idea nearly took away the breath of her hearers, but they rose to the occasion.

“Jiminy Crickets!” cried King, “you do beat all, Kit! ’Course we’ll have floats—gay ones, you bet!”

Marjorie’s eyes shone, as her imagination ran riot.

“We’ll get all the Jinks Club in it,” she said, “and we’ll each have a float. How shall we make the floats, Kit?”

“Oh, easy enough,” said that capable young person, with a toss of her head. “You just take an express wagon, or a doll’s carriage, or anything on wheels——”

“A soap box?” broke in King.

“Yes, a soap box—anything you can drag, you know. And then you decorate it all up fancy, like the big floats were.”

“Oh, Kitty!” cried Marjorie in rapture, “it will be perfectly elegant! Paper flowers and flags and bunting—oh!”

It was a grand scheme. Of course, it was all in honor of Miss Larkin’s birthday, but incidentally the Jinksies bid fair to get their own fun out of it, too.

“We’ll have a meeting of the Jinks Club to-morrow,” said Marjorie, “and we’ll have it over at Delight’s, so Miss Larkin won’t hear what we say. Do we all parade with these floats?”

“Yes,” said Kitty, who was always director of a costume party. “We must all dress up, you know, and then drag our float behind us, or push it, if it’s a doll’s carriage.”

“There are two express wagons down cellar,” said King; “Rosy Posy’s, and the one that used to be mine when I was a kid.”

From the dignity of his fourteen years, King looked back at his toy express wagon with disdain. But viewed as a “float,” it was a different matter.

“We’ll have to decorate the floats somewhere else besides here,” said Marjorie. “For if we set out to keep it secret from Miss Larkin, let’s do it.”

“All right; I guess Flip Henderson’s father will let us work on ’em in their barn. They only use the garage now, and the barn is pretty much empty.”

“Where’ll we get the other three floats?” asked Marjorie. “Our two express wagons, and Rosy Posy’s doll-carriage are all we have.”

“Dorothy has a doll-carriage,” said Kitty, “and Flip can find some sort of a rig.”

“Oh, yes,” said King. “We can fix up something, if it’s only a box on wheels; and then you girls can decorate it.”

“Shall we each make one float, or all make all of ’em?” asked Marjorie, who was thinking out details.

“Both,” said Kitty, enigmatically; “I mean, we’ll each plan out our own, and make it; and then, if we can help each other, we will.”

“I don’t know how the others will like it,” observed King; “they’ll be doing all this work for us, really.”

“No, they won’t,” said Midget; “it’s just a new sort of jinks, that’s all. Then, of course, we’ll all come in here, and have the celebration, and have a feast, and if they don’t like that—I don’t know why.”

“Shall we give her presents?”

“Yes, of course. Little things, you know. I’ve only got about thirty-five cents left of my allowance.”

“I’ve only ten,” said Kitty, “but I’ll make something for her—a pincushion, maybe.”

“H’sh! here she comes!” whispered King, warningly, and the plans were dropped for the present, as Miss Larkin came into the room.

“Well, little busy ones,” she said, “what are you doing now? Plotting some mischief?”

“No, Miss Larkin,” said Midget. “Truly it’s not mischief this time. Though King did say he was spoiling for some,” she added, with a laughing glance at her brother.

“Yes, I did,” he retorted; “and I think I’ll have some! Girls, let’s tease Larky!”

It was a strange thing, but the young Maynards always knew instinctively when Miss Larkin was in a mood to be teased, and would take it good-naturedly, or when she was in an austere mood, and would be angry if they trifled with her dignity.

But her indulgent smile at King’s words was the signal for a general attack.

“All right; what shall we do with her?” cried Kitty.

“I’ll tell you!” exclaimed Marjorie, and she ran across the hall to the drawing-room. “Come and help me, King,” she called back.

And in a moment the two returned, lugging a tall, heavy cathedral candlestick, which was one of their mother’s antique treasures.

It was of old brass, and was about six feet high. They stood this in the middle of the floor, and gravely announced that she was to be Joan of Arc, burnt at the stake.

“Here’s the stake,” said King, “and you’re the ill-fated Joan. You must meet your fate bravely. Step up, Joan!”

Miss Larkin, giggling at their nonsense, stepped up, and stood against the candlestick. Meantime Kitty had procured lots of string, and with this they bound the helpless martyr to the stake.

“Miscreant!” began King, who loved to speechify.

“Oh, no,” corrected Marjorie. “Joan of Arc wasn’t a miscreant—she was a martyr.”

“Well, martyr, then; Miss Martyr, I should say, we now bind thee to thy death pyre. Remember, oh remember, the misdeeds——”

“Oh, King,” cried Kitty, “you’re all wrong! I’ll make the speech. Oh, fair martyr, who art thus brought low, forgive thy tyrants——”

“Who have struck the blow!” chimed in King. “I say, what was Joan burned up for, anyway? I ought to know, but I don’t.”

“Oh, read up your history afterward,” cried Marjorie, impatiently. “Here, now we’ll build the fire round her!”

With a dozen sofa-pillows, they built a very respectable fire, and by putting the red ones on tops anybody could imagine a blazing flame.

“Now, you must burn and shrivel up,” commanded Kitty, and to their intense delight Miss Larkin entered quite into the spirit of the game.

“Burn me not up!” she cried; “I but did my duty!”

“Duty, forsooth!” shouted King. “You rode a white horse——”

“To Banbury Cross,” supplemented Kitty, as her brother paused for breath.

At this, Joan of Arc giggled so hard, that she almost choked, and her humane captors loosed her bonds and set her free.

“You’re a brick, Larky,” said King; “why, even Mother can’t play our romping games as good as you do. You’ll have to have a reward!”

A tremendous wink at his sisters reminded them of the coming celebration, and they made warning faces at him, for King was apt to tell secrets unintentionally sometimes.

But after dinner, apparently for no reason at all, Miss Larkin’s mood changed. She spoke in stern tones. She commanded the children to study their lessons quietly, and then go straight to bed.

“What’s up?” said King to Marjorie, making no sound, but moving his lips.

“Dunno,” she replied, in the same silent way, as they opened their schoolbooks.

Half an hour later, they filed quietly upstairs, and paused only for a moment’s whispered conversation on the landing.

“Now, what _do_ you s’pose ailed her?” asked King.

“I know,” said Kitty, confidently; “she was sort of ashamed of having played Joan of Arc with us, and it made her more strict than ever.”

“I guess that was it,” said Marjorie, with a sigh. “But the celebration’s off. I’m not going to make floats for an old crosspatch.”

“Oh, pshaw!” said King. “You know how she is. She’ll be sweet as pie on her birthday—you see if she isn’t. And, anyway, we’ll get as much fun out of the floats and things as she will.”

This was true enough, so they said good-night, and separated.

“It’s funny,” said Marjorie to Kitty, after they reached their own room; “Mother and Father are always just the same,—even—you know. But Miss Larkin is awful indulgent one minute, and strict as anything the next.”

“That’s ’cause she _isn’t_ Mother and Father,” said Kitty, wisely. “She’s an old maid lady, you know, and she doesn’t know how to treat children properly.”

“You mustn’t say ‘old maid,’ Kit; it isn’t polite.”

“I don’t see why. But, I only mean, it takes a father or a mother to behave _right_ to children. You know how ours are.”

“Yes, I do,” said Marjorie, in a contented voice. “They’re just ’bout perfect. And I wish they’d come home.”

“Well, it’s no use wishing; they’ll be gone more’n two weeks yet.”

“Yes; so they will. And I guess we’ll have the celebration, Kit; it’ll fill up the time so.”

“All right,” said Kitty, sleepily, and then the two girls hopped into their two little white beds.

The next afternoon the Jinks Club met at Delight’s. As they were planning the celebration, they behaved quietly, as, indeed, they were always expected to do at Mrs. Spencer’s.

The Jinksies were quite ready to help with a birthday pageant for Miss Larkin.

They saw at once the possibilities of a lot of fun for themselves, and if, incidentally, it gave a grown-up lady pleasure, they had no objection, and, indeed, were rather glad.

“’Course we’ll build the floats in our barn,” said Flip Henderson. “It’ll be gay. I’ll use a wheelbarrow for mine. I know just how I’ll fix it! You needn’t laugh, either. Just wait till you see it!”

Though the idea of a wheelbarrow had made them laugh at first, they quickly realized its possibilities, and, too, Flip was an ingenious boy, and would doubtless fix it up beyond all recognition. Dorothy had a doll’s carriage, which she said she would use; and Delight said she would borrow a neighbor’s baby-carriage, as that would be just right for the float she already had in mind.

“Oh, won’t it be lovely!” cried Marjorie, hugging Delight in her enthusiasm. “Shall we know about each other’s floats or keep ’em secret?”

“Oh, let’s know about ’em,” said King; “it’s more fun, and then we can help each other. I know I couldn’t make one alone.”

He looked helplessly at his sisters, and Marjorie said:

“’Course you couldn’t. We’ll make paper flowers and whatever you need. Now, let’s decide on our floats. Shall we have ’em historical?”

“Oh, no!” cried Delight; “I thought you meant just pretty ones. Mine’s going to be fairies.”

“Lovely!” exclaimed Kitty. “I’ll have mine mermaids. I saw a beautiful one in New York with mermaids.”

“Huh!” said Flip, “you can’t make mermaids, Kit; you’re crazy. How would you do it?”

“I’ll bet she can!” said King, whose faith in Kitty’s inventive genius was unbounded.

“I know I can,” said Kitty, calmly. “I’ll just take some of Rosy Posy’s dolls—her biggest ones—and then I’ll make long taily things of green silk or something, and stuff ’em with sawdust, and stick the dolls’ feet in, and sew ’em round the waist. Oh, it’ll be as easy as pie!”

“I told you so,” said King, looking proudly at his small sister. “Now, what shall I have, Kit?”

“Oh, you must think of your own subject, and then I’ll help you rig it up.”

“All right,” said King; “my float will be sort of historical, after all. I’ll have the discovery of the North Pole.”

“Fine!” exclaimed Marjorie. “I’ll help you, too! We’ll make a whole Arctic region of cotton batting, like we had at the bazaar last winter!”

“I haven’t decided on mine yet,” said Flip, who was thinking hard. “The rest of you can choose first.”

“We’ve all chosen, but Dorothy and me,” said Midget; “and I know what mine’ll be. What’s yours, Dot?”

“I guess I’ll just have flowers,” said Dorothy, timidly. She was not so energetic as the others.

“Do,” said Kitty; “you’ll be sweet as a flower girl, and your float can be all flowers, with butterflies hovering over it, on sort of strings.”

“Oh,” cried Delight, with dancing eyes, “this will be a splendid show! We ought to let more people see it!”

“Say we do!” said Flip. “Let’s parade all the way down Broad Avenue from our house to yours. Everybody will be glad to look at us!”

“I rather guess they will!” declared King. “All right, we’ll do that, and we’ll have Miss Larkin waiting for us on our verandah, and all march up in great style. Then, of course, you Jinksies will all come in to the celebration feast.”

“I s’pose we’ll have a Birthday Cake,” suggested Kitty.

“That’s going to be my float!” interrupted Marjorie. “I’ve just thought of it. A great, big cake, like a Jack Horner Pie, you know. And candles on it, and icing; and presents and things inside! Ellen will help me make it. I mean a great big one, as big as a barrel top. Then on an express wagon, or something like that, and decorated, it will be a float.”

“Fine!” agreed King. “If Larky doesn’t like her birthday this year, it won’t be our fault, will it?”

After some more animated discussion of the wonderful project, the Jinksies had their usual light refection of cookies and lemonade, and then departed for their homes.

“Meet in Henderson’s barn, at nine o’clock, to-morrow morning,” said King, as they separated. “Bring your doll-carts, girls, and Delight, if you can’t borrow Mrs. Phillips’ baby-carriage, I’ll fix you up a float. She may want it for her baby’s use, you know.”

“Well, I’ll see, King. I think she’ll let me have it, though.”

The laughing crowd went across the street, and then separated again as the Maynards turned in at their own gateway.