“And now,” said Grandma Maynard, after the greetings were all over, “you would like to go to your rooms, I’m sure, and make ready for tea.”

Decorously the children filed upstairs and were put in charge of maids who assisted them with their toilets.

Marjorie and Kitty were in the same room, but owing to the maids’ presence, they could make no comments.

As the trunks had been sent ahead, they had fresh frocks in plenty, and soon, attired in stiff white kilted pique, they went downstairs again.

Grandma Maynard nodded approval, and told them to sit down on the divan.

“Of course, you little girls don’t drink tea,” she said, as she seated herself behind the elaborately appointed tea-tray which the butler had brought in.  “So I have milk for you.”

This was entirely satisfactory, and as there were plenty of lovely little cakes and dainty sandwiches, the children felt there was no fault to be found with Grandma’s hospitality, even though they were not allowed to talk.

King adapted himself rather more easily than the girls to this order of things, and he sat quietly in his chair, speaking only when he was spoken to; and though Marjorie knew he was fairly aching to shout and race around, yet he looked so demure that he almost made her laugh.

Not that she did!  No, indeed, she knew better than that; but though she tried very hard to appear at her ease, her nature was so sensitive to mental atmosphere, that her cakes almost choked her.

Rosy Posy was perfectly at ease.  The midget sat quietly, and accepted with benign grace the milk and crackers fed to her by one of the maids.

But at last the tea hour was over and the Maynards discovered that virtue is sometimes rewarded.

“You are most pleasant and amiable children,” said Grandma Maynard, looking judicially at the quartet, “and you certainly have very good manners.  I’m glad to see, Ed, that you have brought them up to be quiet and sedate.  I detest noisy children.”

“Yes, you are sensible, and not annoying to have around,” agreed Grandpa Maynard, and the three older children smiled respectfully at the compliment, but offered no reply.

“And now,” went on Grandpa Maynard, “I think that you should be amused for an hour.  They don’t sit up to dinner, of course, my dear?” he added, turning to his wife.

“Yes, we do!” was on the tip of Marjorie’s tongue, but she checked the speech just in time, and said nothing.

“No, of course not,” replied Grandma Maynard; “our dinner hour is eight, and that is too late for children.  Besides, I have invited some guests to meet Ed and Helen.  So the children will have supper in the small breakfast-room at half-past six, and meantime, as you say, we must give them some amusement.”

King greatly wondered what these grandparents’ idea of amusement would be, but Marjorie and Kitty had so little hope that it would be anything very enjoyable that they took little interest in it.