“I guess we couldn’t let old Mopsy go out of this bunch!” exclaimed King, as with a clever agility he pulled off both Midget’s hair-ribbons at once.

This called for retaliation, and in a flash, Marjorie tweaked off his necktie.

Nobody knew exactly the particular fun in this performance, for it only meant an immediate readjustment of the same ribbons, but it was a frequent occurrence, and usually passed unnoticed.

“And old Mopsy couldn’t stay away from this bunch, either,” returned Marjorie, in response to her brother’s remark.  “Why, if I just tried it, I’m sure it would kill me!”

“I’m sure so, too,” agreed Kitty.  “We just have to have each other all the time, we do!  Oh, Mops, there are some marshmallows; mayn’t we get some, Mother?”

Sure enough, the big pink blooms showed on the marshmallow bushes, and in a minute the children had scrambled out to get some.

It was a muddy performance, for marshmallows have a way of growing in very swampy places, but the little Maynards didn’t mind that, or at least, they didn’t stop to think whether they did or not.  Splash and paddle they went into the mud, but they succeeded in getting several of the beautiful flowers, and returned with them in triumph.

“Those are fine specimens,” said Mr. Maynard, “but I can’t possibly let those six muddy shoes get into this car that Pompton keeps so beautifully clean!  Would you mind walking on to New Haven?”

The three looked at their shoes, and discovered that they were simply loaded with mud.  Even when wiped off on the grass, they presented a most untidy appearance.

But King came to his sisters’ rescue.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said.  “You girls take off your shoes as you get in, and I’ll take off mine as I get in, and then I’ll take some newspaper, and polish them all up.”

This really was a good idea, and King worked diligently away until he had rubbed the muddy shoes into a fair state of civilization.

Mr. Maynard, as he often did, composed a song for the occasion, and after once hearing it, the children took up the strain and sang heartily: 

“Old King Cole
Rubbed a muddy old sole
  And a muddy old sole rubbed he;
For he polished each shoe
Of his sisters two,
  And his own shoes, they made three! 
Hurray, hurroo, hurree! 
  And his own shoes, they made three!”

Mr. Maynard’s doggerel was always highly appreciated by the children, and they sang the pleasing ditty over and over, while King rubbed away at the shoes in time to the chorus.

The sun was setting as they neared New Haven.  The approach, along the shores of the beautiful harbor, was most picturesque, and both the children and their parents were impressed by the beauty of the scene.  The setting sun turned the rippling water to gold, and the shipping loomed against the sky like a forest of bare tree-trunks.