“Who can have written to us?” exclaimed Marjorie, as she took hers.  “I don’t know this hand-writing; I’m sure I never saw it before.”

She turned the card over, and saw a picture of the State House, one of Boston’s principal places of interest.  Beneath the picture was written: 

“Please come and visit me;
I am the place you want to see.”

“How funny,” said Marjorie.  “Who could have sent it?  Is it an advertisement, Father?”

“No, Midget, The State House doesn’t have to advertise itself!  What is yours, King?”

“Mine is a picture of the Public Library, and this has a verse under it, too.  It says: 

“How do you think you like my looks? 
Beautiful pictures and wonderful books!”

“These are lots of fun, whoever sent them,” said Kitty.  “Listen to mine.  It’s a picture of Faneuil Hall.  Under it is written: 

“Do not think you have seen all
Until you have visited Faneuil Hall!”

“And Rosy Posy has one, too,” said Marjorie.  “Let sister read it, dear.”

“Yes, Middy wead my post-card,” and the baby handed it over.

“This is a lovely one,” said Marjorie.  “See, it’s all bright-colored flowers, and it says: 

“The Boston Common’s bright and gay,
With tulips in a brave array.”

“Sure enough,” said Mrs. Maynard, “the tulips must be in bloom now, and to-morrow we must go to see them.”

“Oh, what lovely times we are having!” cried Marjorie.  “How long are we going to stay in Boston, Father?”

“Long enough, at any rate, to see all these sights suggested by your post-cards.  And I may as well tell you, children, that the cards were sent by Mr. Bryant, a friend of mine in Cambridge; and we are going to visit at his house when we leave here.”

“Have we ever seen him?” asked Marjorie.

“Only when you were very small children; not since you can remember.  But they are delightful people, and indeed are distant cousins of your mother.  I can assure you you’ll have a good time at their home.”

“We seem to have good times everywhere,” said Marjorie, with a happy little sigh of content.  “This has been the most beautiful May ever was!  And a real Maynard May, because we’ve all been together all the time!”

“May for the Maynards, and the Maynards for May,” sang King, and they all repeated the line, which was one of their favorite mottoes.

“Maytime is a lovely time, anyway, isn’t it, Father?” said Marjorie.

“Yes, unless it rains,” Mr. Maynard replied, smiling.

“Well, we’ve had awful little rain since we started,” commented Marjorie; “just a little shower now and then, and that’s all.”

“Maytime is playtime for us this year, sure enough,” said her father; “I hope you children realize that these are all Ourdays, and you’re piling up enough of them to last for two or three years ahead.”

“Oh, they don’t count that way, do they?” cried Kitty, in such dismay that her father laughed.