“S’pose you tell ’em about it, Ethelinda, and let them judge for themselves,” said her husband, who was sitting on the veranda railing, with Midge and Kitty on either side of him, and Rosamond in his arms.

“Well, it’s this way,” began Cousin Ethel.  “Instead of having articles for sale in any room or hall, we are going to send them all around town, in pushcarts or wagons, each in charge of a peddler.  These peddlers will be young people dressed in fancy costumes, and each will try to sell his load of wares by calling from house to house.  Some peddlers will have pushcarts or toy express wagons, or even wheelbarrows.  Others will carry a suitcase or a basket or a peddler’s pack.  They may go together or separately, and the whole day will be devoted to it.”

“Great scheme!” commented Cousin Jack.  “Wish we might be in it, eh, Ned?”

“Well, no,” said Mr. Maynard, “I don’t believe I care about that sort of thing myself, but I rather think the Maynard chicks will like it.”

“Yes, indeed,” cried Marjorie, her eyes dancing at the thought; “I think it will be lovely fun, Cousin Ethel.  But can we girls push a big pushcart?  Do you mean like the grocers use?”

“There will be a few of those,” said Cousin Ethel, “and in all cases where the vehicles are too heavy for the girls, there will be young men appointed to do the pushing, while the girls cajole the customers into buying.  It will not be difficult, as everybody will be waiting for you with open hearts and open purses.”

“It’s a grand plan,” said Kitty, speaking with her usual air of thoughtful deliberation.  “What shall we sell, Cousin Ethel?”

“Well, I’m undecided whether to put you two girls together, or put you each with some one else.  I’d like to put you each with another little girl, but if I do that, I will have to put Marjorie with Bertha Baker, and I know she won’t like it.”

“Why won’t she like it?” asked Marjorie, innocently.  “I’ll be nice to her.”

“Bless your heart, you sweet baby, I don’t mean that!” cried Cousin Ethel; “but the truth is, nobody likes Bertha Baker.  She is a nice child in many ways, but she is,—­”

“Grumpy-natured,” put in Cousin Jack; “that’s what’s the matter with Bertha,—­she hasn’t any sunshine in her makeup.  Now as Marjorie has sunshine enough for two, I think it will be a good plan to put them together.”

“The plan is good enough,” said his wife, “if Marjorie doesn’t mind.  But I don’t want her pleasure spoiled because she has to be with a grumpy little girl.  How about it, Marjorie?”

“I don’t mind a bit,” said Midget.  “We’re always good-natured ourselves, somehow we just can’t help being so.  And if Bertha Baker is cross, I’ll just giggle until she has to giggle too.”

“That’s right, Midget,” said her father, nodding his head approvingly.  “And if you giggle enough, I think you’ll make the grumpy Bertha merry before she knows it.”