“Rise up, rise up, Xarifa!  Only three grains of corn! 
    Stay, Lady, stay! for mercy’s sake! and wind the bugle horn. 
    The glittering knife descends—­descends—­Hark, hark, the foeman’s
        cry! 
    The world is all a fleeting show!  Said Gilpin, ‘So am I!’

    “The sea! the sea! the open sea!  Roll on, roll on, thou deep! 
    Maxwelton braes are bonny, but Macbeth hath murdered sleep! 
    Answer me, burning shades of night! what’s Hecuba to me? 
    Alone stood brave Horatius!  The boy—­oh, where was he?”

“Oh, Father!” cried Marjorie, as Mr. Maynard finished, “did you really make that up?  Or did you find it in a book?”

But Mr. Maynard wouldn’t tell, and only accepted the praise heaped upon him, with a foolish smirk, like an embarrassed schoolboy.

“Now, children, school is out,” said Midget, “and it’s about luncheon time.  So go and tidy yourselves up to come to the table.  You’re always sending us to tidy up, Mother, so now you can see what a nuisance it is!  Run along, and come back as quickly as you can, for luncheon is nearly ready.”

The four grown-ups went away to tidy up, and King and Midget made further plans for this new game.  It was still raining, so there was no hope of going motoring, and they concluded they were having enough fun at home to make up for it.

But when the four “children” returned, they looked at them a moment in silent astonishment, and then burst into shrieks of laughter.

Mr. Maynard and Mr. Bryant had transformed themselves into boys, by brushing their hair down very wet and straight, and wearing large, round collars made of white paper, and tied with enormous bows.  They looked funny enough, but the two ladies were funnier still.  Mrs. Maynard had her hair in two long pigtails tied with huge ribbons, and Cousin Ethel had her hair in bunches of curls, also tied with big bows.  They both wore white bib aprons, and carried foolish-looking dolls which they had made out of pillows, tied round with string.

“You dear children!” cried Midget; “I think you are lovely!  Come along to luncheon.”

The “children” politely let King and Midget go first, and they followed, giggling.  Sarah, the waitress, was overcome with amusement, but she managed to keep a straight face, as the comical-looking procession filed in.

King and Marjorie appropriated their parents’ seats, and the others sat at the sides of the table.

“No, Helen, dear,” said Midget, “you can’t have any tea.  It isn’t good for little girls.  You may have a glass of milk, if you wish.”

“I don’t think these lobster croquettes are good for Jack,” said King, looking wisely at Midget; “they’re very rich, and he’s subject to indigestion.”

“I am not!” declared Cousin Jack, looking longingly at the tempting croquettes, for which Ellen was famous.

“There, there, my child,” said Marjorie; “don’t contradict your father.  Perhaps he could have a half of one, King.”