“I say, Mops, you ought to have known better,” was King’s brotherly comment, but he pulled off her black hair-ribbons in the old, comforting way, and Midget grinned at him.

“Let’s dispense with these trappings of woe,” said Cousin Jack, dropping the black ribbons in a convenient waste-basket.

So Midget went out to supper without any ribbons, her mop of curls tumbling all over her head and hanging down her shoulders.

“My, but I’m hungry!” she said, as she saw once again her own home table, with its pretty appointments and appetizing food.

“You bet you are!” said King, appreciatively; “tell us what you had to eat in the rural district.”

“Boiled beef,” said Midget, smiling; “and gingerbread and turnips!”

“Not so awful worse,” commented King.

“No?  Well, s’pose you try it once!  I like these croquettes and Saratoga potatoes a whole heap better!”

“Well, I ’spect I do, too.  I say, Mops, I’m glad you didn’t break your word to come out and play,—­at least, not intentionally.”

“No, I never break my word.  But I guess if you thought you didn’t have any father or mother or brother or sister, you’d forget all about going out to play, too.”

“I haven’t any brother,” said King, looking very sad and forlorn.

“I’ll be a brother to you,” declared Cousin Jack, promptly; “you behaved like a man, last night, old fellow,—­and I’m proud to claim you as a man and a brother.”

“Pooh, I didn’t do anything,” said King, modestly.

“Yes, you did,” said his mother.  “You were fine, my son.  And I never could have lived through to-day without you, either.”

“Dear old Kingsy-wingsy!” said Midget, looking at him with shining eyes.  And then,—­for it was their long-established custom,—­she tweaked his Windsor scarf untied.

As this was a mark of deep affection, King only grinned at her and retied it, with an ease and grace born of long practice.

“Well, Mehitabel,” said Cousin Jack, “I always said you were a child who could do the most unexpected things.  Here you’ve been and turned this whole house upside down and had us all nearly crazy,—­and here you are back again as smiling as a basket of chips.  And yet you did nothing for which any one could blame you!”

“Indeed they can’t blame her!” spoke up Mrs. Maynard; “the child thought I was talking to Mrs. Corey, instead of reading my part in the play.  Marjorie sha’n’t be blamed a bit!”

“That’s just what I said,” repeated Cousin Jack, smiling at the mother’s quick defense of her child; “why, if anybody told me I was a,—­what do you call it?—­a findling,—­I’d run away, too!”

“Don’t run away,” said Cousin Ethel, laughing.  “I’d have to run with you, or you’d get lost for keeps.  And I’d rather stay here.  But I think we must be starting for Bryant Bower, and leave this reunited family to get along for awhile without our tender care.”