_ CHAPTER XXI. A FAREWELL TEA-PARTY
The summer, as all summers will do, came to an end, and at last it was the very day before Marjorie was to leave Haslemere and go back to her own home.
The three friends were having a farewell tea-party at "Breezy Inn," and very sad were the three little faces at the thought of parting.
"And the worst of it is," said Midget, "I can't come again for four years, and then I'll be sixteen years old, just think of that!"
"So will I," said Molly; "we'll be almost young ladies. Isn't it horrid?"
"At least we won't get into such mischief," said Marjorie, laughing as she remembered the scrapes they had been in all summer. "And next year it's Kitty's turn to come, and you'll have fun with her here in "Breezy Inn," and I won't be here."
At this pathetic announcement, Stella began to cry in earnest, and merry Molly tried to cheer the others up.
"Well, we can't help it," she said, "and I suppose, Marjorie, you'll be having a good time somewhere else."
"I s'pose so. They were all at the seashore this summer, and Kitty wrote to me that she had had a lovely time."
"Maybe she'll trade off with you," said Stella, "and let you come up here next summer, while she goes to the seashore again."
"Maybe she will," said Midget, brightening up; "I'd like that, but I don't believe Mother will let us. You see, we take regular turns spending the summer with Grandma. Baby Rosamond never has been yet, but when it's her turn again, she'll be old enough, and so that puts me off for four years."
"Don't let's talk about it," said Molly, as she took her eleventh ginger-snap from the plate; "we can't help it, and we may as well look on the bright side. Let's write letters to each other this winter; shall we?"
"Yes, indeed," said Stella; "I'll write you every week, Marjorie, and you must write to me, and we'll all send each other Christmas presents, and, of course 'Breezy Inn' will be shut up for the winter anyway, I suppose."
"I suppose it will," said Marjorie, "and I s'pose it's time for us to go now; it's six o'clock."
There was a little choke in her voice as she said this, and a little mist in her eyes as she looked for the last time at the familiar treasures of "Breezy Inn."
Stella was weeping undisguisedly, and with her wet little mop of a handkerchief pressed into her eyes, she could scarcely see her way down the ladder.
But Uncle Steve, who came across the fields to meet them, promptly put a stop to this state of things.
"That's enough," he said, "of weeps and wails! Away with your handkerchiefs and out with your smiles, every one of you! Suppose Marjorie IS going away to-morrow, she's going off in a blaze of glory and amid shouts of laughter, and she's not going to leave behind any such doleful-looking creatures as you two tearful maidens."
Uncle Steve's manner was infectiously cheery, and the girls obeyed him in spite of themselves.
And so, when the next morning Uncle Steve drove Marjorie to the station, the girls were not allowed to go with her, but were commanded to wave gay and laughing good-bys after her until she was out of sight.
And so, all through the winter Marjorie's last recollection of Haslemere was of Molly and Stella standing on her own little porch waving two handkerchiefs apiece and smiling gayly as they called out:
"Good-by, Marjorie! Good-by, Mopsy Midget! Good-by!"
[THE END]
Carolyn Wells's Book: Marjorie's Vacation
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