"I like winter best for Christmas, and summer for Fourth of July," she said at last, with the air of one settling a weighty matter. But Miss Larkin really cared nothing to know about these things; it was only her idea of making herself entertaining to her young audience. "And you, Baby Rosamond," she went on, "what do you like best in all the world?" "Boffin," was the ready reply, "an' Buffaro Bill, 'cause I'm it." They all laughed at this, for in the Maynard family Rosy Posy's high estimation of herself was well known. Although it seemed as if it never would, the luncheon at last came to an end. Mrs. Maynard told the children they might be excused, and she and Miss Larkin would chat by themselves. Decorously enough, the four left the room, but once outside the house, King gave a wild whoop of joy and turned a double somersault. Midget threw herself down on a veranda-seat, but with a beaming face, she said: "Well, we behaved all right, anyway; but I was 'most afraid I'd be saucy to her one time. It's _such_ a temptation, when people talk like that." "She talked all the time," said Kitty. "I don't see when she ate anything." "She didn't," said King. "I suppose she'd rather talk than eat. She's not a bit like us." "No," said Marjorie, emphatically, "she's not a bit like us!" CHAPTER III PICNIC PLANS One entire day out of each month Mr. Maynard devoted to the entertainment of his children. This was a long-established custom, and the children looked forward eagerly to what they called an Ourday. The day chosen was always a Saturday, and usually the first Saturday of the month, though this was subject to the convenience of the elders. The children were allowed to choose in turn what the entertainment should be, and if possible their wishes were complied with. As there had been so much bustle and confusion consequent upon their return from the summer vacation, the September "Ourday" did not occur until the second Saturday. It was Marjorie's turn to choose the sport, for, as she had been away at Grandma Sherwood's all summer, she had missed three Ourdays. So one morning, early in the week, the matter was discussed at the breakfast table. "What shall it be, Midget?" asked her father. "A balloon trip, or an Arctic expedition?" Marjorie considered. "I want something outdoorsy," she said, at last, "and I think I'd like a picnic best. A real picnic in the woods, with lunch-baskets, and a fire, and roasted potatoes." "That sounds all right to me," said Mr. Maynard; "do you want a lot of people, or just ourselves?" It was at the children's pleasure on Ourdays to invite their young friends or to have only the family, as they chose. Sometimes, even, Mrs. Maynard did not go with them, and Mr. Maynard took his young brood off for a ramble in the woods, or a day at the seashore or in the city. He often declared that but for this plan he would never feel really acquainted with his own children.