"So can I," said King, with an air of pride in his own powers. "All right, Mops, let's be 'specially 'stremely good and treat Miss Larkin just lovely." Nearly an hour later the four shipwrecked unfortunates, now transformed into clean, well-dressed civilians, were grouped in the library to await Miss Larkin's arrival. The lady was an old friend of Mrs. Maynard's, and though by no means elderly, was yet far from being as young as she tried to look and act. She came tripping in, and after greeting her hostess effusively, she turned to the children. "My, my!" she said. "What a group of little dears! How you have grown,--every one of you. Kingdon, my dear boy, would you like to kiss me?" The request was far from acceptable to King, but the simper that accompanied it so repelled him that he almost forgot his determination to be very cordial to the unwelcome guest. But Midge gave him a warning pinch on his arm, and with an unintelligible murmur of consent, he put up his cheek for the lady's salute. "Oh, what a dear boy!" she gurgled. "I really think I shall have to take you home with me! And, now, here's Marjorie. How are you, my dear? Do you go to school now? And what are you learning?" Miss Larkin's questions always irritated Marjorie, but she answered politely, and then stepped aside in Kitty's favor. "Sweet little Katharine," said the visitor. "You are really an angel child. With your golden hair and blue eyes, you're a perfect cherub; isn't she, Mrs. Maynard?" "She's a dear little girl," said her mother, smiling, "but not always angelic. Here's our baby, our Rosamond." "No, I'se Buffaro Bill!" declared Rosy Posy, assuming a valiant attitude, quite out of keeping with her smiling baby face and chubby body. "Oh, what delicious children! Dear Mrs. Maynard, how good of you to let me come to see them." As Miss Larkin always invited herself, this speech was literally true, but as she and Mrs. Maynard had been schoolmates long ago, the latter felt it her duty to give her friend such pleasure as she could. At the luncheon table, Miss Larkin kept up a running fire of questions. This, she seemed to think, was the only way to entertain children. "Do you like to read?" she asked of Marjorie. "Yes, indeed," said Midget, politely. "And what books do you like best?" "Fairy stories," said Marjorie, promptly. "Oh, tut, tut!" and Miss Larkin shook a playful finger. "You should like history. Shouldn't she, now?" she asked, appealing to Kingdon. "We like history, too," said Kingdon. "At least, we like it some; but we both like fairy stories better." "Ah, well, children will be children. Do you like summer or winter best?" This was a poser. It had never occurred to Marjorie to think which she liked best. "I like them both alike," she said, truthfully. "Oh, come now; children should have some mind of their own! Little Miss Kitty, I'm sure you know whether you like summer or winter best." Kitty considered.