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Updated: May 14, 2025
But the mother began to see that a child's life has its own little troubles, and she smiled appreciatively at Midget, as she picked up the pencil from the floor for the twentieth time, and replaced it on the back of her hand, now stiff and lame from the unwonted restraint. "You dear old darling!" cried Midget, flying over and kissing the patient musician; "you sha'n't do that any longer!
Three of one's fingers were enough to fill it and she held the little shirt aloft for his inspection. Taking not only the midget garment but also the hand that held it, he told her of his resolve to go back to England and re-enter his profession. "You know, love, I've always wished to get home again. And now there's an additional reason.
The little boy was convalescent, and there was no longer any reason why Midget or Mr. Spencer should be exiled from their homes. And so, liberated from her prison, Midget flew, across the street, and into the arms of her waiting family. "Mother first!" she cried, as they all crowded round, but so mixed up did the Maynards become, that it was one grand jumble of welcoming hugs and kisses.
Midget picked up the crown and tried to straighten it out, but it was battered past repair. "I'll make a new one," she thought, "and I'll try to make the boys agree to having Hester for Queen. But I don't believe Tom will. I know it's selfish for me to be Queen all the time, and I don't want to be selfish."
You and Kitty are two loving little sisters, but I quite understand how you each love your friends of your own age." "And Kitty can keep Dorothy, but I must lose Gladys," and Marjorie's sobs broke out anew. "Why, Mopsy Midget Maynard! Why are we having April showers in January?" Mr. Maynard's cheery voice sounded in Marjorie's doorway, and his wife beckoned him to come in.
"I'm not, am I, Father?" said Marjorie, turning troubled eyes to her father. "No, Midget. Not those little chips of stones. A baby could wear those. And by the way, where is Baby's gift?" "My p'esent!" cried Rosy Posy, who had sat until now silent, in admiration of the unfolding wonders. "My p'esent, Middy! It's a palumasol!"
"That would be rather fun," said Midget, laughing, "only I s'pose his robes and things would trip him up. But I do believe he'd like it. I don't 'spect he has much fun, anyway. Does he?" "Not of that sort, probably. But, Midget mine, there are other sorts of fun beside tearing up and down stairs like a wild Indian."
There was no tangible reason, for she was charming and gracious, but Midget felt she was a nervous, fussy woman, and not calm and capable like her own dear mother. "My mother is coming to call on you," said Marjorie to her hostess. "I heard her say so. She doesn't know I'm here, for she wasn't at home when I came, but I know she'll be pleased when I tell her."
"I did," said Midget, penitently; "after we passed the horrid basket-man, King sort of thought he was a gypsy, and he thought we'd better turn back, but I insisted on going on." "Nothing of the sort!" exclaimed King. "Mops isn't a bit to blame! I did think maybe the man was a gypsy, and I ought to have insisted on going back." "Well, well," said Mr.
But you scarcely noticed; your head and hands were too full, trying to keep the big trout away from the lily pads, where you would certainly lose him with your light tackle. On the afternoon of which I write the trout were neither playful nor sullen. No more were they hungry. The first cast of my midget flies across the pool brought no answer.
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