Marjorie's Busy Days Part 24

"But we ought to call her Princess," objected Gladys.

"Well, we will. But remember we're kidnapping her for a great reward.

Hist! Some one cometh!"

They hustled the carriage behind a great pine-tree, in pretended fear of a pursuer, though no one was in sight.

"How much shall we charge for ransom?" asked Gladys, in the hollow voice that they always used in their make-believe games.

"A thousand rubbles," answered Marjorie; "and unless the sum is forthcoming ere set of sun, the Princess shall be,--shall be----"

Marjorie hesitated. It seemed dreadful to p.r.o.nounce fate, even in make-believe, on that dimpled, smiling bit of humanity.

"Shall be imprisoned," suggested Gladys.

"Yes, imprisoned in an enchanted castle."

Totty crowed and gurgled, as if greatly pleased with her destiny, and the girls wheeled her along the path to the gate.

"She reminds me so much of Dotty Curtis," said Midget. "Let's go down that way and see if Dotty's out. Mother said we could go two blocks."

On they went, crossing the curbs with great care, and soon turned in at Mrs. Curtis' house.

Sure enough, there was the nurse wheeling the Curtis baby around the drive.

"Good-morning," said Marjorie, who was friendly with Nurse Lisa. "How is Dotty to-day?"

"She's well, Miss Marjorie," replied Lisa; "and who's the fine child with you?"

"This is little Totty Harrison; and I think she looks like Dot. Let's compare them."

The veils were taken off the two children, and sure enough they did look somewhat alike.

"They're both darlings," said Marjorie, as she gently replaced Totty's veil. "Lisa, won't you let Gladys wheel Dotty for awhile, and I'll wheel Totty. That would be fun."

"I'll willingly leave her with you for a bit, Miss Gladys. I've some work to do in the house, and if you'll keep baby for a few minutes it would be a great thing for me. Mrs. Curtis is out, but I know she'd trust you with the child, if the other lady does. But don't go off the place."

"No," said Marjorie; "this place is so big there's room enough anyway. I promise you we won't go outside the gates, Lisa."

"Isn't this fun?" cried Marjorie, as Lisa went away. "Now, we have two kidnapped princesses. Or shall we play house with them?"

"No, let's have them princesses. Now you can name yours Petronella, and I'll name mine Ermyntrude."

This momentous question settled, the game went on. They pretended that the princesses were anxious to get back to their respective homes, and that they must resort to bribery and strategy to keep them contented.

"Nay, nay, Princess Petronella," Marjorie would say; "weep not for friends and family. I will take you to a far better place, where flowers grow and birds sing and--and----"

"And gold-fish swim," went on Gladys, who always followed Marjorie's lead, "and roosters crow--c.o.c.k-a-doodle-doo!!"

This climax, accompanied as it was by Gladys' flapping her arms and prancing about, greatly delighted both princesses, and they laughed and clamored for more.

"Aren't they dears!" exclaimed Marjorie, as she looked at the two pretty babies. "Methinks no ransom is forthcoming. Must we resort to our dire and dreadful doom?"

"Aye, aye!" said Gladys. "To the enchanted castle with the fatal victims."

So long as the girls used tragic-sounding words they didn't always care whether they made sense or not.

"On, on, then!" cried Midget. "On, on! To victory, or defeat!"

Each pus.h.i.+ng a carriage, they ran down the long drive, across the wide lawn, and paused, flushed and breathless, at a rustic summer-house.

Into the arbor they pushed the two coaches, and then dropped, laughing, on the seats.

The babies laughed, too, and both Dotty and Totty seemed to think that to be a captive princess was a delightful fate. The girls sat still for awhile to rest, but the game went on.

"Shall it be the donjon keep?"

"Nay, not for these, so young and fair," answered Gladys. "Let's chain them with rose garlands to a silken couch."

"Huh!" said Marjorie, "that's not a dire fate. Let's do something that's more fun. Oh, Glad, I'll tell you what! Let's exchange these babies!

That's what they always do in tragedies. Listen! We'll put Dotty's hood on Totty, and Totty's cap on Dotty. And change their coats, too!"

"Yes, and veils; oh, Mops! What fun! If we change their coats quickly they won't catch cold."

"Cold, pooh! It's as warm as summer."

It wasn't quite that, but it was a lovely, suns.h.i.+ny day in early October, and, after running, it seemed quite warm to the girls.

Following out their project, they quickly exchanged the babies' wraps.

By this time both little ones were growing sleepy, and were in a quiet, tractable frame of mind.

"Their little white dresses are almost alike, anyway," said Gladys, as she took off Totty's coat.

"Oh, well, we wouldn't think of changing their dresses," said Mopsy; "but let's change their little shoes. I'd like to see Totty in those cunning ankle-ties."

"And I'd like to see Dotty in those pretty blue kid shoes."

"Of course, we'll change them right back, but I just want to see how they look."

Soon the transformation was complete. To all outward appearance of costume, Dotty was Totty, and Totty was Dotty. Even the veils were changed, as one was of silk gauze, the other of knitted zephyr.

Then, not in their own, but in each other's carriage, the reversed princesses nodded and beamed at their captors.

"Now, you push that carriage, and I'll push this," said Marjorie, taking hold of the carriage she had pushed all the time, though now it had the other baby in it.

"All right," said Gladys, "let's go round by the garden."

Slowly now, the girls went round by the large well-kept kitchen garden, and then through the flower gardens back to the front lawn.