At last the day came when Marjorie was allowed to go home.

Doctor Mendel had had a most thorough fumigation and disinfection, and all danger was over. 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.

"Oh, I'm so glad to be home again," Marjorie cried, as she looked about the familiar living-room. "It seems as if I'd been away years."

"Seems so to me, too," said Kitty, who had greatly missed her sister.
"Mother, aren't we going to celebrate Mopsy's coming home?"

Now "celebration" in the Maynard household, always meant dress-up frocks, and ice cream for dessert.

"Of course," said Mrs. Maynard, smiling; "fly upstairs, girlies, and get into some pretty dresses, and then fly down again, for father's coming home early."

So Midge and Kitty flew, and King scampered to his room also, and Mrs. Maynard gave the baby over to Nurse Nannie for a clean frock, while she herself telephoned for the ice cream. And to the order she added cakes and candied fruits and other dainties, until it bade fair to be a celebration feast indeed.

Marjorie, delighted to be in her own room once more, chattered rapidly, as she and Kitty dressed, and tied ribbons, and hooked waists for each other.

"Delight is an awfully nice girl, Kitsie," she was saying. "I didn't like her so much at first, but as we were together so much I grew to like her better."

"Is she as nice as Gladys?"

"In some ways she is. She's more fun than Glad about playing games. She loves to play pretend, and Gladys wasn't much good at that. But, of course, I'm more fond of Glad, she's my old friend. Delight is nice for a neighbor though."

Dressed in a white serge, with pipings and bows of scarlet velvet, her cheeks glowing red with the joyous excitement of getting home, and her eyes dancing with happiness, Marjorie flew downstairs just in time to tumble into the arms of her father, who was entering the hall door.

"Why, bless my stars!" he exclaimed; "who in the world is this?"

"Your long-lost daughter!" said Midge, nestling in his big, comfortable embrace.

"No! Can it be? This great big girl! Why, how you've grown! And yet,—yes, it is! my own Marjorie Mischief Mopsy Midget Maynard! Well, I am glad you're back where you belong!"

"So'm I! I tell you Father Maynard, it was awful hard to stay away so long."

"I know it, girlie, and I hope it won't happen again. But you know, 'into each life some rain must fall.'"

"And I did have a good time, too," went on Midge. "Isn't it funny,
Father, how you can have a good time and a bad time both at once."

"Quite comic, I should say. Now, let me get my coat off, and then we'll talk matters over."

Marjorie skipped into the living-room, and plumped herself down on the sofa. Kitty and King sat close on either side, and Rosy Posy climbed into her lap and lovingly patted her face.

The four made a pretty group, and as Mrs. Maynard came in and saw them, she said:

"Well, I'm glad my quartette is whole again; it's been broken so long."

The dinner was a celebration for fair. Aside from the delicious things to eat, everybody was so gay and glad over Marjorie's return, that all was laughter and jollity.

"How different our two families are," said Midge, thoughtfully; "here we are having such fun and frolic, and the Spencers are just having an every-day, quiet dinner."

"Aren't they glad the sickness is all over?" asked Kitty.

"Yes, of course. But they never 'celebrate.' I guess they don't know how very well. And Mrs. Spencer is very quiet. Much noise makes her head ache."

"Mr. Spencer was awful quiet, too," said King. "He hardly ever laughed all the time he was here. Except the night we wrote the valentines. Then he laughed, cause we made him write poetry and he couldn't."

"Well, they're nice people," said Midge, "but awful different from us.
I'm glad I'm a Maynard!"

"I'm glad you are!" said her father.

The next day Mrs. Maynard announced her intention of going over to see
Mrs. Spencer, and thanking her for her care of Marjorie.

"But it does seem funny," said Midge, "to thank her for keeping me there, when I couldn't possibly get away! But she was good to me, though really she didn't pay very much attention to me. But I s'pose that was 'cause she was so bothered about the little sick boy. But, Mother, do thank Miss Hart, too. She was lovely; and she put herself out lots of times, to make it pleasant for Delight and me. Give her plenty of thanks, will you, Mother?"

"Yes, Midget; and what about Delight?"

"Oh, yes, thank her too. She was kind and pleasant,—only,—well, it seems mean to say so,—but, Mother, she is a little selfish. I didn't mind, really; only I don't think it's quite nice to be selfish to a guest."

"Perhaps not, Mar; one; but neither is it nice to criticise your little hostess."

Marjorie flushed. "I didn't mean to, Mother," she said; "but I thought it didn't count when I'm just talking to you."

"That's right, dearie; always say anything you choose to Mother, but don't criticise Delight to anybody else."

"No, Mother, I won't," and Midge gave her mother one of her biggest "bear-hugs" and then wandered off in search of Kitty.

"What are you doing, Kit?" she said, as she found her sister sitting on the big hall settle, looking out of the window.

"Waiting for Dorothy. She's coming this afternoon, and we're going to play paper dolls."

Marjorie must have looked a little disappointed, for Kitty said:

"Say, Mops, why don't you take Delight for your friend in Glad's place?
It's so nice to have a friend all your own."

"I know it is, Kit," and Midget sat down beside her sister, "but somehow it seems sort of mean to put anybody in Gladys's place."

"Oh, pshaw! it doesn't either. And when Glad is so far away, too. She doesn't even write to you, does she?"

"She sent me a valentine."

"Well, but when has she written?"

"Not for a long time. But that doesn't matter. She's my friend, and I'm not going to put anybody else in her place."

Kitty grew exasperated at this foolishness, as it seemed to her, and said:

"Well, then don't put her in Glad's place. Keep her old place empty. But take Delight as a sort of, what do you call it? Substitute friend, and let her come over here to play, same as Dorothy comes to play with me."

"I'd like to do that," said Midge. "I'm awfully glad to have Delight with me, and I know she likes me."

"Then go and telephone her now. Ask her to come over, and play."

"No, not now, 'cause mother is over there, and I'd rather wait till she comes home. Let's all play together to-day."

"All right; here comes Dorothy now."

Dorothy Adams came in, very glad to see Midget again, whom she liked almost as much as she did Kitty. She took off her things, and the girls drifted into the living-room, where King sat reading.

He had a band of red ribbon round his head, in which were stuck a dozen large turkey feathers, giving him a startling appearance.

"What's the feathers for?" asked Dorothy, looking at the boy in amazement.

"Why, you see, I'm reading one of Cooper's stories," King explained, "and
I can sort of feel the Indian part of it better if I wear some feathers."

"Come on and play," said Midget; "shall we play Indians?"

"No," said Kitty, promptly, "it's too rough and tumbly when we play it in the house. Let's play a pretend game."

"Aren't we going to have the Jinks Club any more?" asked Dorothy. "We haven't had it since the Fultons went away."

"Too few of us," said King; "we four, that's all."

"We might ask Delight to belong," said Marjorie, "she can cut up jinks when she feels like it."

"All right, do;" said King, "let's have Flossy Flouncy; and I'll ask Flip Henderson, he's heaps of fun. Then we'll have six, just like we had before."

"I don't like to put people in the Fultons' place," said Marjorie, dubiously.

"Now, look here, Midge, that's silly!" said King. "We can't help it that the Fultons moved away, but that's no reason we shouldn't have anybody to play with. Let's telephone for our two new members right now, and begin the club all over again."

After a little more argument Marjorie consented, and she telephoned for Delight to come over, and then King telephoned for Frederick Henderson, better known by the more euphonious name of Flip. Both accepted, and in less than half an hour the Jinks Club was in full session. The new members had been elected by the simple process of telling them that they were members, and they gladly agreed to the rules and regulations of the somewhat informal club.

"We just cut up jinks," exclaimed Marjorie, "but they have to be good jinks, for bad jinks are mischief, and we try to keep out of that."

"It sounds lovely," said Delight; "I always wanted to belong to a club, but I never have before. Can't we cut up a jink, now?"

"You must say 'cut up jinks,' Flossy Flouncy," said King, smiling at the pretty, eager face. "You can't cut 'em by ones."

"Well, cut some, and show me how."

"I believe you think we cut 'em with scissors, like paper dolls," said
Marjorie, laughing.

She was really very glad to have Delight with her again, for she had become more attached than she realised to the little girl during their fortnight together.

"Show me," repeated Delight, with an air of willingness to learn.

"All right; let's have a good one. What shall it be, Mops?"

King looked at his sister with such evident faith in her power of inventiveness, that the others all looked at her too. Marjorie looked round the room.

"I'll tell you!" she cried, as a brilliant idea came to her, "we'll play auction."

"Hooray!" cried King, grasping the plan at once. "Sell everything we can move."

"Yes," cried Mops. "Where is the auction room?"

"This end of the room is the auction room," King, indicating nearly half of the long living-room. "Now, Flip and I are auctioneers and you ladies are in reduced poverty, and have to bring your household goods to be sold."

Delight and Kitty at once saw dramatic possibilities, and flew to dress for their parts. An afghan for a shawl, and a tidy for a bonnet, contented Kitty, but on Delight's head went a fluffy lamp mat, stuck through with four or five of the turkey quills discarded from King's head-dress.

Mops and Dorothy followed this lead, and soon four poverty-stricken ladies, carrying household treasures, timidly entered the auction-room.

"What can I do for you, madam?" said King, as Delight showed him a bronze statuette.

"I have lost all my fortune, sir," responded Delight, sobbing in a way that greatly pleased her hearers; "and I fear I must sacrifice my few remaining relics of my better days."

"Ah, yes, madam. Sorry to hear of your ill luck. Just leave the statuette, ma'am, we have an auction to-morrow or next week, and we'll get what we can for it."

"It's a priceless work of art," said Delight, still loudly weeping, "and
I don't want less than five thousand dollars for it."

"Five thousand dollars, madam! A mere trifle for that gem! I'll get ten thousand for you, at least!"

"Ten thousand will do nicely," said Delight, giggling at last at King's pompous air.

Then Marjorie came bringing a large frilly sofa pillow.

"This is my last pillow," she said, in quavering tones. "I shall have to sleep on a brickbat tonight; but I must have bread for my children to eat. There are seven of them, and they haven't had a mouthful for two weeks."

"Oh, that's nothing!" responded Flip, airily. "Children ought not to be fed oftener than every three weeks anyway. I hate over-fed children. It makes them so cross."

"So it does," agreed Kitty. "But my children are never cross, 'cause I feed them on honey. I've brought a bust of Dante to have sold by auction. It's a big one, you see, and ought to bring a good price."

"Yes, it will, madame, I'm sure. Haven't you anything more to leave?"

"Yes, here's an umbrella, and a waste basket, and some books. They're all valuable but I have so much treasures in my house, I don't need these."

"Hurry up," put in Dorothy, "and give me a chance. I've brought these pictures," showing some small ones she had lifted from their nails in the wall, "and also this fine inkstand. Look out and don't spill the ink Also here's a vase of flowers, flowers and all. Look out and don't spill the water."

"You seem to bring spilly things, ma'am," said King, taking the goods carefully. "But we'll sell them."

Each girl trudged back and forth a few times until most of the portable things in the room were piled up on the table and sofa at the end where the boys were, and then the auction was prepared.

The boys themselves had taken down many of the larger pictures from their hooks, and the room looked, on the whole, as if a cyclone had struck it.

"They ought to be numbered," said Flip, stepping gingerly about among the things.

"Hold on a minute! I've got it!" shouted King, and rushed upstairs at top speed.

He returned with a large calendar, two or three pairs of scissors and a paste-pot.

"Cut 'em out," he directed, giving each girl a page of the calendar.

The numbers were large, more than an inch square, and soon lots of them were cut out. These, the boys pasted on all the goods for sale, making them look like real auction goods.

"Won't it hurt the things?" asked Delight, who was not used to such high-handed performances.

"'Course not! They'll wash right off. Now the auction will begin. Now, you must be rich ladies, different ones, you know."

"Here you are!" cried King, who was auctioneer by common consent; "here you are! number 24! a fine large statuette by one of the old masters. What am I bid for this?"

"Fifty cents," said Dorothy.

"Fifty cents! Do you mean to insult me, madame! Why, some old masters sell as high as fifty dollars, I can tell you! Who will bid higher?"

"One hundred dollars!" called out Delight, and the bronze statuette was declared her property.

Then other goods were put up, and, in order to make the play progress more quickly, two auctioneers were set to work, and King and Flip were both calling their wares and the bids at once.

Naturally, the bidders grew very excited. A large picture was hotly contested, Kitty bidding against Delight, while on the other block, the big inkstand was being sold. Somehow the wire of the picture became tangled round the auctioneer's foot, he stepped back and bumped into the other auctioneer who lost his balance, and fell over, inkstand and all. The heavy inkstand fell on the picture, breaking the glass, and soaking the paper engraving with ink. Much of the ink, too, went on Flip, who grabbed for it in a vain endeavor to save the situation.

The two boys laughingly straightened themselves out of their own mix up, but their laughter ceased when they saw that real damage had been done.

"Oh, dear!" said Marjorie, "this is a bad jinks after all!"

"Never mind, Mopsy," said King, magnanimously, "it wasn't your fault. It was mine."

"No, it was mine," said Midge, "for I proposed playing auction. I might have known we'd play it too hard."

"Never mind," said Kitty, "the company didn't have anything to do with the trouble, and we mustn't make them feel bad."

"I did," said Dorothy, "I brought the inkstand to the auction. I ought to have known better."

"Never mind who's to blame," said King, "let's straighten things out. The game is over."

Good-naturedly, they all went to work, and soon had everything back in its place. The broken and spoiled picture was stood behind the sofa, face to the wall, to be confessed to mother later.

"Now we're all in shape again," said King, looking proudly about the cleared up room. "Any nice little jinks to eat, Midgie?"

"I'll ask Sarah. She'll find something."

She did, and soon a large tray of cookies and lemonade refreshed the members of the Jinks Club, after which the visiting members went home.