At home in Rockwell, Marjorie had always been chief directress in all their doings, but down here Kitty was more like a visitor, and the others politely deferred to her. So King went contentedly to work, stoning raisins, and the girls made the cake.

"I didn't bring my recipe book," said Kitty, "but I guess I remember how to make it. You see, Eliza is going to teach me to make lots of things, so I've quite a big book for recipes."

"How many have you so far?" asked Midget, greatly interested.

"Well, only this one; but it's sponge cake, you know. I shall have more later."

"Yes, of course," said Midget, politely, and suddenly feeling that her younger sister was getting very grown-up, with her recipe book and her sponge cake.

"Now," proceeded Kitty, "if I'm to show you, Midget, you must pay close attention."

"I will,—oh, I will!"

"First, you break the eggs, and separate them, white from yolk, like this,—see!"

But whether she was rattled at having such an interested audience, or whether she was not very expert as yet, Kitty couldn't make the eggs "separate" neatly. Every one she broke persisted in spilling out its yellow and white together.

"Let me try," said Marjorie, but her efforts were not much more successful. Bits of shell would fall in the bowl, and even if she got most of the white in safely, some yellow would spill in, too.

"Does it matter much?" asked King.

"Oh, I don't believe so," said Kitty. "I guess we'll beat the eggs all up together, white and yellow both."

Kitty put in the Dover eggbeater with an air of experience, and whisked its wheel "round and round."

"Let me in, too," said Midget. "There's another beater I found in the cupboard."

There was room in the big bowl for both beaters, and the two girls whizzed the wheels around like mad.

"Hold on!" cried King. "You're flirting that yellow stuff all over!"

"Well, anyway, it's well beaten," declared Kitty, looking at the frothy yellow mass with satisfaction. "Now we put in the flour,—no, the sugar, I think."

"Butter?" suggested Marjorie.

"No, there's no butter in it. This is sponge cake."

Properly subdued, Marjorie awaited orders.

"Sugar," Kitty decided at last; "and bring a cup."

Midget brought the cup, and Kitty measured the sugar, and dumped it into the bowl of egg.

"I can't think whether it's three or four cups full," she said, holding a cup full uncertainly over the bowl.

"Dump it in!" advised King. "I like 'em pretty sweet."

So in went the sugar, and Midget was allowed to stir, while Kitty measured flour.

"We have to sift this four times," she announced, with an air of great wisdom. "I'll do this part."

She did, but she was so energetic about it, and the flour sieve so uncertain on its three iron legs, that much of the flour flew over the table, the floor, and the clothing of the workers.

"Hold up, Kit!" cried Marjorie, as a cloud of flour almost blinded her. "I can't see to beat, if you fly that flour around so!"

"Well, it has to be sifted four times," apologized Kitty, and turned it into the sieve again.

Much was lost in transit, and King declared it was already sifted as fine as it would ever be, but Kitty was unmoved by comment or criticism.

"Now it's all right," she said, peering into the pan of finally prepared flour, and ignoring the white dust that was all over everything. "But first a cup of hot water must go in."

"I'll pour it," said King, rising quickly, and taking the tea-kettle from Kitty, who was in imminent danger of scalding herself.

"Just a cup full!" said Kitty, warningly, as the hot water ran over the brimming cup and fell to the floor.

"Never mind," said King, "we'll only use what's in the cup," and carrying it as carefully as possible he poured it into the bowl of batter that Marjorie was faithfully beating.

"Oh, not all at once!" cried Kitty. "It should have been put in little by little."

"Can't help it now," said Midget, cheerfully. "I guess it won't matter. Now in with the flour, Kit; and you must have baking powder."

"I don't think Eliza put in any baking powder," said Kitty, dubiously.

"Oh, she must have!" said Midget. "That's what baking powder is for,—to bake with. It's on that shelf, Kitty."

Kitty was uncertain about the baking powder, so took Marjorie's advice.

"But I don't know how much," she said, as she opened the tin box.

"About a tablespoonful to a cup of flour," said Marjorie. "I think I heard Mother say that once." She was not at all sure, but she greatly wanted to help Kitty if possible.

"All right," said Kitty, and having already put in three cups of flour, she added to the mixture three heaping tablespoonfuls of baking powder.

"Now for the raisins," she said.

"I didn't know sponge cake ever had raisins in it," said Marjorie.

"It doesn't, usually," said Kitty, "but I thought it would add an extra touch."

She stirred them in, and then they poured the batter into a cake tin.

"It does look lovely," said Midget, tasting it with a spoon. "It tastes pretty good, but not as good as it looks. I guess it'll be lovely when it's baked. Open the oven, King."

King threw open the oven door with a flourish, and the girls pushed the big pan inside.

"Shut it quick!" warned Kitty. "The cake falls unless you do! It must bake three-quarters of an hour."

And then they all waited patiently for the time to take it out.

CHAPTER XV
A MOTOR RIDE

"Isn't it done yet?" asked King, after half an hour had elapsed.

"Nope," returned Kitty, positively. "It can't be done till three-quarters of an hour, and it's only a half."

"Smells done!" exclaimed Marjorie, sniffing "I believe it's burning, Kit."

"Pshaw, it can't be burning. That isn't a hot fire, is it, King?"

"No," replied King, after removing one of the range covers and scrutinizing the fire. "That's what the cook books call a moderate fire."

"Then that's all right," and Kitty wagged her head in satisfaction. "Sponge cake requires a mod-rit fire."

"But it's leaking out, Kitty!" cried Marjorie, dancing about the kitchen. "Oh, look, it's leaking out!"

Sure enough, smoke was coming out through the edges of the oven door, and a sticky substance began to ooze through.

"The door isn't shut quite tight," began Kitty, but before she could finish, King flung the oven door wide open.

"Better see what's up!" he said, and as the smoke poured out in a volume, and then cleared away a little, a strange sight confronted them.

The cake dough had apparently multiplied itself by ten, if not more. It had risen and run all over the sides of the pan, had dripped down through the grating to the bottom of the oven, and had bubbled up from there all over the sides and door. In fact the oven was lined with a sticky, sizzling, yellow material that had turned brown in some places, and was burned black in others.

"Something must have gone wrong," said Kitty, calmly, as she looked at the ruins. "I was almost sure it didn't need any baking powder. That's what blew it up so."

"H'm," said King. "I don't believe I care for any. Wonder what became of the raisins?"

"You can see them here and there," said Marjorie. "Those burned black spots are raisins. Phew! how it smokes! I'm going out."

"Let's call Ellen," said Kitty, "she said to."

Being summoned, Ellen arrived on the scene of action.

"Arrah, Miss Kitty," she said; "shure, an' I thought ye cuddent make cake. Now, why did ye thry, an' put all in such a pother? Belikes ye want to make me throuble."

"No, Ellen," said Kitty, smiling at her. "I didn't do it purposely for that. I thought it would be good. You see, I did make it once, and it was good."

"Ah, go 'long wid yez,—all of yez! Shure I'll be afther clanin' up. An' niver a shcold I'll shcold yez if ye'll kape outen o' my kitchen afther this."

"Good for you, Ellen!" shouted King. "I thought you'd raise a row! Nice Ellen, good Ellen! Good-bye, Ellen!"

"Good-bye, ye bad babies! I'll make ye some tea-cakes now as ye can eat!"

"Isn't she a duck!" exclaimed Kitty.

"Oh, that's 'cause you're sort of company. If you hadn't been here, and we'd done that she'd have tuned up, all right!"

This was King's opinion, and Marjorie agreed with him. "We never go in the kitchen," she said. "I guess Ellen was so surprised she didn't know what to say."

"Well," said Kitty, quite undisturbed by the circumstances, "you see, at Grandma's, Eliza helps me, and sort of superintends what I put in."

"Yes, I see," said King. "Now you do a lot of cooking after you get back there, Kit, and try to learn your recipes better."

Kitty laughed and promised, and then the three children wandered into the dining-room to see what their elders were doing.

"Can't we start at once?" Cousin Ethel was saying. "Oh, here are the kiddies now! Come in, you three blessings in disguise! Do you want to go on a jamboree?"

"What's that?" asked Kitty.

"Oh, a lovely motor ride, with two cars, and stay all night, and lots of lovely things like that!"

"Oh, goody!" cried Marjorie. "Are we really going? Mother's been talking about a trip like that!"

"I guess we will," said Mr. Maynard. "We haven't had an Ourday for some time. How would you like to take the opportunity for one while we have Kitty-girl among us?"

"Gorgiferous! Gay!" cried Marjorie, and King threw his cap high in the air and caught it deftly on his head.

"When do we start?"

"As soon as we can get off," said Mr. Maynard, looking at his watch. "Scamper, you kiddies, and get into appropriate rigs."

"Oh, what fun!" cried Marjorie, as they flew upstairs. "What shall we wear, Mothery?"

"You'll find your frocks laid out in your rooms," said Mrs. Maynard, who was prepared for this question. "Then put on your motor coats and take your motor bonnets with you,—but you needn't wear them unless you choose."

The girls danced away, and soon were in full regalia. They went flying downstairs to learn more of the particulars of the trip. Nurse Nannie and Rosy Posy were on the porch waiting, the little one greatly excited at thought of the journey.

"Oh, what a grand Ourday, Father!" cried Midget, giving him one of her most ferocious "bear hugs." "We have so much vacation down here, I thought we wouldn't catch any Ourdays!"

"Well, this is an extra thrown in for good measure. I suppose you don't care, Midget, which car you ride in?"

"Not a bit! We keep together, don't we?"

"Yes, as much as possible. Cousin Jack will drive his own car, and Pompton, of course, will drive ours."

"It all happened so swift I can hardly realize it," said Kitty. "Only a minute or two ago I was making cake in the kitchen, and now here I am!"

"Making what?" asked King, teasingly, but when he saw Kitty look red and embarrassed he turned the subject.

Kitty had told her mother about the cake episode, but Mrs. Maynard said it was an accident due to inexperience, and nothing further need be said about it.

"I'll divide up the passengers," said Cousin Jack as, with the two cars standing in front of the door, no one knew just which to get in.

"Ethel and I will take Marjorie and King with us, for I think Kitty will want to ride with her mother, and Babykins, too."

"All right," agreed Mr. Maynard, and then he packed Uncle Steve and Mrs. Maynard and Kitty on the back seat, Nannie and Rosamond next in front, and he climbed up beside Pompton.

Some suitcases and a basket of light luncheon were stowed away, and off they started, Ellen and Sarah waving to them from the steps as they flew down the drive. It was a perfect day for motoring. Not too hot, not too breezy, and no dust.

Their destination was Lakewood, but for quite a distance their road lay along by the shore before they turned inland.

Marjorie sat back, beside Cousin Ethel, and King sat in front with Cousin Jack.

"Let's play Roadside Euchre," said Midget.

"We go too fast for that," said King. "We couldn't see the things to count them."

"What is it, Mehitabel?" asked Cousin Jack. "We aren't going so very fast."

"Why, you count the things on each side of the road. You and I are on the right, you know, Cousin Jack, so we count all on this side. Then Cousin Ethel and King count all on their side."

"All what?"

"Well, a horse and vehicle counts one; a vehicle with two horses counts two; and a horse without any wagon or carriage counts five. An automobile counts ten; a herd of cows, fifteen; and a load of hay, twenty. A cat in a window counts twenty-five, and people count five apiece. Any animal, not a horse counts ten."

"But, as I am driving," said Cousin Jack, "I can turn either side, and so make them count as I like."

"No, you must turn just as you would, anyway. Of course, as you turn to the right, King and Cousin Ethel will count most of the vehicles we pass; but we'll make up some other way. Oh, here's a flock of chickens! I forgot to tell you, chickens count one each."

The motor seemed to go right through the flock of chickens, but Cousin Jack was a careful driver and didn't harm one of them. There was a terrific squawking and peeping and clucking as the absurd bipeds ran about in an utterly bewildered manner. The children and Cousin Ethel managed to count them fairly well, but Cousin Jack had to manage his motor.

"How many?" he asked as the last hen was left behind.

"Fourteen for our side," announced Midget, triumphantly.

"And nine for us," said King. "Never mind, we'll make up later."

But they kept fairly even. To be sure, when they met motor-cars, or any vehicles, they had to turn out to the right, which gave the count to King's side.

But on the other hand, motors sometimes passed them from behind, and if they went along on the right side they were Marjorie's count. Houses were as apt to be on one side as the other, and these added their count of dogs, cats, chickens, and cows, as well as occasional human beings.

Going through small towns was the most fun, for then it required quick counting to get all that belonged to them.

A flock of birds on either side was counted, but a flock of birds that crossed their path was omitted, as it would have counted the same for each.

The game grew more and more exciting. Sometimes one side would be more than a hundred ahead, and then the balance would swing back the other way. About six o'clock they neared Lakewood.

"The game stops as we turn into the main street," said Cousin Jack, "and the prize is this: whichever of you two children win shall select the dessert at the hotel dinner to-night."

"All right," said Marjorie, "but it isn't only us children. We each have a partner who must help us in the selection."

Cousin Jack agreed to this, and in a moment the car swung into the main street of Lakewood.

Midget and King, who had kept account of their hundreds on a bit of paper, began to add up, and it was soon found that Marjorie and Cousin Jack's side had won by about two hundred points.

"Good work!" cried King. "We losers congratulate you, and beg you'll remember that we love ice cream!"

They were following the Maynards' big car, and soon both cars stopped and all alighted and went into a beautiful hotel called "Holly-in-the-Woods."

"Oh, how lovely!" whispered Marjorie to Kitty, as she squeezed her sister's arm. "Isn't this fun, Kit?"

"I should say so!" returned Kitty. "The best Ourday ever!"

Then the children were whisked away to tidy up for dinner, and fresh white frocks were found in the suitcases. Midget and Kitty tied each other's ribbons, and soon were ready to go downstairs again. The Bryants met them in the hall, and took them down.

"Isn't it like Fairyland!" said Marjorie, enchanted by the palms and flowers and lights and music. She had never before been in such an elaborate hotel, and she wanted to see it all.

They walked about, and looked at the various beautiful rooms, and then Mr. and Mrs. Maynard came, and they all went to the dining-room.

A table had been reserved for them, and Marjorie felt very grown up and important as the waiter pushed up her chair. After their long ride, their appetites were quite in order to do justice to the good things put before them, and when it was time for dessert, Cousin Jack announced that he and Marjorie were a committee of two to select it.

"Though of course," he added, "any one who doesn't care for what we choose is entirely at liberty to choose something else."

So the two gravely studied the menu, and kept the others in suspense while they read over the long list. Many names were in French, but Marjorie skipped those.

"Ice cream," Kitty kept whispering, in low but distinct stage whispers; and at last Cousin Jack proposed to Midget that they choose what was billed as a "Lakewood Souvenir."

Marjorie had no idea what this might be, but she agreed, for she felt sure it was something nice.

And so it was, for it turned out to be ice cream, but so daintily put up in a little box that it was like a present. The box was carved with crinkly paper, and had a pretty picture of Lakewood scenery framed in gilt on the top. After every one had eaten his ice cream, the boxes were carried away as souvenirs.

Then they all went out and sat on the terrace while the elders had coffee. The three children did not drink coffee, so they were allowed to run around the grounds a little.

"How long are we going to stay here?" asked Kitty.

"Till to-morrow afternoon, I think," replied King. "I heard Father say he thought he'd do that."

"I think it's beautiful," said Midget, "but I'd just as lieve be riding, wouldn't you, Kit?"

"Oh, I don't care. I like 'em both,—first one and then the other."

Kitty was of a contented disposition, and usually liked everything. But the other two were also easily pleased, and the three agreed that they didn't care whether they were motoring or staying at the lovely hotel.

"Now, then, little Maynards, bed for yours!" announced their father, as he came strolling out to find them.

"Father," said Marjorie, grasping his hand, "is this really an Ourday?"

"Yes, Midget; of course it is. You don't mind the Bryants sharing it, do you?"

"No, not a bit. Only,—to-morrow can't I ride with you? If it's our Ourday, I like better to be by you."

"Of course you can!" cried Mr. Maynard, heartily. "We'll fix it somehow."

"But don't tell Cousin Ethel and Cousin Jack that I don't want to ride with them," went on Midget, "because it might hurt their feelings. But you know,—when I thought I didn't have any father,—I thought about all our Ourdays, and–"

Midget's voice broke, and Mr. Maynard caught her to him.

"My darling little girl," he said, "I'm so glad you're back with us for our Ourdays, and you shall ride just where you want to."

"Let her take my place," said Kitty, kindly. "I'd just as lieve go in the other car, and I don't wonder Midget feels like that."

So it was settled that Kitty should ride with the Bryants next day, and then the three children were sent to bed, while the elders stayed up a few hours later.

The girls had a large room, with two beds, and with a delightful balcony, on which a long French window opened.

"Isn't it wonderful?" said Marjorie, softly, as she stepped over the sill, and stood in the soft moonlight, looking down on the hotel flower gardens.

"Yes, indeedy," agreed Kitty; "I say, Mops, I'd like to jump down, flip! into that geranium bed!"

"Oh, Kitty, what a goose you are! Don't do such a thing!"

"I'm not going to. I only said I'd like to; and I'd play it was a sea,—a geranium sea, and I'd swim around in it."

"Kit, you're crazy! Come on to bed, before you do anything foolish."

"I'm not going to do it, really, Mops! but I like to imagine it. I'd waft myself off of this balcony, and waft down to the scarlet of the geraniums and fall in."

"Yes, and be picked up with two broken legs and a sprained ankle!"

"Well—and then I'd see a little boat, on the red geranium sea,—I'd be a fairy, you know,—and I'd get in the little boat–"

"You come and get in your little bed, Miss Kitty," said Nannie, from the window, and laughing gayly, the two girls went in and went to bed.

"Anyway, I'm going to dream of that red geranium bed," announced Kitty, as she cuddled into the smooth, white sheets.

"All right," said Midget, drowsily; "dream anything you like."