ch fun to see the names
grow right under your eyes. They're so much prettier after they're
worked in red than when they're just written in pencil."

"Wouldn't they be prettier still worked in white?" asked Marjorie.

"No; I saw one that way once, and the names don't show at all,--you can
hardly read them. Red is the best, and it doesn't fade when it's washed."

Marjorie had bought red cotton at the shop, and she showed her purchases
to her mother with great delight.

"They're fine," said Mrs. Maynard, approvingly. "Now why don't you ask
Ethel to write her name, and then you can always remember that hers was
the first one on the cloth."

"Oh, that will be lovely!" cried Marjorie. "Will you, Ethel?"

"Yes, indeed," and getting a pencil, Ethel wrote her name in a large,
plain, childish hand.

"You must always ask people to write rather large," she advised, "because
it's awfully hard to work the letters if they're too small."

Then Ethel lent Marjorie her needle and thimble so that she might do a
few stitches by way of practice.

But it was not so easy for Marjorie as for Ethel, and her stitches did
not look nearly so nice and neat. However, Mrs. Maynard said that she
felt sure Marjorie's work would improve after she had done more of it,
and she thanked Ethel for her assistance in the matter.

Then Ethel's mother appeared, and the two ladies were made acquainted,
and then it was luncheon time, and the Maynards all went to the
dining-room.

"I think the most fun of the whole trip is eating in restaurants," said
Kitty. "I just love to look around, and see different tables and
different people at them."

"It is fun," agreed King; "but I wouldn't want to live in a hotel all the
time. I think it's more fun to be at home."

"So do I," said Marjorie. "Somehow, in a hotel, you feel sort of stiff
and queer, and you never do at home."

"You needn't feel stiff and queer, Marjorie," said her father; "but
of course there is a certain conventional restraint about a public
dining-room that isn't necessary at home. I want you children to become
accustomed to restaurants, and learn how to act polite and reserved,
without being what Marjorie calls stiff and queer."

"Don't we act right, Father?" inquired Kitty, anxiously.

"Yes, you do very nicely, indeed. Your table manners are all right, and
the less you think about the subject the better. This trip will give you
a certain amount of experience, and anyway you have all yo