a in the mornings."

"Kit, you're a dormouse," said Kingdon; "I believe you'd like to sleep
half the year."

"'Deed I wouldn't. Just because I don't like rambunctious play doesn't
mean I want to sleep all the time! Does it, Father?"

"Not a bit of it. But you children must 'like what you like' and not
comment on others' 'likes.' See?"

"Yes, sir," said King, understanding the kindly rebuke. "Hullo, Kit,
here's one of your best 'likes'! Here's pink ice-cream coming!"

This was indeed one of Kitty's dearest "likes," and as none of the
Maynards disliked it, it rapidly disappeared.

"Now, we'll have an entertainment," said King as, after dinner, they all
went back to the pleasant living-room. "As Kitty is the chief pebble on
the beach this evening, she shall choose what sort of an entertainment.
Games, or what?"

"No, just a real entertainment," said Kitty; "a programme one, you know.
Each one must sing a song or speak a piece, or something like that.
_I'll_ be the audience, and you can all be performers."

"All right," said King; "I'll be master of ceremonies. I'll make up the
programme as I go along. Ladies and gentlemen, our first number will be
a speech by the Honorable Edward Maynard. Mr. Maynard will please step
forward."

Mr. Maynard stepped. Assuming a pompous air, he made a low bow, first to
Kitty, and then to the others.

"My dear friends," he said, "we are gathered here together this evening
to extend our farewells and our hearty good wishes to the lady about to
leave us. Sister, thou art mild and lovely, and we hate to see thee go;
but the best of friends must sever, and you'll soon come back, you know.
Listen now to our advices. Kitty, dear, for pity's sake, do not tumble
in the river,--do not tumble in the lake. Many more things I could tell
you as I talk in lovely rhyme, but I think it is my duty to let others
share the time."

Mr. Maynard sat down amid great applause, and Kitty said, earnestly,
"You are a lovely poet, Father. I wish you'd give up your other
business, and just write books of poetry."

"I'm afraid, Kitsie, we wouldn't have enough money for pink ice-cream in
that case," said Mr. Maynard, laughing.

"The next performeress will be Mrs. Maynard," announced the master of
ceremonies.

Mother Maynard rose, smiling, and with all the airs and graces of a
prima donna, went to the piano. Striking a few preliminary chords, she
began to sing:

"Good-bye, Kitty; good-bye, Kitty; good