corated with vines
and flowers. Dainty sandwiches were tied up with pink ribbons, and little
glass cups held delicious pink lemonade. The cakes were iced with pink,
the ice cream was pink, and there were pink bon-bons of various sorts. At
each plate was a little pink box of candies to take home; and a souvenir
for each guest in the shape of a pink fan for the girls, and pink
balloons for the boys. The big balloons made much fun as they bobbed
about in the air, and when the feast was over, the guests went away
declaring that the Jinks Club had never had a prettier party.

CHAPTER II

A NEW PET

When Mr. Maynard came home that night he was treated to an account of the
whole affair, but as two or three of the little Maynards often talked at
once, the effect was sometimes unintelligible.

"It was the loveliest party, Father," said Marjorie, as she hung over one
arm of his chair, and arranged a somewhat large bunch of blossoms in
his buttonhole.

"Yes, it was," agreed Kitty, who hung on the other arm of the chair, and
investigated his coat pockets in the hope of finding a box of candy or
other interesting booty.

"It sure was!" declared King, who was sitting on a footstool near, and
hugging one knee with apparently intense affection.

"And what made it so especially delightful?" asked Mr. Maynard, as he
balanced Rosy Posy on his knee; "you tell me, Baby."

"It was a bootiful party," said Rosy Posy, with decision, "because we had
pink ice cream."

"That _was_ about the best part," said Kitty, reminiscently.

"Well, the pink ice cream part sounds delightful, I'm sure; but what was
the rest of the party about?"

"Oh, it was a May party," exclaimed Marjorie, "and we had May Queens, and
a May King, and May Princesses, and everything! I do love May, don't you,
Father? Everything is so bright and bloomy and Maysy. I think it is the
loveliest month in the year."

"Yes, it is a lovely month, Mopsy, and a good month to be out of doors.
Maytime is playtime."

"Yes, I know it; I made a song this morning about that. I'll sing it to
you." And Marjorie sang for her father the little verse she had mad about
Marjorie Maynard's May.

"Huh!" said King, "'tisn't your May, any more than anybody else's, Midget
Maynard."

"No, I know it; but I like to think the May just belongs to us Maynards.
Anyway we have it all. It is our May even if other people use it, too."

"I don't begrudge them the use of it," said Kitty; "of