ou could eat at any time," said her mother, laughing.

"Yes, I could," said Midget, contentedly, "'cept when I've just had
enough. And I do feel like eating, but I feel like singing, too."

"You can't do both at once," said her brother.

"No, but I can do first one and then the other. Now I'll tell you,
Father, what to do. You make a little song for us, while I eat this
apple. A kind of a little motor song, you know."

So while Marjorie ate her apple, and the other children engaged in the
same pursuit, Mr. Maynard made a little song for them.

This was a favorite game of the Maynards. Father Maynard had a knack of
turning off verses, and they usually sang them to some well-known air, or
perhaps made up a little crooning tune of their own.

So when the apples were finished and the cores flung away, Mr. Maynard
lined out his little song, and the children quickly learned it.

After two or three attempts they were able to sing it correctly, and they
stowed it away in their memory as one of their favorite songs, and at
intervals throughout the day their young voices filled the air with these
sentiments:

"Very happy the Maynards are;
Taking a tour in their motor car
Gaily to Grandma's lickety-split
Marjorie, Rosamond, Kingdon, and Kit
Mothery, fathery, also along,--
Gaily we sing our motor car song!
Hooray, hooray!
For our holiday
May for the Maynards!
Maynards for May!"

CHAPTER IV

VISITING A CAMP

Rockwell was soon left far behind, and the Maynards' car flew along the
country road, now passing through a bit of woods, and now through a
little town, or again crossing a picturesque brook.

The children were delighted with the new experience, and chatted all at
once, about the roadside sights.

Pompton, the English chauffeur, though he said little or nothing, was
secretly amazed at the gaiety and volubility of the young people. The
children were allowed to take turns sitting in the front seat, and, as
was their nature, they talked rapidly and steadily to the somewhat
taciturn driver.

"What a funny name you have, Pompton," said Marjorie, as she sat beside
him; "at least it seems funny to me, because I never heard it before."

"It's a good old English name, Miss," he returned, a little gruffly, "and
never been dishonored, as I know of."

"Oh, I think it's a very nice name," said Marjorie, quickly, for she had
had no intention of being unpleasantly critical, "only I think it's a
funn