and soon she had learned to play the accordion almost as well as he. So passed a happy hour, which the Good King René of Anjou would have envied them, while Mitchy-Mitch made friends with Duke, romped about his sister and her swain, and clung to the hand of the latter, at intervals, with fondest affection and trust.
The noon whistles failed to disturb this little Arcady; only the sound of Mrs. Jones' voice—for the third time summoning Marjorie and Mitchy-Mitch to lunch—sent Penrod on his way.
"I could come back this afternoon, I guess," he said, in parting.
"I'm not goin' to be here. I'm goin' to Baby Rennsdale's party."
Penrod looked blank, as she intended he should. Having thus satisfied herself, she added:
"There aren't goin' to be any boys there."
He was instantly radiant again.
"Marjorie"
"Hum?"
"Do yon wish I was goin' to be there?"
She looked shy, and turned away her head.
"Marjorie Jones!" (This was a voice from home.) "How many more times shall I have to call you?"
