"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 course, it's just as much theirs as ours."
"Yes, of course," assented Marjorie; "I'm only just sort of imagining, you know."
"Let me help you imagine. Midget," said her father. "How would you like to imagine a whole May time that was all playtime?"
"For all of us?" rejoined Mar