"Oh, excuse me," he said, politely. "Now we shall have to go without
a drink of milk! But we are just as much obliged, and we bid you
good-morning. Come, Midget."

Marjorie was at a loss to understand King's actions, but she knew her
brother well enough to know that his tone and his look meant that
something very serious was the matter, and she was quite ready to obey
him without knowing why.

But though he grasped her arm, and endeavored to lead her out of the
tent, they were suddenly stopped. Two stalwart men who had been sitting
in shadow at the back of the tent came forward, and grasping the
children's shoulders, pushed them back into their seats rather roughly.

"You set down there!" said one of the men, "and don't you move till
you're told to! We ain't decided just what to do with you yet, and when
we see fit, we'll tell you, and not till then, so you just keep still!"

Marjorie suddenly sensed the situation. These people were enemies, not
friends! She understood King's efforts to get her away, and she
remembered, too, his misgivings as they were on their way across the
field.

Moreover, it was she who had insisted on coming, and so she felt, in a
way, responsible for what had happened to them. She jumped to her feet as
soon as the man let go of her shoulder, and cried, with flashing eyes, "I
will not keep still! What do you mean by treating me like that? Don't you
know who I am? We're Maynards! We're Edward Maynard's children,--and
everybody loves the Maynards!"