talent, and she had inherited it. Have you dramatic talent, Mother?"

"I don't know, King," said Mrs. Maynard, laughing. "Your father and I
have joined their dramatic club, but it remains to be seen whether we
can make a success of it."

"Oh, Mother!" cried Marjorie. "Are you really going to act in a play?
Oh, can we see you?"

"I don't know yet, Midget. Probably it will be an entertainment only for
grown-ups. We've just begun rehearsals."

"Have we dramatic talent, Mother?"

"Not to any astonishing degree. But, yes, I suppose your fondness for
playing at court life and such things shows a dramatic taste."

"Oh, it's great fun, Mother! I just love to sit on that throne with my
long trail wopsed on the floor beside me, and my sceptre sticking up,
and my courtiers all around me,--oh, Mother, I think I'd like to be a
real queen!"

"Well, you see, Midget, you were born in a country that doesn't employ
queens."

"And I'm glad of it!" cried Marjorie, patriotically. "Hooray! for the
land of the free and the home of the brave! I guess I don't care to be a
real queen, I guess I'll be a president's wife instead. Say, Mother,
won't you and Father write us some poems for _The Jolly Sandboy_?"