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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adopting of Rosa Marie, by Carroll Watson Rankin.
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<body class="x-ebookmaker x-ebookmaker-2"><h2 id="pgepubid00069">CHAPTER VII<br/>
<small>Discovery</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">SCHOOL began the first day of October—fortunately,
repairs to the building had
delayed the opening. And there was Rosa
Marie still on the Cottagers' hands, still a
dark and undivulged secret. In the meantime,
Mabel had paid many a visit to Mrs.
Malony, who for reasons of her own had
kept silence about the borrowed baby.
Probably she felt that Mrs. Bennett would
blame her for advising Mabel to harbor the
deserted child.</p>
<p>"No, darlint," Mrs. Malony would say,
encouragingly. "Oi ain't exactly <i>seen</i> her,
but she'll be back prisintly, she'll be back
prisintly—Oh, most anny toime, now. Just
do be waitin' patient and you'll see me come
walkin' in most anny foine day wid yon<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[53]" id="pgepubid00070"><a id="Page_53" title="[53]"></a></span>
blackhaired lass at me heels an' full to the
eyes of her wid gratichude. Anny day at
all, Miss Mabel."</p>
<p>Buoyed by this hope, Mabel had waited
from day to day, hoping for speedy deliverance.
And now, school!</p>
<p>"We'll just have to get excused for part
of each day," said Marjory, always good at
suggesting remedies. "Last year, all my
recitations came in the morning; perhaps
they will again. Then, if one of you others
could do all your reciting during the afternoon
we could manage it."</p>
<p>The year previously Mabel had been
obliged to spend many a half-hour after
school, making up neglected lessons. Now,
however, she studied furiously. If she
failed frequently it was only because she
couldn't help making absurd blunders; it was
never for lack of study. In this one way, at
least, Rosa Marie proved beneficial.</p>
<p>The united efforts of all four made it
possible for Rosa Marie to possess a more or<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[54]" id="pgepubid00071"><a id="Page_54" title="[54]"></a></span>
less unwilling guardian for all but one hour
during the forenoon. It grieves one to confess
it, but Rosa Marie spent that solitary
hour securely strapped to the leg of the dining-room
table; but, stolid as ever, she did
not mind that.</p>
<p>It was there that Aunty Jane discovered
her, the second week in October. Aunty
Jane had missed her best saucepan. Rightly
suspecting that Marjory had carried it off to
make fudge in, she hurried to the Cottage,
discovered the key under the door-mat,
opened the door and walked in.</p>
<p>Rosa Marie was grunting. "Eigh, ugh,
ugh, ee, ee, <i>ee</i>, hee!" to her own bare
brown toes.</p>
<p>"For mercy's sake! What's that?"
gasped Aunty Jane, with a terrified start.
"There's some sort of an animal in this
house."</p>
<p>Arming herself with the broken umbrella
that stood in the mended umbrella jar in the
front hall, Aunty Jane peered cautiously into<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[55]" id="pgepubid00072"><a id="Page_55" title="[55]"></a></span>
the dining-room. The "animal" turned its
head to blink with mild, expressionless curiosity
at Aunty Jane.</p>
<p>"My soul!" ejaculated that good lady,
"what are you, anyway?"</p>
<p>The pair blinked at each other for several
moments.</p>
<p>"Are—are you a <i>baby</i>?" demanded
Aunty Jane.</p>
<p>No response from Rosa Marie.</p>
<p>"What," asked Aunty Jane, cautiously
drawing closer, "is your name?"</p>
<p>Still no response.</p>
<p>"Who tied you to that table?"</p>
<p>Silence on Rosa Marie's part.</p>
<p>"I'm going straight after Mrs. Mapes,"
declared Aunty Jane, retreating backwards
in order to keep a watchful eye on the queer
object under the table. "I might have
known that those enterprising youngsters
would be up to <i>something</i>, if I gave my
whole mind to pickles."</p>
<p>Excited Aunty Jane collected not only<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[56]" id="pgepubid00073"><a id="Page_56" title="[56]"></a></span>
Mrs. Mapes, but Mrs. Tucker and Mrs.
Bennett, before she returned to the Cottage.
And then, the three mothers and Aunty Jane
sat on the floor beside Rosa Marie and asked
questions; useless questions, because Rosa
Marie licked the table-leg bashfully but
yielded no other reply.</p>
<p>This lasted for nearly half an hour. And
then, school being out and the four Cottagers
discovering their front door wide open, Jean,
Bettie, Marjory and Mabel, all sorts of emotions
tugging at their hearts, rushed breathlessly
in. On beholding their mothers and
Aunty Jane, they, too, turned suddenly bashful
and leaned, speechless, against the Cottage
wall.</p>
<p>"Whose child is that?" demanded all
four of the grown-ups, in concert.</p>
<p>"Mine," replied Mabel.</p>
<p>"Mabel's," responded the other three,
with disheartening promptness.</p>
<p>"What!" gasped the parents and Aunty
Jane.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[57]" id="pgepubid00074"><a id="Page_57" title="[57]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I borrowed her," explained Mabel, "so
she's <i>mostly</i> mine."</p>
<p>"She's spending the day here, I suppose,"
said Mrs. Mapes.</p>
<p>"Ye-es," faltered Mabel. Marjory giggled,
and Mabel turned crimson.</p>
<p>"I hope," said Mrs. Bennett, severely,
"that you're not thinking of keeping her all
night."</p>
<p>"I—I—we—" faltered Mabel, "we—we
sort of did."</p>
<p>"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennett, not
knowing how very late she was, "I guess
we've come just in time. Mabel, put that
child's things on and take her home at once."</p>
<p>"I can't," replied Mabel.</p>
<p>"Why not?"</p>
<p>"She hasn't any home."</p>
<p>"No home!"</p>
<p>"No. It's—it's run away."</p>
<p>"What! That baby?"</p>
<p>"No," stammered Mabel, "that baby's
home. Not—not the house. Just her<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[58]" id="pgepubid00075"><a id="Page_58" title="[58]"></a></span>
mother. She—she—Oh, she'll be back,
<i>some</i> day."</p>
<p>"Mabel Bennett!" demanded Mrs. Bennett,
suspecting something of the truth,
"how long have you had that child here?"</p>
<p>"Not—Oh, not so <i>very</i> long," evaded
Mabel.</p>
<p>"Mabel," demanded her mother, "tell me,
instantly, exactly how long?"</p>
<p>"About—yes, just about five weeks."</p>
<p>"Five weeks!" gasped Mrs. Bennett.</p>
<p>"Five <i>weeks</i>!" shrieked Mrs. Tucker.</p>
<p>"Five weeks!" groaned Mrs. Mapes.</p>
<p>"Fi—ve weeks!" cried Aunty Jane.</p>
<p>"It'll be five to-morrow," said Bettie.</p>
<p>"No, the day after," corrected Marjory.</p>
<p>For the next few moments the mothers
and Aunty Jane were too astounded for
further speech. The girls, too, had nothing
to say. All four of the Cottagers kept their
eyes on the floor, for they knew precisely
what their elders were thinking.</p>
<p>"Jean," began Mrs. Mapes, reproachfully.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[59]" id="pgepubid00076"><a id="Page_59" title="[59]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I—I <i>wanted</i> to tell," stammered Jean.</p>
<p>"I wouldn't let her," defended Mabel,
looking up. "They <i>all</i> wanted to tell, but I
wouldn't let them. Truly, they did, Mrs.
Mapes."</p>
<p>"But five whole weeks!" murmured Mrs.
Bennett. "I wonder that you were able to
keep the secret so long. Why! I've been
over here half a dozen times at least to ask
for my scissors and other things that Mabel
has carried off."</p>
<p>"So have I," said Mrs. Mapes.</p>
<p>"So have I," echoed Mrs. Tucker.</p>
<p>"And so have I," added Aunty Jane,
"and I've never heard a sound from that remarkable
child."</p>
<p>"You see," confessed Bettie, flushing
guiltily, "we kept the door locked. Whenever
we saw anybody coming we whisked
Rosa Marie into the spare-room closet."</p>
<p>"If Rosa Marie had been an ordinary
child," explained Jean, "she would probably
have howled; but you see, every blessed thing<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[60]" id="pgepubid00077"><a id="Page_60" title="[60]"></a></span>
about us was so new and strange to her that
she just thought that everything we did was
all right. And anyhow, she doesn't have
the same sort of feelings that Anne Halliday
does. Anne would have cried."</p>
<p>"You naughty, naughty children,"
scolded Mrs. Mapes, "to keep a secret like
that for five whole weeks."</p>
<p>"But, Mother," protested Jean, gently,
"we never supposed it was going to be a five-weeks-long
secret. We didn't <i>want</i> it to be.
We've been expecting her horrid mother to
turn up every single minute since Rosa
Marie came."</p>
<p>"It was all my fault," declared loyal
Mabel. "<i>They'd</i> have told, the very first
minute, if it hadn't been for me. Blame me
for everything."</p>
<p>"What," asked Mrs. Bennett, "do you
intend to do with that—that atrocious
child?"</p>
<p>"She <i>isn't</i> atrocious!" blazed Mabel,
with sudden fire. "She's a perfect darling,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[61]" id="pgepubid00078"><a id="Page_61" title="[61]"></a></span>
when you get used to her, and I <i>love</i> her.
She isn't so very pretty, I know, but she's
just dear. She's good, and that—and that's—Why!
You've said, yourself, that it was
better to be good than beautiful."</p>
<p>"But what do you intend to do with
her?" persisted Mrs. Bennett.</p>
<p>"Keep her," said Mabel, firmly. "She
doesn't eat anything much but milk and
sample packages."</p>
<p>"You can't. I won't have her in my
house. Why! Her parents are probably
dreadful people."</p>
<p>"That's why she ought to have me for a
mother and you for a grandmother," pleaded
Mabel, earnestly. "But if you don't like
her, I'll keep her here."</p>
<p>"But you can't, Mabel. It's so cold that
there ought to be a fire here this minute, and
you can't possibly leave a child alone with a
fire."</p>
<p>"Couldn't <i>you</i> take her, Mrs. Mapes?"
pleaded Mabel.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[62]" id="pgepubid00079"><a id="Page_62" title="[62]"></a></span></p>
<p>"No, I'm afraid I couldn't. If she were
the least bit lovable——"</p>
<p>"Oh, she <i>is</i>——"</p>
<p>"Not to me," returned Mrs. Mapes,
firmly.</p>
<p>"Wouldn't <i>you</i> take her, Mrs. Tucker?"</p>
<p>"What! With all the family I have now?
I couldn't think of such a thing."</p>
<p>"Then you," begged Mabel, turning to
Aunty Jane. "There's only you and Marjory
in that great big house. Oh, <i>do</i> take
her."</p>
<p>"Mercy! I'd just as soon undertake to
board a live bear! Why! Nobody wants a
child of <i>that</i> sort around. She's as
homely——"</p>
<p>"I'm extremely glad," said Mabel, with
much dignity and a great deal of emphasis,
"that <i>my</i> child doesn't understand grown-up
English."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," said Mrs. Mapes, smiling
with sympathetic understanding, "we four
older people had better talk this matter over<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[63]" id="pgepubid00080"><a id="Page_63" title="[63]"></a></span>
by ourselves. Suppose you walk home with
me.</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> think," said Aunty Jane, forgetting all
about the saucepan that had led her to the
Cottage, "that the orphan asylum is the
place for that unspeakable child."</p>
<p>"Yes," agreed Mrs. Bennett, "she'll certainly
have to go to the asylum."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[64]" id="pgepubid00081"><a id="Page_64" title="[64]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00082">CHAPTER VIII<br/>
<small>The Fugitive Soldier</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THE Cottage door closed behind the
three excited parents and Aunty Jane.
The four Cottagers, all decidedly pale and
subdued, looked at one another in silence.
It is one thing to confess a fault; it is quite
another to be ignominiously found out.
Jean and Bettie and Marjory were feeling
this very keenly; but Mabel was far more
troubled at the prospect of losing Rosa
Marie.</p>
<p>"The orphan asylum!" breathed Bettie,
at length.</p>
<p>"It's wicked," blazed Mabel, "to make an
orphan of a person that isn't."</p>
<p>"I've heard," said Marjory, reflectively,
"that orphans have to eat fried liver."</p>
<p>"Horrors!" gasped Mabel.</p>
<p>"And codfish."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[65]" id="pgepubid00083"><a id="Page_65" title="[65]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Oh <i>horrors</i>!" moaned Mabel, who detested
both liver and codfish.</p>
<p>"And prunes," pursued teasing Marjory,
wickedly remembering Mabel's dislike for
that wholesome but insipid fruit. The
prunes proved entirely too much for Mabel.</p>
<p>"Pup—pup—prunes!" she sobbed. "And
you stand there and don't do a thing to save
her! I guess if I were Eliza escaping with
my baby on cakes of ice——"</p>
<p>"Rosa Marie's about the right color,"
giggled Marjory, who could not resist so
fine an opportunity to tease excitable Mabel.</p>
<p>"You'd all be glad enough to help, but
when it's just me——"</p>
<p>"Oh, we'll help," soothed Jean, slipping
an arm about Mabel. "You know we
always do stand by you."</p>
<p>"Yes, we'll all help," promised Bettie, "if
you'll just tell us what to do. Only <i>please</i>
don't get us into any more trouble with our
mothers."</p>
<p>"There's the cellar," suggested Mabel,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[66]" id="pgepubid00084"><a id="Page_66" title="[66]"></a></span>
doubtfully, yet with glimmerings of hope.
"I read a story once about a lady who sat
on a cellar door, knitting stockings."</p>
<p>"Why in the world," demanded Marjory,
"did she sit on the door?"</p>
<p>"Some soldiers were hunting for an
escaped prisoner and she had him hidden
there."</p>
<p>"Was the cellar all horrid with old papers
and rats and mice and spiders and crawly
things with legs?" asked Bettie, with
interest.</p>
<p>"I hope not," shuddered Mabel, "but a
soldier wouldn't mind. Dear me, I wish
we'd cleaned that cellar when we first came
into the Cottage. If we had, it'd be just the
place to hide Rosa Marie in."</p>
<p>"Perhaps it isn't too late, now," said
Marjory, stooping to loosen the ring in the
kitchen floor. "Let's look down there, anyway."</p>
<p>"Let's," agreed Bettie. "It'll be something
to do, at least."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[67]" id="pgepubid00085"><a id="Page_67" title="[67]"></a></span></p>
<p>Everybody helped with the door. When
it was open and propped against the kitchen
stove, the four girls crouched down to peer
into the depths below. Even Rosa Marie,
who had been released from the table-leg,
crept to the edge to look.</p>
<p>They were not very deep depths. The
place was filled with rubbish, mostly old
papers and broken pasteboard boxes; but it
was perfectly dry, and clean except for a
thick layer of dust.</p>
<p>"Let's clean it out," said Mabel, recklessly
grasping an armful of dusty papers
and dragging them forth.</p>
<p>"Phew!" exclaimed Jean, tumbling back
from the hole. "Er—er—er hash!"</p>
<p>"Oh, ki—<i>hash</i>! Hoo!" blubbered Bettie,
likewise tumbling backwards.</p>
<p>"Who-is-she, who-is-she," sneezed Marjory.</p>
<p>"Kerchoo, kerchoo, kerchoo!" sneezed
Rosa Marie, her head bobbing with each
sneeze. "Kerchoo, kerchoo!"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[68]" id="pgepubid00086"><a id="Page_68" title="[68]"></a></span></p>
<p>"It's pepper," explained Mabel, when she
had finished <i>her</i> sneeze. "I spilled a lot of
it the day of Mr. Black's dinner party. I
didn't know what else to do with it, so I
swept it down that biggest crack."</p>
<p>"Goodness! What a housekeeper!" rebuked
Jean, wiping her eyes.</p>
<p>"It's good for moths," consoled Bettie.
"At any rate, Rosa Marie won't get moth-eaten."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," suggested Mabel, hopefully,
"it's driven away all the rats and crawly
things."</p>
<p>Working more cautiously, the girls drew
forth the yellowed papers and pasteboard
left by some former untidy occupant of the
Cottage. They burned most of the rubbish
in the kitchen stove, Jean standing guard lest
burning pieces should escape to set fire to the
Cottage. The work of clearing the cellar,
indeed, was precisely what the girls needed,
after the humiliating events of the day. All
four were growing more cheerful; but they<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[69]" id="pgepubid00087"><a id="Page_69" title="[69]"></a></span>
worked as swiftly as they dared, for they
felt certain that the cellar, as a place of concealment
for Rosa Marie, would be speedily
needed.</p>
<p>The cellar proved to be a square hole
about three feet deep. When Mabel, who
for once was doing the lion's share of the
work, had swept the boarded floor and sides
perfectly clean, it was really a very tidy, inviting
little shelter; as neat a shelter as fugitive
soldier could desire.</p>
<p>"Now," said Mabel, "we'll put a piece of
carpet and an old quilt in the bottom, tack
clean papers around the sides——"</p>
<p>"Papers rattle," offered Marjory, sagely.</p>
<p>"Then we'll use cloth," declared Mabel,
snatching an apron from the hook behind
the door. "We'll begin right away to
practise with Rosa Marie, so she'll get used
to it. Then we must rehearse our parts,
too."</p>
<p>The retreat ready, Rosa Marie went without
a murmur into the underground babytender—Marjory<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[70]" id="pgepubid00088"><a id="Page_70" title="[70]"></a></span>
gave it that name. Rosa
Marie, at least, would do her part successfully.
But it was different above ground.</p>
<p>"Who," demanded Jean, "is to sit on the
door and knit? <i>I</i> couldn't—I'd fly to
pieces."</p>
<p>"It's my child," said Mabel, "<i>I'm</i> going
to."</p>
<p>"But," objected Marjory, "you <i>can't</i>
knit. You don't know how."</p>
<p>"I can crochet," triumphed Mabel, "and
I guess that's every bit as good."</p>
<p>"Where," asked Bettie, "is your crochet
hook?"</p>
<p>But that, of course, was a question that
Mabel could not answer, because Mabel
never did know where any of her belongings
were. Thereupon, Jean, Marjory and
Mabel began a frantic search for the missing
article. Mabel had used it the week
previously; but could remember nothing
more about it.</p>
<p>"Goodness!" groaned Mabel, groveling<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[71]" id="pgepubid00089"><a id="Page_71" title="[71]"></a></span>
under the spare-room bed in hopes that the
hook might be there. "If I'd dreamed that
my child's life was going to depend on that
hook, I'd have kept it locked up in father's
fire-proof safe."</p>
<p>"That's what you get," said Marjory,
with one eye glued to the top of a very tall
vase, "for being so careless. It isn't in
here, anyway."</p>
<p>"Here's one," announced Bettie, scrambling
in hastily and locking the door behind
her. "I skipped home for it. But there's
no time to lose. All our mothers and Aunty
Jane are going out of Mrs. Mapes's gate
with their best hats and gloves on. There's
something doing!"</p>
<p>In another moment, the cellar door was
closed, a rocking chair was placed upon it,
and Mabel, with ball of yarn and crochet
hook in hand, was nervously twitching in
the chair. Her fingers were stiff with dust—there
had been no time to wash them—so
the loop that she tied in the end of the white<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[72]" id="pgepubid00090"><a id="Page_72" title="[72]"></a></span>
yarn was most decidedly black; but Mabel
was thankful to achieve a loop of any color,
with her whole body quivering with excitement
and suspense.</p>
<p>"Goodness!" she quavered. "That
soldier lady was a wonder! Think of her
looking calm outside with her heart going
like a Dover egg-beater. Do—do <i>I</i> look
calm?"</p>
<p>"Here," said Bettie, extending a basin of
warm water. "Soak your hands in this.
Warm water is said to be soothing."</p>
<p>"Also cleansing," giggled Marjory.</p>
<p>"Hurry!" gasped quick-eared Jean,
snatching the basin and hurling a towel in
Mabel's direction. "I heard our gate click.
There's somebody coming."</p>
<p>"Don't let 'em in," breathed Mabel,
defiantly.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid," said Jean, "we'll have to."</p>
<p>"Anyway," soothed Bettie, "we'll peek
first—there's the door-bell!"</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[73]" id="pgepubid00091"><a id="Page_73" title="[73]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00092">CHAPTER IX<br/>
<small>A Surprise</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">JEAN and Bettie flew to one window,
Marjory to the other. Mabel wanted to
fly, too, but she remained faithfully at her
post, feeling quite cheered by her own
heroism.</p>
<p>"It's dark gray trousers with a crease in
'em; not skirts," announced Marjory, peering
under the edge of the shade.</p>
<p>"Probably a man from the asylum,"
shuddered Bettie. "Let's keep very still.
He may think that this is the wrong house
and go somewhere else."</p>
<p>"But," objected Jean, "he'll only come
back again."</p>
<p>"Yes," sighed Bettie. "I s'pose we will
have to open the door. You do it, Marjory."</p>
<p>"I don't want to," returned Marjory, unexpectedly<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[74]" id="pgepubid00093"><a id="Page_74" title="[74]"></a></span>
shrinking. "It seems too much
like giving Rosa Marie into the hands of the
enemy. After all, we're going to miss her
dreadfully and Mabel'll be just about broken-hearted.
She <i>does</i> get so attached to things—Oh!
He's ringing again."</p>
<p>"We'll have to unlock the door," sighed
Jean, placing her hand on the key, "but
dearie me, I feel just as Marjory does about
it. Knit fast, Mabel."</p>
<p>The key turned in the lock, but the girls
did not need to open the door; the visitor did
that. Then there were rapturous cries of
"Mr. Black! Mr. Black!"</p>
<p>Mabel wanted to greet Mr. Black, too, for
there was nobody in the world that was
kinder to little girls than the stout gentleman
who had just opened their door; but
she remembered that the soldier lady (in
spite of the Dover egg-beater heart) had
remained seated, placidly knitting; so Mabel
likewise sat still and plied her crochet hook.</p>
<p>"Hi, hi!" exclaimed Mr. Black. "What<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[75]" id="pgepubid00094"><a id="Page_75" title="[75]"></a></span>
are you all locked in for? And here I had
to ring four times when I came with a
present—apples right off the top of my own
barrel. Began to be afraid I'd have to eat
them all myself, you were so long letting
me in."</p>
<p>"If we'd guessed that it was you and
apples," said Marjory, "we'd have met you
at the gate."</p>
<p>"Where's the other girl?" asked Mr.
Black's big, cheery voice. "Doesn't she
like apples, too?"</p>
<p>"In the kitchen," chorused Jean, Marjory
and Bettie.</p>
<p>"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Black, striding
kitchenward, "here she is, knitting like
any old lady. Aren't you coming in here to
eat apples with the rest of us?"</p>
<p>"Can't," mumbled Mabel.</p>
<p>"What's the matter, grandma?" teased
Mr. Black. "Rheumatism troubling you
to-day?"</p>
<p>"Nope," returned Mabel.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[76]" id="pgepubid00095"><a id="Page_76" title="[76]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Lost all your teeth?"</p>
<p>"Nope."</p>
<p>"Are you knitting me a pair of socks or
is it mittens?"</p>
<p>"Just a chain," replied Mabel, suddenly
beaming. "But, Mr. Black, does it really
look as if I were knitting?"</p>
<p>"Precisely," smiled Mr. Black. "So
much so that you remind me of the story of
the woman who sat on the trap door and
knitted—By Jove! That <i>is</i> a trap door!
Here's the ring sticking up."</p>
<p>The girls shot a quick glance at the floor.
Then they gazed guiltily at one another.
Sure enough! The tell-tale ring stood upright,
ready for use. No one had thought
to conceal it.</p>
<p>"Is there a wounded soldier down
there?" asked Mr. Black, jokingly.</p>
<p>"No!" shouted all four with suspicious
haste.</p>
<p>The deep silence that followed was suddenly
punctuated by a muffled sneeze from<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[77]" id="pgepubid00096"><a id="Page_77" title="[77]"></a></span>
Rosa Marie. Undoubtedly, some of the
pepper dislodged from the crack in the floor
had sifted down to the prisoner.</p>
<p>The faces of the four girls flushed guiltily.
Mr. Black looked wonderingly at the
little group. It was plain that something
was wrong. Jean, who had always met her
friend's glance with level, truthful eyes, was
now looking most sheepishly at her own
toes. Bettie, hitherto always ready to tell
the whole truth, was now fiddling evasively
with the corner of her apron. Marjory's
fair skin was crimson; her usually frank
blue eyes were intent on something under
the kitchen table.</p>
<p>"Is there some sort of an animal in that
cellar?" demanded Mr. Black.</p>
<p>Rosa Marie chose this moment to give
another large sneeze.</p>
<p>"Is it something you're afraid of?" demanded
Mr. Black.</p>
<p>"'Fraid of losing," mumbled Mabel,
shamefacedly. Poor Mabel realized only<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[78]" id="pgepubid00097"><a id="Page_78" title="[78]"></a></span>
too well that she, with her knitting and her
too-perfect playing of the part, had given the
secret away; and she felt all the bitterness
of failure.</p>
<p>Seizing the back of Mabel's chair, Mr.
Black drew it swiftly off the trap door. In
another moment, he had the door open.</p>
<p>Rosa Marie, blinking at the sudden light,
bobbed upward. Mr. Black involuntarily
started back from the opening.</p>
<p>"What under heavens is that!" he
gasped. "A monkey?"</p>
<p>And, indeed, the error was a perfectly
natural one, for all he had been able to see
was a tousled head of hair, beneath which
gleamed small black eyes.</p>
<p>"I should say not!" blazed Mabel. "It's
my little girl—my Rosa Marie."</p>
<p>"Does she bite? Is she dangerous? Is
that why you treat her like potatoes?"</p>
<p>"Most certainly not," returned Mabel,
with dignity. "She's an Indian."</p>
<p>"Bless me!" said Mr. Black, leaning<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[79]" id="pgepubid00098"><a id="Page_79" title="[79]"></a></span>
cautiously forward. "Let's have a look
at her."</p>
<p>Now that the secret was out, everybody
eagerly clutched some portion of Rosa
Marie's clothing. She was drawn, with
some difficulty and sundry tearings of cloth,
from the "Soldier's Retreat." Mabel cuddled
the blinking small person in her lap.</p>
<p>"Did you pick her up in the woods?"
asked Mr. Black, "or did you simply kidnap
her? Or, dreadful thought! Did you
order her by number from some catalogue?
And did they charge you full price?"</p>
<p>Then Mabel, helped by the other three,
told all that they knew of the history of
Rosa Marie; and of Mabel's affection for
the queer brown baby. They told him
everything. Mabel, with visions of the
orphan asylum's doors yawning to engulf
precious Rosa Marie, considered it a very
sad story. She felt grieved and indignant
because Mr. Black, instead of sympathizing,
laughed until his sides shook. Even the<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[80]" id="pgepubid00099"><a id="Page_80" title="[80]"></a></span>
pathetic diet of liver, codfish and prunes
seemed to amuse him.</p>
<p>"What would you have said if your
mothers had asked you where this child
was?" inquired Mr. Black presently. "I
mean, when you had her down cellar?"</p>
<p>Jean looked at Bettie, Bettie looked at
Marjory, Marjory looked at Mabel.</p>
<p>"We never thought of that," confessed
Bettie.</p>
<p>"Oh," groaned Mabel, holding Rosa
Marie closer, "our plan isn't any good after
all. We'd have to tell the truth if they
asked; we always do."</p>
<p>"Yes," said Jean, "they'd get it out of us
at once."</p>
<p>"Even," teased Marjory, shrewdly, "if
Mabel, sitting upon that trap door, were not
every bit as good as a printed sign."</p>
<p>"Never mind," soothed Jean, slipping an
arm about Mabel's shoulders, "we'd rather
be honest than smart, since we can't be
both."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[81]" id="pgepubid00100"><a id="Page_81" title="[81]"></a></span></p>
<p>Mabel needed soothing. She sat still and
made no sound; but large tears were rolling
down her cheeks and splashing on Rosa
Marie's black head. Mr. Black regarded
them thoughtfully. He noticed too that
Mabel's moderately white hand was closed
tightly over Rosa Marie's brown fingers.
It reminded him, some way, of his own
youthful agony over parting with a puppy
that he had not been allowed to keep—he
had always regretted that puppy.</p>
<p>Suddenly the front door, propelled by
some unseen force, opened from without to
admit the three mothers and Aunty Jane,
followed closely by Mr. Tucker, Dr. Bennett
and two young women in nurses' uniform.
They crowded into the little parlor
and filled it to overflowing. None of the
Cottagers said a word; but Mabel, tears still
rolling down her cheeks, silently clasped
both arms tightly about Rosa Marie's body.
It began to look as if Rosa Marie would
have to be taken by force.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[82]" id="pgepubid00101"><a id="Page_82" title="[82]"></a></span></p>
<p>"It's all arranged," announced Mrs. Bennett,
breathlessly. "The asylum is willing
to take her and she is to go at once with
these young ladies. Come, Mabel, don't be
foolish. Take your arms away. You're
behaving very badly—There, there, I'll buy
you something."</p>
<p>"You're just a little too late," said Mr.
Black, keeping watchful eyes on Mabel's
speaking countenance. "I've decided to
take the responsibility of Rosa Marie into
my own hands."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[83]" id="pgepubid00102"><a id="Page_83" title="[83]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00103">CHAPTER X<br/>
<small>Breaking the News</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">WHEN Mr. Black went home that afternoon
to explain the matter to his
good sister, Mrs. Crane, he took with him
not only Rosa Marie, but Jean, Marjory,
Bettie and Mabel, whose parents had given
them permission to escort the brown baby
to her new home.</p>
<p>"You see," said he, while waiting for
Rosa Marie to be made somewhat more attractive,
"I want you to tell the story to
Mrs. Crane, precisely as you told it to me.
But don't mention <i>me</i> until you get to the
very end."</p>
<p>With her hair brushed and braided and
her fat little body stuffed into a pink gingham
apron that the Cottagers had laboriously
cut down from a wrapper of Mrs.
Halliday's, Rosa Marie looked her best, in<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[84]" id="pgepubid00104"><a id="Page_84" title="[84]"></a></span>
spite of the fact that she wore no shoes and
stockings. She trotted contentedly at
Mabel's side; but Bettie, who was supposed
to be walking with Mr. Black, pranced delightedly
about him in circles, to show her
gratitude. Jean and Marjory followed more
sedately but with beaming countenances.</p>
<p>Now that Mrs. Crane was no longer poor,
she was always dressed very neatly in black
silk. Except for that she was precisely the
same jolly, good-natured woman that she
had been when she lived alone in the little
house just across the street from Dandelion
Cottage. Now, however, she lived with her
brother, Mr. Black, in his big, imposing, but
rather gloomy house. She had no husband,
he had no wife and neither had any children.
Perhaps that is why they were both so fond
of the Dandelion Cottagers.</p>
<p>Mrs. Crane was planting bulbs in the garden
when Mr. Black ushered his procession
in at the gate.</p>
<p>"Bless my soul!" said she, "here you are<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[85]" id="pgepubid00105"><a id="Page_85" title="[85]"></a></span>
just in time to help. I always said that if
ever I got a chance to plant all the tulip
bulbs I wanted, I'd die of pure happiness;
but I guess I stand <i>more</i> chance of dying of
a broken back. My land! I've planted two
thousand three hundred and forty-eight of
the best-looking bulbs I ever laid eyes on,
and there ain't a hole in those boxes yet.
They're all named, too. Here's Rachel
Ruish, Rose Grisdelin, Rosy Mundi, Yellow
Prince, the Duke of York—think of having
<i>him</i> in your front yard—and Lady Grandison,
two inches apart, clear to the gate. But
land! I suppose a body's tongue'd go lame
counting <i>diamonds</i>."</p>
<p>"Why don't you let Martin plant them?"
asked Mr. Black, with a twinkle in his eye.
It was plain that he enjoyed his talkative
elderly sister.</p>
<p>"And have them all bloom in China?"
retorted Mrs. Crane. "Now you know,
Peter, that Martin couldn't get a bulb right
end up if there were printed directions on<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[86]" id="pgepubid00106"><a id="Page_86" title="[86]"></a></span>
the skin of every bulb. But Jean there, and
Bettie——"</p>
<p>"We'll do it," cried the girls. "Just tell
us how."</p>
<p>"Two inches apart, pointed end up, all
the way along those little trenches," directed
Mrs. Crane, seating herself in the wheelbarrow.
"No, not <i>you</i>, Mabel. You and
Martin—Well, I won't <i>say</i> it. Why!
What's the matter with your face? Looks
to me as if you'd dusted the coal bin with
yourself and then cried about it. What's
the trouble?"</p>
<p>Thereupon Mabel introduced Rosa Marie,
who had been shyly hiding behind a rosebush,
told her story and graphically described
the horrors of the orphan asylum.</p>
<p>"While I don't believe that any orphan
asylum is as black as you've painted that
one," said Mrs. Crane, "it does seem a pity
to shut a little outdoor animal like that up
in a cage when she ain't used to it. Now,
Peter, you listen to me. Why couldn't <i>we</i><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[87]" id="pgepubid00107"><a id="Page_87" title="[87]"></a></span>
keep Rosa Marie here for a time. Like
enough, her mother'll be back after her most
any day. In the meantime, she'd be more
company than a cat and easier to wash than
a poodle."</p>
<p>"Well now, I don't know," returned Mr.
Black, winking at Mabel. "A child is a
great deal of trouble."</p>
<p>"Shame on you, Peter Black. It's only
yesterday that you bought a wretched old
horse to keep his owner from ill-treating
him; and here you are refusing——"</p>
<p>"Oh, not exactly refusing——"</p>
<p>"Begrudging, anyway, to rescue that innocent
lamb——"</p>
<p>"She means black sheep," whispered
Marjory, into Jean's convenient ear.</p>
<p>"From that institution. Peter Black!
I'm just going to keep that child, anyway."</p>
<p>At this, all five laughed merrily. Rosa
Marie, cheered by the sound, reached
gravely into a paper bag, gravely handed
each person a tulip bulb and appropriated<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[88]" id="pgepubid00108"><a id="Page_88" title="[88]"></a></span>
one herself. She took a generous bite out
of hers.</p>
<p>"We'll plant 'em in a ring around that
snowball bush," said Mrs. Crane, rescuing
the bitten bulb, bite and all. "That shall be
Rosa Marie's own flower bed."</p>
<p>"There's a nursery on the second floor,"
said Mr. Black. "You girls must help us
fix it up. And, Mabel, perhaps <i>you</i> would
like to spend this money for some toys that
would just exactly suit Rosa Marie."</p>
<p>Mabel beamed gratefully as she accepted
the money and the responsibility. Never
before had any one singled her out to perform
a task that required discretion. It was
always Jean, or Bettie, or sometimes even
Marjory that was chosen. Never before
had greatness been thrust upon Mabel. She
lavished grateful, affectionate glances on
Mr. Black and inwardly determined to save
part of the cash with which to buy him a
Christmas present, not realizing that that
would be a misappropriation of funds.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[89]" id="pgepubid00109"><a id="Page_89" title="[89]"></a></span></p>
<p>Mabel, however, felt a pang of jealousy
when Rosa Marie, digging contentedly in
the sand at Mrs. Crane's feet, allowed her
former guardian to depart absolutely unnoticed.</p>
<p>"I <i>did</i> think," confided Mabel to Bettie,
who walked beside her, "that she'd at least
<i>look</i> as if she cared."</p>
<p>That night the mothers made peace with
their daughters, and Aunty Jane extended a
flag of truce to Marjory.</p>
<p>"It was all for your own good," explained
Mrs. Bennett, her arm about Mabel, who
was missing the pleasant task of putting
Rosa Marie to bed. "I couldn't let you
grow up with a little Indian continually at
your heels. You'd have grown tired of her,
too. And by keeping silence so long, you
did a great deal of harm. If we'd known
about the matter at once, we might have been
able to find her mother. Now it's too late."</p>
<p>"I never thought of that," said Mabel,
contritely. "I'll tell right away, next time."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[90]" id="pgepubid00110"><a id="Page_90" title="[90]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Mabel! There mustn't <i>be</i> a next time.
Promise me this instant that you'll never
borrow another baby unless you know
that its mother really wants to keep it.
Promise."</p>
<p>"All right, I promise," said Mabel,
cheerfully.</p>
<p>"But I <i>can't</i> think," remarked Mrs. Bennett,
"what possessed Mr. Black to be so
foolish as to take such a child into his own
home."</p>
<p>There were other persons that wondered,
too, why Mr. Black should burden his household
with the care of what Martin, his man,
called an uncivilized savage; but the truth
of the matter was just this. The large
silent tears rolling down Mabel's forlorn
countenance had suddenly proved too much
for the tender heart of Mr. Black. In some
ways, perhaps, impulsive Mr. Black was not
a wise man; but, where children were concerned,
there was no doubt of his being an
exceedingly tender person.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[91]" id="pgepubid00111"><a id="Page_91" title="[91]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00112">CHAPTER XI<br/>
<small>The Alarm</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">NOW that the burden of caring for Rosa
Marie was shifted to older and more
competent shoulders, the Cottagers' thoughts
returned to their school-work. It was time.
Never had lessons been so neglected. Never
before had four moderately intelligent little
girls seemed so stupid. But of course
with their minds filled with Rosa Marie, it
had been impossible to keep the rivers of
South America from lightmindedly running
over into Asia, or the products of British
Columbia from being exported from
Calcutta.</p>
<p>These fortunate girls attended a beautiful
school. That is, the building was beautiful.
It stood right in the middle of a great big
grassy block, entirely surrounded, as Bettie
put it, by street, which of course added<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[92]" id="pgepubid00113"><a id="Page_92" title="[92]"></a></span>
greatly to its dignity. It was built of "raindrop"
sandstone, a most interesting building
material because no two blocks were
alike and also because each stone looked as
if it had just been sprinkled with big, spattering
drops of rain. It was hard when
looking at it to believe that it wasn't raining,
and certain naughty youngsters delighted
in fooling new teachers by pointing
out the deceiving drops that flecked the
balustrade. Perhaps even the grass was
fooled by this semblance to showers for, in
summer time, it grew so thriftily that no
one had to be warned to "Keep off," so a
great many little people frolicked in the
schoolyard even during vacation.</p>
<p>Of course the Dandelion Cottagers were
not in the same classes in school. Jean,
being the oldest, the most sedate and the
most studious, was almost through the
eighth grade. Marjory, being naturally
very bright and also moderately industrious,
was in the seventh. Mabel and Bettie were<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[93]" id="pgepubid00114"><a id="Page_93" title="[93]"></a></span>
not exactly anywhere. You see, Bettie had
had to stay out so often to keep the next to
the youngest Tucker baby from falling
downstairs, that naturally she had dropped
behind all the classes that she had ever
started with; and Mabel—of course Mabel
<i>meant</i> well, but when she studied at all it
was usually the lesson for some other day;
for this blundering maiden never <i>could</i> remember
which was the right page. But one
day she happened by some lucky accident to
stumble upon the right one, and on that
solitary occasion she recited so very brilliantly
that Miss Bonner and all the pupils
dropped their books to listen in astonishment,
and Mabel was marked one hundred.</p>
<p>But in spite of this high mark in good
black ink (if one stood less than seventy-five
red ink was employed) the thing did not
happen again that fall because Mabel was
too busy bringing up Rosa Marie to study
even the wrong lesson. However, she was
exceedingly fond of pretty Miss Bonner and,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[94]" id="pgepubid00115"><a id="Page_94" title="[94]"></a></span>
having learned the exact date of that young
woman's birthday, hoped to appease her by
a gift to be paid for by contributions from
all the pupils in Miss Bonner's room. Mabel
herself received and cared for the slowly accumulating
funds, and the little brown purse
was becoming almost as weighty a responsibility
as Rosa Marie had been. Sometimes
it rested in Mabel's untrustworthy pocket,
sometimes in her rather untidy desk, sometimes
under her pillow in her own room at
home. One day Mrs. Bennett found it
there.</p>
<p>"Why, Mabel!" she exclaimed. "Where
did all this money come from? I know <i>you</i>
don't possess any."</p>
<p>"It's the M. B. B. P. F.," responded
Mabel, who was brushing her hair with
evident enjoyment and two very handsome
military brushes. "I guess I'd better put
it in my pocket."</p>
<p>"The what?" asked puzzled Mrs.
Bennett.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[95]" id="pgepubid00116"><a id="Page_95" title="[95]"></a></span></p>
<p>"The Miss Bonner Birthday Present
Fund. I'm the Cus—Cus—Custodium."</p>
<p>"The what kind of cuss?" asked Dr.
Bennett, who had just poked his head in at
the door to ask if, by any chance, Mabel had
seen anything of his hair brushes.</p>
<p>"The Custodium," replied Mabel, with
dignity.</p>
<p>"I think she means 'Custodian.'" explained
Mrs. Bennett, rescuing the brushes.</p>
<p>"Well," retorted Mabel, "the toad part
was all right if the tail wasn't. Marjory
named me that, and she's always using bigger
words than she ought to."</p>
<p>"So is somebody else," said Dr. Bennett,
forgetting to scold about the brushes. "But
I think the 'Custodium' had better hurry,
or she'll be late for school."</p>
<p>That was Friday, and the little brown
purse contained two dollars and forty-seven
cents, which seemed a tremendous sum to inexperienced
Mabel.</p>
<p>She remembered afterwards how very<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[96]" id="pgepubid00117"><a id="Page_96" title="[96]"></a></span>
big, imposing and substantial the school
building had looked that morning as she approached
it and noticed some strangers fingering
the "rain-drops" to see if they were
real. Indeed, everybody, from the largest
tax-payer down to the smallest pupil, was
proud of that building because it was so big
and because there was no more rain-drop
sandstone left in the quarry from which it
had been taken. Even thoughtless Mabel
always swelled with pride when tourists
paused to comment on the queer, spotted appearance
of those massive walls. She meant
to point that building out some day to her
grandchildren as the fount of all her learning;
for the huge, solid building looked as
if it would certainly outlast not only Mabel's
grandchildren but all their great-great-grandchildren
as well. But it didn't.</p>
<p>The catastrophe came on Saturday.
Afterwards, everybody in Lakeville was
glad, since the thing had to happen at all,
that the day was Saturday, for no one liked<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[97]" id="pgepubid00118"><a id="Page_97" title="[97]"></a></span>
to think what might have happened had the
trouble come on a schoolday. It was also
a Saturday in the first week of November,
which was not quite so fortunate, as there
was a stiff north wind.</p>
<p>At two o'clock that afternoon the streets
were almost deserted, but weatherproof
Dick Tucker, with his hands in his pockets,
was going along whistling at the top of his
very good lungs. By the merest chance he
glanced at the wide windows of Lakeville's
most pretentious possession, the big Public
School building.</p>
<p>From four of the upper windows floated
thin, softly curling plumes of gray smoke.
The windows were closed, but the smoke appeared
to be leaking out from the surrounding
frames.</p>
<p>"Hello!" muttered Dick, suddenly shutting
off his whistle. "That looks like
smoke. The janitor must be rebuilding the
furnace fire. But why should smoke—I
guess I'll investigate."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[98]" id="pgepubid00119"><a id="Page_98" title="[98]"></a></span></p>
<p>The puzzled boy ran up the steps, pulled
the vestibule door open and eagerly pressed
his nose against the plate-glass panel of the
inner door, which was locked. Through the
glass, however, he could plainly see that the
wide corridor was thick with smoke. He
could even smell it.</p>
<p>"Great guns!" exclaimed Dick. "There's
things doing in there! That furnace never
smokes as hard as all that and besides the
Janitor always has Saturday afternoons off.
Perhaps the basement door is unlocked."</p>
<p>Dick ran down the steps to find that door,
too, securely fastened.</p>
<p>"I guess," said Dick, with another look
at the curling smoke about the upper windows,
"the thing for me to do is to turn in
an alarm."</p>
<p>Dick happened to know where the alarm-box
was situated, so, feeling most important,
yet withal strangely shaky as to legs, the lad
made for the corner, a good long block
distant, smashed the glass according to<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[99]" id="pgepubid00120"><a id="Page_99" title="[99]"></a></span>
directions, and sent in the alarm, a thing that
he had always longed to do.</p>
<p>Five minutes later, the big red hosecart,
with gong ringing, firemen shouting and
dogs barking, was dashing up the street.
The hook and ladder company followed and
a meat wagon, or rather a meat-wagon horse,
galloped after. The foundry whistle began
to give the ward number in long, melancholy,
terrifying toots and the hosehouse bell
joined in with a mad clamor. People
poured from the houses along the hosecart's
route, for in Lakeville it was customary for
private citizens to attend all fires.</p>
<p>Dick, feeling most important, stood on
the schoolhouse steps and pointed upward.
The hosecart stopped with a jerk that must
have surprised the horses, firemen leaped
down and in a twinkling the foremost had
smashed in the big glass door.</p>
<p>"It's a fire all right," said he.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the Janitor, chopping wood in
his own backyard (which was his way of<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[100]" id="pgepubid00121"><a id="Page_100" title="[100]"></a></span>
enjoying his afternoons off), had listened
intently to the fire alarm.</p>
<p>"Six-Two," said he, suddenly dropping
his ax. "Guess I'll have a look at that fire.
That's pretty close to my school."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[101]" id="pgepubid00122"><a id="Page_101" title="[101]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00123">CHAPTER XII<br/>
<small>The Fire</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">JEAN, Bettie, Marjory and Mabel ran with
the rest to see what was happening, for
their homes were not far from the schoolhouse.
Indeed, owing to its ample setting,
the building was plainly visible from all
directions; and from a distance, it always
loomed larger than anything else in the
town. To all the citizens it was a most unusual
and alarming sight to see thick, black
smoke curling about the eaves and rising in
a threatening column above the familiar
building. Such a thing had never happened
before.</p>
<p>Marjory was the first of the quartette to
discover what was going on. She had
opened her bedroom window the better to
count the strokes of the fire-bell when, to her<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[102]" id="pgepubid00124"><a id="Page_102" title="[102]"></a></span>
astonishment, she saw the fire itself or at
least the smoke thereof. Her first thought
was of her three friends; for of course no
Cottager could view such a spectacle as this
promised to be without the companionship
of the other three.</p>
<p>So Marjory flew around the block—like
a little excited hen, Dr. Tucker said—and
collected the girls. They ran in a body to
join the swelling crowd that surrounded the
smoking building.</p>
<p>"Keep back out of danger," called Aunty
Jane, who was watching the fire from her
upstairs window.</p>
<p>"We will," shrieked Marjory, who, with
the other three, was rushing by.</p>
<p>"Don't get mixed up with the hose,"
warned Dr. Tucker, who was carrying young
Peter to view the fire.</p>
<p>"We won't," promised Bettie. "We'll
stand on the very safest corner."</p>
<p>"This is it," declared Jean, stopping short
on the sidewalk. "We can see right over<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[103]" id="pgepubid00125"><a id="Page_103" title="[103]"></a></span>
the heads of the folks that are close to the
building."</p>
<p>"Should you think," panted Mabel, hopefully,
"that there'd be school Monday?"</p>
<p>"Looks doubtful," said Marjory.</p>
<p>"Not upstairs, anyway," returned Jean.
"Everything must be smoked perfectly
black. And it's getting worse every minute
instead of better."</p>
<p>"Goodness!" cried Mabel, suddenly turning
pale at a new and alarming thought.
"I do hope it won't burn <i>my</i> room. The
money for Miss Bonner's birthday present
is in my desk. It's—it's a horrible lot of
money to lose. I ought never to have left
it there. Dear me! Do you think——"</p>
<p>"Phew!" cried Jean, paying no heed to
Mabel. "Look at that!"</p>
<p>"That" was a terrifying flash of red that
suddenly illumined six of the big upper
windows.</p>
<p>"The High School room," groaned Bettie.
"It's—it's <i>flames</i>!"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[104]" id="pgepubid00126"><a id="Page_104" title="[104]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Hang it!" growled an indignant tax-payer.
"Why doesn't somebody <i>do</i> something?
That building cost fifty thousand
dollars."</p>
<p>"Fire started from a defective flue on top
floor," explained another bystander, "but
that's no reason why the whole place should
go. There's no fire downstairs, but there
<i>will</i> be—What's that? No water? Broken
hydrant?"</p>
<p>Mabel listened attentively. The bystander
continued:</p>
<p>"Then the whole building is doomed.
It's had time enough to get a tremendous
start."</p>
<p>"Oh, look!" cried Jean. "It's bursting
through into the next room—<i>my</i> room!
Oh, how <i>dreadful</i>! All our plants, our
books, our pictures—Oh, oh! I can't bear
to look."</p>
<p>Firemen and volunteer helpers were,
hurrying in and out the wide south door.
Men carried out towering piles of books and<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[105]" id="pgepubid00127"><a id="Page_105" title="[105]"></a></span>
tossed them ruthlessly to the ground. Miss
Bonner's big pink geranium was added to
the heap. The Janitor appeared with the
big hall clock, that wouldn't go at all on
ordinary occasions but was now striking
seven hundred and twenty-seven—or something
like that—all at one stretch. It
seemed to be crying out in alarm. The roar
of flames could now be heard, likewise.</p>
<p>"Why!" exclaimed Jean, wheeling suddenly.
"Where's Mabel? Wasn't she
right beside you a minute ago, Bettie? I
certainly saw her there."</p>
<p>"She was—but she isn't now," returned
Bettie, looking about anxiously. "I
thought she was behind me."</p>
<p>"Dear me!" murmured motherly Jean.
"I hope she hasn't gone any closer. Suppose
the scallops on that roof should begin
to melt off."</p>
<p>"Oh, look!" cried Marjory. "There!
In the doorway!"</p>
<p>All three looked just in time to see a<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[106]" id="pgepubid00128"><a id="Page_106" title="[106]"></a></span>
short, not-very-slender girl in an unmistakable
red cap dart in at the smoky doorway.</p>
<p>"Oh," groaned Jean, "it's Mabel!"</p>
<p>"Oh," moaned Marjory, "why did I ever
tell her that there was a fire?"</p>
<p>"I'm afraid," hazarded Bettie, "that
she's gone to Miss Bonner's room to get that
money."</p>
<p>Bettie was right. That was exactly what
Mabel had done.</p>
<p>All along Mabel's way hands had
stretched out to stop the flying figure. But
the hands were always just a little too late.
You see, the owners of the tardy hands did
not realize quickly enough that rash little
Mabel actually meant to enter a building
whose top floor was all in flames. She was
fairly inside before the onlookers grasped
the situation.</p>
<p>"How perfectly foolish!" cried Marjory,
stamping her foot in helpless rage. "Of
course somebody'll get her out—there's two<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[107]" id="pgepubid00129"><a id="Page_107" title="[107]"></a></span>
men going in now—but how perfectly silly
for her to go in at all!"</p>
<p>Mabel, however, was not feeling at all
foolish. No, indeed. The little girl, to her
own way of thinking, was doing a worthy,
even a heroic, deed. She was rescuing the
precious two dollars and forty-seven cents
that her class had so laboriously raised to
buy Miss Bonner a birthday gift. She
would have liked to accomplish it in a little
less spectacular manner, but, no other way
being available, she had made the best of circumstances
and was ignoring the crowd.
She hoped, indeed, that no one had noticed
her; with so much else to look at it seemed
as if one small girl might easily remain unobserved.
To be sure she was risking her
life, the life of the only little girl that her
parents possessed; but that seemed a small
affair beside two dollars and forty-seven
cents. The roof might fall, the cornice
might drop, the huge chimney might collapse,
the suffocating smoke or scorching<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[108]" id="pgepubid00130"><a id="Page_108" title="[108]"></a></span>
flames might suddenly pour into that still
unburned lower room. Let them! Heroes
never stopped for such trifles with such a
sum at stake.</p>
<p>By this time, Jean, Marjory and Bettie
were white and absolutely speechless with
fear. Four firemen were sitting on Dr.
Bennett to keep him from rushing in after
the little girl he had promptly recognized as
his own, and five women were supporting
and encouraging Mrs. Bennett, who had
grown too weak to stand although she still
had her wits about her.</p>
<p>"Fifty dollars reward," Mr. Black was
shouting, "to the man that gets that child!"</p>
<p>He would have gone after her himself,
but Mrs. Crane had him firmly by the coat-tails
and both Dr. and Mrs. Tucker were
clinging to his arms.</p>
<p>"Be aisy, be aisy," Mrs. Malony, the egg-woman
was murmuring to the world in
general. "Miss Mabel's the kind thot's always
escapin' jist be the skin av her teeth.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[109]" id="pgepubid00131"><a id="Page_109" title="[109]"></a></span>
Rest aisy. Thim fire-laddies'll be havin'
her out av thot dure in another jiffy."</p>
<p>But, although the crowd rested as "aisy"
as it could, the moments went by and no
Mabel appeared.</p>
<p>With every instant the fire grew worse.
By this time, the smoke and angry sheets of
flame had burst through the roof and were
streaming, with a mighty, threatening roar,
straight up into the blackened sky—a splendid
sight that was visible for a long distance.
There was no water to check the mighty
fire, for, a very few moments after the hose
had been attached, the hydrant had burst and
the water that should have been busy quenching
the fire was quietly drenching the feet
of many an unheeding bystander.</p>
<p>And presently the thing that everybody
expected happened. With a lingering, horrible
crash a large part of the upper floor
dropped to the main hall below. Smoke
poured from the lower doors and windows.
In another moment leaping hungry flames<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[110]" id="pgepubid00132"><a id="Page_110" title="[110]"></a></span>
were visible in every room except the basement.
The entire superstructure seemed
now just like a gigantic, topless furnace;
and of course it was no longer possible for
even the firemen to venture inside.</p>
<p>But <i>where</i> was Mabel?</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[111]" id="pgepubid00133"><a id="Page_111" title="[111]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00134">CHAPTER XIII<br/>
<small>A Heroine's Come-Down</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">MABEL, with the Janitor and four pursuing
firemen at her reckless heels,
had made a bold dash through the long corridor
that led to Miss Bonner's room. Owing
to a strong upward draft, there was
surprisingly little smoke in this corridor and
none at all in Miss Bonner's distant corner.</p>
<p>Still hotly pursued, Mabel, who had the
advantage of knowing exactly whither she
was bound, darted down the narrow aisle,
reached into her desk, and, unselfishly passing
by sundry dearly loved treasures of her
own, seized the fat brown purse. Such joy
to find it when so many of the desks had
been stripped of their contents!</p>
<p>She was none too soon, for the next moment
the Janitor's hands had closed upon<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[112]" id="pgepubid00135"><a id="Page_112" title="[112]"></a></span>
her and, plump as she was, the sturdy fellow
easily carried her out of the room, although
Mabel protested crossly that she would
much rather walk. In this uncomfortable
fashion they reached the corridor.</p>
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