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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adopting of Rosa Marie, by Carroll Watson Rankin.
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<span id="id-2565081539654795885">Man carrying girl under his arm</span>
<div class="caption" id="ebm_caption2">THE STURDY FELLOW CARRIED HER OUT OF THE ROOM.</div>
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<p>"Not that way—not that way!" shouted
the firemen, pointing towards a glowing,
spreading patch on the ceiling of the main
hall. "It's breaking through—you can't
reach the door! It's not safe at that end."</p>
<p>"Down to the basement!" shouted the
Janitor, nodding toward a narrow doorway,
through which the men promptly vanished.</p>
<p>Then, seemingly, a new thought assailed
the Janitor.</p>
<p>"Open door number twelve," he shouted
after the men.</p>
<p>Then, hurriedly pushing up a sliding door
at the safest end of the hall and murmuring
"Quicker this way," the Janitor unceremoniously
lifted Mabel and dropped her
down the big dust-chute.</p>
<p>What a place for a heroine! In spite of<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[113]" id="pgepubid00136"><a id="Page_113" title="[113]"></a></span>
her surprise, Mabel felt deeply mortified. It
was humiliating enough for a would-be
rescuer to be rescued; but to be dropped
down a horrid, stuffy dust-chute and to land
with a queer, springy thud on a pile of sliding
stuff—the contents of a dozen or more
waste-baskets and the results of innumerable
sweepings—was worse.</p>
<p>In a very few seconds, the hasty Janitor
had opened the lower door of the chute and,
with the firemen standing by, was calmly
hauling her out by her feet—Oh! She could
<i>never</i> tell that part of it.</p>
<p>And then, as if that were not bad enough,
that inconsiderate Janitor seized her by the
elbow and hurried her right into the coal bin,
forced her to march over eighty tons of
black, dusty, sliding coal and finally compelled
her to crawl—yes, <i>crawl</i>—out of a
small basement window on the safest side of
the building. The only explanation that the
rescuer vouchsafed was a gruff statement
that the fire was "More to the other end"<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[114]" id="pgepubid00137"><a id="Page_114" title="[114]"></a></span>
and that short-cuts saved time. Mabel tried
to tell him what <i>she</i> thought about it, but the
Janitor seemed too excited to listen.</p>
<p>Of course, by this time, the Bennetts, the
Cottagers, the firemen, the Janitor's wife
and most of the bystanders were in a perfectly
dreadful state of mind; for the coal-hole
window was not on their side of the
building—Mabel was glad of that—so none
of her friends witnessed her exit. The
Cottagers, in particular, were clutching each
other and fairly quaking with fear when a
familiar voice behind them panted breathlessly:</p>
<p>"I saved it, girls."</p>
<p>Jean, Marjory and Bettie wheeled as one
girl. It was certainly Mabel's voice, the
shape and size were Mabel's, but the
color——</p>
<p>"Oh!" cried Jean, in a horrified tone.
"Are you <i>burned</i>? Are you all burned up
to a crisp?"</p>
<p>But thoughtful Bettie, after one searching<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[115]" id="pgepubid00138"><a id="Page_115" title="[115]"></a></span>
look to make certain that it really was
Mabel, had not stopped to ask questions,
nor to hear them answered. She remembered
that the Bennetts were still anxious
concerning their missing daughter, and
straightway flew to relieve their minds.</p>
<p>"She's safe, Mabel's safe," she shouted,
running to the Bennetts, to Mr. Black, to
the Tuckers, to all Mabel's friends, and completely
forgetting her own usual shyness.
"Yes, she's all safe. No, not burned; just
scorched, I guess."</p>
<p>Then everybody crowded around Mabel.
Mrs. Bennett was about to kiss her, but
desisted just in time.</p>
<p>"Mabel!" she cried, as Jean had done.
"Are you burned?"</p>
<p>"No," mumbled Mabel, indignantly.
"I'm not even singed. I—I just came out
through the coal hole, but you needn't tell.
That horrid Janitor dragged me out over a
whole mountain of coal."</p>
<p>"Thank Heaven!" breathed Mrs. Bennett.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[116]" id="pgepubid00139"><a id="Page_116" title="[116]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Huh!" snorted Mabel, "that's a mighty
queer thing to thank Heaven for, when it was
only last night that I had a perfectly good
bath. That's the meanest Janitor——"</p>
<p>"Where is he?" demanded Dr. Bennett,
eagerly. "I must thank him."</p>
<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Bennett, "I must thank
him too."</p>
<p>"And I," said Dr. Tucker, "should like
to shake hands with him."</p>
<p>And would you believe it! Not a soul had
a word of praise for Mabel's bravery. Not
a person commended her for saving that
precious purse. Instead, the local paper
devoted a whole column to lauding the
prompt action of that sickening Janitor, Dr.
Bennett gave him a splendid gold watch, the
School Board recommended him for a
Carnegie medal—all because of the dust-chute.</p>
<p>"Don't let me hear any more," Dr. Bennett
said that night, "about that miserable
two dollars and forty-seven cents. I'd<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[117]" id="pgepubid00140"><a id="Page_117" title="[117]"></a></span>
rather give you two hundred and forty-seven
dollars than have you take such risks."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," rejoined Mabel, meekly.
"But you didn't say anything like that day
before yesterday when I asked for three
more cents to make it an even two-fifty. I
must say I don't understand grown folks."</p>
<p>"Mabel, you go—go take that bath. And
when you're clean enough to kiss, come back
and say good-night."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir," sighed Mabel, "but I <i>do</i> wish
I <i>could</i> raise three more cents."</p>
<p>Mr. Bennett fished two quarters and three
pennies from his pocket and handed them to
Mabel.</p>
<p>"There," said he, "you have an even
three dollars, but I hope you won't consider
it necessary to rescue them in case of any
more fires."</p>
<p>Fortunately, there were no more fires;
but the original one made up for this lack by
lasting for an astonishing length of time.
For seven days the school building continued<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[118]" id="pgepubid00141"><a id="Page_118" title="[118]"></a></span>
to burn in a safe but expensive manner;
for the eighty tons of coal over which
Mabel had walked so unwillingly had caught
fire late in the afternoon and had burned
steadily until entirely reduced to ashes. It
was a strange, uncanny sight after dark to
see the mighty ruin still lighted by a fitful
glare from within. Only the four walls,
the bare outer shell of the huge structure,
remained. You see, all the rest of it had
been wood—and steam pipes. Every splinter
of wood was gone; but the pipes, and
there seemed to be miles of them, were
twisted like mighty serpents. They filled
the cellar and seemed fairly to writhe in the
scarlet glow. It made one think of dragons
and volcanoes and things like that; and
caused creepy feelings in one's spine.</p>
<p>Even the dust-chute was gone. Mabel
was glad of that. She hated to think of the
Janitor proudly pointing it out to visitors
and saying:</p>
<p>"I once dropped a girl down there."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[119]" id="pgepubid00142"><a id="Page_119" title="[119]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00143">CHAPTER XIV<br/>
<small>A Birthday Party</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">BUT if Mabel derived little joy from
her experience as a heroine, there was
at least some satisfaction in knowing that
there could be no school on Monday, for
Mabel was decidedly partial toward holidays.</p>
<p>"If I ever teach school," she often said,
"there'll be two Saturdays every week and
no afternoon sessions."</p>
<p>Jean, however, really liked to go to school.
So did Marjory, but Bettie was uncertain.</p>
<p>"If," said Bettie, "I could go long
enough to know what grade I belonged in it
might be interesting; but when you only attend
in patches it's sort of mixing. There's
a little piece of me in three different grades."</p>
<p>When Mrs. Crane realized that there
could be no school on Monday, she too was<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[120]" id="pgepubid00144"><a id="Page_120" title="[120]"></a></span>
pleased. She stopped a moment after
church on Sunday to intercept the girls on
their way to Sunday School.</p>
<p>"My!" said she. "How spruce you
look!"</p>
<p>They did look "spruce." Tall Jean was all
in brown, even to her gloves and overshoes.
Marjory's trim little winter suit was of dark
green broadcloth with gray furs, for neat
Aunty Jane, whatever her other failings, always
kept Marjory very beautifully dressed.
Bettie's short, kilted skirt was red under a
boyish black reefer that had once belonged
to Dick, and a black hat that Bob had discarded
as "too floppy" had been wired and
trimmed with scarlet cloth to match the
skirt. This hand-me-down outfit was very
becoming to dark-eyed Bettie, but then,
Bettie was pretty in anything. Plump
Mabel was buttoned tightly into a navy blue
suit. Although she had owned it for barely
six weeks it was no longer big enough either
lengthwise or sidewise.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[121]" id="pgepubid00145"><a id="Page_121" title="[121]"></a></span></p>
<p>"But," said Mabel, cheerfully, "by holding
my breath most of the time I can stand
it for one hour on Sundays."</p>
<p>"How would you like," asked Mrs. Crane,
"to spend to-morrow with me and Rosa
Marie?"</p>
<p>"We'd love to," said Jean.</p>
<p>"We'd like it a lot," said Marjory.</p>
<p>"Just awfully," breathed Bettie.</p>
<p>"Oh, goody!" gurgled Mabel.</p>
<p>"You see," said Mrs. Crane, "I'm not
altogether easy about Rosa Marie. I do
every living thing I can think of, but someway
I can't get inside that child's shell. I
declare, it seems sometimes as if she really
pities me for being so stupid. And I think
she's falling off in her looks."</p>
<p>"Oh, I <i>hope</i> not," cried Mabel, fervently.</p>
<p>"No," agreed Marjory, "it certainly
wouldn't do for Rosa Marie to fall off very
<i>much</i>."</p>
<p>"However," returned Mrs. Crane, loyally,
"she might be very much worse and at<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[122]" id="pgepubid00146"><a id="Page_122" title="[122]"></a></span>
any rate she is warm and well fed, even if
she does seem a bit—foreign. So that
Janitor put you down through the dust-chute,
did he, Mabel? You must have
landed with quite a jolt."</p>
<p>"No," returned Mabel, rather sulkily, for
every one was mentioning the dust-chute.
"I had all September's and October's sweepings
to land on. It was all mushy and
springy, like mother's bed."</p>
<p>"How," pursued kindly Mrs. Crane, "did
he get you out?"</p>
<p>"I'd—I'd rather not say," mumbled
Mabel, flushing a brilliant crimson. No one
else had thought to ask this dreaded question,
and the papers, fortunately, had overlooked
this detail.</p>
<p>"Why!" giggled teasing Marjory, "he
<i>must</i> have dragged her out by her feet because
she's so fat that she couldn't possibly
have turned herself over in that narrow
space. It's just like a chimney, you know.
I've often looked down that place and wondered<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[123]" id="pgepubid00147"><a id="Page_123" title="[123]"></a></span>
if Santa Claus could manage the trip
down. Oh, Mabel! It must have been
funny! Tell us about it."</p>
<p>Mabel grinned, but it was rather a sickly
grin.</p>
<p>"First," she said, "he clawed out a lot
of papers and stuff. Ugh! It was horrid
to feel everything sliding right out from under
me—I didn't know <i>how</i> far I was going
to drop. Then he grabbed my two ankles
and just jerked me out on the bias through
the little door at the bottom. I suppose it
was a lot quicker. But he <i>didn't</i> need to
make me climb all that coal."</p>
<p>"Yes, he did," returned Jean. "The
cornice on the other three sides was all loose
and flopping up and down in the flames.
Pieces kept falling. The coal-bin side was
the last to burn—the wind went the other
way—and Miss Bonner's room was the last
to catch fire."</p>
<p>"That Janitor," declared Mrs. Crane,
with conviction, "knew exactly what he was<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[124]" id="pgepubid00148"><a id="Page_124" title="[124]"></a></span>
about. Now, girls, you'll be sure to come
to-morrow, won't you? I think it will do
Rosa Marie good and there's a reason why
I'd like a little company myself, but I shan't
tell you just now what it is."</p>
<p>"Oh, do," begged all four.</p>
<p>"No," returned Mrs. Crane. "It's a
secret, and not a living soul knows it but me.
I'll tell you to-morrow."</p>
<p>"We'll <i>surely</i> come," promised the girls.</p>
<p>Of course they kept their promise. The
four Cottagers arrived very soon after
breakfast, were let in most sedately by Mr.
Black's man, who smiled when the unceremonious
visitors rushed pell-mell past him to
fall upon Mrs. Crane, who was watering
plants in the breakfast room.</p>
<p>"Tell us the secret!" shouted Mabel.
"Oh—I mean good-morning!"</p>
<p>"Good-morning," smiled Mrs. Crane,
setting the watering pot in a safe place.
"The secret isn't a very big one. It's only
that to-day is my birthday and I thought I'd<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[125]" id="pgepubid00149"><a id="Page_125" title="[125]"></a></span>
like to have a party. You're it. The cook
is making me a birthday cake, but she doesn't
know that it is a birthday cake."</p>
<p>"Goody!" cried Mabel.</p>
<p>"Doesn't Mr. Black know it's your birthday?"
queried Jean.</p>
<p>"I don't think so. You see, it's a long
time since Peter and I spent birthdays under
the same roof, and men don't remember such
things very well. We'll surprise him with
the cake to-night. Now let's go to the
nursery."</p>
<p>Rosa Marie's dull countenance brightened
at sight of her four friends. She gave four
solemn little bobs with her head.</p>
<p>"Mercy!" cried Marjory, "she's learning
manners."</p>
<p>"And see," said Bettie, "she's stringing
beads."</p>
<p>"That's a surprise," said Mrs. Crane,
proudly. "I taught her that."</p>
<p>"Fourteen," said Rosa Marie, unexpectedly.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[126]" id="pgepubid00150"><a id="Page_126" title="[126]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Goodness me!" cried Mabel. "Can
she count?"</p>
<p>"Ye-es," admitted Mrs. Crane, guardedly,
"but not to depend on. In fact, fourteen
is the only counting word she <i>can</i> say.
Peter taught her that."</p>
<p>"Fourteen," repeated Rosa Marie, holding
up her string of beads.</p>
<p>"You ridiculous baby!" laughed Mabel,
hugging her. "Who are the pretty beads
for?"</p>
<p>Rosa Marie hurriedly clapped the string
about her own brown throat.</p>
<p>"No, no," remonstrated Mrs. Crane.
"You're making them for Mabel."</p>
<p>But Rosa Marie set her small white teeth
firmly together and continued to hold the
beads against her own plump neck.</p>
<p>"<i>She</i> knows whose beads they are,"
laughed Jean.</p>
<p>"I can't teach her a single Christian virtue,"
sighed Mrs. Crane. "There isn't one
unselfish hair in that child's head."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[127]" id="pgepubid00151"><a id="Page_127" title="[127]"></a></span></p>
<p>"She's too young," encouraged Bettie.
"All babies are little savages."</p>
<p>"Not Anne Halliday," said Jean, who
fairly worshiped her small cousin.</p>
<p>"That's different," said Marjory. "Anne
was born with manners."</p>
<p>"The little Tuckers weren't," soothed
Bettie. "Rosa Marie will be generous
enough in time."</p>
<p>"I wish I could believe it," sighed Mrs.
Crane.</p>
<p>"Hi, hi! What's all this racket?" cried
Mr. Black from the doorway. "Is Rosa
Marie doing all that talking? Get your
things on quick, all of you, and come for a
ride with me."</p>
<p>"A ride!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane.
"What in?"</p>
<p>"An automobile," returned Mr. Black,
turning to wink comically at Bettie.</p>
<p>"An automobile!" echoed Mrs. Crane.
"I'd like to know whose. There's only one
in town and I don't know the owners."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[128]" id="pgepubid00152"><a id="Page_128" title="[128]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Yours," twinkled Mr. Black. "It's
your birthday present."</p>
<p>"How did you know that this was the
day?"</p>
<p>"Perhaps I remembered," said Mr. Black,
smiling rather tenderly at his old sister.
"You <i>used</i> to have them on this day."</p>
<p>"I do still," beamed Mrs. Crane. "That's
why I invited the girls; they're my birthday
party. But what's this about automobiles?"</p>
<p>"Only one. It's yours."</p>
<p>"Peter Black! I don't believe you."</p>
<p>"Look out the hall window."</p>
<p>Everybody rushed to the big window in
the front hall. Sure enough! A splendid
motor car stood at the gate.</p>
<p>"Peter," faltered Mrs. Crane, "have I
<i>got</i> to ride in that? I've never set foot in
one, and I'm sure I'd be scared to at
this late day."</p>
<p>"What! Not ride in your own automobile?
Bless you, Sarah, in another week
you'll refuse to stay out of it. Get your<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[129]" id="pgepubid00153"><a id="Page_129" title="[129]"></a></span>
things on, everybody; and warm ones, too.
Find extra wraps for these girls, Sarah.
There's room for everybody but Rosa
Marie."</p>
<p>"Now, isn't that just like a man?" said
Mrs. Crane, looking about helplessly.
"Whose clothes does he think you're going
to wear for 'extra wraps'? His, or
mine?"</p>
<p>Everybody laughed, for obviously Mr.
Black's house was a poor one in which to
find little girls' garments.</p>
<p>"We'll stop at your houses," said he,
"and pick up some duds. Besides, perhaps
your mothers might like to know that you've
been kidnaped. What! no hat on yet?
Here, pin this on," said Mr. Black, handing
Mrs. Crane a pink dust-cap. "I can't wait
all day."</p>
<p>"Mercy! That's not a bonnet," cried
Mrs. Crane, scurrying away. "I'll be ready
in two minutes."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[130]" id="pgepubid00154"><a id="Page_130" title="[130]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00155">CHAPTER XV<br/>
<small>An Unexpected Treat</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">"PETER," demanded Mrs. Crane, stopping
short on the horse-block, "who's
going to run that thing?"</p>
<p>"I am."</p>
<p>"Not with me in it. You don't know
how."</p>
<p>"My dear, I've been learning the business
for five weeks."</p>
<p>"So <i>that's</i> what has taken you to Bancroft
every afternoon for all that time?"</p>
<p>"That's exactly what," admitted Mr.
Black.</p>
<p>"And you're <i>sure</i>," queried Mrs. Crane,
doubtfully, "that you understand all those
fixings?"</p>
<p>"Every one of them."</p>
<p>"Will you promise to go slow?"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[131]" id="pgepubid00156"><a id="Page_131" title="[131]"></a></span></p>
<p>"There's a fine for exceeding the speed
limit," twinkled Mr. Black.</p>
<p>"Well, I'm glad of that," said Mrs.
Crane, permitting her patient brother to
help her into the vehicle. "My! but these
cushions are soft."</p>
<p>"Yes," said Bettie, "it's just like sitting
on baking powder biscuits before they're
baked."</p>
<p>"How do you know?" asked Mr. Black.</p>
<p>"Because I've tried it. You see, ministers'
wives are dreadfully interrupted persons,
and one night when Mother was making
biscuits some visitors came. Instead of
popping one of the pans into the oven,
mother dropped it on a dining-room chair
on her way to the door and forgot all about
it. When I came in to supper that chair
was at my place and I flopped right down
on those biscuits! And I had to <i>stay</i> sitting
on them because Father had asked one
of the visitors—<i>such</i> a particular-looking
person—to stay to tea; and I knew that<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[132]" id="pgepubid00157"><a id="Page_132" title="[132]"></a></span>
Mother wouldn't want a perfectly strange
man to know about it."</p>
<p>"That was certainly thoughtful," smiled
Mr. Black. "Now, is every one comfortable?
If she is, we'll go for those extra
wraps."</p>
<p>The new machine rolled down the street
and turned the corner in the neatest way
imaginable. Mrs. Crane looked decidedly
uneasy at first; but when Mr. Black had
successfully steered the birthday present
past the ice wagon, a coal team, a prancing
pony and two street cars, she folded the
hands that had been nervously clutching the
side of the car and leaned back with a relieved
sigh.</p>
<p>But when Mabel asked a question, Mrs.
Crane silenced her quickly.</p>
<p>"Don't talk to him," she implored.
"There's no telling <i>what</i> might happen to
us if he were to take any part of his mind off
that—that helm, for even a single second.
Don't even <i>look</i> at him."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[133]" id="pgepubid00158"><a id="Page_133" title="[133]"></a></span></p>
<p>What did happen was this. After the
extra wraps had been collected and donned,
Mr. Black carried his charges all the way to
Bancroft, a distance of seventeen miles, in
perfect safety. The road was good, the day
was mild and the only team they passed
obligingly turned in at its own gate before
they reached it. They stopped in front of
the biggest and best hotel in Bancroft.</p>
<p>"Everybody out for dinner," ordered Mr.
Black.</p>
<p>"But, Peter," expostulated Mrs. Crane,
hanging back, bashfully, "I'm in my every-day
clothes."</p>
<p>"Well, this isn't Sunday; and you always
look well dressed. You're a very neat
woman, Sarah."</p>
<p>"Well I <i>am</i> neat, but black alpaca isn't
silk even if my sleeves <i>are</i> this year's. And
for goodness' sake, Peter, don't ask me to
pronounce any of that bill of fare if it isn't
plain every-day English, for you know there
isn't a French fiber in my tongue. You<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[134]" id="pgepubid00159"><a id="Page_134" title="[134]"></a></span>
order for me. There's only one thing I
can't eat and that's parsnips."</p>
<p>It was a very nice dinner and plain
English enough to suit even matter-of-fact
Mrs. Crane. After the first few bashful
moments, the four girls chattered so merrily
that all the guests at other tables caught
themselves listening and smiling sympathetically.</p>
<p>"I never ate a really truly hotel dinner
before," confided Bettie, happily.</p>
<p>"And to think," sighed Jean, contentedly,
"of doing it without knowing you were
going to! That always makes things
nicer."</p>
<p>"And I <i>never</i> expected to ride in a navy-blue
automobile," murmured Marjory.</p>
<p>"Or to have four kinds of potatoes,"
breathed Mabel, who sat half surrounded by
empty dishes—"little birds' bath-tubs," she
called them.</p>
<p>"You must be a vegetarian," smiled Mr.
Black.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[135]" id="pgepubid00160"><a id="Page_135" title="[135]"></a></span></p>
<p>"N-no," denied Mabel. "Only a potatorian."</p>
<p>"Mabel!" objected Marjory. "There
isn't any such word."</p>
<p>"Yes, there is," returned Mabel, calmly.
"I just made it."</p>
<p>"Well, I'm sure," sighed Mrs. Crane, "I
never expected to have any such birthday as
this."</p>
<p>"You see," said Mr. Black, giving his sister's
plump elbow a kindly squeeze, "this is
a good many birthdays rolled into one."</p>
<p>"It seems hard," mourned Mabel, who
was earnestly scanning the bill of fare, "to
read about so many kinds of dessert when
you've room enough left for only three. I
wish I'd began saving space sooner."</p>
<p>"You're in luck," laughed Bettie. "A
very small, thin one is all <i>I</i> can manage—pineapple
ice, I guess."</p>
<p>"Anyway," said Marjory, "I shan't
choose bread pudding. We have that
every Tuesday and Friday at home. Aunty<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[136]" id="pgepubid00161"><a id="Page_136" title="[136]"></a></span>
Jane has regular times for everything, so I
always know just what's coming. I'm
going to have something different—hot
mince pie, I guess."</p>
<p>"Ice-cream," said Jean, "with hot chocolate
sauce."</p>
<p>"Bring <i>me</i>," said Mabel, turning to the
waiter, "hot mince pie, ice-cream with hot
chocolate sauce and a pineapple ice with
little cakes."</p>
<p>"Bring little cakes for everybody," added
Mr. Black.</p>
<p>"I declare," said Mrs. Crane, "I don't
know when I've been so hungry."</p>
<p>"Now," remarked Mr. Black, half an
hour later, "I think we'd better be jogging
along toward home because it won't be as
warm when the sun goes down and I want
to show you some of the sights in Bancroft—there's
a pretty good candy shop a few
blocks from here—before we start toward
Lakeville. We can run down in about an
hour."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[137]" id="pgepubid00162"><a id="Page_137" title="[137]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Peter," demanded Mrs. Crane, "what
<i>is</i> that speed limit?"</p>
<p>"About eight miles an hour."</p>
<p>"Hum—and it's seventeen miles——"</p>
<p>"Now, Sarah, don't go to doing arithmetic—you
know you were never very good
at it. If I were to keep strictly within that
limit you'd all want to get out and push.
Got all your wraps? Whose muff is this?
Here's a glove. Whose neck belongs to this
pussy-cat thing? Here's a handkerchief and
two more gloves—Well, well! It's a good
thing you had somebody along to gather up
your duds. What! My hat? Why, that's
so, I <i>did</i> have a cap—here it is in my coat
pocket."</p>
<p>There was still time after the pleasant ride
home for a good frolic with Rosa Marie and
a cozy meal with Mrs. Crane; strangely
enough, everybody was again hungry enough
to enjoy the big birthday cake and the
good apple-sauce that went with it. Then
Mr. Black carried them all home in the<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[138]" id="pgepubid00163"><a id="Page_138" title="[138]"></a></span>
motor car and delivered each damsel at her
own door. But only one stayed delivered,
for the other three immediately ran around
the block to meet at Jean's always popular
home. You see, they had to talk it all over
without the restraint of their host's presence.</p>
<p>"I think," said Mabel, ecstatically, "that
Mr. Black is just too dear for words. <i>Some</i>
folks are too stingy to live, with their automobiles
and horses and never <i>think</i> of giving
anybody a ride."</p>
<p>"He's certainly very generous," agreed
Jean.</p>
<p>"Of course," ventured Marjory, meditatively,
"he has plenty of money or he
couldn't do nice things."</p>
<p>"He would anyway," declared Bettie.
"It's the way he's made. Don't you remember
how Mrs. Crane was always being
good to people even when she was so dreadfully
poor? Well, Mr. Black would be just
like that, too, even if he hadn't a single dollar.
He has a Santa Claus heart."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[139]" id="pgepubid00164"><a id="Page_139" title="[139]"></a></span></p>
<p>"There <i>are</i> folks," admitted Marjory,
"that wouldn't know how to give anybody a
good time if they had all the money in the
world. There's Aunty Jane, for instance.
She's a <i>very</i> good woman, with a terribly
pricking conscience, and I know she'd like
to make things pleasant for me if she knew
how, but she doesn't, poor thing. She
doesn't know a good time when she sees one.
And Mrs. Howard Slater doesn't, either."</p>
<p>"Good-evening, girls," said Mrs. Mapes,
coming in with a newspaper in her hand.
"I <i>thought</i> I heard voices in here. Have
you had a nice day? You're just in time to
read the paper; there's something in it that
will interest you."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[140]" id="pgepubid00165"><a id="Page_140" title="[140]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00166">CHAPTER XVI<br/>
<small>A Scattered School</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">IT seemed too bad for such a delightful
day to end sorrowfully, but the evening
paper certainly brought disquieting news.
It stated that the School Board hoped to
provide, within a very few days, suitable
schoolrooms for all the pupils. And, in
another item, the unfeeling editor complimented
the Board on its enterprise.</p>
<p>"I'd like that Board a whole lot better,"
said Marjory, "if it weren't so enterprising.
I s'posed we were going to have at least a
month to play in."</p>
<p>"Just before Christmas, too," grumbled
Mabel. "They might at least have waited
until I'd finished Father's shoe-bag. And
what do you think? Mother says I'd better
give that Janitor a Christmas present!"</p>
<p>"Perhaps the paper is mistaken," soothed<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[141]" id="pgepubid00167"><a id="Page_141" title="[141]"></a></span>
Jean. "You know it always is about the
weather reports. If it says 'Fair,' it's sure
to rain; and when it says 'Colder,' it's quite
certain to be warm. Besides, there isn't a
place in town big enough for all that
school."</p>
<p>But this time it was Jean and not the
paper that was mistaken. In just a few
days the School Board announced that its
hopes were realized. It had found "suitable
quarters" for all the classes. Two
grades went into the basement of the Baptist
Church. The underground portion of the
Methodist edifice accommodated two more.
The A. O. U. W. Hall opened its doors to
three others. A benevolent private citizen
took in the kindergarten. A downtown
store hastily transformed itself from an unsuccessful
harness shop into nearly as unsuccessful
a haven for two other grades.
The City Hall gave up its Council Chamber
to the Seniors, and the Masons loaned their
dining-room to the Juniors, without, however,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[142]" id="pgepubid00168"><a id="Page_142" title="[142]"></a></span>
providing any refreshment. The enterprising
Board had telegraphed for desks
the very day of the fire; and as soon as that
dreadfully prompt furniture arrived, it was
remorselessly screwed into place. The Stationer,
too, had speedily ordered books.
They, too, traveled with unseemly haste
from New York to Lakeville. By Thursday,
less than a week after the fire, there
were desks and seats and books for everybody;
and would you believe it, they even
kept school on Saturday, that week!</p>
<p>And now, an utterly unforeseen thing happened.
Hitherto Jean, who was usually the
first to be ready, had stopped for Marjory
and Bettie. All three had stopped to finish
dressing Mabel, who always needed a great
deal of assistance, and then all four had
walked merrily to school together. But
now this happy scheme was entirely ruined,
for here was Jean doing algebra under the
Baptist roof, Bettie struggling with grammar
in the Methodist basement, Marjory<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[143]" id="pgepubid00169"><a id="Page_143" title="[143]"></a></span>
climbing two long flights of stairs to the
A. O. U. W. Hall and Mabel passing six
saloons to reach her desk in the made-over
harness shop.</p>
<p>"It isn't just what we'd choose," apologized
the School Board, "but it won't last
forever. We'll build just as soon as we
can."</p>
<p>Except for the inconvenience of having
to go to school separately the children were
rather pleased with the novelty of moving
into such unusual quarters as the Board had
provided; but the mothers were not at all
satisfied.</p>
<p>"That Baptist cellar is damp and Jean's
throat is delicate," complained Mrs. Mapes.
"I know she'll be sick half the winter; but
of course she'll have to go to school there as
long as there's no better place."</p>
<p>"That Methodist Church is no place for
children," declared Mrs. Tucker. "Its
brick walls were condemned seven years ago
and it's likely to fall down at any moment,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[144]" id="pgepubid00170"><a id="Page_144" title="[144]"></a></span>
even if they did brace it up with iron bands.
But Bettie's too far behind now for me to
take her out of school, so I suppose she'll just
have to risk having that church tumble in
on her."</p>
<p>"It's a shame," sputtered Aunty Jane,
"for Marjory to climb all those stairs twice
a day. It's all very well for the Ancient
Order of United Workmen to climb two
flights with grown-up legs, but it isn't right
for delicate girls. However, there's no help
for it just now, and I can't say I blame the
child for sliding down the banisters, though
of course I do scold her for it."</p>
<p>"There are saloons on both sides of that
harness shop," said Mrs. Bennett, "and six
more this side of it, besides a livery stable
that is always full of loafers and bad language.
Mabel has never been allowed to go
to that part of town alone, and now I have
to send a maid with her twice a day. But
of course she has to go, even if the maid
<i>is</i> more timid than Mabel is."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[145]" id="pgepubid00171"><a id="Page_145" title="[145]"></a></span></p>
<p>"By next year," consoled the Board,
"we'll have a bigger and better schoolhouse
than the old one. In the meantime we must
all have patience."</p>
<p>Except that Mabel, without the others to
get her started, was always late and that
Bettie, without Marjory to coach her on the
way, found it difficult to learn her lessons,
school life went on very much as usual, for
matters soon settled down as things always
do and Lakeville turned its attention to
fresher problems.</p>
<p>Poor Bettie, indeed, was busier than ever
because Miss Rossitor, the Domestic Science
teacher, whose classes were temporarily
housed in the Methodist kitchen, discovered
that Bettie could draw. Every day or two
she asked Bettie to remain after school to
copy needed illustrations on the blackboard.
One day, Miss Rossitor demanded a cow.
She needed it, she explained, to show her
class the different cuts of meat.</p>
<p>"A side view of a plain cow," said she.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[146]" id="pgepubid00172"><a id="Page_146" title="[146]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I think," said Bettie, reflectively nibbling
the fresh stick of chalk, "that I could
do the outside of that cow, but I know I
couldn't get his veal cutlets in the proper
spot."</p>
<p>"I'll give you a diagram," smiled Miss
Rossitor, "for I see very plainly, that it
wouldn't be safe not to."</p>
<p>"Perhaps Miss Bettie thinks," ventured
a belated pupil, a pink-cheeked girl with an
impertinent nose, "that one cow is a whole
butcher shop."</p>
<p>"Well," returned Miss Rossitor, meaningly,
"it isn't a great while since some
other folks were of the same opinion. But,
since you are now so very much wiser, you
may label the parts after Bettie has drawn
them."</p>
<p>The girl made such a comical face that
Bettie's gravity was in sad danger, but she
accepted the chalk. On the cow's shoulder
she printed "Pork sausages," on the flank,
"Mutton chops," on the backbone, "Oysters<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[147]" id="pgepubid00173"><a id="Page_147" title="[147]"></a></span>
on the half-shell," on the breast,
"buttons."</p>
<p>Bettie looked puzzled and doubtful but
Miss Rossitor laughed outright.</p>
<p>"Henrietta Bedford," she said, "you're
a complete humbug. If you don't settle
down to business you won't get home to-night."</p>
<p>"I'm going to walk home with Bettie,"
returned Henrietta, quickly substituting the
proper labels. "I can easily write out that
luncheon menu while she's putting feathers
on the cow's tail."</p>
<p>And the new girl did walk home with
Bettie, and teased her so merrily all the long
way that Bettie didn't know whether to like
her or not.</p>
<p>Near the Cottage they met Jean, Marjory
and Mabel just starting out to look for belated
Bettie.</p>
<p>"This," said Bettie introducing her
new acquaintance, "is Henrietta—Henrietta——"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[148]" id="pgepubid00174"><a id="Page_148" title="[148]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Plantagenet," assisted Henrietta Bedford,
smoothly. "I am really a Duchess in
disguise, but I've left all my retainers in Ohio
and I'm simply dying for friends. This is
my day for collecting them—I always collect
friends on Tuesdays. You are indeed
fortunate to have happened upon me on
Tuesday. But, Elizabeth, why not finish
your introductions?"</p>
<p>"This," obeyed overwhelmed Bettie, "is
Jean, this is Marjory and this is Mabel
Bennett."</p>
<p>"What! The Damsel of the Dust-chute!
I am indeed honored."</p>
<p>Then, as her quick eye traveled over
Mabel's plump figure, Henrietta added
wickedly:</p>
<p>"Was that chute built to fit?"</p>
<p>Mabel flushed angrily.</p>
<p>"It is I," apologized Henrietta, "that
should wear those blushes. Forgive me,
dear Damsel. I have an over-quick tongue
and all my speeches are followed by repentance.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[149]" id="pgepubid00175"><a id="Page_149" title="[149]"></a></span>
But I have a warm heart and I'm
really much nicer than I sound. See, I
kneel at your insulted feet."</p>
<p>Whereupon this ridiculous girl with the
impertinent nose flopped down on her knees
on the sidewalk and made such comically
repentant faces that all four giggled merrily.</p>
<p>"Get up, you goose," laughed Mabel.
"Your apology is accepted."</p>
<p>"Come along with us," urged Jean.
"We're going to have hot chocolate at our
house. Mother is trying to fatten Marjory,
Bettie and me."</p>
<p>"She seems to succeed best with—hum—no
personal remarks, please. Dear maiden,
I will inspect your home from the outside,
but I regret that I'm strictly forbidden to go
<i>in</i>side any strange house without my grandmother's
permission. You'll have to call on
me first. She is <i>very</i> particular in such
matters. But," added Henrietta, with a
sudden twinkle, "I'm not. So, if you'll
kindly rush in and make that chocolate,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[150]" id="pgepubid00176"><a id="Page_150" title="[150]"></a></span>
there's no earthly reason why I shouldn't
stand just outside your gate and drink it."</p>
<p>"Oh," cried Bettie, "is it possible that
you're Mrs. Howard Slater's new granddaughter?"</p>
<p>"I am," admitted Henrietta, "but I'm
not so new as you seem to think. She has
owned me for fourteen years. Now, hustle
up that chocolate. I've just remembered
that I'm to have a dress tried on at four. It
is now half-past."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[151]" id="pgepubid00177"><a id="Page_151" title="[151]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00178">CHAPTER XVII<br/>
<small>An Invitation</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">"BETTIE," asked Jean, when the girls
were "hustling up" the chocolate in
Mrs. Mapes' kitchen (the weather was now
too cold for Dandelion Cottage to be habitable),
"where did you find her?"</p>
<p>"At school," replied Bettie. "She comes
in for Domestic Science. I've seen her
about three times, and every time she's had
that stiff Miss Rossitor laughing. You
know who that girl is, don't you?"</p>
<p>"I've heard something," said Marjory,
"but I can't just remember what, about some
girl named Henrietta."</p>
<p>"Well, you've seen Mrs. Howard
Slater?"</p>
<p>All the girls had seen Mrs. Slater, the
beautifully gowned, decidedly aristocratic
old lady with abundant but perfectly white<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[152]" id="pgepubid00179"><a id="Page_152" title="[152]"></a></span>
hair and bright, sparkling black eyes. Mrs.
Slater, who seemed a very reserved and exclusive
person, had spent many summers and
even an occasional winter in her own handsome
home in Lakeville. She lived alone
except for a number of servants; for both
her son and her daughter were married.
The son lived abroad, no one knew just
where; and some four years previously Mrs.
Slater's daughter, who was Henrietta's
mother, had died in Rome. Since that
event Henrietta had been cared for by her
uncle's wife; and she had spent a winter in
California and another in Florida with her
grandmother, but this was her first visit to
Lakeville. It was said that Henrietta's
mother had left her little daughter a very
respectable fortune, that her father, an
English traveler of note, was also wealthy,
and it was known to a certainty that Mrs.
Howard Slater was a moneyed person.</p>
<p>"Yes," said Marjory, replying to Bettie's
question, "we sit behind Mrs. Slater in<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[153]" id="pgepubid00180"><a id="Page_153" title="[153]"></a></span>
church, and she's the very daintiest old lady
that ever lived. She's as slim and straight
as any young girl. She's perfectly lovely to
look at, but——"</p>
<p>"Yes, 'but,'" agreed Jean. "She seems
very proud and not very—get-nearable. I
don't know whether I'd like to live with her
or not; but I know I'd feel terribly set up
to own a few relatives that <i>looked</i> like that."</p>
<p>"How do you like Henrietta?" asked
Mabel.</p>
<p>"I don't know," said Bettie.</p>
<p>"Neither do I," replied Jean.</p>
<p>"It takes time," declared Marjory, "to
discover whether you like a person or not.
And when it's such a different person—truly,
she isn't a bit like any other girl in this town—it
takes longer."</p>
<p>"The chocolate's ready," announced Jean,
opening a box of wafers. "Here, Bettie,
you carry Henrietta's cup and I'll take these.
Let's <i>all</i> have our chocolate on the sidewalk."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[154]" id="pgepubid00181"><a id="Page_154" title="[154]"></a></span></p>
<p>Henrietta, her hands in her pockets, was
leaning against the fence and humming a
tune. Her voice, in speaking, was very
nicely modulated—which was fortunate, because
she used it a great deal. She straightened
up when the door opened.</p>
<p>"I'm an icicle," said she. "I hope that
chocolate's good and hot. My! What a
nice big cup! And wafers! I'm glad I
stayed for your party. I've had chocolate
in France, in Germany, in Italy, in Switzerland
and in England, but I do believe this is
the very first time I've had any in America."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," said Jean, "that you have
to have your first on the sidewalk."</p>
<p>"I shan't, next time," promised Henrietta.
"I have a beautiful plan. I made it
while waiting for the chocolate. You're all
to come after school to-morrow and pay me
a formal call. Then I'll return it. After
that, I suspect I shall be allowed to run in.
But first you'll have to call, formally."</p>
<p>"A formal call!" gasped Bettie.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[155]" id="pgepubid00182"><a id="Page_155" title="[155]"></a></span></p>
<p>"We never made a formal call in all our
lives," objected Jean.</p>
<p>"They're dreadful," agreed Henrietta,
"but in this case you'll really have to do it.
I've planned it all nicely. In the first place,
you must hand your cards to the butler——"</p>
<p>"Cards!" gasped Jean and Bettie.</p>
<p>"Cards!" snorted Mabel, flushing indignantly.
"We haven't a card to our
names!"</p>
<p>"You <i>must</i> have them," declared Henrietta,
firmly, "or Simmons may consider you
suspicious characters. Simmons is a very
lofty person. You can write some, you
know, because Simmons holds his chin so
high that it interferes with the view, so he'll
never know what's on them. Then you
must be very polite to Grandmother and say
'Yes, ma'am,' 'No, ma'am,' 'Thank you,
ma'am'—and not very much else. You've
seen Grandmother, of course? Then you
know how very formal and stiff she looks.
Well, <i>you</i> must be like that, too."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[156]" id="pgepubid00183"><a id="Page_156" title="[156]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I'll try," said Mabel, "but it'll be pretty
hard work."</p>
<p>"Be sure to wear gloves," cautioned
Henrietta. "Grandmother is exceedingly
particular about shoes and gloves. I know
it's a lot of trouble, but you'll find it pays;
for after you've beaten down the icy barrier
that surrounds me, you'll find me quite a
comfortable person. And <i>do</i> come just as
early as you can—I'm really desperately
lonely."</p>
<p>This was a different Henrietta from the
merry one that Bettie had encountered.
That other Henrietta had made her laugh.
This one, with the wistful, sorrowful countenance
and the four words "I'm really
desperately lonely," was almost moving her
to tears.</p>
<p>"You'll surely come," pleaded Henrietta.</p>
<p>"We'll come," promised Bettie, "cards
and all."</p>
<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>," said Henrietta, carefully
balancing her cup on the top rail of the<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[157]" id="pgepubid00184"><a id="Page_157" title="[157]"></a></span>
fence. "I must run along now to try on
my clothes."</p>
<p>"Was that French?" queried Mabel, gazing
after the departing figure.</p>
<p>"I think so," replied Jean.</p>
<p>"She can certainly talk English fast
enough," said Marjory. "I suppose just
one language <i>isn't</i> enough for anybody that
chatters like that."</p>
<p>"Do you think," asked Bettie, "she
meant all that about cards and gloves and
butlers? She's so full of fun most of the
time that I don't exactly know whether to
believe her or not."</p>
<p>"I think she did," said Marjory. "You
see, I sit behind Mrs. Slater in church—and
I'm thankful that it's behind."</p>
<p>"Perhaps that's the reason," ventured
Bettie, "that nobody'll rent the three pews
in front of her. Father says it's hard to
even give them away. No one likes to sit
in them."</p>
<p>"That's it," agreed Marjory. "One<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[158]" id="pgepubid00185"><a id="Page_158" title="[158]"></a></span>
would have to be sure that her back hair was
absolutely perfect to be at all comfortable in
front of Mrs. Slater."</p>
<p>"And that," groaned discouraged Mabel,
"is the sort of person I'm to make my first
formal call on."</p>
<p>"You'd better take your bath to-night,"
advised Jean, "and lay out all your very
best clothes. And don't forget to polish
your shoes."</p>
<p>"Father has some blank cards," said
Bettie, "and he writes beautifully. I'll get
him to do cards for all of us."</p>
<p>"I think," said Marjory, with a puzzled
air, "that we ought to take five or six apiece.
I know Aunty Jane leaves a whole lot at one
house, sometimes."</p>
<p>"No," corrected Jean, "we need just two.
One for Mrs. Slater and one for Henrietta.
My aunt, Mrs. Halliday, always gets two
whenever her sister-in-law is visiting there."</p>
<p>"There are holes in my best gloves,"
mourned Bettie. "They came in a missionary<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[159]" id="pgepubid00186"><a id="Page_159" title="[159]"></a></span>
box, and missionary gloves are
never very good even to start with. Besides,
Dick wore them first—I never had a <i>new</i>
pair of kid gloves."</p>
<p>"Never mind," said always generous
Mabel. "I must have about six pairs and
I've never had any of the things on. I
know I've outgrown some of them. Your
hands are lots smaller than mine. Come
over and I'll fix you out—Mother said we'd
have to give them to somebody and I guess
you're just exactly the right somebody. I
hate the thing myself."</p>
<p>"Goody!" rejoiced Bettie.</p>
<p>"I wish," said Jean, "that my shoes were
newer, but I'll get the boys to black 'em."</p>
<p>"I can't help <i>you</i> out," laughed Mabel.
"My shoes are short and fat and yours are
long and slim."</p>
<p>"A coat of Wallace's blacking will be all
that's needed, thank you, Mabel. There's
nothing like having brothers when it comes
to blacking shoes."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[160]" id="pgepubid00187"><a id="Page_160" title="[160]"></a></span></p>
<p>"We'll have to get up a little earlier to-morrow
morning," said Marjory.</p>
<p>"Mercy!" exclaimed Jean, "are you
leaving all those chocolate cups on the fence
for <i>me</i> to carry in?"</p>
<p>"Of course not," said obliging Bettie,
seizing two. "Come on, you lazy people."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[161]" id="pgepubid00188"><a id="Page_161" title="[161]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00189">CHAPTER XVIII<br/>
<small>Obeying Instructions</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THE four girls were wonderfully excited
all the next day. They were restless
in school and fidgety at home.</p>
<p>"A body would think," scoffed Aunty
Jane, at noon, "that you were going to your
own wedding. Don't worry so. I'll have
everything ready for you to put on the moment
you get out of school."</p>
<p>"Oh, thank you," breathed Marjory,
fervently. "That'll help a lot; but I do
hope that Bettie's father will remember to
do those cards. And, Aunty Jane, <i>could</i> you
lend me a perfectly inkless hankerchief?"</p>
<p>"Jumping January!" growled Wallace
Mapes, Jean's older brother. "That makes
nineteen times, Jean, that you've reminded
me of those miserable shoes. I'll black
them when I've finished lunch. I'm not<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[162]" id="pgepubid00190"><a id="Page_162" title="[162]"></a></span>
going to rush off in the middle of my oyster
soup to black <i>any</i>body's best shoes."</p>
<p>"Is it a reception?" asked Roger.</p>
<p>"No," replied Wallace, "just a formal
call on Henrietta Bedford."</p>
<p>"She's in my French class," said Roger.
"And kippered snakes! You ought to hear
her recite. She talks up and down and all
around poor little Miss McGinnis, whose
French was made right here in Lakeville.
It's a daily picnic."</p>
<p>"You won't forget my shoes, will you?"
reminded anxious Jean.</p>
<p>"I'd like to know how I <i>could</i>," demanded
Wallace, feelingly.</p>
<p>Although Mabel had taken a most complete
bath the night before, she spent the
noon-hour taking another. She put on her
best stockings and shoes, but looked doubtfully
at her Sunday suit.</p>
<p>"If I have to do my language in ink," reflected
she, "it'll be all up with my clothes.
I'll just have to change after school."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[163]" id="pgepubid00191"><a id="Page_163" title="[163]"></a></span></p>
<p>The girls were out by half-past three.
Fortunately, Miss Rossitor needed no more
cows that afternoon, so Bettie was home in
good season. All four dressed speedily.
Three of them got into their gloves unassisted;
but Jean, Marjory and Bettie found
plump, impatient Mabel seated on the piano
stool with her mother working over one
hand, her perspiring father over the other.
Several other gloves that had proved too
small were scattered on the floor.</p>
<p>"You needn't think," said Mabel, greeting
her friends with an expressive grimace,
"that <i>I</i> ever picked out these lemon-colored
frights. Somebody sent 'em for Christmas.
None of the pretty ones were big enough—I've
tried four pairs."</p>
<p>"Neither are these," returned Mrs. Bennett,
"and the color certainly is outrageous,
but it's Hobson's choice. And just remember,
Mabel, if you touch a single door-knob
they'll be black before you get there.
And don't put your hands in your pockets.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[164]" id="pgepubid00192"><a id="Page_164" title="[164]"></a></span>
And <i>please</i> don't rub them along the fences.
There! Mine's on as far as it will go."</p>
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