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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-3931157728356190356">Four girls in hats and coats</span>
<div class="caption" id="ebm_caption3">THE DECIDEDLY DEPRESSED FOUR STARTED DOWN THE STREET.</div>
</div>
<p>"I guess you'd better finish this one,"
said Dr. Bennett, abandoning his task.
"I rather tackle a case of smallpox than
wrestle with another job like that. She'd
look much better in mittens."</p>
<p>"Mittens!" snubbed Mabel. "You can't
make formal calls in mittens! Now, Somebody,
please put me into my jacket and hat,
if I'm not to touch anything."</p>
<p>The decidedly depressed four, in their
Sunday best, started down the street.
Mabel's gloves, owing to their brilliant
color, were certainly conspicuous, and unconsciously
she made them more so by the careful
and rigid manner in which she carried
them. It was plain that she had them very
much on her mind. And when her hat tilted
forward over one eye she left it there rather
than risk damaging those immaculate lemon-hued
gloves.</p>
<p>"Take my muff," implored Marjory.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[165]" id="pgepubid00193"><a id="Page_165" title="[165]"></a></span>
"That yellow splendor lights up the whole
street."</p>
<p>"No, siree," declined Mabel. "If Mrs.
Slater wants gloves she's going to have 'em.
Do you think I'm going to suffer like this
and not have 'em <i>show</i>?"</p>
<p>So Mabel, a swollen, imprisoned but
gorgeous hand dangling at each side, a big
navy-blue hat flopping over one eye, strutted
muffless down the street.</p>
<p>"That's the house," announced Jean, as
they turned the corner. "That big one
with the covered driveway."</p>
<p>"Ugh!" shuddered Marjory, "it gives
me chills to think of ringing such a wealthy
doorbell. Are the cards safe, Bettie? My!
I hope you haven't lost them."</p>
<p>"In my pocket in an envelope," assured
Bettie.</p>
<p>"Can you see any white?" queried Jean,
nervously. "I think my top petticoat has
broken loose."</p>
<p>"It seems all right," said Marjory, stooping<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[166]" id="pgepubid00194"><a id="Page_166" title="[166]"></a></span>
to test it with little sharp jerks. "Firm
as the Rock of Gibraltar."</p>
<p>"It won't be if you pull like that," objected
Jean.</p>
<p>"Somebody open the gate," requested
Mabel. "I can't touch things."</p>
<p>"Everybody stand up straight," commanded
Marjory. "We must look our
best when we go up the walk."</p>
<p>"I wish I hadn't come," demurred Bettie,
hanging back, diffidently. "Let's wait till
it's darker."</p>
<p>"No," asserted Jean. "We'd better get
it over."</p>
<p>"Yes," agreed Mabel, "I don't want to
wear these gloves a minute longer than I
have to."</p>
<p>"All right," sighed Bettie, despondently,
"but you go first, Jean."</p>
<p>They had waited on the imposing doorstep
for a long five minutes when it occurred
to Marjory to ask if any one had pushed the
bell.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[167]" id="pgepubid00195"><a id="Page_167" title="[167]"></a></span></p>
<p>"No," replied Jean, with a surprised air.
"I thought <i>you</i> had."</p>
<p>"And I," said Bettie, "supposed that
Mabel had."</p>
<p>"How could I," demanded Mabel, hotly,
"in these gloves?"</p>
<p>And then, all four began to giggle.
Never before had such an inopportune fit of
helpless, hysterical giggling seized the Cottagers.
No one could stop. Tears rolled
down Mabel's plump cheeks, and, fettered
by her lemon-colored gloves, she had to let
them roll, until Bettie wiped them away. And
that set them all off again. In the midst of
it Marjory's sharp elbow inadvertently struck
the push-bell and Simmons, the imposing,
much-dreaded butler, opened the door. Instantly
the giggling ceased. Four exceedingly
solemn little girls filed into the big hall.
Bettie groped nervously for her pocket,
found it and endeavored to extract the
cards. But the large, stiff envelope stuck
and, for a long, embarrassing moment, Bettie<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[168]" id="pgepubid00196"><a id="Page_168" title="[168]"></a></span>
fumbled in vain; while the butler, his
chin "very high and scornful" as Marjory
said afterwards, waited.</p>
<p>At last the cards were out. Diffident
Bettie dropped them, envelope and all, on
the extended plate; but Jean deftly seized
the envelope and shook out the cards. Next
followed a most unhappy moment. Simmons
was evidently expecting them to do
<i>something</i>, they hadn't the remotest idea
what.</p>
<p>Then, to their great relief, there was a
sudden "swish" of silken skirts, a flash of
scarlet and lively Henrietta, who had slid
down the broad banister, was greeting them
warmly.</p>
<p>"Grandmother's out," said she. "Come
up to my room and have a real visit before
she gets back. Simmons, just toddle down
to the lower regions for some fruit and anything
else you can find; send them up to my
room."</p>
<p>Something very like a smile flitted across<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[169]" id="pgepubid00197"><a id="Page_169" title="[169]"></a></span>
Simmons's wooden countenance. Perhaps
it amused him to be ordered to "toddle."</p>
<p>"Do you like my new gown?" queried
Henrietta, leading the way upstairs and
flirting her accordion-pleated skirts in graceful
fashion. "It's my dinner dress. I
have to dress for dinner every night—such
a fuss for just two of us. Come in here—this
is my sitting-room."</p>
<p>"How very odd," said Jean, finding her
voice at last.</p>
<p>"Isn't it?" laughed Henrietta, shaking
her brown curls. She wore them tied back
with two enormous black bows. "Grandmother's
a mixture of everything, you know—French,
English, New York Dutch—and
her furniture shows it. Lots of it came
from Europe and Father picked up things
in India and China—such a jolly dad as he
is. That's why this place is such a jumble."</p>
<p>"I like it," declared Jean. "It looks interesting—as
if there were lovely stories
in it."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[170]" id="pgepubid00198"><a id="Page_170" title="[170]"></a></span></p>
<p>"There are," said Henrietta, drawing
aside a heavy, silken curtain, "and I keep
making new ones to fit. This is my bedroom,
this next one is my dressing-room and
this is my bath."</p>
<p>"Ugh!" shuddered Mabel, "do you take
shower baths?"</p>
<p>"Every morning," laughed Henrietta.</p>
<p>"What a lovely dressing table!" exclaimed
Bettie, peering into the oval mirror
and smiling into her own dark eyes. "I
never saw such pretty things, even in a
catalogue."</p>
<p>"It's French," said Henrietta, "but all
those little jeweled boxes came from Calcutta—Father
just loves to buy little boxes
with inlaid tops. Oh, here's Greta, with
things to eat." Henrietta hastily swept her
belongings from a dainty little table and the
smiling maid deposited the heavy tray.</p>
<p>"Tangerines, nuts, figs and sponge cake,"
chattered Henrietta. "That's very nice,
Greta. Help yourselves to chairs, girls.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[171]" id="pgepubid00199"><a id="Page_171" title="[171]"></a></span>
Here's a tabouret for you, little Marjory.
Catch, Jean," and the merry little hostess
tossed a golden tangerine to Jean. "Oh,
wait," she added. "You mustn't take off
your gloves or get them soiled, because
Grandmother always gets in about this time,
and you know you must be very formal with
Grandmother. I'll peel them for you. Now
draw up closer. You mustn't spot your
gloves, so I'll feed you. First, a bit of
sponge cake all around. Now an almond.
Now the orange. Oh, I'm forgetting myself!
Now more sponge cake."</p>
<p>"This is fine," said Bettie. "I'm always
hungry after school."</p>
<p>"So am I," said Jean.</p>
<p>"If I'd s'posed," said Mabel, "that formal
calls were like this, I'd have started
sooner."</p>
<p>"Are you a different person every time
anybody sees you?" asked Bettie, curiously.</p>
<p>"Why?" queried Henrietta.</p>
<p>"Because," explained Bettie, "you seem<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[172]" id="pgepubid00200"><a id="Page_172" title="[172]"></a></span>
so very changeable. You're a mischief in
school, yesterday you seemed almost sad and
to-day you're so polite."</p>
<p>"Oh, <i>thank</i> you," said Henrietta, rising
to sweep a deep and very much exaggerated
courtesy. "Nobody <i>ever</i> before said that I
was polite."</p>
<p>"Miss Henrietta," said Greta, tapping at
the door, "the carriage has just turned the
corner."</p>
<p>"Follow me," said Henrietta, with an instant
change of tone, as she hurriedly
brushed the crumbs from her lap and pulled
Mabel's jacket into place. "Follow me and
don't make a sound. It's time to be formal."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[173]" id="pgepubid00201"><a id="Page_173" title="[173]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00202">CHAPTER XIX<br/>
<small>With Henrietta</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THROUGH a long corridor, around
several corners and down two flights
of back stairs, the formal callers, their
hearts in their throats, followed Henrietta,
who finally paused at the basement
door.</p>
<p>"There," said Henrietta, mysteriously,
"you're safe at last. Now listen. You
must slip out through the alley, walk slowly
round the block, approach the house with
dignity, ring the doorbell and present your
cards to Simmons."</p>
<p>"We—we can't," faltered Bettie. "He
has them <i>now</i>."</p>
<p>"I'll poke them out through the letter
slot," laughed resourceful Henrietta.
"You're not going to escape that formal<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[174]" id="pgepubid00203"><a id="Page_174" title="[174]"></a></span>
call. Wait, your hat's over one ear, Mabel.
There now, you're perfectly lovely. Now
don't forget to pick up the cards."</p>
<p>Entirely bewildered by Henrietta's pranks,
the conventional visitors walked out through
the alley, strolled round the block and nervously
ascended the front steps. There, sure
enough, were eight white cards popping out
through the letter slot.</p>
<p>"My goodness!" gasped Jean, "they're
not <i>our</i> cards. This one says 'Mrs. Francis
Patterson.'"</p>
<p>"And this," said Marjory, picking up another,
"says 'John D. Thomas, sole agent
for Todd's shoes.'"</p>
<p>"According to mine," giggled Bettie,
"I'm Miss Ethel Louise Cartwright. What's
on yours, Mabel?"</p>
<p>"'With love from Father,'" groaned
Mabel.</p>
<p>"What in the world shall we do?"
queried Jean, gathering up the remaining
cards. "Not one of them will fit <i>us</i>."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[175]" id="pgepubid00204"><a id="Page_175" title="[175]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Give them to Simmons in a bunch," suggested
Marjory. "He didn't look at the
last lot, so perhaps he won't now."</p>
<p>So the girls, gathering what courage they
could, touched the bell, presented their odd
assortment of cards to Simmons—who
almost succeeded in not looking astonished
at seeing the callers again so soon—and
were ushered into the reception room.</p>
<p>Such a sedate Henrietta advanced to meet
them! Such a dignified, but charming old
lady rose to shake hands all around!
Such a sheepish quartette of visitors perched
on the extreme edge of the nearest four
chairs! Mrs. Slater smiled encouragingly;
but Henrietta, from her post behind her
grandmother's chair, displayed every sign of
abject terror.</p>
<p>"We—we came to call," faltered Jean.</p>
<p>"That was pleasant," responded Mrs.
Slater. "You are just in time to have some
tea. Midge, will you please ring for Greta?
I'm very glad you came, for I wanted my<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[176]" id="pgepubid00205"><a id="Page_176" title="[176]"></a></span>
granddaughter to meet some of the young
people."</p>
<p>Mrs. Slater, her slender, beringed fingers
moving daintily among the cups, made the
tea. Henrietta, in absolute silence and much
subdued in manner, passed the cups, the
delicate sandwiches and the little frosted tea
cakes.</p>
<p>"Midge," demanded Mrs. Slater, turning
suddenly to her granddaughter, "what in
the world is the matter with you? You
haven't said a word for fifteen minutes. I
never knew you to be still for so long a
time."</p>
<p>"It's my conscience," groaned Henrietta,
dolefully. "I'm in another scrape."</p>
<p>"What have you done now?" asked Mrs.
Slater, who seemed very much less terrifying
than the girls had expected to find her.
"Confession is good for the soul, my dear."</p>
<p>Henrietta's infectious laugh gurgled out
suddenly and merrily.</p>
<p>"I've frightened four girls almost into<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[177]" id="pgepubid00206"><a id="Page_177" title="[177]"></a></span>
spasms," said she. "You see, Grannie, I
told them that they'd <i>have</i> to call formally if
they wanted me to visit them. When they
came you were out, so I took them upstairs,
gave them things to eat and a jolly good
time, generally. Then, just for a joke, I
had Greta tell me when you were coming
and I led them carefully down the back way,
made them go round the block and do it all
over again, cards and all. You see, Grannie,
they don't know you. They haven't seen
anything but your husk; and I had them
scared blue; didn't I, girls?"</p>
<p>"Midge, you shouldn't have done it," reproved
Mrs. Slater, whose black eyes, however,
were sparkling with only half-suppressed
merriment. "That wasn't quite a
courteous way to treat your guests!"</p>
<p>"Forgive me," pleaded Henrietta, flopping
down on her knees and looking the very
picture of penitence. "Walk on me, Jean.
Wipe your shoes on me, Bettie. I grovel at
your feet—at <i>every</i>body's feet."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[178]" id="pgepubid00207"><a id="Page_178" title="[178]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Don't grovel too hard in that dress,"
warned Mrs. Slater.</p>
<p>"Am I forgiven?" implored Henrietta,
gathering up her ruffles with elaborate care.</p>
<p>The girls were not certain. Their pride
had been injured and they eyed Henrietta
doubtfully.</p>
<p>"When you've known Midge as long as
I have," said Mrs. Slater, "you'll discover
that she is really too tender-hearted to hurt
a fly. But you'll also discover that she
never misses an opportunity to play pranks
on every soul she loves. It's a symbol of
her favor. She will never tell you an untruth,
she is too honorable to practise downright
deceit; but depend on it, girls, she will
fool you until you won't believe your own
ears. And she's always sorry, afterwards.
She spends half her time apologizing."</p>
<p>"Ah, <i>do</i> forgive," pleaded extravagant
Henrietta, suddenly extending imploring
hands. "I mean it, truly. It <i>wasn't</i> nice
of me."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[179]" id="pgepubid00208"><a id="Page_179" title="[179]"></a></span></p>
<p>Jean, stooping suddenly, kissed the upturned
lips.</p>
<p>"Why!" exclaimed Jean, genuinely surprised,
"I didn't know I was going to do
that."</p>
<p>"She gets around everybody," said Mrs.
Slater, "and the worst of it is she's so good
and so naughty that you'll never know
whether you like her or not."</p>
<p>"Why, Grannie!" exclaimed Henrietta,
"don't <i>you</i> know?"</p>
<p>"I know that I like you," said the old
lady, smiling fondly at pretty, whimsical
Henrietta, "but you know very well that I
also regard you with strong disapproval. I
consider you a very faulty young person."</p>
<p>"You're a dear Grannie," breathed Henrietta,
kissing the old lady's delicate hand,
"but I'm quite sure you're spoiling me; isn't
she, Bettie?"</p>
<p>"Were you like Henrietta," queried Jean,
"when you were young?"</p>
<p>"My dear, you've found me out," laughed<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[180]" id="pgepubid00209"><a id="Page_180" title="[180]"></a></span>
Mrs. Slater. "I was just such a piece of
impishness; but my father was very severe,
and I think I began earlier to restrain my
prankishness. Midge, unfortunately, has a
lenient father and a doting grandmother.
Between them she is having pretty much her
own way."</p>
<p>"I'll be good," promised Henrietta, comically,
"in spite of them; but you see, girls,
with such a pair of relatives dogging my
footsteps, it's uphill work."</p>
<p>After a little more conversation, the girls
rose to depart. Mrs. Slater begged them to
come again. She said that she enjoyed
young people. Then the big front door was
closed behind them and the dreaded visit was
over.</p>
<p>"So," said Marjory, "<i>that's</i> what Mrs.
Slater is like inside."</p>
<p>Mabel, unable to bear them longer, was
recklessly peeling off her lemon-colored
gloves.</p>
<p>"She's lovely, inside and out," declared<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[181]" id="pgepubid00210"><a id="Page_181" title="[181]"></a></span>
Bettie, "but I never dreamed that she was
like <i>that</i>."</p>
<p>"She wouldn't have cared if I <i>had</i> gone
without gloves," mourned aggrieved Mabel.
"I'd like to pay Henrietta back for <i>that</i>."</p>
<p>"Girls," asked Marjory, "do you <i>like</i>
Henrietta?"</p>
<p>"I adore her," declared Jean.</p>
<p>"I <i>think</i> I like her," said Bettie.</p>
<p>"I know <i>I</i> don't," asserted Mabel, waving
her throbbing hands in the evening breeze
to cool them.</p>
<p>"I do and I don't," said Marjory. "I admire
her, but she makes me uncomfortable.
I feel as if she were just playing with me."</p>
<p>"She seems more than fourteen," murmured
Jean, dreamily.</p>
<p>"That's because she's traveled so much,"
explained Bettie.</p>
<p>"She's like the big opal in Mother's ring,"
mused imaginative Jean. "One moment all
warm and sparkly, the next, all cold and
quiet."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[182]" id="pgepubid00211"><a id="Page_182" title="[182]"></a></span></p>
<p>"And you never know," supplemented
Marjory, "which way it's going to be."</p>
<p>"I like folks that are downright bad or
good," said Mabel, crossly. "Burglars
ought to be burglars and ministers ought to
be ministers and they all ought to be marked
so you can tell 'em apart; else, how are you
going to?"</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[183]" id="pgepubid00212"><a id="Page_183" title="[183]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00213">CHAPTER XX<br/>
<small>The Call Returned</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THE following Saturday, the girls carried
their Christmas sewing to Jean's.
The sewing had not reached a very exciting
stage, so tongues moved faster than fingers.
Mabel was still working on a shoe-bag for
her father but, owing to some misadventure,
one of the two compartments was several
sizes larger than the other. Mabel regarded
this difference with disapproval until comforting
Jean came to the rescue.</p>
<p>"Perhaps," suggested Jean, "there's a
difference in the size of your father's feet."</p>
<p>"Oh, there is," cried Mabel, gleefully.
"His right shoe is always tighter than the
left."</p>
<p>"But," objected quick-witted Marjory,
"it isn't his feet that are going into that bag.
It's his shoes, and they're the same size."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[184]" id="pgepubid00214"><a id="Page_184" title="[184]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Oh," groaned Mabel, settling into a disconsolate
heap, "that's so."</p>
<p>"Never mind," said Bettie. "Give me
the bag, and I'll fix those pockets."</p>
<p>Bettie was embroidering an elaborate pincushion
for her mother, but she stopped so
often to help the others that there seemed
small hope of its ever getting finished.
Marjory, who was making one just like it
for her Aunty Jane, was progressing much
more rapidly.</p>
<p>Jean, rummaging in her work-bag, was
trying to decide which of four partly completed
articles to sew on when a carriage
stopped at Mrs. Mapes's gate.</p>
<p>"It's a caller," said Jean. "We'll have
to vacate. Here, scurry into the dining-room
with all your stuff. I'll answer the
bell; and you, Bettie, remind Mother to take
off her apron—she's apt to forget it."</p>
<p>Jean, stopping long enough to twitch the
chairs into place, went primly to the door.</p>
<p>"Good-morning," said a familiar voice,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[185]" id="pgepubid00215"><a id="Page_185" title="[185]"></a></span>
"I've come to return your visit. It's all
right, James. You needn't wait."</p>
<p>"Come back, girls," called Jean, when she
had ushered the caller in. "It's Henrietta."</p>
<p>"What luck!" cried Henrietta, pulling off
her gloves. "Now I can make a long, long
call instead of four short ones. What are
you doing—Christmas presents? Give me
a spool of fine white thread, some pins and a
sofa pillow. I'm going to make one, too."</p>
<p>"Take off your things," said Jean,
smilingly.</p>
<p>Henrietta wriggled out of her jacket and
tossed her hat on the couch.</p>
<p>"What is it going to be?" asked Bettie,
watching the merry visitor's deft fingers fly
to and fro.</p>
<p>"Lace," returned Henrietta. "I learned
to make it in France. Of course these aren't
the right materials for very fine lace, but I
can make an edge for a pincushion or a mat.
I like to do things with my fingers."</p>
<p>"Can you draw?" asked Bettie.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[186]" id="pgepubid00216"><a id="Page_186" title="[186]"></a></span></p>
<p>"A little," returned Henrietta, modestly,
"but you mustn't tell Miss Rossitor, or she'll
have <i>me</i> doing cows and pigs and roosters."</p>
<p>"What grade do you belong in?" asked
Jean.</p>
<p>"None," laughed the visitor, arranging
the pins in what looked like a very intricate
pattern. "I couldn't be graded. I'm having
Domestic Science under the Methodist
church, Senior Latin in the Council Chamber,
Post-graduate French in a cloak-room off the
A. O. U. W. Hall, Sophomore American
History with the Baptists, and I'm doing
mathematics in the kindergarten—or somewhere
down there. I had to go back to the
very beginning. If I ever tell you anything
with numbers in it don't believe it. I don't
know six from six hundred. But I'm doing
lessons in five different buildings and getting
lots of exercise besides. That's doing pretty
well for my first year in school."</p>
<p>"Your first year!" cried Marjory.
"Surely you're fooling!"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[187]" id="pgepubid00217"><a id="Page_187" title="[187]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Not this time," assured Henrietta.
"I've had governesses and tutors ever since
I could think, but this is truly my first school
year. And it's great fun. But if I stay in
America, I'm to go to boarding school,
Grandmother says. I've always wanted to,
and Grannie thinks it will be good for me to
be with other girls. You see, I've always
lived with grown folks, so I need to renew
my youth."</p>
<p>"Mother's been reading the boarding-school
advertisements in the magazines
lately," said Mabel. "I heard her read some
of them aloud to Father. But of course
they couldn't have been thinking about <i>me</i>.
But they sounded interesting."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," offered Bettie, "they had read
all the stories and those boarding schools
were all they had left to read."</p>
<p>"I guess so," said Mabel.</p>
<p>"Aunt Jane reads them, too," added Marjory.
"There's some money that is to be
used for my education and for nothing else.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[188]" id="pgepubid00218"><a id="Page_188" title="[188]"></a></span>
When I've finished with High School I'm to
go to College."</p>
<p>"Oh well," laughed, Jean, lightly, "you're
safe for another five years."</p>
<p>"<i>I</i>'m not," returned Henrietta. "I'm
going next September, and if Grandmother
had known how the schools were going to be
you wouldn't be having the pleasure of my
company now. She says I'm getting thin in
the pursuit of knowledge—it's too scattered,
in Lakeville. That's why she made me ride
to-day."</p>
<p>"Look!" cried Mabel, her eyes bulging
with astonishment. "She's really making
lace!"</p>
<p>"It's for you," said Henrietta, flashing a
bright glance at Mabel. "It's an apology,
Mam'selle, for my past—and perhaps my
future—misdeeds."</p>
<p>"I <i>said</i> I didn't like you," blurted honest
Mabel, "but I do."</p>
<p>"Don't depend on me," sighed Henrietta.
"I don't wear well. You'll find the real me<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[189]" id="pgepubid00219"><a id="Page_189" title="[189]"></a></span>
rubbing through in spots. Granny says I'm
an imp that came in one of Dad's Hindoo
boxes."</p>
<p>"Why does your grandmother call you
Midge?" asked Bettie.</p>
<p>"Because she doesn't like Henrietta. You
see, I have five names—they do that sort of
thing on the other side—and I take turns
with them. When I find out which one suits
me best, I'll choose that one for keeps."</p>
<p>"What are they?" demanded Mabel.</p>
<p>"Henrietta Constance Louise Frederika
Francesca—you see, there isn't a really suitable
name in the lot. But when you have
five quarrelsome aunts, as Father had, you
have to please all or none of them by giving
your poor helpless baby all their horrid
names. Call me Sallie—I've <i>always</i> wanted
to be Sallie."</p>
<p>"Think of anybody," laughed Jean, "with
as many names as that wanting a new one."</p>
<p>"Where's that baby you adopted?" asked
Henrietta, abruptly changing the subject.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[190]" id="pgepubid00220"><a id="Page_190" title="[190]"></a></span>
"Didn't one of you adopt a baby or something
like that?"</p>
<p>"It was Mabel," replied Marjory. "The
rest of us are pretty good, but Mabel's sort
of thoughtless about borrowing things. She
just happened to borrow an unreturnable
baby, one day."</p>
<p>"Where is it now?"</p>
<p>"At Mr. Black's. Her name is Rosa
Marie."</p>
<p>"I'd like to see her," said Henrietta, carefully
moving a pin.</p>
<p>"Stay to luncheon," urged Jean.
"Father's away, so there'll be plenty of
room. Afterwards we can all pay a visit to
Rosa Marie."</p>
<p>"I'm afraid," said Marjory, "she's getting
to be a burden to Mrs. Crane."</p>
<p>"Yes," agreed Bettie, "but it isn't Rosa
Marie's fault. Mrs. Crane has been reading
a lot of books about bringing up children—you
know she never had any. Before she
discovered how many things <i>might</i> happen<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[191]" id="pgepubid00221"><a id="Page_191" title="[191]"></a></span>
to a baby she was quite comfortable; but
now she's always certain that Rosa Marie
is coming down with something."</p>
<p>"And she doesn't seem very bright,"
mourned Jean.</p>
<p>"Who—Mrs. Crane?"</p>
<p>"No, Rosa Marie. You see, we don't
know exactly how old she is—Mabel didn't
think to ask—but she seems big enough to
be lots smarter than she is. We're rather
disappointed in her."</p>
<p>"I'm not," protested Mabel, loyally.
"She's just slow because she hasn't any little
brothers and sisters. She's a <i>dear</i> child."</p>
<p>"Cheer up, Mabel," soothed Henrietta.
"As long as she's beautiful she doesn't need
to be bright."</p>
<p>At this, Marjory looked at Jean, then at
Bettie, and smiled an odd, significant smile.
Here was a chance to get even with Henrietta;
and, unconsciously, Mabel helped.</p>
<p>"She's beautiful to me," said Mabel,
"and she's ever so cunning."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[192]" id="pgepubid00222"><a id="Page_192" title="[192]"></a></span></p>
<p>"What color are her eyes?"</p>
<p>"Dark," said Marjory. "Darker than
yours."</p>
<p>"Then she's a brunette?"</p>
<p>"Ye-es," said Marjory, as if considering
the question. "She's darker, at least, than
I am."</p>
<p>"We all are," said Henrietta, with an admiring
glance at Marjory's golden locks.
"We seem to shade down gradually. Mabel
comes next, then Jean, then Bettie; I'm the
darkest, because Bettie's eyes are like brown
velvet, but mine are black, like bits of hard
coal. Where does Rosa Marie come in?"</p>
<p>"I think," said Marjory, with an air of
pondering deeply, "that Rosa Marie is almost,
if not quite, as dark as you; even
darker, perhaps. But her hair isn't as
curly."</p>
<p>"Dear little soul," breathed Henrietta,
tenderly. "I've a tremendous liking for
babies, but they're pretty scarce at our house.
But there was one in England that was—Oh,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[193]" id="pgepubid00223"><a id="Page_193" title="[193]"></a></span>
if I could just see that English baby <i>now</i>!
Wouldn't I just hug her!"</p>
<p>Henrietta's eyes were unwontedly tender,
her expression unusually sweet.</p>
<p>"You're not a bit like you've been any of
the other times," observed Bettie. "I like
you a lot better when you're like this."</p>
<p>"I'm not myself to-day," twinkled Henrietta.
"I'm Sallie—just plain Sallie. But
beware of me when I'm Frederika, the Disguised
Duchess. <i>That's</i> when I'm not to be
trusted."</p>
<p>"I think," said Jean, listening to some faraway
sound, "that lunch is about ready."</p>
<p>"Good!" exclaimed Henrietta. "The
sooner it's over, the sooner I can hug that
darling baby. It's months since I've held
one in my arms—the dear little body."</p>
<p>"You'll find——" began Mabel; but the
other three promptly headed her off before
she had time to explain that Rosa Marie was
a pretty big armful.</p>
<p>"It's time to go home," exclaimed Marjory<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[194]" id="pgepubid00224"><a id="Page_194" title="[194]"></a></span>
and Bettie, in chorus. "Come on,
Mabel."</p>
<p>"If you'll excuse me," said Jean, speaking
directly to Mabel, "I'll go set a place for
Henrietta. Sorry I can't ask everybody to
stay; but come back at two o'clock."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[195]" id="pgepubid00225"><a id="Page_195" title="[195]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00226">CHAPTER XXI<br/>
<small>Getting Even</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">LUNCHEON at Jean's that day proved
a lively affair, for both boys were
home; Henrietta chatted as frankly and as
merrily as if she had known them all her
life. Wallace, who was shy, squirmed uneasily
at first and kept his eyes on his plate;
but Roger, who had encountered the visitor
in his French class, was able to respond to
her friendly chatter.</p>
<p>"I like boys," asserted Henrietta, frankly,
"but I haven't any belonging to me but one
and he's a horrid muff—sixteen and a regular
baby. He's my cousin."</p>
<p>"I thought you liked babies," laughed
Jean.</p>
<p>"I do, but not that kind. He's been
molly-coddled until it makes you sick to look
at him."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[196]" id="pgepubid00227"><a id="Page_196" title="[196]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Trot him out," offered Roger. "I'll
give him an antidote."</p>
<p>"He's in England," said Henrietta, "and
I hope he'll stay there. He hasn't any idea
of doing anything for himself; he's always
talking about what he'll do when somebody
else does such and such a thing for him."</p>
<p>"You mean," said Roger, "he hasn't any
American independence."</p>
<p>"That's it," agreed Henrietta. "He'd
have made a nice pink-and-white girl, but
he's no use at all as a boy."</p>
<p>"How dark it's getting," said Jean. "I
can hardly see my plate."</p>
<p>"I think," prophesied Wallace, breaking
his long silence, "that it's going to snow.
The sky's been a little thick for three days;
when it comes we'll get a lot."</p>
<p>"Goody!" cried Henrietta, "I've never
seen a real Lake Superior snowstorm and I
want to. So far all the snow we've had has
come in the night. I want to <i>see</i> it snow."</p>
<p>"You wouldn't," growled Wallace, "if<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[197]" id="pgepubid00228"><a id="Page_197" title="[197]"></a></span>
you had to shovel several tons of it off your
sidewalk."</p>
<p>"Will it snow very soon?" queried Henrietta,
eagerly.</p>
<p>"Probably not before dark," returned
Wallace, turning to glance at the dull sky.
"It's only getting ready."</p>
<p>Enthusiastic Henrietta, that odd mixture
of extreme youth and premature age, was all
impatience to see Rosa Marie. She had
telephoned her grandmother to ask permission
to spend the day with her new friends,
and now she was eager to add Rosa Marie to
the list. It was easy to see that she was expecting
to behold something very choice in
the line of babies. Jean was tempted to undeceive
her, but loyalty to Marjory kept her
silent.</p>
<p>"A baby," breathed Henrietta, rapturously,
"is the loveliest thing in all the world.
<i>Isn't</i> it most two o'clock? Wait, I'll look
at my watch—Mercy! I forgot to wind
it!"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[198]" id="pgepubid00229"><a id="Page_198" title="[198]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Hark!" said Jean, "I think I hear the
girls. Yes, I do."</p>
<p>"Get on your things," commanded Marjory,
opening the door. "Bettie stopped to
feed the cat, sew a button on Dick, wash
Peter's face, tie up her father's finger and
hook her mother's dress, but she's here at
last and we're to pick up Mabel on the way
because Dr. Bennett called her back to wash
her face."</p>
<p>"We mustn't stay too long," warned Jean,
glancing at the dull sky. "It looks as if it
would get dark early."</p>
<p>Mrs. Crane was glad to see her visitors
and appeared delighted to add a new girl to
her collection of youthful friends.</p>
<p>"You and Jean are just of a size," said
she.</p>
<p>"And about the same age," added Bettie,
who had always regretted the two years' difference
in her age and Jean's. "I wish <i>I</i>
were as old as that."</p>
<p>"Aren't you afraid," blundered well-meaning<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[199]" id="pgepubid00230"><a id="Page_199" title="[199]"></a></span>
Mrs. Crane, turning to Bettie,
"that she'll cut you out? You and Jean
have always been as thick as thieves. Don't
you let this pretty Henrietta steal your Jean
away from you."</p>
<p>Bettie, dear little unselfish soul, had
hitherto been conscious of no such fear, but
now her big brown eyes were troubled.
This new possibility was alarming.</p>
<p>"We'd like to see Rosa Marie," said Marjory.
"Is she well?"</p>
<p>"She has a bad cold," returned Mrs.
Crane, shaking her head, sorrowfully.
"I've just been looking through my books,
and in the very first one I found more than
twenty-five fatal diseases that begin with a
bad cold."</p>
<p>"Didn't you find <i>any</i> that folks ever get
over?" suggested Jean, comfortingly.</p>
<p>"Why, yes," replied Mrs. Crane, brightening.
"I've known of folks pulling through
at least twenty-four of them. But there's
one thing. You won't like Rosa Marie's<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[200]" id="pgepubid00231"><a id="Page_200" title="[200]"></a></span>
clothes to-day. They're—they're sort of an
accident."</p>
<p>"An accident?" questioned Bettie.
"What happened?"</p>
<p>"Why, you see, I ordered her a ready-made
dress out of a catalogue. It sounded
very promising but—Well, it's <i>warm</i>, but I
guess that's about all you can say for it. I'll
take you to the nursery; I have to keep her
out of drafts."</p>
<p>Rosa Marie, well and becomingly clad,
would hardly have captured a prize in a
beauty show, even with very little competition.
Poor little Rosa Marie, suffering with
a severe cold, appeared a most unlovable object.
Her eyes were dull and all but invisible,
her nose and lips were red and swollen
and her wide mouth seemed even larger
than usual. The catalogue dress was more
than an accident; it was an out and out
calamity. Its gorgeous red and green plaid
was marked off like a city map in regular
squares with a startling stripe of yellow.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[201]" id="pgepubid00232"><a id="Page_201" title="[201]"></a></span>
Moreover, the alarming garment was a distressingly
tight fit.</p>
<p>"It looked," sighed Mrs. Crane, apologetically,
"as pretty as you please in that book;
but of course nobody would <i>think</i> of buying
such goods as that <i>outside</i> a catalogue. But
Rosa Marie liked it."</p>
<p>After the first glance, however, the Cottagers
did not look at Rosa Marie or the
hideous plaid. They gazed instead at Henrietta's
speaking countenance. Having led
their new friend to expect something entirely
different in the way of infantile charms, they
wanted to enjoy her surprise; but strangely
enough they did not. It was evident that
something was wrong with their plan.</p>
<p>The bright, expectant look faded suddenly
from the sparkling black eyes. All the
animation fled swiftly from the girlish countenance.
Two large tears rolled down Henrietta's
cheeks.</p>
<p>"Oh," she mourned, "I was <i>so</i> lonely for
a real, dear little baby."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[202]" id="pgepubid00233"><a id="Page_202" title="[202]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Dear me," sighed penitent Jean, "we
thought you'd enjoy the joke. We saw at
once that you supposed that Rosa Marie was
an ordinary child—a nice little pink and
white creature in long clothes. It seemed
such a good chance to get even that we——"</p>
<p>"It was my fault," apologized Marjory.
"I <i>tried</i> to fool you. I never thought you'd
<i>care</i>."</p>
<p>"I'm sorry," said offended Mabel, stiffly,
"that you don't like Rosa Marie. She's
much more interesting than a common baby,
and I think, when I picked her out——"</p>
<p>"It isn't that," said Henrietta, smiling
through her tears. "You see, I had a baby
cousin in England that I just hated to leave—Oh,
the sweetest, daintiest little-girl baby—and
she'll be all grown up and gone before
I ever see her again. I simply adored that
baby."</p>
<p>"Never mind," soothed Bettie, generously.
"We've any number of real babies
at our house and three of them are small<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[203]" id="pgepubid00234"><a id="Page_203" title="[203]"></a></span>
enough to cuddle. And even the littlest one
is big enough to be played with."</p>
<p>"What an accommodating family," said
Henrietta, wiping her eyes. "I guess
they'll make up for this remarkable infant."</p>
<p>"Rosa Marie certainly isn't looking her
best to-day," admitted Jean, "but you'll
really find her very interesting when you
know her better. But she never does appeal
to strangers—we've found <i>that</i> out."</p>
<p>"And just now," said Bettie, "she's
surely a sight; but when you've seen her in
the cunning little Indian costume that Mr.
Black bought for her you'll really like her."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," said Henrietta, doubtfully.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[204]" id="pgepubid00235"><a id="Page_204" title="[204]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00236">CHAPTER XXII<br/>
<small>A Full Afternoon</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">"NOW," said Mrs. Crane, with a note
of pride in her tone, "I want to
show you what Peter Black's been doing <i>this</i>
time. It's in the library."</p>
<p>The interested girls followed Mrs. Crane
into the cozy, book-lined room. Mr. Black's
purchases were apt to be worth seeing, for,
now that he had a family after so many
years of solitude, he was spending his money
lavishly. And he delighted in surprising his
elderly sister with unusual gifts.</p>
<p>"There," said Mrs. Crane, pointing to a
square cabinet of polished wood. "What
do you think of that! Can you guess what
it is?"</p>
<p>"I think," replied Jean, "it's a cupboard
for your very prettiest tea-cups—the ones
that are too nice to use."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[205]" id="pgepubid00237"><a id="Page_205" title="[205]"></a></span></p>
<p>"<i>I</i> think," said Marjory, "that it's a fire-proof
safe to keep Rosa Marie's plaid dress
in, so it won't set the house afire."</p>
<p>"I guess," said Bettie, "it's some sort of
a refrigerator to use on Sundays only."</p>
<p>"It looks to me," ventured Mabel, "like a
cage with a monkey in it. I've seen them in
processions, only they were fancier."</p>
<p>"I <i>know</i> what it is," said Henrietta, "because
we have one like it, but ours isn't as
nice as this."</p>
<p>"Now turn your backs," requested Mrs.
Crane.</p>
<p>In another moment the girls were listening
to a delightful concert. Wonderful
music was pouring from the polished cabinet.</p>
<p>"I was the nearest right," asserted Mabel.</p>
<p>"Why!" objected Bettie, "you said it
was a monkey—monkeys don't sing."</p>
<p>"I was right, just the same. It's a hand
organ, and everybody knows that a monkey's
pretty near the same thing."</p>
<p>The girls laughed, for Mabel, who was<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[206]" id="pgepubid00238"><a id="Page_206" title="[206]"></a></span>
usually wrong, always insisted obstinately
that she was right.</p>
<p>"It's a phonograph," explained Henrietta,
"and the very best one I ever heard."</p>
<p>"It's a whole brass band," breathed Bettie.</p>
<p>"I knew it was good," said Mrs. Crane,
contentedly, "for Peter refused to tell what
he paid for it."</p>
<p>It took a long time for the phonograph to
give up all that was inside its polished case,
and before the entertainment was quite over
Mr. Black came in.</p>
<p>Bettie, eager to display her new acquaintance,
hardly waited to greet him before introducing
Henrietta. It was a pleasure, as
well as a novelty, to have so attractive a
friend to present.</p>
<p>"This," said Bettie, proudly but a little
flustered, "is my hen, Frenriet—I mean, my
hen——"</p>
<p>Bettie turned scarlet and stopped. The
girls shrieked with delight. Mrs. Crane
laughed till she cried. Mr. Black's roars of<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[207]" id="pgepubid00239"><a id="Page_207" title="[207]"></a></span>
laughter drowned the phonograph's best
effort.</p>
<p>"I'm <i>not</i> your hen," giggled Henrietta.
"Not even your chicken. This settles <i>that</i>
name—I can't risk being mistaken for any
more poultry."</p>
<p>"She's Henrietta Bedford," explained
Jean, wiping her eyes.</p>
<p>"And how long," teased Mr. Black,
"have you been keeping poultry, Miss Bettykins?"</p>
<p>"About two weeks," giggled Bettie.
"She's Mrs. Slater's granddaughter."</p>
<p>"I don't like to seem inhospitable," said
Mr. Black, a few moments later, "but it's
beginning to snow, and the weather's going
to be a good deal worse before it gets any
better. If you start now, you'll be home
before the snow begins to drift—there's a
strong north wind and the thermometer's a
bit down-hearted."</p>
<p>The girls had removed their wraps and it
took time to get into them. Also, Mrs.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[208]" id="pgepubid00240"><a id="Page_208" title="[208]"></a></span>
Crane, noticing that the girls were dressed
for mild weather, detained them while she
hunted up a silk handkerchief to wrap about
Marjory's throat, a veil to tie over Bettie's
ears and some warmer gloves for Jean.
Henrietta and Mabel refused to be bundled
up.</p>
<p>The outside air was many degrees colder
than it had been two hours earlier, and was
full of flying snow. The wind came in
gusts, yet there was something bracing and
stimulating about the stirring atmosphere,
particularly to Henrietta.</p>
<p>"Oh!" cried she, "this is fine! Why
can't we take a long walk? It's a shame to
hurry home. I just love this. Isn't there
somebody we can go to see? Hasn't anybody
an errand?"</p>
<p>"Ye-es," said Mabel, doubtfully. "We
could go down to Mrs. Malony's. Mother
told me this morning to get her bill, and I
forgot all about it."</p>
<p>"Mabel always has a few forgotten errands<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[209]" id="pgepubid00241"><a id="Page_209" title="[209]"></a></span>
laid away," teased Marjory. "She
can show you, too, where she found Rosa
Marie—it's down that way."</p>
<p>"I hope," said Henrietta, making a comical
grimace, "that there's no danger of finding
any more like her. But let's go. It's a
shame to miss any of this."</p>
<p>Going down the long hill toward Mrs.
Malony's was entirely delightful, for the
wind, of which there was a great deal, was
at their well-protected backs; they fairly
scudded before it, laughing joyously as they
were swept along almost on a run. Going
westward at the bottom of the hill was not
so very bad either, for here the road was
somewhat sheltered, though the snow was
much deeper than the girls had expected to
find it.</p>
<p>Mrs. Malony, the garrulous egg-woman,
was at home; she expressed her surprise and
delight at the advent of so many unexpected
visitors.</p>
<p>"'Tis mesilf thot's glad to see so manny<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[210]" id="pgepubid00242"><a id="Page_210" title="[210]"></a></span>
purty faces," said she, flying about to find
chairs. "'Tis the lovely complexion you
have to-day, Miss Jean. An' who's the little
lady wid the rosy cheek? The gran'choild
av Mrs. Lady Slater—wud ye hark to thot
now! An' how's Bettie darlin' wid all her
purty smiles? Thot's good—thot's good.
An' Miss Mabel here—sure she's the fat
wan——"</p>
<p>"Mother," explained Mabel, with dignity,
"would like her egg-bill."</p>
<p>"Bill, is ut?" replied Mrs. Malony, graciously.
"Sure there's no hurry at all, at all.
The sooner it comes the sooner 'tis spint.
Ah, well, if you're afther insistin' [no one
<i>had</i> insisted] joost count the banes in me
owld taypot. Ivery wan stands fer wan
dozen eggs at twinty-foive cints the dozen."</p>
<p>"Thirteen beans," announced Jean, who
had counted them several times to make
certain.</p>
<p>"Sure," persuaded smooth-tongued Mrs.
Malony, "you'd best be takin' wan more<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[211]" id="pgepubid00243"><a id="Page_211" title="[211]"></a></span>
dozen, Miss Mabel. 'Twould be sore unlucky
to stop wid t'irteen."</p>
<p>While she was counting the eggs, Mr.
Malony, redolent of the stable and bearing
two steaming pails of milk, came into the
kitchen. Mrs. Malony, beaming with hospitality,
went hastily to the cupboard, brought
forth five exceedingly thick cups, filled them
with milk and passed them to her dismayed
guests.</p>
<p>Some persons like warm milk, fresh from
the cow, with the cow-smell overshadowing
all other flavors. Mrs. Malony's visitors did
not. They were too polite to say so, however,
so there they sat, five martyrs to
courtesy, sipping the distasteful milk. It
clogged their throats, it made them feel
queerly upset inside, but still, solely out of
politeness, they continued to sip.</p>
<p>"Take bigger swallows," advised Mabel,
in a smothered whisper.</p>
<p>"I cuk—can't," breathed Bettie.</p>
<p>Mr. Malony had left the room. Presently,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[212]" id="pgepubid00244"><a id="Page_212" title="[212]"></a></span>
Mrs. Malony, in search of a basket for the
eggs, stooped to rummage in the untidy
recess beneath the cupboard. Quick as a
wink, Henrietta emptied her cup into the
original pail, but the other unfortunates were
left to struggle with their unwelcome refreshment.
Henrietta, however, gained
nothing by her trick, for the egg-woman,
discovering that her cup was empty,
promptly refilled it, much to the amusement
of the other victims.</p>
<p>Henrietta, discovering their state of mind,
was moved to defiance. Lifting her cup,
with a determined glint in her black eyes,
she drank every drop in four courageous,
continuous gulps. In a twinkling, the other
girls had imitated her example and were declining
Mrs. Malony's pressing offer of
more milk.</p>
<p>"Joost a wee sup," pleaded Mrs. Malony,
reaching for Jean's cup.</p>
<p>"No, thank you," said Jean, rising hastily.
"We ought to be getting home."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[213]" id="pgepubid00245"><a id="Page_213" title="[213]"></a></span></p>
<p>Getting home, however, proved a different
matter from getting away from
home. After escaping Mrs. Malony's insistent
hospitality, the girls waded across the
snowy street and out toward the point to see
if Rosa Marie's home were still there. The
door hung from one hinge and snow had
drifted, and was still drifting, in at the doorway.</p>
<p>"Do you think," asked Henrietta, gazing
at the deserted house, "that Rosa Marie's
mother will ever come back?"</p>
<p>"No," returned Jean.</p>
<p>"Not to any such homely baby as that,"
declared Marjory.</p>
<p>"She <i>will</i> come back," asserted Mabel,
loyally. "She loved Rosa Marie—I saw it
in her eyes."</p>
<p>"Looks don't matter, with mothers,"
soothed Bettie. "A cat likes a homely yellow
kitten as well as a lovely white one.
And Dick has more freckles than Bob, but
Mother likes him just as well."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[214]" id="pgepubid00246"><a id="Page_214" title="[214]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Rosa Marie's mother stood right in that
doorway," said Mabel, "and, as long as I
could see her, her eyes were stretching out
after Rosa Marie."</p>
<p>"They must have stuck out on pegs like a
lobster's," giggled Henrietta, "by the
time you reached the corner."</p>
<p>"I think you're <i>mean</i>," muttered Mabel.</p>
<p>"I repent," apologized Henrietta. "For
a moment I relapsed into Frederika, the Disguised
Duchess; but now I'm your own
kind-hearted Sallie and I wish that my toes
were as warm as my affections. Let's start
for civilization—we seem to have the world
to ourselves. Doesn't anybody else like
snow, I wonder?"</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[215]" id="pgepubid00247"><a id="Page_215" title="[215]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00248">CHAPTER XXIII<br/>
<small>Taking a Walk</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">"PHEW!" gasped Jean, wheeling as the
north wind, sweeping round the corner,
caught her square in the face. "I don't
think much of that! It's like ice."</p>
<p>"Ugh!" groaned Marjory, "I wish I'd
stayed home."</p>
<p>"Mercy!" gulped Henrietta, "it's blowing
my skin off."</p>
<p>After that, no one had very much to say.
The girls needed their breath for other purposes.
With heads down and jackets pulled
tightly about them, they started up the long
hill with the wind in their faces. It was
not a pleasant wind. Cold and cutting, it
flung icy particles of snow against their
cheeks, nipped their unprotected ears, stung
their fingers and found the thin places in
their garments. It rushed down their<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[216]" id="pgepubid00249"><a id="Page_216" title="[216]"></a></span>
throats when they opened their mouths to
speak, wrapped their petticoats so tightly
about them that they had to keep unwinding
themselves in order to walk at all, heaped
the whirling snow in drifts and filled the air
so full of flakes that it was only between
gusts that the houses were visible. Worst
of all, the way was very much uphill, and
Mabel, besides being short of breath, was
burdened with the basket of eggs. The
snow seemed to take a delight in piling itself
directly in front of them.</p>
<p>"Ugh!" gasped Henrietta, "I wish my
stockings were fur-lined. They thawed out
in Mrs. Malony's and now they're frozen
stiff. I don't like 'em."</p>
<p>"Mine, too," panted Mabel.</p>
<p>"And all my skirts," groaned Marjory.
"The edges are like saws and they're scraping
my knees."</p>
<p>"How do you like a real storm?" queried
Jean, steering Henrietta through a mighty
drift.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[217]" id="pgepubid00250"><a id="Page_217" title="[217]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Not so well as I thought I should," admitted
Henrietta. "I miss my blizzard
clothes."</p>
<p>The streets, when the girls finally reached
the top of the hill, were deserted. Even the
sides of the houses looked like solid walls of
snow, for the wind had hurled the big flakes
in gigantic handfuls against the buildings
until they were all nicely coated with a thick
frosting; and so, all the world was white.
And, by the time the five girls reached Jean's
house, for they finally accomplished that
difficult feat, they, too, were nicely plastered
from head to heels with the clinging snow.
They looked like animated snow men as
they piled thankfully into Mrs. Mapes's
parlor.</p>
<p>The girls themselves were warm and
glowing from the unusual exercise, but their
stockings and cotton skirts were frozen stiff.</p>
<p>"Henrietta will simply have to stay all
night," said Mrs. Mapes, discovering the
wet stockings. "I sent the coachman home<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[218]" id="pgepubid00251"><a id="Page_218" title="[218]"></a></span>
half an hour ago for the sake of the horses.
I'll telephone Mrs. Slater that you're safe.
You other girls must go home at once and
change your clothes before they thaw. And,
Jean, you and Henrietta must get into bed
at once. I'll bring you a hot supper inside
of five minutes."</p>
<p>"That'll be fun," declared Jean, seizing
Henrietta's hand and making for the stairs.
"Good-night, girls."</p>
<p>"I guess," said Marjory, when the
Mapes's door had closed behind Bettie,
Mabel and herself, "Jean and Henrietta are
going to be great chums."</p>
<p>"I'm afraid so," sighed Bettie. "I like
Henrietta; but, dear me, I don't want Jean
to like her better than she does me."</p>
<p>"She won't," comforted Marjory. "Henrietta's
all right for a little while at a time,
but you're <i>always</i> nice."</p>
<p>Thanks to Mrs. Mapes's instructions,
none of the girls caught cold; but their
mothers were so afraid that they might that<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[219]" id="pgepubid00252"><a id="Page_219" title="[219]"></a></span>
not one of them was permitted to poke her
nose out of doors the next day. To Henrietta's
delight, the drifts reached the fence
tops; and, until a huge plow, drawn by six
horses arranged in pairs, had cleared the
way, the roads were impassable. The wind,
after raging furiously all night, had quieted
down; but the snow continued to fall in big,
soft, clinging flakes, every tree and shrub
was weighted down with a heavy burden
and all the world was white. To Henrietta,
who had never before seen snow in such
abundance, it was a most pleasing spectacle.</p>
<p>Bettie, however, was sorely troubled.
There was Jean shut in with attractive Henrietta
and getting "chummier" with her
every minute. There was Bettie, a solitary
prisoner in a fuzzy red wrapper and bed
slippers, sighing for her beloved Jean. To
be sure, Bettie had brothers of assorted sizes
and complexions, but not one of them could
fill Jean's place in Bettie's troubled affections.</p>
<p>Had Bettie but known it, however, Jean<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[220]" id="pgepubid00253"><a id="Page_220" title="[220]"></a></span>
was not having an entirely comfortable day.
It happened to be one of Henrietta's "Frederika"
days. The lively girl tormented
bashful Wallace by pretending that she herself
was excessively shy, and, as shyness was
not one of her attributes, her victim was
covered with confusion. She teased and
bewildered Roger by chattering so rapidly
in French that he couldn't understand a
word she said, although he had studied the
language for three years under Miss McGinnis
and was proud of his progress. A
number of times she became so witty at
Jean's expense that "Sallie" had to rush to
the rescue with profuse apologies. Also,
she disturbed both Mr. and Mrs. Mapes by
her extreme restlessness.</p>
<p>"My sakes," confided Mrs. Mapes, in the
privacy of the kitchen, whither she had fled
for the sake of quiet, "I'm glad that girl
doesn't belong to me; she isn't still a
minute."</p>
<p>"Perhaps," said Roger, who had escaped<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[221]" id="pgepubid00254"><a id="Page_221" title="[221]"></a></span>
on the pretext of blacking his shoes, "it's
because she has traveled so much. Maybe
she feels as if she had to keep going."</p>
<p>"Bettie's certainly a great deal quieter,"
agreed Jean, who looked tired, "and she
doesn't talk all night when a body wants to
sleep; but Henrietta's more fun. You see,
you never know what she's going to do next,
but Bettie's always just the same."</p>
<p>At dinner time that day, Mrs. Mapes
asked her husband if he knew whether the
School Board had accomplished anything at
the meeting held the night previously.</p>
<p>"No," replied Mr. Mapes, a tall, thin
man with a preoccupied air. "And they
never will as long as each one of them wants
to put that schoolhouse in a different place.
They can't come to any sort of an agreement."</p>
<p>Indeed, the poor School Board was having
a perplexing time. The citizens that
lived at the north end of the town wanted
the new school built there. Other tax-payers<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[222]" id="pgepubid00255"><a id="Page_222" title="[222]"></a></span>
declared that the southern portion of
Lakeville, being more densely populated,
offered a more suitable site. Then, since
the town stretched westward for a long distance,
a third group of persons were clamoring
for the building in <i>their</i> part of the town.
Besides all these, there were persons who declared
that the old site was the <i>only</i> place
for a school building. As the Board itself
was divided as to opinion, it began to look
as if Lakeville would have to get along without
a schoolhouse unless it could afford to
build four, and the tax-payers said it
couldn't do that.</p>
<p>"I wish," said Mrs. Mapes, "that I could
find a first-class girls' school within a reasonable
distance. If they don't have a proper
building in Lakeville by next September I'll
send Jean away. That Baptist cellar is
damp, and I know it. Besides, I went to a
good boarding school myself and I'd like
Jean to have the experience—I'll never forget
those days."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[223]" id="pgepubid00256"><a id="Page_223" title="[223]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Send her," suggested Henrietta, "to the
school I'm going to."</p>
<p>"Which one is that?" asked Mrs. Mapes.</p>
<p>"I don't know; but Grandmother says it
mustn't be too far away. She wants me
within reach."</p>
<p>"I think," said Mrs. Mapes, reflectively,
"I'll send for some catalogues."</p>
<p>The next morning the sun shone brightly
on a glittering world. Henrietta went into
ecstasies over it, for even the tree trunks
seemed incrusted with diamonds—or at least
rhine-stones, Henrietta said. The coachman
arrived with the Slater horses a little
before nine o'clock and the two girls were
carried off to school in state. They waved
their hands to Bettie as they passed her
trudging in the snow; and poor Bettie was
suddenly conscious of a sharp twinge of
jealousy.</p>
<p>Now that Henrietta had been properly
called on and had returned the call, she became
a permanent part of all the Cottagers'<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[224]" id="pgepubid00257"><a id="Page_224" title="[224]"></a></span>
plans. Thereafter, there was hardly a day
when one or another of the four girls did
not see the fascinating maid of many names.
They always found her interesting, attractive
and entertaining. Yet, there were days
when she teased them almost to the limit of
their endurance, times when they could not
quite approve her and moments when she
fairly roused them to anger; but, in spite of
her faults, they could not help loving her,
because, with all her impishness and her
distressing lack of repose, she was warm-hearted,
loyal and thoroughly true. And,
although she possessed dozens of advantages
that the other girls lacked, although she was
beautifully gowned, splendidly housed and
bountifully supplied with spending money,
never did she show, in any way, the faintest
scrap of false pride. She mentioned her life
abroad, in a simple, matter-of-fact way (as
if it were a mere incident that might have
happened to anybody), but never in any
boasting spirit. Her prankishness, however,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[225]"><a id="Page_225" title="[225]"></a></span>
kept her from being too good or too
lovable; for, as her Grandmother said, she
spared no one; sometimes even Jean, who
was a model of patience, found it hard to
forgive fun-loving Frederika, the Disguised
Duchess.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[226]" id="pgepubid00258"><a id="Page_226" title="[226]"></a></span></p>
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