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      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Adopting of Rosa Marie, by Carroll Watson Rankin.
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<body class="x-ebookmaker x-ebookmaker-2"><h2 id="pgepubid00259">CHAPTER XXIV<br/>
<small>The Statue from India</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">ALL the shops in Lakeville wore a holiday
air, for money was plentiful and
trade was unusually brisk. The windows
were gay with wreaths of holly and glittering
strings of Christmas-tree ornaments.
Clerks were busy and smiling. Customers,
alert for bargains, crowded about the counters
and parted cheerfully from their cash.
Persons in the streets, laden with parcels of
every shape, size and color, pushed eagerly
through the doors or hurried along the busy
thoroughfares. All wore an air of eager
expectancy, for two weeks of December
were gone and Christmas was fairly scrambling
into sight.</p>
<p>The five girls had money to spend. Very
little of it, to be sure, belonged to the Cottagers;
but Henrietta had a great deal, and,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[227]" id="pgepubid00260"><a id="Page_227" title="[227]"></a></span>
as they all went together on their shopping
expeditions, it didn't matter very much, as
far as enjoyment went, who did the purchasing.
Bettie said that it was quite as much
fun to help Henrietta pick out a five-dollar
scarf pin for Simmons, the butler, as it was
to choose ten-cent paper weights for Bob
and Dick. Besides, no one was obliged to
go home empty-handed, because it took all
five to carry Henrietta's purchases.</p>
<p>All five were making things besides.
Sometimes they sewed at Jean's, sometimes
at Henrietta's, occasionally at Marjory's and
once in a while at Mabel's. They liked least
of all to go to Marjory's because Aunty
Jane, who was a wonderfully particular
housekeeper, objected to their walking on
her hardwood floors and seemed equally
averse to having them step on the rugs. As
they couldn't very well use the ceiling or feel
entirely comfortable under the battery of
Aunty Jane's disapproving glances, they
liked to go where they were more warmly<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[228]" id="pgepubid00261"><a id="Page_228" title="[228]"></a></span>
welcomed. Perhaps Henrietta's once-dreaded
home was the most popular place,
though in that fascinating abode they could
not accomplish a great deal in the sewing
line because Henrietta invariably produced
such a bewildering array of unusual belongings
to show them that their eyes kept busier
than their fingers. In another way, however,
they accomplished a great deal. Henrietta,
who was really very clever with her
needle, had started at one time or another a
great many different articles. These, in
their half-finished condition—the changeable
girl was much better at beginning things
than at completing them—she lavishly bestowed
on her friends. Lovely flowered
ribbons, dainty bits of silk and lace, curious
scraps of Japanese and Chinese embroidery,
embossed leather and rich brocades, all these
found their way into the Cottagers' work-bags.</p>
<p>Out of these fascinating odds and ends
they fashioned gifts for Mrs. Crane, Anne<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[229]" id="pgepubid00262"><a id="Page_229" title="[229]"></a></span>
Halliday's mother, their out-of-town relatives,
their parents and their school-teachers.
They wanted, of course, to buy every toy
that ever was made for Rosa Marie, little
Anne Halliday, Peter Tucker and the Marcotte
twins; but Mr. Black, meeting them in
the toy-shop one day, implored them to leave
just a few things in the shops for him to
buy, particularly for Rosa Marie and little
Peter Tucker, his namesake.</p>
<p>And now, Mabel was immensely pleased
with Henrietta; for, one day, Rosa Marie,
cured of her cold, had been dressed in her
cunning little Indian costume for the new
girl's benefit. Rosa Marie had looked so
very much more attractive than when she
had had a cold that Henrietta had been
greatly taken with her. As the way to
Mabel's affections was through approval of
Rosa Marie, Henrietta quickly found it, so
the threatened breach was healed.</p>
<p>"Oh, Mrs. Crane," Henrietta had cried,
on beholding the little brown person in buckskin<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[230]" id="pgepubid00263"><a id="Page_230" title="[230]"></a></span>
and feathers, "do let me telephone for
James to bring the carriage so I can take
Rosa Marie to our house and show her to
my Grandmother. I'll take the very best of
care of her. And all four of the girls can
come with her, so she won't be afraid."</p>
<p>"Oh, <i>do</i>," pleaded the others.</p>
<p>"Well, it's mild out to-day," returned
Mrs. Crane, glancing out the window, "and
a little fresh air won't hurt her. I guess her
coat will go on right over these fixings and
I can tie a veil over her head. You'll find a
telephone in the library, on Mr. Black's
desk."</p>
<p>Half an hour later, the six youngsters,
carefully tucked between splendid fur robes,
were on their way to Mrs. Slater's.</p>
<p>"I have a perfectly heavenly plan," said
Henrietta, her black eyes sparkling with
impishness. "Want to hear it?"</p>
<p>"Of course we do," encouraged the Cottagers.</p>
<p>"You see," explained Henrietta, "a large<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[231]" id="pgepubid00264"><a id="Page_231" title="[231]"></a></span>
box came from Father this morning. It
hasn't been opened yet; but Greta and Simmons
don't know that. I'm going to make
them think that Rosa Marie is what came in
that box—it's time I cheered them up a little,
for Simmons has lost some money he had in
the bank and Greta is homesick for the old
country. Will you help?"</p>
<p>"Ye-es," promised Jean, doubtfully, "if
you're not going to hurt anybody's feelings."</p>
<p>"Shan't even scratch one," assured Henrietta.
"Now, when we reach the house,
I'll slip around to the basement door with
Rosa Marie—the cook will let us in—and
you must ring the front-door bell because
that will take Simmons out of the way while
I get up the back stairs. Ask for Grandmother,
and I'll come down and get you
when I'm ready."</p>
<p>So the girls asked for Mrs. Slater—every
one of them now liked the entertaining old
lady very much indeed—and chatted with<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[232]" id="pgepubid00265"><a id="Page_232" title="[232]"></a></span>
her merrily until Henrietta came running
down the stairs.</p>
<p>"Grannie," asked the lively girl, pressing
her warm red cheek against Mrs. Slater's
much paler one, "would you like to be
amused? Would you like to be a black
conspirator and humble your most haughty
servitor to the dust? Then you must ascend
to my haunted den and not say a single
word for at least five minutes. Come on,
girls."</p>
<p>In Henrietta's oddly furnished room there
were two large East Indian gods and one
heathen goddess. Henrietta had managed
to group these interesting, Oriental figures
in one corner of the spacious chamber, with
appropriate drapings behind them. Near
them she had placed an empty packing case,
oblong in shape and plastered with curious,
foreign labels. It looked as if it were waiting
to be carried away to the furnace room
or some such place.</p>
<p>Darkening her bedroom and her dressing<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[233]" id="pgepubid00266"><a id="Page_233" title="[233]"></a></span>
room, she placed her obliging grandmother
and her four friends behind the heavy
portières.</p>
<p>"You can peek round the edges," said she,
"but you mustn't be seen or heard or even
suspected."</p>
<p>Then, fun-loving Henrietta brought Rosa
Marie from another room, removed her
wraps, concealed them from sight and placed
the stolid child in a sitting posture on a large
tabouret near one of the richly colored
statues. Next she rang for Greta, and ran
downstairs in person to ask Simmons to
come at once to remove the heavy packing
case.</p>
<p>Simmons obeyed immediately and just as
the pair reached Henrietta's door, Greta,
who had been in her own room, joined them.
All three entered together.</p>
<p>"Don't you want to see my lovely new
statue?" asked Henrietta. "There, with
the rest of my heathen friends."</p>
<p>"Ho," said Simmons, leaning closer to<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[234]" id="pgepubid00267"><a id="Page_234" title="[234]"></a></span>
look. "<i>That's</i> wot came in that 'eavy box.
Another 'eathen god from Hindia."</p>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 310px;">
<span id="id-7331053650477064314">maid and butler looking at baby in native costume</span>
<div class="caption" id="ebm_caption4">"ANOTHER 'EATHEN GOD FROM HINDIA."</div>
</div>
<p>"He ees very pretty god-lady, Miss Henrietta,"
approved Greta. "Looks most like
real."</p>
<p>Rosa Marie, awed by her strange surroundings,
played her part most beautifully.
For a long moment she sat perfectly still.
But, just as Simmons leaned forward to take
a better look at her, Rosa Marie, who had
suddenly caught a whiff of pungent smoke
from the joss-sticks that Henrietta had
lighted to create a proper atmosphere for
her gods and goddesses, gave a sudden
sneeze. The effect was all that could be
desired. Simmons leaped backward and
Greta, who was excitable, gave a piercing
shriek.</p>
<p>The hidden girls restrained their giggles,
but only with difficulty; and Bettie said
afterwards that she could feel Mrs. Slater
shaking with helpless laughter.</p>
<p>"My heye!" exclaimed Simmons, "wot'll<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[235]" id="pgepubid00268"><a id="Page_235" title="[235]"></a></span>
they be mykin' next! Look! Hit's movin'
'is 'ead."</p>
<p>Rosa Marie proceeded deliberately to
move more than her head. Putting both
hands on the tabouret, she managed somehow
to lift herself clumsily to all-fours,
balancing uncertainly for several moments
in that ungainly attitude. Then she rose to
her feet, and, stiffly, like some mechanical
toy, stretched out her arms toward Henrietta.
Greta backed hastily through the
doorway; but Simmons eyed the swaying
youngster with enlightened eyes.</p>
<p>"Hit's a real biby, from Hindia," said he,
"but think of hit comin' hall that wy in that
there box. But them Indoos 'ave a lot of
queer tricks and Hi suppose they drugged
'im, mide a bloomin' mummy of 'im and sent
directions for bringin' of 'im to."</p>
<p>"Take the box downstairs, please," said
Henrietta, succeeding in the difficult task of
keeping her face straight. "This is a little
North Indian from Lakeville, Simmons, not<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[236]" id="pgepubid00269"><a id="Page_236" title="[236]"></a></span>
an East Indian from India, and it was only
some things that I'm not to look at till Christmas
that came in the box."</p>
<p>"Hi <i>thought</i> hit was mighty stringe," returned
Simmons, looking very much relieved
and not at all resentful. "Hit seemed
sort of hawful, Miss 'Enrietta, to think as
'ow 'uman bein's could tike such chances
with heven their hown hoffsprings. But,
just the sime, Miss 'Enrietta, Hi've 'eard of
them 'Indoos doing mighty queer things,
and Hi, for one, don't trust 'em."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[237]" id="pgepubid00270"><a id="Page_237" title="[237]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00271">CHAPTER XXV<br/>
<small>Comparing Notes</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">IT was eight o'clock, the morning of the
twenty-fourth day of December, which
is twice as exciting a day as the twenty-fifth
and at least ten times as interesting as the
twenty-sixth.</p>
<p>Bettie, and as many of the little Tuckers
as had been able to find enough clothes for
decency, were eating pancakes a great deal
faster than Mrs. Tucker could bake them
over the Rectory stove. Marjory, her young
countenance somewhat puckered because of
the tartness of her grapefruit, was sitting
sedately opposite her Aunty Jane. Jean had
finished her breakfast and was tying mysterious
tissue paper parcels with narrow
scarlet ribbon; and Mabel, having suddenly
remembered that this was the day that the
postman brought interesting mail, was hurrying<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[238]" id="pgepubid00272"><a id="Page_238" title="[238]"></a></span>
with might and main to get into her
sailor blouse in order to capture the letters.
Of course she didn't expect to open any of
her Christmas mail; but she did like to
squeeze the packages. Henrietta was reading
a long, delightful letter from her father.
Mrs. Slater, too, had Christmas letters.</p>
<p>Five blocks away Mr. Black and Mrs.
Crane were finishing their breakfast. Their
dining-room was at the back of the house,
where its three broad windows commanded
a fine view of the lake. Just at the top of
the bluff and well inside the Black-Crane
yard stood a wonderfully handsome fir tree,
a truly splendid tree, for in all Lakeville there
was no other evergreen to compare with it in
size, shape or color.</p>
<p>Every now and again, Mr. Black would
turn in his chair to gaze earnestly out the
window at the tree. For a long time, Mrs.
Crane, her nice dark eyes dancing with fun,
watched her brother in silence. But when
he began to consume the last quarter of his<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[239]" id="pgepubid00273"><a id="Page_239" title="[239]"></a></span>
second piece of toast she felt that it was time
to speak.</p>
<p>"Peter," said she, "you can't do it."</p>
<p>"Do what?" asked Mr. Black, with a
guilty start.</p>
<p>"Cut down that tree. I know, just as
well as I know anything, that you're just
aching to make that splendid big evergreen
into a Christmas-tree for Rosa Marie and
those four girls."</p>
<p>"<i>How</i> do you know it?" queried Mr.
Black, eying his sister with quick suspicion.</p>
<p>"Because I had the same thought myself.
It <i>would</i> be fine for Christmas—it looks like
a Christmas-tree every day of the year.
And if you've been a sort of bottled-up
Santa Claus all your life you're apt to be
pretty foolish when you're finally unbottled.
And that tree——"</p>
<p>"But," queried Mr. Black, "what would
it be the day after?"</p>
<p>"That," confessed Mrs. Crane, "is what
bothers <i>me</i>."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[240]" id="pgepubid00274"><a id="Page_240" title="[240]"></a></span></p>
<p>"It does seem a shame," said Mr. Black,
rising and walking to the window, "to cut
down such a perfect specimen as that; and
yet, in all my life I never met a tree so evidently
designed for the express purpose of
serving as a Christmas-tree. It's a real
temptation."</p>
<p>"I know it," sighed Mrs. Crane. "It's
been tempting <i>me</i>; but I said: 'Get thee behind
me, Santa Claus, and send me to the
proper place for Christmas-trees.'"</p>
<p>"And did you go to that place?"</p>
<p>"It came to me. I engaged a twelve-foot
tree from a man that was taking orders
at the door."</p>
<p>"So did I," confessed Mr. Black. "I'm
not sure that I didn't order two."</p>
<p>"Peter Black! You're spoiling those
children."</p>
<p>"I'm having plenty of help," twinkled
Mr. Black, shrewdly.</p>
<p>With so many trees to choose from, it
certainly seemed probable that the Black-Crane<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[241]" id="pgepubid00275"><a id="Page_241" title="[241]"></a></span>
household would have at least one
respectable specimen to decorate; but half
an hour later, when the three ordered balsams
arrived, both Mr. Black and Mrs.
Crane were greatly disappointed. The trees
had shrunk from twelve to six feet, and the
uneven branches were thin and sparsely
covered.</p>
<p>"Why!" exclaimed Mr. Black, "all three
of those trees together wouldn't make a
whole tree."</p>
<p>"They look," said Mrs. Crane, "as if
they were shedding their feathers."</p>
<p>"Most of them," agreed Mr. Black,
"have already been shed. I said, Mr. Man,
that I wanted <i>good</i> trees."</p>
<p>"My wagon broke down," explained the
tree-man, "so I couldn't bring anything that
I couldn't haul on a big sled. They weigh a
lot, those big fellows."</p>
<p>"Can't you make a special trip," suggested
Mrs. Crane, "and bring us a first-class
tree—just one?"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[242]" id="pgepubid00276"><a id="Page_242" title="[242]"></a></span></p>
<p>"It's too late. I have to go too far before
I'm allowed to cut any."</p>
<p>"Well," said Mr. Black, "I'll pay you for
these, and I'll give you fifty cents extra to
haul them off the premises. We don't want
any such sorrowful specimens round here to
cast a gloom over our Christmas, do we,
Sarah?"</p>
<p>"Peter," announced Mrs. Crane, when
the man had departed with his scraggly
trees, "I have an idea. The weather's
likely to stay mild for another twenty-four
hours, isn't it?"</p>
<p>"I think so."</p>
<p>"And this is an honest town?"</p>
<p>"As honest as they make 'em."</p>
<p>"And all those girls are accustomed to
being outdoors——"</p>
<p>"I <i>see</i>!" cried Mr. Black, giving Mrs.
Crane's plump shoulders a sudden, friendly
whack. "I <i>almost</i> thought of that myself.
We'll certainly surprise 'em <i>this</i> time."</p>
<p>Although it was getting late, Mr. Black<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[243]" id="pgepubid00277"><a id="Page_243" title="[243]"></a></span>
still hung about the house as if he had not
yet freed his mind of Christmas matters.</p>
<p>"I suppose," said Mr. Black, breaking a
long silence, "that you've thought of a few
things to put on the tree for those girls?"</p>
<p>"Yes," admitted Mrs. Crane, guardedly,
"I've gathered up some little fixings that I
thought they'd fancy."</p>
<p>"It might be a good idea," said Mr. Black,
rising to ring for Martin, "for us to compare
notes. Two heads are better than one,
you know; and after what they did for us,
we owe those little folks a splendid Christmas."</p>
<p>"We certainly do," agreed Mrs. Crane,
wiping away the sudden moisture that
sprung to her eyes at thought of the memorable
dinner party in Dandelion Cottage—the
dinner that had brought her estranged
brother to the rescue. "I don't know where
I'd have been now if it hadn't been for those
blessed children. In the poorhouse, probably."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[244]" id="pgepubid00278"><a id="Page_244" title="[244]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Martin," said Mr. Black, huskily, "you
go to the storeroom in the basement. Take
a hatchet with you and knock the top off that
wooden box that is marked with a big blue
cross and bring it up here to me."</p>
<p>Presently Martin, who always blundered
if there was the very faintest excuse for
blundering, returned, proudly bearing the
cover of the large box.</p>
<p>"Thank you," replied Mr. Black, turning
twinkling eyes upon Mrs. Crane, who
twinkled back. "Now bring up the box
with all the things in it."</p>
<p>"I'll get my things, too," offered Mrs.
Crane. "They're right here in the library
closet, in a clothes hamper."</p>
<p>Then when Martin had brought the box,
the two middle-aged people began to sort
their presents. They went about it rather
awkwardly because neither had had much
experience; but they were certainly enjoying
their novel occupation.</p>
<p>"This," said Mr. Black, clearing a space<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[245]" id="pgepubid00279"><a id="Page_245" title="[245]"></a></span>
on the big library table, "is Bettie's pile, and
Heaven knows that I tried not to get it bigger
than the other three; but everything I
saw in the shops shouted 'Buy me for Bettie'—and
I usually obeyed."</p>
<p>"This is Jean's pile," said Mrs. Crane,
baring another space, "and I guess I feel
about Jean the way you do about Bettie; but
I love Bettie too—and all of them. Rosa
Marie's things will have to go on the floor—they're
mostly bumpy and breakable."</p>
<p>Mr. Black rummaged in his box, Mrs.
Crane fished in her basket. Presently there
was a rapidly growing, untidy heap of large,
lumpy bundles on the floor for Rosa Marie,
and four very neat stacks of square, compact
parcels for the Cottagers.</p>
<p>"Let's open them all," suggested Mr.
Black, eagerly. "We can tie them up
again."</p>
<p>So the elderly couple, as interested as two
children, opened their packages. At first,
both were too busy renewing acquaintanceship<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[246]" id="pgepubid00280"><a id="Page_246" title="[246]"></a></span>
with their own purchases to notice what
the other was doing; but presently Mrs.
Crane gave a start as her eye traveled over
the table.</p>
<p>"Why, Peter Black," she exclaimed.
"Here are two watches in Bettie's pile!"</p>
<p>"I didn't buy but one of them," declared
Mr. Black, placing his finger on one of the
dainty timepieces. "That's mine."</p>
<p>"The other's mine," confessed Mrs.
Crane. "And, Peter, did you go and buy
dolls all around, too?"</p>
<p>"I did," owned Mr. Black, opening a
long narrow box. "One <i>always</i> buys dolls
for Christmas."</p>
<p>"Well," sighed Mrs. Crane, "I guess
they can stand two apiece, because ours are
not a bit alike. You see, you got carried
away by fine clothes and I paid more attention
to the dolls themselves. The bodies are
first-class and the faces are lovely. I bought
mine undressed and I've had four weeks'
pleasure dressing them—I sort of hate to<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[247]" id="pgepubid00281"><a id="Page_247" title="[247]"></a></span>
give them up. The clothes are plain and
substantial; I couldn't make 'em fancy."</p>
<p>"But the watches, Sarah?"</p>
<p>"Well, I guess we'll have to send half of
those watches back. Yours are the nicest—we'll
keep yours."</p>
<p>"I suspect," said Mr. Black, reflectively
pinching two large parcels in Rosa Marie's
heap, "that we've both bought Teddy bears
for Rosa Marie. And we've both supplied
the girls with perfume, purses and writing
paper, but I don't see any books."</p>
<p>"We'll use the extra-watch money for
books," decided Mrs. Crane, promptly.
"Suppose you attend to that—if we both do
it we'll have another double supply. I see
we've both bought candy, too; but I need a
box for the milk-boy and I'd like to send
some little thing to Martin's small sister."</p>
<p>"On the whole," said Mr. Black, complacently,
"we've managed pretty well considering
our inexperience; but next time
we'll do better."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[248]" id="pgepubid00282"><a id="Page_248" title="[248]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00283">CHAPTER XXVI<br/>
<small>Christmas Eve</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">IN Lakeville, Christmas always began at
exactly four o'clock the afternoon of the
twenty-fourth; for the young people of that
little town—even the very old young people
with gray hair and youthful eyes—always
indulged in an unusual and extremely enjoyable
custom. The moment that marked this
real beginning of Christmas found each
person with gifts for her neighbor sallying
forth with a great basketful of parcels on
her arm. If one had a great many friends
and neighbors it often took until ten o'clock
at night to distribute all one's gifts. As
each package was wrapped in white tissue
paper, tied with ribbon and further adorned
with sprigs of holly or gay Christmas cards,
these Christmas baskets were decidedly attractive;
and the streets of Lakeville, from<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[249]" id="pgepubid00284"><a id="Page_249" title="[249]"></a></span>
four to ten, were certain to be full of gayety
and genuine Christmas cheer.</p>
<p>On all other days of the year, the Cottagers
traveled together; but on this occasion
each girl was an entirely separate person.
Bettie, wearing a fine air of importance,
went alone to Mabel's, to Jean's and
to Marjory's to leave her gifts for her three
friends. Although, at all other times, it was
her habit to run in unceremoniously, to-day
she rang each door-bell and was formally admitted
to each front hall, where she selected
the package designed for each house. Jean
and the other two, likewise, went forth by
themselves to leave their mysterious little
parcels. But when this rite was completed
all four ran to their own homes, added more
parcels to their gay baskets and then congregated
in Mrs. Mapes's parlor.</p>
<p>They had gifts for dear little Anne Halliday,
the Marcotte twins, Henrietta Bedford,
Rosa Marie, Mr. Black, Mrs. Crane, some
distant cousins of Jean's and for all their<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[250]" id="pgepubid00285"><a id="Page_250" title="[250]"></a></span>
school-teachers that had not gone out of
town for the holidays. Besides, their
parents had intrusted them with articles to
be delivered to their friends and Mabel had
a gift for the dust-chute Janitor, a silver
match-safe with the date of the fire engraved
under his initials.</p>
<p>"We'll go to Henrietta's first," decided
Jean, "because that's the farthest."</p>
<p>"And to the Janitor's next," said Mabel,
"because I want to get it over and forget
about it."</p>
<p>To make things more exciting for Henrietta,
the girls went in singly to present
their offerings, the others crouching out of
sight behind the stone balustrades that
flanked the steps. Each time the bell rang,
Henrietta was right at Simmons's heels when
he opened the door. Then, after a brief
wait outside, all four again presented themselves
to invite Henrietta, who had gifts for
Rosa Marie, to go with them to Mr. Black's
and all the other places. Henrietta was glad<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[251]" id="pgepubid00286"><a id="Page_251" title="[251]"></a></span>
to go, because she herself was too new to
Lakeville to have very many friends to favor
with presents. The five had a very merry
time with their baskets; but they were much
too excited to stay a great while under any
one roof. They shouted merry greetings to
the rest of the basket-laden population and
paused more than once to obligingly pull a
door-bell for some elderly acquaintance who
found that she needed more hands than she
had started out with.</p>
<p>"How jolly everybody is!" remarked
Henrietta. "I never saw a more Christmassy
lot of people. It must be lovely to
have a long, long list to give to."</p>
<p>"Father says this is an unusually nice
town," offered Bettie. "The people seem
actually glad to have folks sick and in trouble
so they can send them flowers and things to
eat."</p>
<p>"What a charitable place," laughed
Henrietta, gaily. "I hope nobody's longing
for <i>me</i> to come down with anything.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[252]" id="pgepubid00287"><a id="Page_252" title="[252]"></a></span>
I'd rather stay well than eat flowers—they're
too expensive just now."</p>
<p>"My!" exclaimed Mabel, after all the
gifts had been distributed and the girls, with
their empty baskets turned over their heads,
had started homeward, "won't to-morrow
be a lively day. First, all our stockings; very
early in the morning at home. Next, all our
Christmas packages to open—I've about ten
already that I haven't even squeezed—that
is, not <i>very</i> hard, except one that I know is a
bottle. Then our dinners——"</p>
<p>"Too bad we can't have all our dinners
together," mourned Marjory, "but of course
your mothers and my Aunty Jane and Henrietta's
grandmother would be too lonely if
we did; and all the families in a bunch would
make too many to feed comfortably."</p>
<p>"And then," proceeded Mabel, "a tree at
Mr. Black's just as soon as it's dark enough
to light the candles, and supper and another
tree at Henrietta's in the evening, and a ride
home in the Slater carriage afterwards, because<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[253]" id="pgepubid00288"><a id="Page_253" title="[253]"></a></span>
by that time we'll surely be too tired to
walk."</p>
<p>"And I've trimmed a tree for the boys at
home," said Bettie. "There won't be anything
on it for you, but you can all come to
see it."</p>
<p>"Aunty Jane says that Christmas-trees
shed their feathers and make too much litter,"
said Marjory, "but with three others
to visit I don't mind if I don't have one."</p>
<p>"You can have half of mine," offered
Mabel, generously. "I shan't have time to
trim more than half of it, anyway, so I'd
like somebody to help."</p>
<p>"I suppose," said Marjory, doubtfully,
"that we ought to do something for the
poor, but I don't know where to find any
since our washwoman married the butcher."</p>
<p>"I'm glad you don't," laughed Henrietta.
"I've nine cents left and it's got to last, for
I shan't have any more until I get my allowance
the first of January, unless somebody
sends me money for Christmas."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[254]" id="pgepubid00289"><a id="Page_254" title="[254]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I guess," giggled Jean, fishing an empty
purse from her pocket, "the rest of us
couldn't scare up nine cents between us; but
I have an uncle who always sends me a paper
dollar every year. I've spent it in at least
fifty different ways already. I always have
lovely times with that dollar <i>before</i> it comes,
but it just sort of melts away into nothing
afterwards."</p>
<p>"I wish," breathed Mabel, fervently, "<i>I</i>
had an uncle like that."</p>
<p>"Yes," agreed Henrietta, "a few uncles
with the paper-dollar habit wouldn't be bad
things to have."</p>
<p>"I caught a glimpse of your tree, Henrietta,"
confessed Marjory. "I stood on
the balustrade outside and peeked in the window
when Jean was inside. It's going to be
perfectly grand; but of course I didn't <i>mean</i>
to peek. I just got up there because I was
too excited to stay on the ground."</p>
<p>"So did I," owned Bettie.</p>
<p>"I wonder," said Mabel, "where Mr.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[255]" id="pgepubid00290"><a id="Page_255" title="[255]"></a></span>
Black's tree is. We were in all the downstairs
rooms and I didn't see a sign of it."</p>
<p>"Probably," teased Henrietta, "he's forgotten
to order one. Unless one forms the
habit very early in life, one is very apt to
overlook little things like that."</p>
<p>"Mr. Black never forgets," assured Bettie.</p>
<p>"Probably it's some place in the yard,"
ventured Marjory, not guessing how close
she came to the truth.</p>
<p>"No," declared Mabel, positively. "I
looked out the windows and there wasn't a
single sign of a tree anywhere. I pretty
nearly asked about it, but I wasn't sure that
that would be polite."</p>
<p>"Don't worry," soothed Jean. "There'll
<i>be</i> one if Mr. Black has to plant a seed and
grow it over night. He and Mrs. Crane are
more excited over Christmas than we are.
They can't think of anything else."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[256]" id="pgepubid00291"><a id="Page_256" title="[256]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00292">CHAPTER XXVII<br/>
<small>A Crowded Day</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">MABEL rose very early indeed on
Christmas morning to explore her
bulging stocking and to open her packages;
but Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane were even
earlier, and they were delighted to find that
the weather had remained mild. Putting on
their outside wraps and warm overshoes, the
worthy couple went with good-natured Martin
and Maggie, the nimble nursery maid, to
the garden as soon as it was light. They
strung the tall tree from top to bottom with
tinsel and glittering Christmas-tree ornaments,
the finest that money could buy.
Martin and the maid, perched on tall step-ladders,
worked enthusiastically. Mr. Black
and Mrs. Crane handed up the decorations.
The cook, watching them from the basement
window, grinned broadly at the sight.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[257]" id="pgepubid00293"><a id="Page_257" title="[257]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Sure," said she, "'tis a lot of children
they are; but 'twould do no harrum if all the
wurruld was loike 'em."</p>
<p>By church time the towering tree was in
readiness except for a few of the more precious
gifts, to be added later.</p>
<p>"I hope," said Mrs. Crane, with a lingering,
backward glance, when there was no
further excuse for remaining outdoors,
"that the air will be as quiet to-night as it
is now. It would be dreadful if we couldn't
light the candles."</p>
<p>"We'll have to trust to luck," returned
Mr. Black, "but I'm quite sure that luck will
be with us."</p>
<p>Of course the girls enjoyed their stockings
at home, their gifts that arrived by mail
and express from out-of-town relatives and
the bountiful dinners at the home tables.
But the Black-Crane tree to which Henrietta,
likewise, had been invited, was something
entirely new and so proved particularly enjoyable;
if not, indeed, the crowning event<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[258]" id="pgepubid00294"><a id="Page_258" title="[258]"></a></span>
of the day. Martin had cleared away the
snow and had laid boards and even a carpet
for them to stand on, and there were chairs
and extra wraps, only the girls were too excited
to use them. But Mrs. Crane and
placid Rosa Marie sat enveloped in steamer
rugs while the others capered about the brilliantly
lighted tree, constantly discovering
new beauties.</p>
<p>"I declare," sighed Mrs. Crane, happily,
"you're the youngest of the lot, Peter."</p>
<p>"Well," returned Mr. Black, "why not?
It's the first real Christmas I've had for forty
years—but let's have another Christmas dinner
on New Year's Day; I was disappointed
when all these young folks said, 'No, thank
you,' to our invitation to dinner. Just remember,
girls, we expect to see you all here
the first of January or there'll be trouble—I'll
see that it lasts all the year, too."</p>
<p>"Peter Black," warned Mrs. Crane, "that
step-ladder's prancing on one leg. If you
go over that bluff you won't stop till you<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[259]" id="pgepubid00295"><a id="Page_259" title="[259]"></a></span>
land in the lake. Let Martin do all the
circus acts."</p>
<p>"I've got it, now," said Mr. Black, coming
down safely with the small parcel that
had dangled so long just above his reach.
"Here's something for Henrietta Bedford,
with the tree's compliments."</p>
<p>"How nice of you to remember me,"
cried Henrietta, opening the parcel. "And
what a dear little pin—just what I needed.
Thank you very much indeed."</p>
<p>Of all their gifts, however, the Cottagers
liked their lovely little watches the best.
They had expected no such magnificent gifts
from Mr. Black, and their own people had,
of course, considered them much too young
to be trusted with watches.</p>
<p>"Dear me," said Mabel, strutting about
with her timepiece pinned to her blouse, "I
feel too grown-upedy for words. I never
expected this moment to come."</p>
<p>"I've <i>always</i> wanted a watch," breathed
Jean, "but I certainly supposed I'd have to<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[260]" id="pgepubid00296"><a id="Page_260" title="[260]"></a></span>
wait until I'd graduated from high-school—folks
almost always get them then."</p>
<p>"And I," beamed Marjory, "never expected
a <i>pretty</i>, really truly girl's watch, because—worse
luck—I'm to get Aunty Jane's
awful watch when she dies. Of course I don't
want her to die a minute before her time, but
getting even <i>that</i> watch seemed sort of hopeless
because all Aunty Jane's ancestors that
weren't killed by accident lived to enjoy their
nineties. But that doesn't prevent Aunty
Jane's promising me that clumsy old turnip
whenever she's particularly pleased with
me."</p>
<p>Bettie was too delighted for speech. But
her big brown eyes spoke eloquently for her.</p>
<p>Rosa Marie accepted the unusual tree, all
her Teddy bears, her dolls and other gifts,
very much as a matter of course. Nothing
it appeared was ever sufficiently surprising
to astonish calm little Rosa Marie.</p>
<p>"Perhaps," offered Bettie, "she's awfully
surprised inside."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[261]" id="pgepubid00297"><a id="Page_261" title="[261]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I know <i>I</i> am," laughed Mabel. "Inside
and out, too."</p>
<p>Then, just as Mrs. Crane had decided that
Rosa Marie had been outdoors long enough,
the Slater carriage arrived for the girls.
Mr. Black, beaming at the success of his
Christmas party, packed them with all their
belongings into the vehicle and they rolled
happily away.</p>
<p>They stopped at their own homes just
long enough to drop most of the gifts they
had garnered from the Black-Crane tree;
and then Henrietta whisked her friends to
the Slater home, where Mrs. Slater entertained
them for two hours over a delightful,
genuinely English Christmas supper.</p>
<p>Henrietta's tree, too, was a very handsome
one. A realistic Santa Claus who seemed
as English as the supper, since he dropped
the letter H just as Simmons always did,
distributed the gifts. When the Cottagers
opened odd, foreign-looking parcels and
found that Henrietta had given each girl a<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[262]" id="pgepubid00298"><a id="Page_262" title="[262]"></a></span>
set of three beautiful Oriental boxes with
jewelled tops, their delight knew no bounds.
They had expected nothing so fine.</p>
<p>"You see," explained Henrietta, "I told
Father, months ago, to send me a lot of little
things to give away for Christmas and of
course he bought boxes. I believe he buys
every one he sees."</p>
<p>"They're darlings," declared Jean,
dreamily. "They take you away to far-off
places where things smell old and—and
magnificent."</p>
<p>"It's the grown-upness of my presents
that I like," explained eleven-year-old
Mabel, with a big sigh of satisfaction. "It's
lovely to have people treat you as if you were
somebody."</p>
<p>"You see," laughed Marjory, "it's only
two years ago that an absent-minded aunt
of Mr. Bennett's sent Mabel a rattle, and the
poor child can't forget it."</p>
<p>"Miss 'Enrietta," inquired Santa Claus,
anxiously, when the Slater tree, too, had been<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[263]" id="pgepubid00299"><a id="Page_263" title="[263]"></a></span>
stripped of all but its decorations, "might
Hi be hexcused now? Hi'm due at a Christmas
ball and Hi'm hawfully afride these
togs is meltin' me 'igh collar."</p>
<p>"Yes," laughed Henrietta, "you've done
nobly and I hope you'll have a lovely time at
the party."</p>
<p>It was half-past ten before the Cottagers
got to bed that night—a long day because
they had risen so early.</p>
<p>"But," breathed Bettie, happily, "when
days are as nice as this I like 'em long."</p>
<p>"It's nice to have friends," said Jean.</p>
<p>"I wish," sighed Mabel, "they'd make
some kind of a watch that had to be wound
every hour; it seems awfully hard to wait
until morning."</p>
<p>When Mrs. Bennett looked in that night
to see if Mabel had remembered to take off
her best hair ribbon, she found a doll on each
side of the blissful slumberer, a watch pinned
to her nightdress, a jeweled box clasped
loosely in each relaxed hand and at least half<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[264]" id="pgepubid00300"><a id="Page_264" title="[264]"></a></span>
a bushel of other treasures under the uncomfortable
pillow. As Mrs. Bennett gently
removed all these articles and straightened
the bed-clothes Mabel murmured in her sleep,
"Merry Christmas, girls."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[265]" id="pgepubid00301"><a id="Page_265" title="[265]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00302">CHAPTER XXVIII<br/>
<small>A Bettie-less Plan</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THE first thing that happened after
Christmas was the announcement of
the School Board's decision to wait a full
year before beginning to build a new schoolhouse.</p>
<p>"Even if we could decide on a site," said
they, "it would be hard on the tax-payers
to furnish money for such a building all at
one assessment. By spreading it over two
years' tax-rolls it will come easier."</p>
<p>The fathers, for the most part, were
pleased with the arrangement, but many of
the mothers disliked it very much indeed.</p>
<p>"We must do something about it," said
Aunty Jane, who had called at Mrs. Bennett's
to talk the matter over. "I'm in
favor of sending Marjory away to some
good girls' school, because she has some<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[266]" id="pgepubid00303"><a id="Page_266" title="[266]"></a></span>
money that is to be used solely for educational
purposes. There is enough for college
and for at least one year at a boarding school,
besides something for extras. My conscience
will feel easier when that money begins
to go toward its proper purpose."</p>
<p>"The Doctor thinks of going to Germany
next fall for a special course of study that he
thinks he needs," returned Mrs. Bennett.
"If we could place Mabel in a safe, comfortable
school, I could go with him. We've
been talking of it for a long time."</p>
<p>"I certainly am not satisfied," admitted
Mrs. Mapes, when Aunty Jane put the matter
to her. "There are too many pupils
crowded into that Baptist basement and it's
so damp that I've had to put cold compresses
on Jean's throat four times since the fire. If
you can find a good school to fit a modest
pocketbook we'd be glad to send Jean for
the one year."</p>
<p>Then Aunty Jane unfolded her plans to
the Tuckers.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[267]" id="pgepubid00304"><a id="Page_267" title="[267]"></a></span></p>
<p>"It's a beautiful idea," said pleasant Dr.
Tucker, "as far as the rest of you are concerned;
but you will have to leave Bettie
entirely out of the scheme; we simply can't
afford it. We've always hoped to be able
to do something for Dick—he wants to be a
physician—but even that is hopelessly beyond
us at present."</p>
<p>"No," added Mrs. Tucker, shifting the
heavy baby to her other arm and hoping that
Aunty Jane would not notice the dust on the
battered table, "we couldn't even think of
sending Bettie. But Mrs. Slater intends letting
Henrietta go some place next fall; why
don't you talk it over with her?"</p>
<p>"I mean to," assured Aunty Jane. "You
see, it will need a great deal of talking over
because it may prove hard to find exactly the
right kind of school. The eastern seminaries
are too far away. It must be some place
south of Lakeville, within a day's journey,
within reach of all our pocketbooks, and in
a healthful location. It mustn't be too big,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[268]" id="pgepubid00305"><a id="Page_268" title="[268]"></a></span>
too stylish, or too old-fashioned. I'm sending
out postal cards every day and getting
catalogues by every mail; but so far, I
haven't come to any decision except that
Marjory is to go <i>some</i> place."</p>
<p>At first, the older people said little about
school matters to the four girls, but as winter
wore on it became an understood thing
that not only fortunate Henrietta but Jean,
Marjory and Mabel were to go away to
school the following September.</p>
<p>"Won't it be simply glorious," said Henrietta,
who was entertaining the Cottagers
in her den, "if all four of us land in the
same school; and we <i>must</i>—I shall stand out
for that. And you and I, Jean, shall room
together and be chums."</p>
<p>"Then Marjory and I," announced
Mabel, "shall room together, too, and fight
just the way we always do if Jean isn't on
hand to stop us."</p>
<p>"Won't it be perfectly fine?" breathed
Marjory. "I've always loved boarding-school<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[269]" id="pgepubid00306"><a id="Page_269" title="[269]"></a></span>
stories and now we'll be living right
in one."</p>
<p>Bettie kept silence, but her eyes were big
and troubled. With the girls gone she
knew that her world would be sadly changed.
Her close companionship with the other Cottagers—she
was only three when she first
began to play with Jean—had prevented her
forming other friendships. Without doubt,
Aunty Jane would be lonely; the Bennetts, in
Germany, might miss noisy, affectionate
Mabel, Mrs. Mapes might long for helpful
Jean and Mrs. Slater would certainly find
her big, beautiful home dull with no sparkling
Henrietta but it was Bettie, poor little
impecunious, uncomplaining Bettie, who
would be the very loneliest of all. The
others would lose only one girl apiece; Bettie's
loss would be fourfold. Lovely Jean,
sprightly Marjory, jolly Mabel and attractive
Henrietta—how <i>could</i> she spare them all
at once! And the glorious times the absent
four would have together—how <i>could</i> Bettie<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[270]" id="pgepubid00307"><a id="Page_270" title="[270]"></a></span>
miss all that? It seemed, to the little, overwhelmed
girl, too big a trouble to talk about.</p>
<p>For a long, long time the more fortunate
girls were too taken up with their own
prospects to think very seriously of Bettie's;
but one day Jean was suddenly astonished at
the depth of misery that she surprised in
Bettie's wistful, tell-tale eyes. After that,
the girls openly expressed their pity for Bettie,
who would have to stay in Lakeville.
This proved even harder to bear than their
light-hearted chatter; for it made Bettie pity
herself to an even greater extent.</p>
<p>Of course, it would be several months before
the hated school—Bettie, by this time,
was quite certain that she hated it—would
swallow up her dearest four friends at one
sudden, hideous gulp; but remote as the date
was, the interested girls could talk of very
little else. No matter what topic they might
begin with, it always worked around at last
to "when I go away next fall."</p>
<p>"I can't have any clothes this spring,"<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[271]" id="pgepubid00308"><a id="Page_271" title="[271]"></a></span>
said Jean, when the girls, in a body, were
escorting Henrietta home from her dressmaker's.
"Mother's letting my old things
down and piecing everything till I feel like
a walking bedquilt. You see, I'm to have
new things to go away with."</p>
<p>"Same here," asserted Mabel. "Only <i>my</i>
mother's having a worse time than yours to
make my things meet. My waist measure is
twenty-nine inches and my skirt bands are
only twenty-seven."</p>
<p>"<i>Only</i> twenty-seven," groaned shapely
Henrietta.</p>
<p>"If you see a second Aunty Jane," said
Marjory, skipping ahead to imitate the elder
Miss Vale's prim, peculiar walk, "running
round Lakeville all summer, you'll know
who it is. She's cutting down two of her
thousand-year-old gowns to tide me over the
season. One came out of the Ark and she
purchased the other at a little shop on Mount
Ararat."</p>
<p>"Grandmother's making lists," laughed<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[272]" id="pgepubid00309"><a id="Page_272" title="[272]"></a></span>
Henrietta, "of all the things mentioned in
all the catalogues. When she gets done,
probably she'll add them all up and divide
the result by <i>me</i>; and that will give a respectable
outfit for one girl."</p>
<p>"Poor Bettie!" said sympathetic Jean,
squeezing Bettie's slim hand. "You're out
of it all, aren't you?"</p>
<p>But this was too much for Bettie. She
turned hastily and fled.</p>
<p>The girls looked after her pityingly.</p>
<p>"Poor Bettie!" murmured Jean. "It's
awfully hard on her to hear all this talk
about school. She's always had us, you
know, and she thinks there won't be a scrap
of Lakeville left when we're gone."</p>
<p>In February Rosa Marie created a little
excitement by coming down with measles.
Maggie, the maid, had broken out with this
unlovely affliction and no one had suspected
what the trouble was until she had peeled in
the actual presence of Rosa Marie. Of
course Rosa Marie came down with measles<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[273]" id="pgepubid00310"><a id="Page_273" title="[273]"></a></span>
too. But there was an unusual feature about
this illness. Although it was Maggie and
Rosa Marie who were supposed to be the
sufferers it was really Mrs. Crane who did
all the suffering. You see, this inexperienced
lady read all the literature that she
could find that touched on the subject of
measles and its after-effects; and long after
Rosa Marie had entirely recovered, conscientious
Mrs. Crane remained awake
nights waiting for the dreaded "after-effects"
to develop.</p>
<p>"We'll bury Mrs. Crane with whooping
cough," sputtered Dr. Bennett, writing a
soothing prescription for the good lady, "if
Rosa Marie ever catches it. She's a hen
bringing up a solitary duckling, and she's
certainly overdoing it. She ought not to
have the responsibility of that child; she's
not fitted for responsibilities, yet she's the
sort that takes 'em."</p>
<p>"I'll adopt Rosa Marie myself," declared
Henrietta Bedford, hearing of this opinion<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[274]" id="pgepubid00311"><a id="Page_274" title="[274]"></a></span>
and waylaying Dr. Bennett in Mrs. Slater's
hall to make her light-hearted offer. "She'd
go beautifully with the other picturesque objects
in my den and I'm very sure that the
responsibility won't weigh <i>me</i> down."</p>
<p>"So am I," laughed Dr. Bennett. "So
sure of it that I shan't allow you to afflict
your grandmother with any carelessly
adopted babies. But that child is on my
conscience, since Mabel was the principal
culprit in the matter. We'll try to get Mrs.
Crane to send her to an asylum; only that
dear lady's conscience will have to be bombarded
from all sides before it will let her
consent to any such sensible plan. Perhaps
you can get the girls—particularly Mabel,—to
look at the matter from that point of
view; we must rescue Mrs. Crane."</p>
<p>"I'll try to," promised Henrietta.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[275]" id="pgepubid00312"><a id="Page_275" title="[275]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00313">CHAPTER XXIX<br/>
<small>Anxious Days</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">FOR the next few weeks the Cottagers led
as quiet a life as almost daily association
with Henrietta would permit. Jean
grew a trifle taller, Marjory discovered new
ways of doing her hair and Mabel remained
as round and ruddy as ever. But everybody
was worried about Bettie. She seemed
listless and indifferent in school, she fell
asleep over her books when she attempted to
study at night, she grew averse to getting
up mornings and day by day she grew thinner
and paler, until even heedless Mabel observed
that she was all eyes.</p>
<p>"What's the trouble?" asked Jean, when
Bettie said that she didn't feel like going to
the Public Library corner to view the Uncle
Tom's Cabin parade. "A walk would do
you good, and it's only four blocks."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[276]" id="pgepubid00314"><a id="Page_276" title="[276]"></a></span></p>
<p>"I'm tired," returned Bettie. "My head
would like to go but my feet would rather
not. And my hands don't want to do anything—or
even my tongue. You can tell me
about the parade—that'll be easier than looking
at it."</p>
<p>Now, this was a new Bettie. The old one,
while not exactly a noisy person, had been so
active physically that the others had sometimes
found it difficult to follow her dancing
footsteps. She had ever been quick to wait
on the other members of her large family;
or to do errands, in the most obliging
fashion, for any of her friends. This new
Bettie eyed the Tucker cat sympathetically
when it mewed for milk; but she relegated
the task of feeding pussy to one of her much
more unwilling small brothers.</p>
<p>"She needs a tonic," said Mrs. Tucker,
giving Bettie dark-brown doses from a large
bottle. "It's the spring, I guess."</p>
<p>Two days after the parade there was great
excitement among Bettie's friends. She<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[277]" id="pgepubid00315"><a id="Page_277" title="[277]"></a></span>
had not appeared at school. That in itself
was not an unusual occurrence, for Bettie
often stayed at home to help her overburdened
mother through particularly trying
days; but when Jean stopped in to consult
her little friend about homemade valentines,
Mrs. Tucker met her with the news that
Bettie was sick in bed.</p>
<p>"Can't I see her?" asked Jean.</p>
<p>"I'm afraid not," replied Mrs. Tucker,
who looked worried. "She's asleep just
now and she has a temperature."</p>
<p>When Mabel heard this latter fact she at
once consulted Dr. Bennett.</p>
<p>"Father," she queried, "do folks ever die
of temperature?"</p>
<p>"Why, yes," returned the Doctor. "If
the temperature is below zero they sometimes
freeze. Why?"</p>
<p>"Mrs. Tucker says that's what Bettie's
got—temperature."</p>
<p>"It isn't a disease, child. It's a condition
of heat or cold. But it's too soon to say<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[278]" id="pgepubid00316"><a id="Page_278" title="[278]"></a></span>
anything about Bettie—go play with your
dolls."</p>
<p>Henrietta and the remaining Cottagers
immediately thought of lovely things to do
for Bettie. So, too, did Mr. Black. Impulsive
Henrietta purchased a large box of
most attractive candy, Jean made her a
lovely sponge cake that sat down rather
sadly in the middle but rose nobly at both
ends; Mabel begged half a lemon pie from
the cook; Marjory concocted a wonderful
bowl of orange jelly with candied cherries on
top, Mrs. Crane made a steaming pitcherful
of chicken soup and Mr. Black sent in a
great basket of the finest fruit that the Lakeville
market afforded.</p>
<p>But when all these successive and well-meaning
visitors presented themselves and
their unstinted offerings at the Rectory door,
Dr. Tucker received them sadly.</p>
<p>"Bettie is down with a fever," said he.
"She can't eat <i>anything</i>."</p>
<p>The days that followed were the most<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[279]" id="pgepubid00317"><a id="Page_279" title="[279]"></a></span>
dreadful that the Cottagers had ever known.
They lived in suspense. Day after day
when they asked for news of Bettie the response
was usually, "Just about the same."
Occasionally, however, Dr. Bennett shook
his head dubiously and said, "Not quite so
well to-day."</p>
<p>For weeks—for <i>years</i> it seemed to the disheartened
children—these were the only tidings
that reached them from the sick-room.
There was a trained nurse whose white cap
sometimes gleamed in an upper window, the
grave-faced, uncommunicative doctor visited
the house twice a day, a boy with parcels from
the drug store could frequently be seen entering
the Rectory gate and that was about all
that the terribly interested friends could
learn concerning their beloved Bettie. They
spent most of their time hovering quietly
and forlornly about Mrs. Mapes's doorstep,
for that particular spot furnished the best
view of the afflicted Rectory. They wanted,
poor little souls, to keep as close to Bettie as<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[280]" id="pgepubid00318"><a id="Page_280" title="[280]"></a></span>
possible. If the sun shone during this time,
they did not know it; for all the days seemed
dark and miserable.</p>
<p>"If we could only help a little," mourned
Jean, who looked pale and anxious, "it
wouldn't be so bad."</p>
<p>"I teased her," sighed Henrietta, repentantly,
"only two days before she was taken
sick. I do wish I hadn't."</p>
<p>"I gave her the smaller half of my
orange," lamented Mabel, "the very last
time I saw her. If—if I don't ever see—see
her again——"</p>
<p>"Oh, well," comforted Marjory, hastily,
"she might have been just that much sicker
if she'd eaten the larger piece. But <i>I</i> wish
I hadn't talked so much about boarding
school. It always worried her and sometimes
I tried [Marjory blushed guiltily at
the remembrance] to make her just a little
envious."</p>
<p>"I'm afraid," confessed Jean, "I sometimes
neglected her just a little for Henrietta;<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[281]" id="pgepubid00319"><a id="Page_281" title="[281]"></a></span>
but I mean to make up for it if—if I
have a chance."</p>
<p>"That's it," breathed Marjory, softly, "if
we only have a chance."</p>
<p>Then, because the March wind wailed forlornly,
because the waiting had been so long
and because it seemed to the discouraged
children as if the chance, after all, were extremely
slight—as slight and frail a thing as
poor little Bettie herself—the four friends
sat very quietly for many minutes on the
rail of the Mapes's broad porch, with big
tears flowing down their cheeks. Presently
Mabel fell to sobbing outright.</p>
<p>Mr. Black, on his way home from his
office, found them there. He had meant to
salute them in his usual friendly fashion, but
at sight of their disconsolate faces he merely
glanced at them inquiringly.</p>
<p>"She's—she's just about the same,"
sobbed Jean.</p>
<p>Mr. Black, without a word, proceeded on
his way; but all the sparkle had vanished<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[282]" id="pgepubid00320"><a id="Page_282" title="[282]"></a></span>
from his dark eyes and his countenance
seemed older. He, too, was unhappy on Bettie's
account and he lived in hourly dread of
unfavorable news. The very next morning,
however, there was a more hopeful air about
Dr. Bennett when he left the Rectory.
Mabel, waiting at home, questioned him
mutely with her eyes.</p>
<p>"A very slight change for the better,"
said he, "but it is too soon for us to be sure
of anything. We're not out of the woods
yet."</p>
<p>Next came the tidings that Bettie was
really improving, though not at all rapidly;
yet it was something to know that she was
started on the road to recovery.</p>
<p>Perhaps the tedious days that followed
were the most trying days of all, however,
for the impatient children; because the
"road to recovery" in Bettie's case seemed
such a tremendously long road that her little
friends began to fear that Bettie would
never come into sight at the end of it, but<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[283]" id="pgepubid00321"><a id="Page_283" title="[283]"></a></span>
she did at last. And such a forlorn Bettie
as she was!</p>
<p>She had certainly been very ill. They had
shaved her poor little head, her eyes seemed
almost twice their usual size and the girls
had not believed that any living person could
become so pitiably thin; but the wasting
fever was gone and what was left of Bettie
was still alive.</p>
<p>Long before the invalid was able to sit up,
the girls had been admitted one by one and
at different times, to take a look at her.
Bettie had smiled at them. She had even
made a feeble little joke about being able to
count every one of her two hundred bones.</p>
<p>After a time, Bettie could sit up in bed.
A few days later, rolled in a gaily flowered
quilt presented by the women of the parish;
she occupied a big, pillowed chair near the
window; and all four of the girls were able
to throw kisses to her from Jean's porch.
And now she could eat a few spoonfuls of
Mrs. Crane's savory broth, a very little of<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[284]" id="pgepubid00322"><a id="Page_284" title="[284]"></a></span>
Marjory's orange jelly and one or two of
Mr. Black's imported grapes. But, for a
long, long time, Bettie progressed no further
than the chair.</p>
<p>"I don't know what ails that child," confessed
puzzled Dr. Bennett. "She's like a
piece of elastic with all the stretch gone from
the rubber. She seems to lack something;
not exactly vitality—animation, perhaps, or
ambition. Yes, she certainly lacks ambition.
She ought to be outdoors by now."</p>
<p>"Hurry and get well," urged Jean, who
had been instructed to try to rouse her too-slowly-improving
friend. "The weather's
warmer every day and it won't be long before
we can open Dandelion Cottage. And
we've sworn a tremendous vow not to show
Henrietta—she's crazy to see it—a single
inch of that house until you're able to trot
over with us. Here's the key. You're to
keep it until you're ready to unlock that door
yourself."</p>
<p>"Drop it into that vase," directed Bettie.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[285]" id="pgepubid00323"><a id="Page_285" title="[285]"></a></span>
"It seems a hundred miles to that cottage,
and I'll never have legs enough to walk so
far."</p>
<p>"Two are enough," encouraged Jean.</p>
<p>"Both of mine," mourned Bettie, displaying
a wrinkled stocking, "wouldn't make a
whole one."</p>
<p>"Mrs. Slater wants to take you to drive
every day, just as soon as you are able to
wear clothes. She told me to tell you."</p>
<p>"It seems a fearfully long way to the
stepping stone," sighed Bettie. "Go home,
please. It's makes me tired to <i>think</i> of
driving."</p>
<p>"There's certainly something amiss with
Bettie," said Dr. Bennett, when told of this
interview. "Some little spring in her seems
broken. We must find it and mend it or we
won't have any Bettie."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[286]" id="pgepubid00324"><a id="Page_286" title="[286]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00325">CHAPTER XXX<br/>
<small>An April Harvest</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">SPRING is an unknown season in Lakeville.
But if one waits sufficiently long,
there comes at last a period known as the
breaking of winter. Since, owing to the
heavy snows of January, February and
March, there is always a great deal of winter
to break, the process is an extended and—to
the "overshoed" young—a decidedly trying
one. But even in northerly Lakeville there
finally came an afternoon when the girls
decided that the day was much too fine to be
spent indoors; and that the hour had arrived
when it would be safe to leave off rubbers.
The snow had disappeared except in very
shaded spots and the Bay was free of ice
except for a line of white that showed far
out beyond the intense blue. The sidewalks<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[287]" id="pgepubid00326"><a id="Page_287" title="[287]"></a></span>
were comparatively dry, but streams of icy
water gurgled merrily in the deep gutters
that ran down all the sloping streets. Although
this abundant moisture was only the
result of melting snow in the hills back of
Lakeville and possessed no beauty in itself,
these impetuous streams gave forth pleasant
springlike sounds and made one think sentimentally
of babbling brooks, fresh clover
and blossoms by the wayside. Yet one
needed to draw pretty heavily on one's imagination
to see either flowers or grass at
that early date; but the <i>feel</i> of them, as Jean
said, was certainly in the air.</p>
<p>"Let's walk down by Mrs. Malony's,"
suggested Mabel.</p>
<p>"She doesn't milk at this time of day,
does she?" queried Henrietta, cautiously.</p>
<p>"We needn't go in," assured Mabel.
"We'll just run down one hill and up the
other; but it's always lovely to walk along
the shore road. There's a sort of a side-walk—if
folks aren't too particular."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[288]" id="pgepubid00327"><a id="Page_288" title="[288]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Wouldn't it be beautiful," sighed Jean,
"if Bettie could only come too? This air
would do anybody good."</p>
<p>"Yes," mourned Marjory, "nothing
seems quite right without Bettie."</p>
<p>The girls, a trifle saddened, went slowly
down the hill.</p>
<p>"We must certainly steer clear of Mrs.
Malony," warned Henrietta, as the egg-woman's
house became visible. "Another
dose of her hot milk would drive me from
Lakeville."</p>
<p>"There she is now!" exclaimed Mabel.
"I recognize her by her cow; she's driving
it home."</p>
<p>"Perhaps it ran away to look for summer,"
offered Marjory. "The lady seems
displeased with her pet."</p>
<p>"An' how are the darlin' childer?" cried
Mrs. Malony, greeting her friends while yet
a long way off. "'Tis a sight for a quane
to see, so manny purty lasses. But where's
me little black-oiyed Bettie—there's the<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[289]" id="pgepubid00328"><a id="Page_289" title="[289]"></a></span>
swate choild for yez? Sure Oi heard she
was loike to die, wan while back. Betther,
is ut? Thot's good, thot's good. An' wud
yez belave ut, Miss Mabel,—'tis fatter than
iver yez are, Oi see—Oi had yez in me moind
all this blissid day."</p>
<p>"Why?" asked Mabel, rather coldly.</p>
<p>"Well, 'twas loike this, darlin'," explained
Mrs. Malony, dropping her voice to
a more confidential tone and nodding significantly
toward a distant chimney. "'Twas
siven o'clock the mornin' whin Oi seen
smoke risin' from the shanty beyant. All
day Oi've been moinded to be goin' acrost
the p'int an' lookin' in at thot windy to see
if 'twas thot big-eyed Frinch wan come back
wid the spring."</p>
<p>"You don't mean Rosa Marie's mother!"
gasped Mabel.</p>
<p>"Thot same," proceeded Mrs. Malony,
calmly. "But what wid Malony white-washin'
me kitchen, an' me pesky hins
walkin' in me parlor and me cow breakin'<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[290]" id="pgepubid00329"><a id="Page_290" title="[290]"></a></span>
down me fince, sure Oi've had no toime to be
traipsin' about."</p>
<p>"Couldn't you go now?" queried Jean,
eagerly. "If it <i>is</i> that woman we ought to
know it."</p>
<p>"Wait till Oi toi up me cow," consented
Mrs. Malony.</p>
<p>The four friends, with Mrs. Malony in
tow, picked their way over the badly kept
path that led to the shanty.</p>
<p>"The door's been mended," announced
observant Marjory.</p>
<p>"It doesn't seem quite proper," said gentle-mannered
Jean, "to peek into people's
windows. Couldn't we knock and ask in a
perfectly proper way to see the lady of the
house?"</p>
<p>"Sure we could thot," replied Mrs.
Malony.</p>
<p>"Do hurry!" urged Mabel, breathlessly.</p>
<p>There was no response to Jean's rather
nervous knock; but when Mrs. Malony applied
her stout knuckles to the door there<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[291]" id="pgepubid00330"><a id="Page_291" title="[291]"></a></span>
were results. The door was opened cautiously,
just a tiny crack at first, then to its
full extent. A dark-eyed woman with two
thick braids falling over her shapely shoulders
confronted them.</p>
<p>She swept a mildly curious glance over
Mrs. Malony, over Jean, over Marjory, over
Henrietta. Then her splendid eyes fell
upon Mabel; they changed instantaneously.</p>
<p>In a twinkling the woman had brushed
past the others to seize startled Mabel by
both shoulders and to gaze piercingly into
Mabel's frightened eyes. The woman tried
to speak; but, for a long moment, her voice
would not come.</p>
<p>"You—you!" she gasped, clutching
Mabel still more tightly, as if she feared that
the youngster might escape. "Ees eet you
for sure? But w'ere, w'ere——?"</p>
<p>No further words would come. The poor
creature's evident emotion was pitiful to
see, and the girls were too overwhelmed to
do more than stare with all their might.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[292]" id="pgepubid00331"><a id="Page_292" title="[292]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Rosa Marie's all right," gulped Mabel,
coming to the rescue with exactly the right
words. "She's safe and happy."</p>
<p>"Ma babee, ma babee," moaned the
woman, her long-lashed eyes beaming with
wonderful tenderness, and expressive of intense
longing. "Bring me to heem queek—ah,
so queek as evaire you can. Ma babee—I
want heem queek."</p>
<p>Then, without stopping for outer garments
or even to close her door, and still
holding fast to the abductor of Rosa Marie,
the woman hurriedly led the way from the
clearing.</p>
<p>Mrs. Malony would have remained with
the party if she had not encountered her
frolicsome cow, a section of fence-rail dangling
from her neck, strolling off toward
town.</p>
<p>On the way up the long hill the woman,
who still possessed all the beauty and the
"mother-looks" that Mabel had described,
talked volubly in French, in Chippewa<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[293]" id="pgepubid00332"><a id="Page_293" title="[293]"></a></span>
Indian and in broken English. As Henrietta
was able to understand some of the
French and part of the English, the girls
were able to make out almost two-thirds of
what she was saying.</p>
<p>On the day of Mabel's first visit the young
mother had departed with her new husband,
who, not wanting to be burdened with a
step-child, had persuaded her to abandon
Rosa Marie, for whom she had subsequently
mourned without ceasing. As might have
been expected, the man had proved unkind.
He had beaten her, half starved her and
finally deserted her. She had worked all
winter for sufficient money to carry her to
Lakeville and had waited impatiently—all
that time without news of her baby—for
mild weather in order that the shanty, the
only home that she knew, might become
habitable.</p>
<p>The hill was steep and long, but all five
hastened toward the top. Marjory ran
ahead to ring the Black-Crane door-bell.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[294]" id="pgepubid00333"><a id="Page_294" title="[294]"></a></span>
Mabel piloted the trembling mother straight
to the nursery. Jean, learning from Martin
where to look for Mrs. Crane, ran to
fetch her.</p>
<p>Rosa Marie, in her little chair and placidly
stringing beads, looked up as unconcernedly
as if it were an ordinary occasion. The
woman, uttering broken, incoherent sounds
sped across the big room, dropped to her
knees and flung her arms about Rosa Marie.
Then, for many moments, her face buried in
Rosa Marie's neck, the only-half-civilized
mother sobbed unrestrainedly.</p>
<p>The child, however, gazed stolidly over
her mother's shoulder at the other visitors,
all of whom were much more moved than
she. Mrs. Crane, indeed, was shedding
tears and even Mr. Black seemed touched.
As for Mabel, that sympathetic young person
was weeping both visibly and audibly,
without exactly knowing why.</p>
<p>Since the repentant mother, who refused
to let her baby out of her arms for a single<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[295]" id="pgepubid00334"><a id="Page_295" title="[295]"></a></span>
moment, begged to be allowed to take Rosa
Marie to the shanty that very night, Mrs.
Crane, aided by the willing girls and Mr.
Black, did what they could toward making
the place comfortable.</p>
<p>After Martin and Mr. Black had carried
a whole motor-carful of bedding, food and
fuel to the shanty, the now radiant mother,
Rosa Marie, her toys, her clothes and all her
belongings, were likewise transported to
the humble lakeside dwelling. Everybody
was so busy and the whole affair was
over so quickly that no one had time for
regrets.</p>
<p>"I declare," said Mrs. Crane, wonderingly,
"I ought to feel as if I'd lost something.
Instead, I'm all of a whirl."</p>
<p>"I said," Mabel triumphed, "that she'd
come back."</p>
<p>Jean was commissioned to go the next
morning to break the news to Bettie. It
seemed to Dr. Bennett and to the hopeful
Cottagers that this important happening<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[296]" id="pgepubid00335"><a id="Page_296" title="[296]"></a></span>
would surely rouse the listless little maid if
anything could. Mr. Black, who arrived
with a great bunch of violets while Jean was
telling the wonderful tale as graphically as
she could, expectantly watched Bettie's pale
countenance. Her wistful, weary eyes
brightened for a moment and a faint, tender
smile flickered across her lips.</p>
<p>"I'm glad," said she. "Now Mrs.
Crane won't have to have whooping cough
and all the other things."</p>
<p>"Mrs. Crane is going to find work for
Rosa Marie's mother," announced Jean,
"and the shanty is to be mended."</p>
<p>"That's nice," returned Bettie, who, however,
no longer seemed interested in Rosa
Marie's mother. "But my ears are tired
now; don't tell me any more."</p>
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