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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"><div class="pg-boilerplate pgheader section" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"><h2 id="pg-header-heading" title="">The Project Gutenberg eBook of <span lang="en" xml:lang="en">The Adopting of Rosa Marie</span></h2>
    
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<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header"><p><strong>Title</strong>: The Adopting of Rosa Marie</p>

<div id="pg-header-authlist">
<p><strong>Author</strong>: Carroll Watson Rankin</p>

<p><strong>Illustrator</strong>: Miriam Selss</p>
<p style="margin-top:0"><span style="padding-left: 7.5ex">        </span>Florence Scovel Shinn</p>
</div>
<p><strong>Release date</strong>: June 21, 2014 [eBook #46059]</p>

<p><strong>Language</strong>: English</p>

<p><strong>Credits</strong>: Produced by Beth Baran, Emmy and the Online Distributed<br/>
        Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was<br/>
        produced from images made available by the HathiTrust<br/>
        Digital Library.)</p>

</div><div id="pg-start-separator">
<span>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADOPTING OF ROSA MARIE ***</span>
</div></div><div class="pgmonospaced"/>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 509px;">

</div>
<hr class="chap"/>
<div class="bbox">
<div class="maintitle">THE ADOPTING
OF ROSA MARIE</div>
<p class="center">
<i>by</i><br/>
CARROLL WATSON RANKIN<br/>
<br/>
<i>Illustrated by</i><br/>
<span class="smcap">Florence Scovel Shinn</span><br/>
<br/>
<i>Frontispiece and jacket in full<br/>
color by</i> <span class="smcap">Miriam Selss</span><br/>
</p>
<p>In this charming girl's book we meet
again the four chums of <i>Dandelion
Cottage</i>. Their friendship knit closer
than ever by their summer at playing
house, the girls enlarge their activity
by mothering a pretty little Indian
baby.</p>
<p>"Those who have read <i>Dandelion
Cottage</i> will need no urge to follow
further. . . . A lovable group of four
children, happily not perfect, but full
of girlish plans and pranks and a delightful
sense of humor."</p>
<p class="right">
—<i>Boston Transcript.</i><br/>
</p>
<p>Just the type of book that every girl
<i>from eight to fifteen</i> enjoys.</p>
</div>
<hr class="chap"/>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 403px;"><a id="frontispiece"/>
<span id="id-4944934211267441860">girl pointing at baby in grass</span>
<div class="caption" id="ebm_caption0">"MY SOUL, WHAT ARE YOU, ANYWAY?"</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p class="center"><b><span class="u">                  Dandelion Series                  </span></b></p>
<h1 id="pgepubid00000">THE ADOPTING OF<br/>
ROSA MARIE</h1>
<p class="center">(<i>A Sequel to Dandelion Cottage</i>)<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
BY<br/>
<span class="author">CARROLL WATSON RANKIN</span><br/>
<span class="authorof">Author of "Dandelion Cottage," "The Girls of<br/>
Gardenville," etc.</span><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<i>With Illustrations by</i><br/>
<small>FLORENCE SCOVEL SHINN</small><br/>
</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 112px;">
<span id="id-7928837123208657675">emblem</span>
</div>
<p class="center"><br/>
<br/>
<small>NEW YORK</small><br/>
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY<br/>
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[i]" id="pgepubid00001"><a id="Page_i" title="[i]"></a></span></p>
<p class="copyright">
COPYRIGHT, 1908,<br/>
BY<br/>
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
COPYRIGHT, 1936,<br/>
BY<br/>
CARROLL WATSON RANKIN<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
PRINTED IN THE<br/>
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br/>
</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[ii]" id="pgepubid00002"><a id="Page_ii" title="[ii]"></a></span></p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p class="center">
TO<br/>
<br/>
EMILY, PHYLLIS, POLLY<br/>
AND SUZANNE<br/>
</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[iii][iv]" id="pgepubid00003"><a id="Page_iii" title="[iii]"></a><span></span><a id="Page_iv" title="[iv]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00004">CONTENTS</h2>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
<tbody><tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><small>CHAPTER</small></td>
<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">I. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Borrowed Babies</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_1" class="pginternal">1</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">II. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Rosa Marie</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_9" class="pginternal">9</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">III. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mabel's Day</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_18" class="pginternal">18</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">IV. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Unusual Evening</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_27" class="pginternal">27</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">V. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Returning Rosa Marie</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_34" class="pginternal">34</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">VI. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Dark Secret</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_43" class="pginternal">43</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">VII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Discovery</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_52" class="pginternal">52</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">VIII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Fugitive Soldier</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_64" class="pginternal">64</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">IX. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Surprise</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_73" class="pginternal">73</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">X. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Breaking the News</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_83" class="pginternal">83</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XI. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Alarm</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_91" class="pginternal">91</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Fire</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_101" class="pginternal">101</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Heroine's Come-Down</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_111" class="pginternal">111</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIV. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Birthday Party</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-2.htm.html#Page_119" class="pginternal">119</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XV. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Unexpected Treat</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-2.htm.html#Page_130" class="pginternal">130</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVI. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Scattered School</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-2.htm.html#Page_140" class="pginternal">140</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Invitation</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-2.htm.html#Page_151" class="pginternal">151</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XVIII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Obeying Instructions</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-2.htm.html#Page_161" class="pginternal">161</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XIX. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">With Henrietta</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-3.htm.html#Page_173" class="pginternal">173</a><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[v]" id="pgepubid00005"><a id="Page_v" title="[v]"></a></span></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XX. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Call Returned</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-3.htm.html#Page_183" class="pginternal">183</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXI. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Getting Even</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-3.htm.html#Page_195" class="pginternal">195</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Full Afternoon</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-3.htm.html#Page_204" class="pginternal">204</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXIII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Taking a Walk</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-3.htm.html#Page_215" class="pginternal">215</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXIV. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Statue from India</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-3.htm.html#Page_226" class="pginternal">226</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXV. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Comparing Notes</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_237" class="pginternal">237</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXVI. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Christmas Eve</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_248" class="pginternal">248</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXVII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Crowded Day</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_256" class="pginternal">256</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXVIII. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Bettie-less Plan</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_265" class="pginternal">265</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXIX. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Anxious Days</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_275" class="pginternal">275</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="right">XXX. </td>
<td align="left"><span class="smcap">An April Harvest</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_286" class="pginternal">286</a></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table></div>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[vi]" id="pgepubid00006"><a id="Page_vi" title="[vi]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00007">THE PERSONS OF THE STORY</h2>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="cast">
<tbody><tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Bettie Tucker</span>,</td>
<td align="left">aged 12:</td>
<td align="left" class="br bt"> </td>
<td align="left" rowspan="4"> The Cottagers</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Jeanie Mapes</span>,</td>
<td align="left">aged 14:</td>
<td align="left" class="br"> </td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Marjory Vale</span>,</td>
<td align="left">aged 12:</td>
<td align="left" class="br"> </td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Mabel Bennett</span>, </td>
<td align="left">aged 11:</td>
<td align="left" class="br bb"> </td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Rosa Marie</span>: The Unreturnable Baby.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">The Mother of Rosa Marie.</span></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table></div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="cast">
<tbody><tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Anne Halliday</span>:</td>
<td align="left" class="br bt"> </td>
<td align="left" colspan="3" rowspan="3"> Borrowed Babies.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Marcotte Twins</span>:</td><td align="left" class="br"> </td></tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Little Tuckers</span>:</td><td align="left" class="br bb"> </td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Henrietta Bedford</span>: The New Girl.</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table></div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="cast">
<tbody><tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Howard Slater</span>:</td>
<td align="left" class="br bt"> </td>
<td align="left" colspan="3" rowspan="3"> Of Henrietta's Household.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Simmons</span>:</td><td align="left" class="br bb"> </td>
</tr>
</tbody></table></div>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="cast">
<tbody><tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">The Janitor</span>: An Unappreciated Hero.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Dr. Tucker</span>: A Clergyman with More Children than Money.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Dr. Bennett</span>: A Physician.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Mr. Black</span>: A Friend to Children.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Crane</span>: His Sister.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Aunty Jane</span>: Marjory's Sole Visible Relative.</td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Some Mothers and Brothers.</span></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left" colspan="6"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Malony</span>: The Light-hearted Egg-woman.</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table></div>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[vii][viii]" id="pgepubid00008"><a id="Page_vii" title="[vii]"></a><span></span><a id="Page_viii" title="[viii]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00009">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
<tbody><tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">My soul, what are you, anyway</span></td>
<td align="right"><i><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#frontispiece" class="pginternal">Frontispiece</a></i></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left"> </td>
<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Rosa Marie and the sidewalk were one</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-0.htm.html#Page_16" class="pginternal">16</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The sturdy fellow carried her out of the room</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-1.htm.html#Page_112" class="pginternal">112</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The decidedly depressed four started down the street</span></td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-2.htm.html#Page_164" class="pginternal">164</a></td>
</tr>
<tr><td align="left">"<span class="smcap">Another 'eathen God from Hindia</span>"</td>
<td align="right"><a href="2744176449285997359_46059-h-4.htm.html#Page_234" class="pginternal">234</a></td>
</tr>
</tbody></table></div>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[1]" id="pgepubid00010"><a id="Page_1" title="[1]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00011">THE ADOPTING OF ROSA
MARIE</h2>
<hr class="chap"/>
<h2 id="pgepubid00012">CHAPTER I<br/>
<small>Borrowed Babies</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THE oldest inhabitant said that Lakeville
was experiencing an unusual fall.
He would probably have said the same thing
if the high-perched town had accidentally
tumbled off the bluff into the blue lake; but
in this instance, he referred merely to the
weather, which was certainly unusually mild
for autumn.</p>
<p>It was not, however, the oldest, but four
of the youngest citizens that rejoiced most
in this unusual prolonging of summer; for
the continued warm weather made it possible
for those devoted friends, Jean Mapes, Marjory
Vale, Mabel Bennett and little Bettie
Tucker, to spend many a delightful hour in<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[2]" id="pgepubid00013"><a id="Page_2" title="[2]"></a></span>
their precious Dandelion Cottage, the real,
tumble-down house that was now, after so
many narrow escapes, safely their very own.
Some day, to be sure, it would be torn down
to make room for a habitable dwelling, but
that unhappy day was still too remote to
cause any uneasiness.</p>
<p>Of course, when very cold weather should
come, it would be necessary to close the beloved
Cottage, for there was no heating
plant, there were many large cracks over and
under the doors and around the windows;
and by lying very flat on the dining-room
floor and peering under the baseboards, one
could easily see what was happening in the
next yard. These, and other defects, would
surely make the little house uninhabitable in
winter; but while the unexpectedly extended
summer lasted, the Cottagers were rejoicing
over every pleasant moment of weather and
praying hard for other pleasant moments.</p>
<p>Of all the games played in Dandelion Cottage,
the one called "Mother" was the most<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[3]" id="pgepubid00014"><a id="Page_3" title="[3]"></a></span>
popular. To play it, it was necessary, first of
all, to divide the house into four equal parts.
As there were five rooms, this division might
seem to offer no light task; but, by first subtracting
the kitchen, it was possible to solve
this difficult mathematical problem to the
Cottagers' entire satisfaction.</p>
<p>But of course one can't play "Mother"
without possessing a family. The Cottagers
solved this problem also. Bettie's home
could always be counted on to furnish at
least two decidedly genuine babies and Jean
could always borrow a perfectly delightful
little cousin named Anne Halliday; but Marjory
and Mabel, to their sorrow, were absolutely
destitute of infantile relatives. Mabel
was the chief sufferer. Sedate Marjory,
plausible of tongue, convincing in manner,
could easily accumulate a most attractive
family at very short notice by the simple expedient
of borrowing babies from the next
block; but nowhere within reasonable reach
was there a mother willing to intrust her<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[4]" id="pgepubid00015"><a id="Page_4" title="[4]"></a></span>
precious offspring a second time to heedless
Mabel.</p>
<p>"Now, Mabel," Mrs. Mercer would say,
when Mabel pleaded to have young Percival
for her very own for just one brief hour,
"I'd really like to oblige you, but it's getting
late in the season, you are not careful enough
about doors and windows and the last time
you borrowed Percival you brought him
home with a stiff neck that lasted three
days."</p>
<p>"But I did remember to return him,"
pleaded Mabel.</p>
<p>"Do you sometimes forget?" queried
Mrs. Mercer, with interest.</p>
<p>"I did twice," confessed always honest
Mabel; "but truly I don't see how <i>I</i> can help
it when babies sleep and sleep and sleep the
way those two did. You see, I made a bed
for Gerald Price on the lowest-down closet
shelf, and he was so perfectly comfortable
that he thought he was asleep for all night."</p>
<p>"What about the other time?"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[5]" id="pgepubid00016"><a id="Page_5" title="[5]"></a></span></p>
<p>"That was Mollie Dixon. But then, I had
five children that day and only one bed.
Mollie slipped down in the crack at the back—she's
awfully thin—and I never missed
her until her mother came after her. That
was rather a bad time [Mabel sighed at the
recollection] for Mrs. Dixon found the Cottage
locked up for the night and poor little
Mollie crying under the bed."</p>
<p>"Mabel! And you want to borrow my
precious Percival!"</p>
<p>"But it couldn't happen <i>again</i>," protested
Mabel, earnestly. "Bettie says that
I'm just like lightning; I never strike twice
in the same place. That's the reason I get
into so many different kinds of scrapes. I'll
be ever so careful, though, if you'll let me
borrow Percival just this one time."</p>
<p>Mrs. Mercer, however, refused to part
with Percival. Other mothers, approached
by pleading Mabel, refused likewise to intrust
their babies to her enthusiastic but
heedless keeping. They knew her too well.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[6]" id="pgepubid00017"><a id="Page_6" title="[6]"></a></span></p>
<p>"The thing for you to do," suggested
Marjory, ostentatiously washing the perfectly
clean faces of the four delightful
small persons that she had been able, without
any trouble at all, to borrow in Blaker Street,
"is to find a mother that really <i>wants</i> to get
rid of her children."</p>
<p>"Yes," said Bob Tucker, who had dropped
in to deliver the basket of apples that Mrs.
Crane had sent to her former neighbors,
"you ought to advertise for the kind of
mother that feeds her babies to crocodiles.
Perhaps some of them have emigrated to
this country and sort of miss the Ganges
River."</p>
<p>"You might try the orphan asylum," offered
Jean, as balm for this wound. "It's
only four blocks from here."</p>
<p>"I have," returned Mabel, dejectedly.
"I went there early this morning."</p>
<p>"What happened?" demanded Bettie,
who had just arrived with a little Tucker
under each arm.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[7]" id="pgepubid00018"><a id="Page_7" title="[7]"></a></span></p>
<p>"They said they'd let them go 'permanently
to responsible parties.' I didn't
know just exactly what that meant, so I
said: 'Does that mean that you'll lend me a
few for two hours?'"</p>
<p>"And would they?"</p>
<p>"Well, they didn't. They said I'd better
borrow a Teddy bear."</p>
<p>"How mean," said sympathetic Bettie.
"Nevermind, I'll lend you Peter, this time."</p>
<p>"Say," queried Mabel, after she had accepted
Bettie's proffered brother, "what
does 'permanently' mean?"</p>
<p>"For keeps," explained Jean.</p>
<p>"What are 'responsible parties'?"</p>
<p>"Jean and Bettie and I," twinkled Marjory,
"but not you."</p>
<p>"That's good," laughed Bob, who, like
Marjory, loved to tease. "But never mind,
Mabel. After you've practised a year or
two on Peter, who's a nuisance if there ever
was one, you'll find yourself growing
respons—— Whoop! What was that?"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[8]" id="pgepubid00019"><a id="Page_8" title="[8]"></a></span></p>
<p>"That" was a sudden crash that resounded
through the house. Everybody
rushed to the kitchen. The big dish-pan
that Mabel had left on the edge of the
kitchen table was upside down on the floor.
At least half of little Peter Tucker was under
it. But the half that remained outside was
so unmistakably alive that nobody felt very
seriously alarmed—except Peter.</p>
<p>"Thank goodness!" said Mabel, removing
the pan, "this is just a little Tucker and
not any Percival Mercer! Cheer up, Peter.
You're not as wet as you think you are.
There wasn't more than a quart of water in
that pan and it was almost perfectly clean."</p>
<p>And Peter, soothed by Mabel's reassuring
tone, immediately cheered up.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[9]" id="pgepubid00020"><a id="Page_9" title="[9]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00021">CHAPTER II<br/>
<small>Rosa Marie</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">NOT long after Mabel's ineffectual attempt
to borrow an orphan Mrs.
Bennett dispatched her small daughter to
Lake Street to find out, if possible, why Mrs.
Malony, the poultry woman, had failed to
send the week's supply of fresh eggs.</p>
<p>Now, the way to Mrs. Malony's was most
interesting, particularly to a young person
of observing habits. There were houses on
only one side of the street and most of those
were tumbling down under the weight of
the sand that each rain carried down the
hillside. But the opposite side of the road
was even more attractive, for there one had
a grassy, shrubby bank where one could pick
all sorts of things off bushes and get burrs
in one's stockings; a narrow stretch of
pebbled beach where one could sometimes<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[10]" id="pgepubid00022"><a id="Page_10" title="[10]"></a></span>
find an agate, and a wide basin of very shallow
water where one could almost—but not
quite—step from stone to stone without
wetting one's feet. It was certainly an enjoyable
spot. The distance from Mabel's
home to Mrs. Malony's was very short—a
matter of perhaps five blocks. But if a body
went the longest way round, stopped to scour
the green bank for belated blackberries,
prickly hazelnuts, dazzling golden-rod or
rare four-leaved clovers; or loitered to
gather a dress-skirtful of stony treasures
from the glittering beach, going to Mrs.
Malony's meant a great deal more than a
five blocks' journey.</p>
<p>Just a little beyond the poultry woman's
house, on the lake side of the straggling
street, a small, but decidedly attractive point
of land jutted waterward for perhaps two
hundred feet. On this projecting point
stood a small shanty or shack, built, as Mabel
described it later, mostly of knot-holes. She
meant, without knowing how to say it, that<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[11]" id="pgepubid00023"><a id="Page_11" title="[11]"></a></span>
the lumber in the hut was of the poorest
possible quality.</p>
<p>On this long-to-be-remembered day, a
small object moving in the clearing that surrounded
the shack attracted Mabel's attention.
Curiosity led her closer to investigate.</p>
<p>"It's just as I thought!" exclaimed
Mabel, peering rapturously through the
bushes. "It's a real baby!"</p>
<p>Sure enough! It <i>was</i> a baby.</p>
<p>Mabel edged closer, moving cautiously for
fear of frightening her unexpected find.
She saw a small toddler, aged somewhere
between two and three years, roving aimlessly
about the chip-strewn clearing. The
child's round cheeks, chubby wrists, bare feet
and sturdy legs were richly brown. A
straggling fringe of jet-black hair overhung
the stout baby's black, beadlike eyes.</p>
<p>Near the doorway of the rickety shack a
man, half French, half Indian, stood talking
earnestly and with many gesticulations to
a dark-skinned woman, framed by the doorway.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[12]" id="pgepubid00024"><a id="Page_12" title="[12]"></a></span>
The woman had large black eyes,
shaded by very long black lashes. She wore
her rather coarse black hair in two long,
thick braids that hung in front of her straight
shoulders. In spite of her dark color, her
worn shoes, her ragged, untidy gown, she
seemed to Mabel an exceedingly pretty
woman. The man, too, was handsome, after
a bold, picturesque fashion; but the woman
was the more pleasing.</p>
<p>Mabel approached timidly. She felt that
she was intruding.</p>
<p>"Good-morning," said she, ingratiatingly.
"Is this your little boy?"</p>
<p>"Him girl," returned the woman, with a
sudden flash of white teeth between parted
crimson lips. "Name Rosa Marie. Yes,
him <i>ma petite</i> daughtaire. You like the
looks on him, hey?"</p>
<p>"Oh, so much," cried Mabel, impulsively.
"Oh, <i>would</i> you do me a favor?"</p>
<p>"A favaire," repeated the woman, with a
puzzled glance. "W'at ees a favaire?"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[13]" id="pgepubid00025"><a id="Page_13" title="[13]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Oh, <i>would</i> you lend your baby to me?
Would you let me have her to play with
for—— Oh, for all day?"</p>
<p>"Here?" queried the mother, doubtfully.</p>
<p>"No, not here. In my own home—up
there, on the hill. <i>Could</i> I keep her until
six o'clock? I just adore babies, and she's
so fat and cunning! Oh, please, <i>please</i>!
I'd be just awfully obliged."</p>
<p>A look of understanding flashed suddenly
between the man and the woman; but Mabel,
stooping to make friends with little Rosa
Marie, did not observe it.</p>
<p>"Your fodder 'ave nice house, plainty
food, plainty money?" queried the woman,
running a speculative eye over Mabel's plain
but substantial wardrobe.</p>
<p>"Oh yes," returned Mabel, thoughtlessly.
"And besides I have a playhouse. That is,
it isn't exactly mine, but I just about live in
it with three other girls, and that's where I
want to take Rosa Marie. I'll be awfully
careful of her if you'll only let me take her.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[14]" id="pgepubid00026"><a id="Page_14" title="[14]"></a></span>
Oh, <i>do</i> you think she'll come with me?
Couldn't you <i>tell</i> her to?"</p>
<p>The woman, bending to look into Rosa
Marie's black eyes, talked loudly and rapidly
in some foreign tongue. The mother's voice
was harsh, but her eyes, Mabel noticed,
seemed soft and tender, and much more
beautiful than Rosa Marie's.</p>
<p>"Now," said the woman, turning to
Mabel and speaking in broken English, "eef
you want her, you must go at once. Go now,
I tell you. Go queek, queek! Pull hard eef
she ees drag behind. But go, I tell
you, <i>go</i>!"</p>
<p>The voice rose to an unpleasant, almost
too stirring pitch that jarred suddenly on
Mabel's nerves; but, obeying these hasty instructions,
the little girl drew Rosa Marie
out of the inclosure, led her across the street
and lifted her to the sidewalk. Looking
back from the slight elevation, Mabel
noticed that the man was again talking
earnestly and gesticulating excitedly; while<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[15]" id="pgepubid00027"><a id="Page_15" title="[15]"></a></span>
the woman, once more framed by the doorway,
followed, with her big black eyes, the
chubby figure of Rosa Marie.</p>
<p>"I'll bring her back all safe and sound,"
shouted Mabel, over her shoulder. "Don't
be afraid. Good-by, until six o'clock!"</p>
<p>Escorting Rosa Marie to Dandelion Cottage
proved no light task. Her legs were
very short, it soon became evident that she
was not accustomed to using them for walking
purposes, the way was mostly uphill
and the little brown feet were bare. At first
Mabel led, coaxed and encouraged with the
utmost patience; but presently Rosa Marie
sat heavily on the sidewalk and refused to
rise. That is, she didn't <i>say</i> that she
wouldn't rise. She remained sitting with
such firmness of purpose that it seemed
hopeless to attempt to break her of the habit.</p>
<p>Mabel walked round and round her firmly
seated charge in helpless despair. Rosa
Marie and the sidewalk were one.</p>
<p>"Want any help?" asked a friendly voice.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[16]" id="pgepubid00028"><a id="Page_16" title="[16]"></a></span>
It belonged to a large, freckled boy who was
carrying two pails of water from the lake
to one of the tumble-down houses.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 315px;">
<span id="id-3856482912959562301">Toddler on sidewalk with girl trying to lift her</span>
<div class="caption" id="ebm_caption1">ROSA MARIE AND THE SIDEWALK WERE ONE.</div>
</div>
<p>"Yes, I do," responded Mabel, promptly.
"If you could just lift this child high
enough for me to get hold of her I think I
could carry her."</p>
<p>So the boy, setting his pails down, obligingly
lifted Rosa Marie's solid little person,
Mabel clasped the barrel-shaped body closely,
and, after a word of thanks to the kind boy,
proceeded homeward. But even now her
troubles were not ended. By silently refusing
to cuddle, Rosa Marie converted herself
into a most uncomfortable burden. Her entire
body was a silent protest against leaving
her home.</p>
<p>"Do make yourself soft and bunchy,"
pleaded Mabel, giving Rosa Marie sundry
pokes, calculated to make her double up like
a jack-knife. "Here, bend this way. <i>Haven't</i>
you any joints anywhere? Do hold tight
with your arms and legs. <i>This</i> way.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[17]" id="pgepubid00029"><a id="Page_17" title="[17]"></a></span>
Pshaw! You're just like a stuffed crocodile.
Well, <i>walk</i> then, if you can't hang on like a
real child. There's one thing certain, you
shan't sit down again. I s'pose we'll get
there <i>sometime</i>."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[18]" id="pgepubid00030"><a id="Page_18" title="[18]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00031">CHAPTER III<br/>
<small>Mabel's Day</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">ALMOST hopeless as it seemed at times,
Mabel and the silent brown baby
finally reached Dandelion Cottage. There
they found Jean, seated in a chair with her
lovely little cousin Anne Halliday perched
like a pink and white blossom on the edge
of the dining table before her, tying Anne's
bewitching yellow curls with wide pink
ribbons. Anne was a perpetual delight, for,
besides being a picture during every moment
of the long day, her ways were so quaint
and so attractive that no one could help
admiring her.</p>
<p>Marjory, her countenance carefully arranged
to depict the deepest sorrow, stood
guard over the Marcotte twins, who, touchingly
covered with nasturtiums, were laid out
on the parlor cozy corner, awaiting burial.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[19]" id="pgepubid00032"><a id="Page_19" title="[19]"></a></span>
Their blue eyes blinked and their pink toes
twitched; but, on the whole, they played
their parts in a most satisfactory manner.</p>
<p>Bettie, with two small but attractive
Tucker babies clinging to her brief skirts,
was exclaiming: "These are my jewels,"
when tired, dusty Mabel, pushing reluctant
Rosa Marie before her, walked in.</p>
<p>"For mercy's sake, what's that!" gasped
Jean, sweeping Anne Halliday into her protecting
arms.</p>
<p>"Is—is it something the cat dragged in?"
asked Marjory.</p>
<p>"Is—<i>can</i> it be a <i>real</i> child?" demanded
Bettie.</p>
<p>"This," announced Mabel, with dignity,
"is <i>my</i> child. Her name is Rosa Marie—with
all the distress on the <i>ee</i>."</p>
<p>"The distress seems to be all over both
of you," giggled Marjory.</p>
<p>"That's just dust," explained Mabel.</p>
<p>"Did you both roll home like a pair of
barrels?" queried Jean, "or did the Village<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[20]" id="pgepubid00033"><a id="Page_20" title="[20]"></a></span>
Improvement folks use you to dust the sidewalks?"</p>
<p>"What's the matter with that child's complexion?"
demanded Marjory. "Is she
tanned?"</p>
<p>"Coming home took long enough for us
both to get tanned," returned Mabel, crossly,
"but Rosa Marie's French, I guess."</p>
<p>"French! French nothing!" exclaimed
Marjory. "She's nothing but a little wild
Indian. Look at her hair. Look at her
small black eyes. Look at her high cheekbones.
Where in the world did you get
her?"</p>
<p>Mabel explained. For once, the girls
listened with the most flattering attention.
Anne Halliday bobbed her pretty head to
punctuate each sentence, the Tucker babies
stood in silence with their mouths open, even
the nicely laid-out Marcotte twins on the
sofa sat up to hear the tale.</p>
<p>"And she's all mine until six o'clock,"
concluded Mabel, triumphantly.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[21]" id="pgepubid00034"><a id="Page_21" title="[21]"></a></span></p>
<p>"If she were mine," said Jean, "I'd give
her a bath."</p>
<p>"I'd give her two," giggled Marjory.</p>
<p>So Mabel, assisted by Jean, Marjory,
Bettie, little Anne, the two Tucker babies
and the now very much alive Marcotte twins
gave Rosa Marie a bath in the dish-pan.
Although they changed the water as fast as
they could heat more in the tea-kettle,
although they used a whole bar of strong
yellow soap, two teaspoonfuls of washing
powder and a <i>very</i> scratchy washcloth
lathered with Sapolio, Rosa Marie, who bore
it all with stolid patience, was still richly
brown from head to heels, when she emerged
from her bath.</p>
<p>"Let's play Pocohontis!" cried Marjory,
seizing the feather duster. "Put feathers
in her hair and drape her in my brown petticoat.
I'll be Captain John Smith in Bob
Tucker's rubber boots."</p>
<p>"You won't either," retorted Mabel, indignantly.
"I guess, after I dragged this<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[22]" id="pgepubid00035"><a id="Page_22" title="[22]"></a></span>
child all the way up here to play 'Mother'
with, I'm not going to have her used for any
old Pocohontises. She's my child, and I'm
going to have the entire use of her while she
lasts."</p>
<p>"After all," replied Marjory, cuttingly,
"I don't want her. I'm sure <i>I</i> wouldn't
care for any of <i>that</i> colored children. The
usual shade is quite good enough for me."</p>
<p>But, while the novelty lasted and in spite
of Marjory's declaration, Rosa Marie was a
distinct success. Little Anne Halliday's
cunningest ways and quaintest speeches went
unheeded when Rosa Marie refused to wear
shoes and stockings. She had never worn
a shoe, and, without uttering a word, she
made it plain that she had no intention of
hampering her pudgy brown feet with the
cast-off footgear of the young Tuckers.</p>
<p>Neither would she wear clothes, until Jean
showed her the solitary garment she had
arrived in, now soaking in a pan of soapy
water. After they had arrayed her in a<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[23]" id="pgepubid00036"><a id="Page_23" title="[23]"></a></span>
long-sleeved apron of Anne's—it didn't go
round, but had to be helped out with a
cheese-cloth duster—it was evident that the
unaccustomed whiteness bothered her. She
was not used to being so remarkably stiff
and clean.</p>
<p>The Marcotte twins, again prepared for
burial, quarrelled most engagingly as to
which should be buried under the apple-tree,
both preferring that fruitful resting-place
to the barren waste under the snowball
bush; but nobody listened because Rosa
Marie was doing extraordinary things with
her bowl of bread and milk. Having
lapped the milk like a cat, she was deftly
chasing the crumbs round the bowl with a
greedy and experienced tongue. It was
plain that Rosa Marie had no table manners.</p>
<p>As for the infantile Tuckers, they were
an old story. On this occasion they
crawled into the corner cupboard and went
to sleep and nobody missed them for a whole
hour, just because Rosa Marie was emitting<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[24]" id="pgepubid00037"><a id="Page_24" title="[24]"></a></span>
queer little startled grunts every time Marjory's
best doll wailed "Mam-mah!" "Pap-pah!"
for her benefit. There was no doubt
about it, Rosa Marie was decidedly
amusing.</p>
<p>The day passed swiftly; much too swiftly,
Mabel thought. Very much mothered
Rosa Marie, who had obligingly consumed
an amazing amount of milk—all, indeed,
that the Cottagers had been able to procure—started
homeward, towed by Mabel. That
elated young person had declined all offers
of company; she coveted the full glory of
returning Rosa Marie to her rightful guardian.
Mabel, indeed, was visibly swollen
with pride. She had given the Cottagers a
most unusual treat. She had not only surprised
them by proving that she <i>could</i> borrow
a baby, but had kept them amused and
entertained every moment of the day. It
had certainly been a red-letter day in the
annals of Dandelion Cottage.</p>
<p>Mabel more than half expected to meet<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[25]" id="pgepubid00038"><a id="Page_25" title="[25]"></a></span>
Rosa Marie's mother at the very first corner.
The other real mothers had always seemed
desirous—over desirous, Mabel thought—of
welcoming their home-coming babies back
to the fold; but the mother of Rosa Marie,
apparently, was of a less grudging disposition.</p>
<p>Mabel laboriously escorted her reluctant
charge to the very door of the shanty without
encountering any welcoming parent.
The borrower of Rosa Marie knocked. No
one came. She tried the door. It was
locked.</p>
<p>"How queer!" said Mabel. "Seems to
me I'd be on hand if I had an engagement at
exactly six o'clock. But then, I always <i>am</i>
late."</p>
<p>Dragging an empty wooden box to the
side of the house, Mabel climbed to the high,
decidedly smudgy window and peered in.</p>
<p>There was no one inside. There was no
fire in the battered stove. The doors of a
rough cupboard opposite the window stood<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[26]" id="pgepubid00039"><a id="Page_26" title="[26]"></a></span>
open, disclosing the fact that the cupboard
was bare. There were no bedclothes in the
rough bunk that served for a bed; no dishes
on the table; no clothing hanging from the
hooks on the wall. Both inside and outside
the house wore a strangely deserted aspect.
It seemed to say: "Nobody lives here now,
nobody ever did live here, nobody ever will
live here."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[27]" id="pgepubid00040"><a id="Page_27" title="[27]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00041">CHAPTER IV<br/>
<small>An Unusual Evening</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">MABEL looked in dismay at Rosa
Marie.</p>
<p>"Where do you s'pose your mother is?"
she demanded.</p>
<p>It was useless, however, to question Rosa
Marie. That stolid young person was as
uncommunicative as what Marjory called
"the little stuffed Indians in the Washington
Museum." The Indians to whom Marjory
referred were made of wax. Rosa
Marie seemed more like a little wooden
Indian. The countenance of little Anne
Halliday changed with every moment; but
Rosa Marie's wore only one expression.
Perhaps it had only one to wear.</p>
<p>"I say," said Mabel, gently shaking her
small brown charge by the shoulders, "where<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[28]" id="pgepubid00042"><a id="Page_28" title="[28]"></a></span>
does your mother usually go when she isn't
home?"</p>
<p>A surprised grunt was the only response.</p>
<p>Rosa Marie, too suddenly released, sat
heavily on the ground, thoughtfully
scratched up the surface and filled her lap
with handfuls of loose, unattractive earth.</p>
<p>"Goodness! What an untidy child!"
cried Mabel, snatching her up and shaking
her, although Rosa Marie's weight made her
youthful guardian stagger. "I wanted
your mother to see you clean, for once.
Here, sit on this stick of wood. I s'pose
we'll just have to wait and wait until somebody
comes. Well, <i>sit</i> in the sand if you
want to. I'm tired of picking you up."</p>
<p>Rosa Marie's home was in rather an attractive
spot. The big, quiet lake was
smooth as glass, and every object along its
picturesque bank was mirrored faithfully in
the quiet depths. The western sky was
faintly tinged with red. Against it the
spires and tall roofs of the town stood out<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[29]" id="pgepubid00043"><a id="Page_29" title="[29]"></a></span>
sharply; but at this quiet hour they seemed
very far away.</p>
<p>Mabel, seated on the wooden box that she
had placed under the window, leaned back
against the house and clasped her hands
about her knees, while she gazed dreamily
at the picture and listened with enjoyment
to the faint lap of the quiet water on the
pebbled beach.</p>
<p>Both Mabel and Rosa Marie had had a
busy day. Both had taken unusual exercise.
And now all the sights and sounds were
soothing, soothing.</p>
<p>You can guess what happened. Both little
girls fell asleep. Rosa Marie, flat on her
stomach, pillowed her head on her chubby
arms. Mabel's head, drooping slowly forward,
grew heavier and heavier until finally
it touched her knees.</p>
<p>An hour later, the sleepy head had grown
so very heavy that it pulled Mabel right off
the box and tumbled her over in a confused,
astonished heap on the ground.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[30]" id="pgepubid00044"><a id="Page_30" title="[30]"></a></span></p>
<p>"My goodness!" gasped Mabel, still on
hands and knees. "Where am I, anyway?
Is this Saturday or Sunday? Why! It's all
dark. This—this isn't my room—why!
why! I'm outdoors! How did I get outdoors?"</p>
<p>Mabel stood up, took a step forward,
stumbled over Rosa Marie and went down
on all-fours.</p>
<p>"What's that!" gasped bewildered Mabel,
groping with her hands. She felt the rough
black head, the plump body, the round legs,
the bare feet of her sleeping charge.
Memory returned.</p>
<p>"Why! It's Rosa Marie, and we're waiting
here by the lake for her mother. It—ugh!
It must be midnight!"</p>
<p>But it wasn't. It was just exactly twenty
minutes after seven o'clock but, with the
autumn sun gone early to bed, it certainly
seemed very much later. The house was
still deserted.</p>
<p>"I guess," said Mabel, feeling about in<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[31]" id="pgepubid00045"><a id="Page_31" title="[31]"></a></span>
the dark for Rosa Marie's fat hand, "we'd
better go home—or some place. Come,
Rosa Marie, wake up. I'm going to take
you home with me. Oh, <i>please</i> wake up.
There's nobody here but us. It's way in the
middle of the night and there might be <i>any</i>thing
in those awfully black bushes."</p>
<p>But Rosa Marie, deprived of her noontide
nap, slumbered on. Mabel shook her.</p>
<p>"Do hurry," pleaded frightened Mabel.
"I don't like it here."</p>
<p>It was anything but an easy task for Mabel
to drag the sleeping child to her feet, but she
did it. Rosa Marie, however, immediately
dropped to earth again. During the day she
had seemed stiff; but now, unfortunately,
she proved most distressingly limber. She
seemed, in fact, to possess more than the
usual number of joints, and discouraged
Mabel began to fear that each joint was reversible.</p>
<p>"Goodness!" breathed Mabel, when Rosa
Marie's knees failed for the seventh time,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[32]" id="pgepubid00046"><a id="Page_32" title="[32]"></a></span>
"it seems wicked to shake you <i>very</i> hard,
but I've got to."</p>
<p>Even with vigorous and prolonged shakings
it took time to get Rosa Marie firmly
established on her feet, and the children had
walked more than a block of the homeward
way before Rosa Marie opened one blinking
eye under the street lamp.</p>
<p>If it had been difficult to make the uphill
journey in broad daylight with Rosa Marie
wide awake and moderately willing, it was
now a doubly difficult matter with that young
person half or three-quarters asleep and most
decidedly unwilling.</p>
<p>"I wish to goodness," grumbled Mabel,
stumbling along in the dark, "that I'd borrowed
a real baby and not a heathen."</p>
<p>The longest journey has an end. The
children reached Dandelion Cottage at last.
Mabel found the key, unlocked the door,
tumbled Rosa Marie, clothes and all, into the
middle of the spare-room bed; waited just
long enough to make certain that the Indian<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[33]" id="pgepubid00047"><a id="Page_33" title="[33]"></a></span>
baby slept; then, reassured by gentle, half-breed
snores, Mabel, still supposing the time
to be midnight, ran home, climbed into her
own bed nearly an hour earlier than usual
and was soon sound asleep. Her mind was
too full of other matters to wonder why the
front door was unlocked at so late an hour.</p>
<p>Mrs. Bennett, dressing to go to a party,
heard her daughter come in.</p>
<p>"How fortunate!" said she. "Now I
shan't have to go to Jean's and Marjory's
and Bettie's to hunt for Mabel. She must
be tired to-night—she doesn't often go to
bed so early."</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[34]" id="pgepubid00048"><a id="Page_34" title="[34]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00049">CHAPTER V<br/>
<small>Returning Rosa Marie</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">EARLY the next morning, Jean, needing
her thimble to sew on a vitally necessary
button, ran to the supposedly empty cottage
to get it. Taking the short cut through
the Tuckers' back yard she found Bettie
feeding Billy, the seagull, one of Bob's
numerous pets.</p>
<p>"Billy always wakes everybody up crying
for his breakfast," explained thoughtful little
Bettie. "Bob's spending a week at the
Ormsbees' camp, so I have to get up to feed
Billy so father can sleep."</p>
<p>"Why don't the other boys do it?"</p>
<p>"Mercy! <i>They'd</i> sleep through anything.
Going to the Cottage?"</p>
<p>"Yes, come with me," returned Jean,
"while I get my thimble. It's so big that it
almost takes two to carry it."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[35]" id="pgepubid00050"><a id="Page_35" title="[35]"></a></span></p>
<p>"All right," laughed Bettie, crawling
through the hole in the fence.</p>
<p>Jean's thimble was a standing joke. A
stout and prudent godmother had bestowed
a very large one on the little girl so that Jean
would be in no danger of outgrowing the
gift. Jean was now living in hopes of sometime
growing big enough to fit the thimble.</p>
<p>"Why!" exclaimed Jean, after a brief
search, "the key isn't under the doormat!
Where do you s'pose it's gone?"</p>
<p>"Here it is in the door. But how in the
world did it get there? I locked that door
myself last night and tucked the key under
the mat. I <i>know</i> I did."</p>
<p>"I saw you do it," corroborated Jean.</p>
<p>"Perhaps Marjory's inside."</p>
<p>"It isn't Mabel, anyway. She's always
the last one up."</p>
<p>"Mercy me!" cried Bettie, who had been
peeking into the different rooms to see if
Marjory were inside. "Come here, Jean.
Just look at this!"</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[36]" id="pgepubid00051"><a id="Page_36" title="[36]"></a></span></p>
<p>"This" was brown little Rosa Marie sitting
up in the middle of the pink and white
spare-room bed, like, as Bettie put it, a brown
bee in the heart of a rose. Her small dark
countenance was absolutely expressionless, so
there was no way of discovering what <i>she</i>
thought about it all.</p>
<p>"My sakes!" exclaimed Jean, with indignation,
"that lazy Mabel never took her
home, after all! Why! We'll have a whole
band of wild Indians coming to scalp us
right after breakfast! How <i>could</i> she have
been so careless. This is the worst she's
done yet."</p>
<p>"But it's just like Mabel," said Bettie,
giving vent, for once, to her disapproval of
Mabel's thoughtlessness. "She likes things
ever so much at first. Then she simply forgets
that they ever existed."</p>
<p>"Who forgets?" demanded Mabel, bouncing
in at the front door.</p>
<p>"You," returned Jean and Bettie, with
one accusing voice.</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[37]" id="pgepubid00052"><a id="Page_37" title="[37]"></a></span></p>
<p>"Prove it."</p>
<p>"You forgot to take Rosa Marie home
last night."</p>
<p>"I never did. I took her every inch of
the way home, stayed with her all alone in
the dark for pretty nearly a <i>year</i>, and then
had to bring her all the way back again,
walking in her sleep. So there, now!"</p>
<p>"But why in the world didn't you leave
her with her own folks?"</p>
<p>"Her horrid mother wasn't there. And
between 'em, I didn't get any supper and
only a little sleep."</p>
<p>"But what are you going to do?" queried
astonished Jean.</p>
<p>"After she drinks this quart of milk," explained
Mabel, "I'm going to take her home
again."</p>
<p>"Where did you get so much milk?"
asked Bettie, suspiciously.</p>
<p>Mabel colored furiously. "I begged it
from the milkman," she confessed. "That's
why I'm up so early. I've been sitting on<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[38]" id="pgepubid00053"><a id="Page_38" title="[38]"></a></span>
our kitchen doorstep for two hours, waiting
for him to come."</p>
<p>Mabel spent all that day industriously returning
Rosa Marie to a home that had
locked its doors against her. No pretty,
dark, French mother stood in the doorway.
No tall, dark man wandered about the yard.
No neighbor came from the tumbling houses
across the street to explain the woman's
puzzling absence.</p>
<p>It proved a most tiresome day. Mabel
was not only mentally weary from trying to
solve the mystery, but physically tired also
from dragging Rosa Marie up and down the
hill between Dandelion Cottage and the
child's deserted home. The girls went with
her once, but, having satisfied their curiosity
as to Rosa Marie's abiding-place, turned
their attention to pleasanter tasks. Walking
with Rosa Marie was too much like
traveling with a snail. One such journey
was enough.</p>
<p>Moreover, Mabel's pride had suffered. A<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[39]" id="pgepubid00054"><a id="Page_39" title="[39]"></a></span>
grinning boy, looking from plump Mabel's
ruddy countenance to fat Rosa Marie's expressionless
brown one, had asked wickedly:</p>
<p>"Is that your sister? You look enough
alike to be twins."</p>
<p>After that, Mabel feared that other persons
might mistake the small brown person
for a relative of hers, or, worse yet, mistake
her for an Indian.</p>
<p>"Goodness me!" groaned Mabel, toiling
homeward from her second trip, "it was
hard enough to borrow a baby, but it's
enough sight worse getting rid of one afterwards.
There's one thing certain; I'll <i>never</i>
borrow another."</p>
<p>Late in the day Mabel thought of
Mrs. Malony, the egg-woman. Perhaps she
would know what had become of Rosa
Marie's vanished mother. Dropping Rosa
Marie inside the gate, Mabel knocked at
Mrs. Malony's door.</p>
<p>"The folks that lived in the shanty beyant?"
asked Mrs. Malony. "Sure, darlint,<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[40]" id="pgepubid00055"><a id="Page_40" title="[40]"></a></span>
nobody's lived there for years and years save
gipsies and tramps and such like."</p>
<p>"But day before yesterday—no, yesterday
morning—I saw a young Frenchwoman——"</p>
<p>"A black-eyed gal wid two long braids
and wan small Injin? Sure, Oi know the
wan you mane. Her man, Injin Pete, died
a month ago, some two days after they come
to the shack."</p>
<p>"But where is she now?" asked Mabel.</p>
<p>"Lord love ye," returned Mrs. Malony,
"how wud Oi be after knowin'? She came
and she wint, like the rest av thim."</p>
<p>"There was a man—not a gentleman and
not exactly a tramp—talking to her yesterday.
Perhaps you know where <i>he</i> is. I
couldn't find <i>anybody</i>."</p>
<p>"Depind upon it," said Mrs. Malony,
easily, "she's gone wid him. She's Mrs.
Somebody Else by now, and good riddance
to the pair av thim."</p>
<p>"But," objected Mabel, drawing the<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[41]" id="pgepubid00056"><a id="Page_41" title="[41]"></a></span>
branches of a small shrub aside and disclosing
Rosa Marie sprawling on the ground behind
it, "she left her baby."</p>
<p>"The Nation, she did!" gasped Mrs.
Malony, for once surprised out of her serenity.
"Wud ye think of thot, now!"</p>
<p>"I've <i>been</i> thinking of it," returned
Mabel, miserably. "And I don't know what
in the world to do. You see, she left the
baby with <i>me</i>."</p>
<p>"Take her home wid ye," advised Mrs.
Malony, hastily; so hastily that it looked as
if the Irishwoman feared that <i>she</i> might be
asked to mother Rosa Marie. "I'll kape an
eye on the shack for ye. If that good-for-nothin'
black-haired wan comes back, Oi'll
be up wid the news in two shakes of a dead
lamb's tail, so Oi will. In the mane toime,
be a mother to thot innocent babe yourself.
She needs wan if iver a choild did."</p>
<p>"I've been that for two whole days now,"
groaned Mabel.</p>
<p>"Thot's right, thot's right," encouraged<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[42]" id="pgepubid00057"><a id="Page_42" title="[42]"></a></span>
Mrs. Malony. "Ye were just cut out for
thot same. Good luck go wid ye."</p>
<p>Rosa Marie spent a second night in the
spare room of Dandelion Cottage. She, at
least, seemed utterly indifferent as to her
fate.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[43]" id="pgepubid00058"><a id="Page_43" title="[43]"></a></span></p>
<h2 id="pgepubid00059">CHAPTER VI<br/>
<small>The Dark Secret</small></h2>
<p class="drop-cap">THE four Cottagers sat in solemn conclave
round the dining-room table next
morning. Rosa Marie, flat on her stomach
on the floor, lapped milk like a cat and
licked the bowl afterwards; but now no one
paid the slightest attention.</p>
<p>"I think," said Jean, removing her elbows
from the table, "that we'd better tell our
mothers and Aunty Jane all about it at once.
They'll know what to do."</p>
<p>"So do I," said Marjory.</p>
<p>"So do I," echoed Bettie.</p>
<p>"<i>I</i> don't," protested Mabel, whose hitherto
serene countenance now showed signs of
great anxiety. "If you ever tell <i>anybody</i>,
I'll—I'll never speak to you again. This
joke—if it <i>is</i> a joke—is on <i>me</i>. I got into
this scrape and it's <i>my</i> scrape."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[44]" id="pgepubid00060"><a id="Page_44" title="[44]"></a></span></p>
<p>"But," objected Jean, "we always do tell
our mothers everything. That's why they
trust us to play all by ourselves in Dandelion
Cottage."</p>
<p>"Give me just a few days," pleaded
Mabel. "Perhaps that woman got kept
away by some accident. I'm sure Rosa
Marie's mother has mother feelings inside of
her, <i>some</i> place—I saw 'em in her face when
I was leading Rosa Marie away. I <i>know</i>
she'll come back. Until she does, I'll take
care of that poor deserted child myself."</p>
<p>"It's a blessing she never cries, anyway,"
observed Bettie. "If she were a howling
child I don't know <i>what</i> we'd do. As it is,
she's not <i>much</i> more trouble than a Teddy
bear."</p>
<p>If Mrs. Mapes hadn't had a missionary
box in her cellar to pack for Reservation
Indians of assorted sizes and shapes with the
cast-off garments of all Lakeville; if Mrs.
Bennett had not been exceedingly busy with
a seamstress getting ready to go out of town<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[45]" id="pgepubid00061"><a id="Page_45" title="[45]"></a></span>
for an important visit; if Aunty Jane had
not been even busier trying to make green
tomato pickles out of ripe tomatoes; if Mrs.
Tucker had not been too anxious about the
throats of the youngest three Tuckers to give
heed to the doings of the larger members
of her family, these four good women would
surely have discovered that something unusual
was taking place under the Cottage
roof. As it was, not one of the mothers,
not even sharp Aunty Jane, discovered that
the Cottagers were borrowing an amazing
amount of milk from their respective refrigerators.</p>
<p>The novelty worn off, Rosa Marie became
a heavy burden to at least three of the Cottagers'
tender consciences. Mabel's conscience
may have troubled her, but not enough
to be noticed by a pair of moderately
careless parents. Mabel, however, grew
more and more attached to Rosa Marie; the
others did not. To tell the truth, the borrowed
infant was not an attractive child.<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[46]" id="pgepubid00062"><a id="Page_46" title="[46]"></a></span>
Many small Indians are decidedly pretty,
but Rosa Marie was not. Her small eyes
were too close together, her upper lip was
much too long for the rest of her countenance
and her large mouth turned sharply down
at the corners. But loyal Mabel was blind
to these defects. She saw only the babyish
roundness of Rosa Marie's body, the cunning
dimples in her elbows and the affectionate
gleam that sometimes showed in the
small black eyes. But then, it was always
Mabel who found beauty in the stray dogs
and cats that no one else would have on the
premises. During these trying days the
Cottagers <i>almost</i> quarreled.</p>
<p>"That child is all cheeks," complained
Marjory, petulantly. "They positively hang
down. Do you suppose we're giving her too
much milk? She's disgustingly fat, and she
hasn't any figure."</p>
<p>"She has altogether too much figure," declared
Jean, almost crossly. "I fastened
this little petticoat around what I <i>thought</i><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[47]" id="pgepubid00063"><a id="Page_47" title="[47]"></a></span>
was her waist and it slid right off. So
now I've got to make buttonholes. Such a
nuisance!"</p>
<p>"Pity you can't use tacks and a hammer,"
giggled Marjory.</p>
<p>The clothing of Rosa Marie had presented
another distressing problem. She owned
absolutely nothing in the way of a wardrobe.
The single, unattractive garment she had
worn on her arrival had not survived the
girls' attempts to wash it. They had left it
boiling on the stove, the water had cooked
off and the faded gingham had cooked also.</p>
<p>To make up for this accident, all four of
the Cottagers had contributed all they could
find of their own cast-off garments; but
these of course were much too large without
considerable making over.</p>
<p>"If," said Jean, reproachfully, as she took
a large tuck in the grown-up stocking that
she was trying to re-model for Rosa Marie,
"you'd only let me tell my mother, she'd
give us every blessed thing we need. One<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[48]" id="pgepubid00064"><a id="Page_48" title="[48]"></a></span>
live little Indian in the hand ought to be
worth more to her than a whole dozen invisible
ones on a way-off Reservation; and
you know she's always doing things for
<i>them</i>."</p>
<p>"Jeanie Mapes!" threatened Mabel, "if
you tell her, that's the very last breath I'll
ever speak to you."</p>
<p>"I'll be good," sighed Jean, "but I just
hate <i>not</i> telling her. And this horrid stocking
is <i>still</i> too long."</p>
<p>"Button it about her neck," giggled Marjory,
who flatly declined to do any sewing
for Rosa Marie. "That'll take up the slack
and save making her a shirt."</p>
<p>"Don't bother about stockings," said Bettie,
fishing a round lump from her blouse.
"Here's a pair of old ones that I found in
the rag bag. One's black and the other's
tan; but they're exactly the right size and
that's <i>something</i>."</p>
<p>"What's the use," demurred Marjory.
"She won't wear them."</p>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[49]" id="pgepubid00065"><a id="Page_49" title="[49]"></a></span></p>
<p>"If Rosa Marie were about eight shades
slimmer," said Jean, "I could easily get
some of Anne Halliday's dear little dresses—her
mother gave my mother a lot day before
yesterday for that Reservation box; but
goodness! You'd have to sew two of them
together sideways to get them around <i>that</i>
child."</p>
<p>"She <i>is</i> awfully thick," admitted Mabel.</p>
<p>Yet, after all, dressing Rosa Marie was
not exactly a hardship. Indeed, it is probable
that the difficulties that stood in the way
made the task only so much the more interesting;
then, of course, dressing a real
child was much more exciting than making
garments for a mere doll.</p>
<p>Whenever the Cottagers spoke of Rosa
Marie outside the Cottage they referred to
her as the D. S. D. S. stood for "Dark
Secret." This seemed singularly appropriate,
for Rosa Marie was certainly dark and
quite as certainly a most tremendous secret—a
far larger and darker secret than the<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[50]" id="pgepubid00066"><a id="Page_50" title="[50]"></a></span>
troubled girls cared to keep, but there seemed
to be no immediate way out of it.</p>
<p>Fortunately, the stolid little "D. S." was
amiable to an astonishing degree. She never
cried. Also, she "stayed put." If Mabel
stood her in the corner she stayed there. If
she were tucked into bed, there she remained
until some one dragged her out. She spent
her days rolling contentedly about the Cottage
floor, her nights in deep, calm slumber.
Never was there a youngster with fewer
wants. Teaching Rosa Marie to talk furnished
the Cottagers with great amusement.
The round brown damsel very evidently preferred
grunts to words; but she was always
willing to grunt obligingly when Mabel or
the others insisted.</p>
<p>"Say, 'This little pig went to market,'"
Mabel would prompt.</p>
<p>"Eigh, ugh, ugh, ee, ee, <i>ee</i>, hee!" Rosa
Marie would grunt.</p>
<p>Then, when everybody else laughed her
very hardest, Rosa Marie's grim little mouth<span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[51]" id="pgepubid00067"><a id="Page_51" title="[51]"></a></span>
would relax to show for an instant the row
of white teeth that Mabel scrubbed industriously
many times a day. This rare smile
made the borrowed baby almost attractive.
But not to Marjory. From the first, Marjory
regarded her with strong disapproval.</p>
<p>Fortunately for Mabel's secret, little Anne
Halliday, the Marcotte twins and the two
Tucker babies were too small to tell tales out
of school, so in spite of sundry narrow
escapes, Rosa Marie remained as dark a
secret as one's heart could desire.</p>
<hr class="chap"/>
<p><span class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="[52]" id="pgepubid00068"><a id="Page_52" title="[52]"></a></span></p>
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