Nothing had been heard of Jenny Lind. Jimmie Bronson had made a surreptitious visit to Mr. Wells' apartment and had escaped only "by the skin of his teeth," he assured Mr. Jerry.
"I didn't get any further than the window before that Jap caught me and I didn't see any birdcage. But I shan't give up, Mr. Longworthy. I'll find that canary yet!"
Everybody seemed more anxious now than Mary Rose. She was so confident that the Lord had his eye on the missing Jenny Lind that she almost stopped worrying. Aunt Kate resolutely refused to allow her to go to the Lincoln School in the blue serge suit.
"You'll wear proper clothes or you don't stir a step," she said sternly. "An' if you don't go to school the truant officer'll come here an' like enough I'll be arrested for not sendin' you. If you don't want your poor aunt to go to jail you'll stand up an' put on this dress I bought 'specially for you."
She had not been able to resist a sale of children's clothes at the Big Store and had bought three dresses for an eleven-year-old girl. She brought one out that morning, a blue and green and red plaid gingham with a white collar and a black patent leather belt. Mary Rose was speechless with admiration when she saw it. But if she had been so proud of Ella's old clothes that she had to be punished, what would she be in this ducky dress?
"I can't trust myself in it, Aunt Kate. It's too beautiful. It's fine enough for a princess."
But after Aunt Kate had explained that if Mary Rose did not wear the dress she might have to go to jail Mary Rose had no choice. She would have to wear the frock and go to school and try her very hardest not to be proud. She had only to think of Jenny Lind to humble her spirit.
She was very sedate as she walked with Aunt Kate. It did not seem possible that at last she was going to enter the big school building with towers and battlements enough for a fortress.
"It is like a castle. I don't care what Mr. Jerry said," she told Aunt Kate as they went up the steps and into the principal's office where a pleasant-faced middle-aged lady looked questioningly at Mary Rose and asked how old she was.
From force of habit Aunt Kate said hastily: "Goin' on fourteen."
"Fourteen!" The principal was plainly astonished. "She's very small for her age. And backward if she is only in the sixth grade. She should be in high school at fourteen. Has she been ill?"
Backward! It was bad enough to be called small for her age, but to be told that she was stupid was more than Mary Rose could bear in silence. She opened her mouth to explain and then she remembered that she had promised she would mortify her pride so she said never a word, although she thought she would burst at having to keep quiet. But Aunt Kate's pride was also touched and she stammered hurriedly that she should have said her niece was going on eleven.
"That sounds more normal." And the principal smiled as she led the way into a big sunny room full of children. Mary Rose drew a sigh of relief when she saw the teacher. Mr. Jerry was all wrong about her, for she was not an old witch. She was as pretty a young woman as any child could wish to have for a teacher. She smiled at Mary Rose in a very friendly fashion and found her a seat beside a little girl with wonderful long yellow curls. It was delightful to be with children again and Mary Rose's face rivaled the sun.
Aunt Kate had a strange ache in her heart as she watched her. Mary Rose would make friends here, friends of her own age, and she would miss her. But that was the way of the world, she thought philosophically. When she was quite convinced that Mary Rose was happy and contented and could find her way home alone she left the school.
Mrs. Bracken called to her from her window as she passed and she went in to be introduced to Mrs. Bracken's niece, Harriet White.
"She is going to live with us," Mrs. Bracken explained, her arm around Harriet's waist. "Isn't she a big girl for thirteen? I meant to be back yesterday so she could start in school today, but we were delayed. I was just telling her there was another little girl, Mary Rose, in the building."
Mrs. Donovan looked almost enviously at Harriet White who was thirteen and who appeared at least two years older. How easy everything would have been if Mary Rose had been as large. She sighed and then smiled, for she knew that she would not change small Mary Rose for big Harriet White if she had the chance. She gazed pleasantly at Mrs. Bracken, whose face seemed to have found a new expression in Prairieville, and said from the very depths of her heart:
"If you enjoy her half as much as we enjoy our niece you'll consider yourself a lucky woman to have her."
"I know I'm a lucky woman," Mrs. Bracken answered heartily. "I never realized what made this building seem almost depressing until Mary Rose came into it. What is this Mrs. Schuneman tells me about Mary Rose's bird? I'm so sorry. She was so attached to Jenny Lind. Do you really think that Mr. Wells had anything to do with it?"
"Oh, Mrs. Bracken, how could any man with a heart steal a child's pet bird!" Mrs. Donovan tried her best to be discreet as she told the story.
"Of course, we all know that Mr. Wells is queer," Mrs. Bracken remarked when she finished. "Mrs. Schuneman said she understood that he had complained to Brown and Lawson, but don't you worry, Mrs. Donovan. Mr. Wells is not the only tenant and I rather think the rest of us will have something to say. If he objects to Harriet Mr. Bracken will tell him quite plainly what he thinks. And there are others. We all like Mr. Donovan. He's a good janitor, willing and pleasant, and we won't let him be discharged without a protest. Perhaps I shouldn't tell you, but Mr. Strahan has written out a petition to send to the owner and everyone in the building will sign it, I know, except perhaps Mr. Wells." And she laughed as if Mr. Wells' not signing the petition was a joke. "One against twenty won't have much influence."
Mrs. Donovan put out her hand and touched Mrs. Bracken's white fingers, something she would not have dared to do two months earlier. "Thank you for telling me that. Larry's tried, I know, and it isn't easy to please so many people. We don't know who the owner is so we can only talk to the agents, but a petition signed by everybody ought to prove to them that Mary Rose isn't a nuisance."
"Anything but a nuisance!" insisted Mrs. Bracken.
Mary Rose had decided to write a letter. The more she thought of what she had heard her Aunt Kate say to her Uncle Larry that Sunday morning the less she liked it. She would write to the owner of the Washington, to the man who made laws so that children and cats and dogs were not allowed in his house, and tell him just how it was; and then, why, of course, he would say it was all right, that Uncle Larry could stay and she could stay, and everything would be as it was except for Jenny Lind. Her lip quivered as she tried hard to remember that the Lord had his eye on Jenny Lind.
She had a box of paper of her own with cunning Kewpie figures across the top of each sheet. Miss Carter had given it to her one day when Mary Rose told her of a letter she had received from Gladys. The letter to the owner of the Washington was not as easy to write as the answer to Gladys' note had been. She screwed her face into a frowning knot as she tried to think what it was best for her to say.
DEAR MR. OWNER: [That much was easy.]
This letter is from Mary Rose Crocker, who lives in the cellar of your Washington house. I mean the basement. We call them cellars in Mifflin where I used to live, but in Waloo they are basements. Uncle Larry said you have a law that won't let children live in your house. I don't understand that, for there have always been children. Adam and Eve had them and most everybody but George Washington. He never did. Is that why you named your house after him? My mother died when I was a tweenty baby and my father is in Heaven with her, too, and I had to leave Solomon, he's my dog, in Mifflin and board out my cat, but he's self-supporting now and my bird has been stolen, so there isn't anyone but just me in the cellar. I mean basement. Aunt Kate and Uncle Larry are my only relatives on earth and if I don't live with them I'll have to go to an orphan's home, which I shouldn't like at all. But if you won't let Uncle Larry keep his job and me, too, of course I'll have to go. I'll try and not make any noise and be quiet and good if you'll please let me stay and please, please, I'm getting less of a child every day. When I came I was going on eleven and now I'm almost going on twelve, for my birthday is in two months. Aunt Kate doesn't know I'm writing to you. Neither does Uncle Larry. I thought of it all myself when I heard Uncle Larry tell Aunt Kate you were going to take his job away if I lived with them. I know I shouldn't have listened, but I did. Perhaps you've never been an orphan and don't know what it means to have all your parents in Heaven when Gladys Evans has twenty-seven relations here on earth. But I shall be much obliged if you won't take Uncle Larry's job away from him and if you'll let me live with him. God bless you and me.
Your obedient servant and friend,MARY ROSE CROCKER.
It was a long letter and quite covered two sheets of Kewpie paper. There were many blots and more misspelled words. Mary Rose frowned as she looked at it. It was the best she could do. She was uncertain how to get it to the owner and she did not wish to ask her uncle. Mr. Jerry could tell her. He knew everything. And holding the closely written sheets in her hand she ran across the alley.
Fortunately Mr. Jerry was alone under the apple tree. She handed him the letter and watched his face anxiously while he read it.
"Is it all right?" she begged. She had George Washington cuddled in her arms and hid her face against his soft fur coat as she asked. "I know the words aren't spelled right but I'm only in the sixth grade. Perhaps I should have put that in? But is the meaning right?"
Mr. Jerry coughed twice before he answered. "Just right, Mary Rose. Exactly right! I couldn't have done it better and I've been to college. Write on the envelope: 'To the Owner of the Washington' and I'll take it over to the agents myself."
"Oh, will you!" Mary Rose had been puzzled how to get it to the agents. She decided then and there that she would never be puzzled over anything again. Mr. Jerry could do everything. First he had taken her cat and then her dog and her friend from Mifflin and now her letter. Her heart was filled with a passionate devotion to him as she laughed tremulously. She was both proud and happy to possess such a resourceful friend. "Don't you think Mr. Owner sounds a little more respectful? You see," her voice shook, for it meant so much to her, "I don't know him at all. I've never had any chance to make friends with him."
With Mr. Jerry's fountain pen she wrote carefully: "Mr. Owner of the Washington."
Then she folded the letter smoothly and dropped a kiss on it before she put it in the envelope.
"Just for friendliness," she said when she met Mr. Jerry's eyes and she blushed. Even her ears turned into pink roses.
He caught her in his arms and hugged her.
"Mary Rose," he said and his voice was not quite clear, "you're absolutely the friendliest soul I know!"
"That's what I try to be, Mr. Jerry." Her arm slipped up about his neck. "Daddy said I was to be friendly and the friendlier I was the easier it would be."
Mary Rose loved her school. It was too delightful to be with children again and she made new friends rapidly. After supper she liked to run up to the third floor and tell Miss Thorley and Miss Carter what a wonderful day she had had and they always seemed glad to hear. She often found Mr. Strahan there and generally there were grapes or pears or peaches or candy to nibble while she told her tale.
Mr. Strahan had written a lot of stories out of Mary Rose's experiences and he grinned with delight as he heard her talk of school. He saw her as a mine of human interest tales.
"If it hadn't been for her I'd never have kept my job this summer," he told Miss Carter and Miss Thorley, one night after Mary Rose had gone. "The old man liked the stuff she told me and it gave me a chance to show what I could do. I've a regular run now and a regular salary." He looked across at Miss Carter and colored a bit. "My foot's on the ladder now for keeps."
Miss Carter laughed and colored a bit, too, as she hoped that his foot was there "for keeps." Miss Thorley caught the exchange of glances with an odd little contraction of her heart. Was that the way the wind was blowing? Funny she hadn't noticed anything before. If Blanche went away she would be left alone—alone with her work and her independence. She shivered involuntarily. Once that had been all she wanted. Why didn't they satisfy her now? They should satisfy her. She'd work harder than ever on jam advertisements and when she had saved a lot of money she'd go to New York and get a big position and some people would have to admit that it would have been a waste to tie her down to a humdrum—what was it Mary Rose had said?—"home for a family." Her lip curled with scorn. Mary Rose was only a child. She didn't know that homes and families were not the most important things in the world. Someone else had told her what was the most important, but she would not think of him. She just would not. And anyway all he wanted now was friendship. Men were so constant. Her nose tilted. She felt so much more scorn than a curled lip could express that her nose had to tilt. But until she could save a lot of money and go to New York she would stay right there in the Washington and listen to Mary Rose's experiences at the Lincoln School.
"It isn't like the school at Mifflin one bit, but I like it just the same. And I've made a lot of new friends. I never realized how you needed friends your own age until today. I've managed very well and been happy until—until," she gulped as she remembered what had happened to make her unhappy, "the other day, but it's such fun to have friends your own size. There's that girl at Mrs. Bracken's. She's older and bigger than I am, but Mrs. Bracken said we could be friends and there isn't as much difference as there is between me and Grandma Johnson. And we're friends. There's a boy with only one leg in my class," importantly. "He's going to tell me how he lost the other one tomorrow. And a girl, Anna Paulovitch. Isn't that a funny name? She was born in O-Odessa, Russia. I never knew anyone who was born in Russia before. It's very interesting. Do you know," her voice dropped to a whisper, "that two years ago she lost all of her hair. She was sick and it disappeared until now there isn't even a single solitary hair on any part of her head. It's as bare, as bare," she looked about for a comparison but could not find one that would suit her, "as anything could be bare. It's very strange."
"And does she go to school without any hair?" asked Bob Strahan, trying to visualize Anna Paulovitch's bare pate.
"Oh, no! You can't go to school without hair. So last summer Anna picked berries for a farmer and saved every penny and soon she had enough to buy a wig. Her own hair was black and she hated it. She always wanted yellow curls and so when she bought her wig she bought long yellow curls. They're perfectly beautiful. You'd never guess they didn't grow on her own head. She showed me because I'm her friend. We're in the same number class."
"Ye gods! Long yellow curls on a swart-faced black-eyed Russian." Bob Strahan laughed at the combination.
Miss Carter looked at him reproachfully as she swung the conversation to the safe subject of Mrs. Bracken's niece.
"I wonder what Mr. Wells will have to say about her?" she asked.
"He can't steal her canary for she hasn't one," muttered Bob Strahan.
Mary Rose caught the words, low as they were uttered.
"You don't think Mr. Wells has my Jenny Lind?" She was so astonished that her eyes popped as far open as they could pop. "He hates birds. He told me so himself when I offered to lend her to him. And we're friends. Not friends like us but sort of friends. I'm sure he didn't take her," she insisted. "I must go now. Aunt Kate said I could only stay a minute. Good night."
"I wish I could be as sure of old Wells as she is," Bob Strahan said when the door closed behind her.
Mary Rose hesitated as she came to Mr. Wells' door. She did not believe that he had taken Jenny Lind and if he heard that people thought he had, he would be so hurt and grieved. She would have to stop and tell him that she didn't believe it, anyway, not for a moment, and if he wanted to borrow her goldfish any time, he could. She'd be glad to loan them to him. That would show how she trusted him. She knocked rather timidly. Mr. Wells, himself, opened the door.
"What d'you want?" he demanded gruffly. He had a letter in his hand and he made Mary Rose feel as if she had interrupted very important business.
"I just stopped to tell you that no matter what other people say I know you didn't steal Jenny Lind," she stammered.
"Steal Jenny Lind!" he thundered. His face was one black frown. "Who said I did? Come in." He motioned toward the living-room.
"Everybody's saying so," faltered Mary Rose. "But I know you better than they do. You couldn't steal the only pet a little orphan girl had, could you?"
Mr. Wells opened his mouth twice before he could say a word and then he only grunted a sentence that Mary Rose could not understand. He threw the letter he held on the table. An enclosure dropped from it and Mary Rose saw that there were Kewpies across the top of the paper. She recognized the writing also.
"Why—why!" she stammered. She was so surprised that she could scarcely speak at all. "That's my letter, the one I wrote to the owner of this very house."
A dull red crept up Mr. Wells' face into his grizzled hair. "Yes, I know," he rumbled. "I'm a lawyer and the owner is a client of mine. He gave it to me so I could advise him what to do."
"And what will you advise?" asked Mary Rose after a breathless silence. Her heart was beating so fast that she was almost choked. "Have you read it?"
"Yes, I've read it."
"Uncle Larry and Aunt Kate don't know I wrote it. I just had to because if Uncle Larry loses his job it's all my fault. Not all mine really for it wasn't exactly my fault that my mother died when I was six months old and that daddy went to Heaven in June so there was no one left to take care of me but Aunt Kate. I've tried to be good," she resolutely winked back a tear, "and not make trouble. Mrs. Schuneman and Mrs. Bracken and Mr. Bracken and Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Rawson and Miss Thorley and Miss Carter and Mr. Strahan like me awfully. They said so. I wish you'd please speak to them before you give your advice. Will you?" eagerly.
The frown on Mr. Wells' face grew very black and threatening. It made Mary Rose's little heart jump right into her mouth and she shut her white teeth tight so that it wouldn't jump out.
"It's—it's awfully rude of me to speak of it," she went on in a low shamed voice. "I shouldn't remind you, I know, but you are under an obligation to me. I was neighborly when you were sick. I brought you the goldfish. It isn't much that I ask, just for you to speak to the tenements. If they say I'm a nuisance, why I won't say another word because it's the law, but Iamgetting bigger every day, now. Please, promise me just that much?"
And Mr. Wells promised. He couldn't very well refuse. Mary Rose caught his hand and hugged it to her thumping little heart.
"You're a kind, kind man," she said. "I know you are. I don't care what people say. And you'll see I'm treated fair? That's all I ask, Mr. Wells, honest it is! Just for the owner to be fair. Good night. I'm going to tell everyone you didn't steal Jenny Lind."
There was a short story in the WalooGazettethe next evening that would have interested Mary Rose very much if she had read it. It was one of the little incidents that have both a pathetic and a humorous appeal and it was very well written. It told of a little black-haired swarthy-skinned girl who had always longed for long yellow curls. When illness robbed her of the hated, black locks she had resolutely set to work to earn money to buy a wig that she might return to school. All summer she worked under the hot sun, picking berries for a neighboring farmer, her bald head covered with a ragged straw hat, and when the last berry was gathered and she had the required sum she had triumphantly purchased the long yellow curls she had craved always. And now, prouder than any queen, she was attending the Lincoln School. It was the sort of story that a city editor likes for it brings shoals of letters with offers of help, to the newspaper office, and proves in a most practical way that it has been read.
Usually Mary Rose was home from school by four o'clock for at half-past three her room was dismissed and it never took her more than half an hour to say good-by to her numerous new friends and dawdle home.
But the afternoon after the story of the yellow-curls appeared in theGazette, Mary Rose was not at home at four o'clock. She was not at home at half-past four. Mrs. Donovan looked uneasily at the clock. It was not like Mary Rose to be so dilatory. At a quarter to five Mrs. Donovan put on her hat and walked up the street. She would go and meet Mary Rose. Perhaps the child had been kept after school, perhaps she had stopped to play in spite of the fact that she had been told she must come straight home from school always.
Mrs. Donovan walked the six blocks to the Lincoln School without seeing as much as the hem of Mary Rose's gingham skirt. The big school building loomed up in front of her silent and forlorn. She stared at it before she went up the steps and tried to open the door. It was locked. Then Mary Rose had not been kept after school. Where could she be? She might have gone home a different way so as to walk with one of her new friends. Of course, she was safe at home by now. Mrs. Donovan retraced her steps very hurriedly but she found no Mary Rose in the basement flat. It was so strange that she was worried. Where could the child be?
Suddenly she laughed unsteadily. What a fool she was. To be sure, Mary Rose had stopped to see Mrs. Schuneman or to exchange experiences with Harriet White who was now attending the Lincoln School, too. She ran up to the first floor to knock at Mrs. Schuneman's door and say breathlessly that she wanted to speak to Mary Rose at once. Mrs. Schuneman heard her and followed Mina.
"Mary Rose isn't here, Mrs. Donovan," she said. "Hasn't the little minx come home yet?"
"No, she hasn't!" Mrs. Donovan was most unpleasantly disappointed. "I don't understand it. I've told her again and again that she was to come straight home as soon as school was out. Then she could go out to play. But she was to come home first."
"Perhaps she's over to Mrs. Bracken's?" suggested Mrs. Schuneman and she followed Mrs. Donovan across the hall.
But Mary Rose was not at Mrs. Bracken's. Neither was she in any other apartment in the Washington. Mrs. Donovan's ruddy face lost its color.
"She can't be lost," she said, expecting Mrs. Schuneman promptly to agree with her that Mary Rose could not be lost. "She's big enough to know where she lives if she is only ten." She did not care now if everybody knew how old Mary Rose really was.
"Of course, she isn't lost," everyone told her soothingly. "She knows where she belongs. Perhaps she is over at Longworthys'?"
But neither Mr. Jerry nor his Aunt Mary had seen Mary Rose that day. Jimmie Bronson, who came in while Mrs. Donovan was inquiring, had not seen her since noon. Mrs. Donovan was very uneasy as she went home.
"The little thing's that friendly and honest herself she thinks everyone else is friendly. She don't know anythin' about city folks. I wish she'd come," she told Mrs. Schuneman who came down to hear if Mary Rose had been found.
"You remember that girl over on Sixth Avenue who was kidnapped last—" began Mrs. Schuneman and clapped her hand over her mouth, hoping Mrs. Donovan had not heard.
But she had heard and her face whitened. The minutes dragged slowly by and Mary Rose did not come home. Larry Donovan was downtown and was late, also. When he did come in he could not understand at first that Mary Rose was missing.
"She's in the house somewhere," he insisted, "with Miss Carter or old lady Johnson."
"I've inquired at every flat in the building," half sobbed Mrs. Donovan. "I can't imagine where she is."
"Who's her teacher?" asked Bob Strahan. "Do you know her name? I'll telephone and ask her if she knows whether Mary Rose went off with any of the kids."
Mrs. Donovan stopped twisting a corner of her white apron.
"Her teacher's name is Choate, Isabel Choate. But I dunno where she lives," she wailed.
"The directory does," Bob Strahan said encouragingly. "And so, I'm sure, does the telephone book."
He had no difficulty in getting Miss Choate on the telephone, but the teacher only remembered that Mary Rose had left the building when the other children did. She had seen her go out of the school yard with a group of boys and girls. Who were they? She was sorry but she did not remember. They had not impressed her. She had noticed no one but Mary Rose, who had such a strong personality one had to notice her. She did hope that nothing had happened to her and she, too, remembered the little girl who had been kidnapped over on Sixth Avenue.
"Of course, nothing has happened to her," Bob Strahan said hurriedly. "She'll turn up all right."
He told Mrs. Donovan the same thing when he went back and reported the result of his interview.
"What shall I do?" Mrs. Donovan was twisting the corners of her apron into hard knots and her mouth twitched with nervousness. "She's never been out so late as this since she came to Waloo. An' she's all alone! I'll never forgive myself if anythin's happened to her."
"We'll go over to the police station," suggested Mr. Jerry. "What did she wear, Mrs. Donovan? The police will want a description of her clothes."
Mrs. Donovan sobbed as she described the blue and red and green gingham frock with the white collar and black patent leather belt that had been Mary Rose's pride.
"We'll call up the hospitals, too," Mr. Jerry said to Bob Strahan as they drove to the police station in his car. "It's just possible that she has been hurt, an automobile or something, and taken to a hospital If she was knocked unconscious she couldn't very well tell who she was."
"Gee!" exclaimed big-eyed white-faced Jimmie Bronson, who had jumped into the tonneau and was standing with his hands on the back of the front seat, "I hope Mary Rose wasn't knocked insensible!"
The police had heard nothing of any little girl who answered to the description of Mary Rose but a careful note was made of what Mr. Jerry and Bob Strahan had to say of her disappearance. There had been no report of any accident in the district and no child had been kidnapped so far as the police knew. Mr. Jerry and Bob Strahan were disappointed. They felt baffled. It didn't seem possible that a little girl could have disappeared so completely as Mary Rose had disappeared. When they drove back to the Washington, Jimmie was not with them. He was going to make a few inquiries on his own hook, he told the two men.
"No news is good news, Mrs. Donovan," Mr. Jerry insisted. "Mary Rose is all right. No one could harm her."
"I wish I could believe that." Mrs. Donovan had lost control of herself and was sobbing bitterly. "Here it is after ten o'clock an' we don't know where the little thing is. Seems if bad luck was taggin' her. It isn't a week since her bird was stolen and now—" she shuddered and hid her face in her apron.
"Nothing's happened to her," repeated Mrs. Schuneman with a poor attempt at firmness. "Nothing could happen to a child like Mary Rose. It's when you're looking for trouble that trouble comes, Mrs. Donovan, and Mary Rose never looked for trouble. She was too busy looking for friends."
"That's what she always said," exclaimed Grandma Johnson; "that the pleasant things come to the people who are looking for pleasant things but, land! see what's happened to her and if anyone ever looked for pleasantness it was Mary Rose. Why she even looked for it in us!" And she laughed harshly.
"And she found it, too," Mrs. Schuneman declared quickly. "Yes, she did. She looked deep enough to find the pleasantness we didn't know was there because we'd covered it up with so much disagreeableness. I'm not ashamed to admit that she made me see that so long as you live in a world with other people you owe some obligation to be agreeable to them. If each of us did our share, as Mary Rose was always asking us to do, we'd find this world a friendlier place than it is."
"She must have said that to me a hundred times," sniffled Miss Adams. "I knew she was right all the time but I wouldn't say so."
"It's easy to get out of the habit of being friendly in the city," murmured Mrs. Matchan. "It's different in the country."
"I guess it's much the same, city or country. If she hadn't found Germania for me I'd have been in an asylum by now," asserted Mrs. Schuneman. "There I was all by myself and while a bird isn't a human being, it's a lot of company. And it's through Germania and Mary Rose that I've got acquainted with all of you."
"If it hadn't been for Mary Rose I doubt if Mr. Bracken would have asked me to go for Harriet," Mrs. Bracken said in a low voice.
It seemed as if each of them had something to say of what Mary Rose had done for her. Mary Rose's friendly nature, her undaunted belief in the friendliness of people and of the world in which she lived had made those whose lives she had touched develop friendliness also. The dozen people gathered in the Donovan living-room said so, quite frankly.
Suddenly the clock struck eleven times. Mrs. Donovan burst into a perfect storm of tears. "She should have been in her bed hours ago!" she sobbed. "An' where is she? Where's Mary Rose?"
"Sh—sh!" There was a step on the stairs. It seemed as if everyone stopped breathing to listen.
Larry Donovan jumped to the door.
But it was Mr. Wells' grim face that appeared in the circle of light and his grimmer voice that asked harshly:
"What's the matter? What's all this disturbance through the building, Donovan? Every door is open and there's a general turmoil."
They faced him indignantly, fellow tenants and janitor. Each had had some experience with him that had been more unpleasant than pleasant. All of them knew that he disliked Mary Rose, that he had complained to the agents because she lived in the basement with the Donovans. Each of them resented the selfishness that had brought him down to make another complaint when all of them were so worried and anxious. It was Bob Strahan who put some of this feeling into words.
"No doubt you'll be glad to hear that Mary Rose, the little girl who has been such a nuisance to you, has disappeared?" he said sarcastically.
Mr. Wells looked at him from under his shaggy eyebrows. "What do you mean?" he snapped. "What do you mean?"
Everyone tried to tell him at once but Mrs. Donovan who was sobbing in her apron and could not speak. Mr. Wells looked at her oddly.
"Nonsense!" he said when the story was clear to him. "She's locked herself in somewhere as she did once before." He had heard of the time the wind had slammed Mrs. Bracken's door and shut Mary Rose inside. "She's fallen asleep."
"We've been in every flat but yours," Larry Donovan told him dully.
"Everyone but mine?" repeated Mr. Wells. "Well, she wouldn't go there." Then he remembered that Mary Rose had been there in a neighborly desire to be kind to him when he was ill, in a friendly wish to tell him of her belief in him when he was under suspicion, and he colored painfully. For all he knew she might be there now. She had a habit of going when and where she pleased. That was what made her such a nuisance in his eyes. "You can come and see for yourself," he said sharply. "So far as I know there's no one there. Sako is out and I've just come in."
They trooped eagerly after him up the stairs to the second floor, and he had an unpleasant feeling that they expected to find Mary Rose locked in his apartment, a prisoner by his orders. Hadn't Mary Rose herself told him that he was suspected of doing cruel things? Well, he didn't care what they thought, he muttered to himself as he put his key in the lock. But he did care. Cross and crusty as he was, he was human, and deep in the hearts of all human beings is the desire to have people think well of them.
It was the first time any of them but the Donovans had been in the apartment. Mr. Wells threw open doors to closets and pantries. He even scornfully opened drawers and cupboards.
"Make a thorough search while you're about it," he snarled.
Under the sink in the kitchen Bob Strahan caught a bright gleam. He stooped down and picked up a piece of heavy brass wire. It had been broken at both ends and was twisted and bent. Bob Strahan stared at it and whistled softly.
"What is it?" Miss Carter ran across to him. He drew her aside and showed her the brass 'wire. "Do you see that? It's the kind of wire that bird cages are made of."
"Oh!" Miss Carter stared at him. She couldn't believe it. She turned and stared at Mr. Wells as he stood so contemptuously and watched his neighbors. There was a sneer on his face. "I w-wouldn't have believed that anyone would be so despicable!"
"He's been a selfish brute, always finding fault with everyone and everything. You might almost think he was the darned old owner himself," muttered Bob Strahan.
"He wouldn't make himself so disagreeable if he was the owner." Miss Carter nodded a wise head. "He'd be too anxious to please his tenants. No, it's just because he's so selfish and disagreeable and," she looked at the broken wire and thought of friendly Jenny Lind, "brutal!"
"You're quite sure the child is not here?" they heard Mr. Wells say in a voice that was as sarcastic as a voice could be, and there was a most unpleasant glare in the cold black eyes. "Quite convinced that I haven't hidden her away to fatten for my breakfast?"
"Mr. Wells! Mr. Wells!" began Mrs. Donovan indignantly but her spirit died and she cried instead—quite involuntarily you may be sure: "Oh, Mary Rose said there was sure to be good in you if we'd look for it."
It seemed to Miss Carter that a black screen was drawn over Mr. Wells' face. He said not a word but walked to the door and threw it wide open. One by one his neighbors went out. No one said anything; there seemed to be nothing to say.
"Good night." Mr. Wells spoke with cold, almost ominous, curtesy and he would have shut the door in their faces if he had not caught the pitying look in a girl's eyes. A dull red crept into his face. Involuntarily he stepped toward Elizabeth Thorley. "If you hear anything of the child let me know," he said as if the words were forced from him, and then he slammed the door behind him.
As they went down the stairs Miss Carter dropped behind the others. So did Bob Strahan. As he waited for her he saw her dab her eyes with her handkerchief and he put out his hand and touched her arm.
"Look here," he spoke sharply. "That won't do. Mary Rose is all right, you know." And he gave her a little shake.
"I'd like to see that for myself, that she is all right." She dabbed her eyes again with the damp little square of linen.
He put a hand on each shoulder and looked directly into her tear-wet eyes. "Listen to me. I shan't go to bed until I do know that she's all right. I couldn't sleep. Mary Rose has done too much for me. When I think—Lord!—when she came here I was a friendless young cuss hanging on to a job by the skin of my teeth and now—You know I used to be crazy to know you when I met you in the hall and on the stairs and it was Mary Rose, bless her heart! and her canary who made it possible for us to be friends. I can't forget that and I'll find her."
She looked up and there was a light in her eyes that caused his hands to tighten on her shoulders.
"You know I love you, honey," he said quickly. "I think I've always loved you and ever since I got a real grip on my job I've wanted to tell you. If you could care half as much for me as I do for you I'd—I'd—" he stopped before he told her what he would do for she had lifted her face and he had seen there that she did care, as much as he did. He stooped and kissed her.
She kissed him also and clung to him for a moment before she pushed him away.
"We—we shouldn't be thinking of ourselves now," her voice trembled. "We must think of Mary Rose."
Mrs. Donovan cried bitterly as she went down the stairs and Larry put his arm around her.
"There, there, Kate," he said. "Crying won't help any."
"If we could only do somethin', Larry!" She wrung her hands. "If we could only do somethin'! It seems awful just to have to wait an' wait. I—I can't bear it."
"I'll call up the morning paper." Bob Strahan and Miss Carter had slipped down behind the rest and no one noticed that they came in hand in hand. "It won't do any harm to run a little story about Mary Rose and then if she has strayed in anywhere or been found people will know where to take her."
"The mornin' paper!" cried Mrs. Donovan. "I can't wait for the mornin' paper. I want her now!"
The three men looked at each other and shook their heads. She might have to wait longer than for the morning paper to have news of Mary Rose. They felt so helpless. They had followed every clew, they had the assistance of the entire police force, but they had discovered nothing. They knew no more about Mary Rose than they knew when they had first discovered that she had disappeared.
Miss Thorley put her arms around Mrs. Donovan and tried to sooth her. All the red "corpuskles" had left her face now and her eyes had a strained frightened expression. It startled Mr. Jerry to see her show so much emotion. Usually she let one see very plainly that she was interested in only her own affairs. Tonight she had forgotten herself in a sweet sympathy for Mrs. Donovan and in her anxiety for her little friend. It made Mr. Jerry's heart thump to hear her speak to Mrs. Donovan so gently and so tenderly. It made him more determined to do something. He was just about to suggest that he should telephone to Mifflin although he was positive that Mary Rose had not run away, when he heard a child's laugh on the street above them.
Kate Donovan heard it, too, and pushed Miss Thorley from her.
"It's Mary Rose!" she cried. "Thank God! It's Mary Rose!"
Before she could reach the door a burly policeman stood on the threshold. He held a bundle in his arms that struggled to reach the floor. Jimmie Bronson stumbled wearily behind them.
"Here's a very tired little girl for you," the policeman said, as he dropped Mary Rose into Mrs. Donovan's hungry arms.
"Mary Rose! Mary Rose!" Mrs. Donovan was so happy that she cried and cried. The tears fell on Mary Rose's face. "Where have you been? Where have you been?"
"Yes, Mary Rose, where have you been?" demanded an eager chorus. The tears had rushed to Miss Thorley's eyes also and when she discovered that, she discovered also that the hand with which she would have wiped them away was held fast in the firm grasp of Jerry Longworthy. How it had found its way there she never knew. She snatched it from him, her face aflame, and there were no longer tears in her eyes.
Mary Rose hugged her aunt and beamed on her friends. Her eyes were like stars.
"How glad you'll be to hear what I've found!" she cried jubilantly. "I've been in the most wonderful place, a big flat building like this, only not so grand, but it has children! And pets, too! Dogs and cats! It has, Uncle Larry! I've seen them with my own eyes. Lots and lots of children! Babies and all kinds!" Her cheeks were scarlet. "I couldn't believe it myself at first but Anna Paulovitch said it was true and that it had always been like that. I asked her all about it so I could tell you, Uncle Larry, and you could tell the owner of the Washington. He can't know!"
"Never mind that, Mary Rose." Aunt Kate gave her a shake. "I want to know where you've been. Why didn't you come straight home from school as I've told you to, time an' again? You've frightened us all to death stayin' away so long."
Mary Rose looked regretfully at the people she had frightened to death and then she smiled radiantly.
"Well, you see it was this way. You know there was a story in the newspaper last night about Anna Paulovitch's bald head and when she went to school the boys made fun of her and teased her to show them if she really was bald. It hurt her feelings dreadfully and she was afraid to go home alone so I said I'd go with her. It's a long way from here but I'm glad I went because I helped my friend and I found Jenny Lind."
"You found Jenny Lind!" Everyone was as astonished as Mary Rose could wish.
Bob Strahan and Miss Carter looked at each other and Bob dropped the piece of brass wire he had found in Mr. Wells' kitchen.
"Yes, I did. Isn't it just like a fairy story? You see if you do a kind thing a kind thing's done to you. I've told all of you that and you wouldn't believe me but now you've got to. Anna Paulovitch lives in this big friendly house I was telling you about. It isn't splendid and beautiful like this but it is friendly and there are a lot of children and pets. The law lets them live there. I didn't suppose there was a house like that in all Waloo! Anna's mother goes out washing and her father's dead like mine. She has seven brothers and sisters that Mrs. Paulovitch has to find clothes and bread for. It's a good deal for one woman she said and I think it is, too. And right across the hall from the Paulovitch's, just like across the hall from Mrs. Bracken's to Mrs. Schuneman's, lives John Kalich. He's a messenger boy and his sister Becky's been in bed for seven years. She's nine now and Johnny's crazy about her. He came here with a message and when he saw Jenny Lind all by herself in the hall he thought how much Becky would like her. And Becky did like her. She hadn't ever seen a canary bird before. I told her she could borrow Jenny Lind for a while longer though I did want to bring her home tonight. But I thought, Aunt Kate, that since George Washington's supporting himself and I haven't spent the money I earned washing Mrs. Bracken's dishes and playing with the squirrels with Grandma Johnson I'd buy a bird for Becky for her very own. I'm going to let her keep Jenny Lind until then. It seems as if I was always lending Jenny Lind, doesn't it? Aunt Kate," she stopped suddenly and looked appealingly at her aunt. "I'm so hungry! Can't I have some supper?"
"Haven't you had any?" Aunt Kate was horrified.
"I couldn't eat any at Mrs. Paulovitch's because she only had enough to go around once and anyway I don't think I care for Russian cooking, bread and lard. I'm an American, you know, and that's why I like American cooking best."
Miss Thorley leaned over and took Mary Rose as Aunt Kate jumped up murmuring: "Bread an' lard! My soul an' body!"
"Why didn't you come home before, Mary Rose?" Miss Thorley asked when she had Mary Rose cuddled in her arms. She couldn't remember when she had held a child before. It was odd but she had suddenly found that she wanted to hold Mary Rose.