SCHOOL began the first day of October—fortunately, repairs to the building had delayed the opening. And there was Rosa Marie still on the Cottagers' hands, still a dark and undivulged secret. In the meantime, Mabel had paid many a visit to Mrs. Malony, who for reasons of her own had kept silence about the borrowed baby. Probably she felt that Mrs. Bennett would blame her for advising Mabel to harbor the deserted child.
"No, darlint," Mrs. Malony would say, encouragingly. "Oi ain't exactlyseenher, but she'll be back prisintly, she'll be back prisintly—Oh, most anny toime, now. Just do be waitin' patient and you'll see me come walkin' in most anny foine day wid yonblackhaired lass at me heels an' full to the eyes of her wid gratichude. Anny day at all, Miss Mabel."
Buoyed by this hope, Mabel had waited from day to day, hoping for speedy deliverance. And now, school!
"We'll just have to get excused for part of each day," said Marjory, always good at suggesting remedies. "Last year, all my recitations came in the morning; perhaps they will again. Then, if one of you others could do all your reciting during the afternoon we could manage it."
The year previously Mabel had been obliged to spend many a half-hour after school, making up neglected lessons. Now, however, she studied furiously. If she failed frequently it was only because she couldn't help making absurd blunders; it was never for lack of study. In this one way, at least, Rosa Marie proved beneficial.
The united efforts of all four made it possible for Rosa Marie to possess a more orless unwilling guardian for all but one hour during the forenoon. It grieves one to confess it, but Rosa Marie spent that solitary hour securely strapped to the leg of the dining-room table; but, stolid as ever, she did not mind that.
It was there that Aunty Jane discovered her, the second week in October. Aunty Jane had missed her best saucepan. Rightly suspecting that Marjory had carried it off to make fudge in, she hurried to the Cottage, discovered the key under the door-mat, opened the door and walked in.
Rosa Marie was grunting. "Eigh, ugh, ugh, ee, ee,ee, hee!" to her own bare brown toes.
"For mercy's sake! What's that?" gasped Aunty Jane, with a terrified start. "There's some sort of an animal in this house."
Arming herself with the broken umbrella that stood in the mended umbrella jar in the front hall, Aunty Jane peered cautiously intothe dining-room. The "animal" turned its head to blink with mild, expressionless curiosity at Aunty Jane.
"My soul!" ejaculated that good lady, "what are you, anyway?"
The pair blinked at each other for several moments.
"Are—are you ababy?" demanded Aunty Jane.
No response from Rosa Marie.
"What," asked Aunty Jane, cautiously drawing closer, "is your name?"
Still no response.
"Who tied you to that table?"
Silence on Rosa Marie's part.
"I'm going straight after Mrs. Mapes," declared Aunty Jane, retreating backwards in order to keep a watchful eye on the queer object under the table. "I might have known that those enterprising youngsters would be up tosomething, if I gave my whole mind to pickles."
Excited Aunty Jane collected not onlyMrs. Mapes, but Mrs. Tucker and Mrs. Bennett, before she returned to the Cottage. And then, the three mothers and Aunty Jane sat on the floor beside Rosa Marie and asked questions; useless questions, because Rosa Marie licked the table-leg bashfully but yielded no other reply.
This lasted for nearly half an hour. And then, school being out and the four Cottagers discovering their front door wide open, Jean, Bettie, Marjory and Mabel, all sorts of emotions tugging at their hearts, rushed breathlessly in. On beholding their mothers and Aunty Jane, they, too, turned suddenly bashful and leaned, speechless, against the Cottage wall.
"Whose child is that?" demanded all four of the grown-ups, in concert.
"Mine," replied Mabel.
"Mabel's," responded the other three, with disheartening promptness.
"What!" gasped the parents and Aunty Jane.
"I borrowed her," explained Mabel, "so she'smostlymine."
"She's spending the day here, I suppose," said Mrs. Mapes.
"Ye-es," faltered Mabel. Marjory giggled, and Mabel turned crimson.
"I hope," said Mrs. Bennett, severely, "that you're not thinking of keeping her all night."
"I—I—we—" faltered Mabel, "we—we sort of did."
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennett, not knowing how very late she was, "I guess we've come just in time. Mabel, put that child's things on and take her home at once."
"I can't," replied Mabel.
"Why not?"
"She hasn't any home."
"No home!"
"No. It's—it's run away."
"What! That baby?"
"No," stammered Mabel, "that baby's home. Not—not the house. Just hermother. She—she—Oh, she'll be back,someday."
"Mabel Bennett!" demanded Mrs. Bennett, suspecting something of the truth, "how long have you had that child here?"
"Not—Oh, not soverylong," evaded Mabel.
"Mabel," demanded her mother, "tell me, instantly, exactly how long?"
"About—yes, just about five weeks."
"Five weeks!" gasped Mrs. Bennett.
"Fiveweeks!" shrieked Mrs. Tucker.
"Five weeks!" groaned Mrs. Mapes.
"Fi—ve weeks!" cried Aunty Jane.
"It'll be five to-morrow," said Bettie.
"No, the day after," corrected Marjory.
For the next few moments the mothers and Aunty Jane were too astounded for further speech. The girls, too, had nothing to say. All four of the Cottagers kept their eyes on the floor, for they knew precisely what their elders were thinking.
"Jean," began Mrs. Mapes, reproachfully.
"I—Iwantedto tell," stammered Jean.
"I wouldn't let her," defended Mabel, looking up. "Theyallwanted to tell, but I wouldn't let them. Truly, they did, Mrs. Mapes."
"But five whole weeks!" murmured Mrs. Bennett. "I wonder that you were able to keep the secret so long. Why! I've been over here half a dozen times at least to ask for my scissors and other things that Mabel has carried off."
"So have I," said Mrs. Mapes.
"So have I," echoed Mrs. Tucker.
"And so have I," added Aunty Jane, "and I've never heard a sound from that remarkable child."
"You see," confessed Bettie, flushing guiltily, "we kept the door locked. Whenever we saw anybody coming we whisked Rosa Marie into the spare-room closet."
"If Rosa Marie had been an ordinary child," explained Jean, "she would probably have howled; but you see, every blessed thingabout us was so new and strange to her that she just thought that everything we did was all right. And anyhow, she doesn't have the same sort of feelings that Anne Halliday does. Anne would have cried."
"You naughty, naughty children," scolded Mrs. Mapes, "to keep a secret like that for five whole weeks."
"But, Mother," protested Jean, gently, "we never supposed it was going to be a five-weeks-long secret. We didn'twantit to be. We've been expecting her horrid mother to turn up every single minute since Rosa Marie came."
"It was all my fault," declared loyal Mabel. "They'dhave told, the very first minute, if it hadn't been for me. Blame me for everything."
"What," asked Mrs. Bennett, "do you intend to do with that—that atrocious child?"
"Sheisn'tatrocious!" blazed Mabel, with sudden fire. "She's a perfect darling,when you get used to her, and Iloveher. She isn't so very pretty, I know, but she's just dear. She's good, and that—and that's—Why! You've said, yourself, that it was better to be good than beautiful."
"But what do you intend to do with her?" persisted Mrs. Bennett.
"Keep her," said Mabel, firmly. "She doesn't eat anything much but milk and sample packages."
"You can't. I won't have her in my house. Why! Her parents are probably dreadful people."
"That's why she ought to have me for a mother and you for a grandmother," pleaded Mabel, earnestly. "But if you don't like her, I'll keep her here."
"But you can't, Mabel. It's so cold that there ought to be a fire here this minute, and you can't possibly leave a child alone with a fire."
"Couldn'tyoutake her, Mrs. Mapes?" pleaded Mabel.
"No, I'm afraid I couldn't. If she were the least bit lovable——"
"Oh, sheis——"
"Not to me," returned Mrs. Mapes, firmly.
"Wouldn'tyoutake her, Mrs. Tucker?"
"What! With all the family I have now? I couldn't think of such a thing."
"Then you," begged Mabel, turning to Aunty Jane. "There's only you and Marjory in that great big house. Oh,dotake her."
"Mercy! I'd just as soon undertake to board a live bear! Why! Nobody wants a child ofthatsort around. She's as homely——"
"I'm extremely glad," said Mabel, with much dignity and a great deal of emphasis, "thatmychild doesn't understand grown-up English."
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Mapes, smiling with sympathetic understanding, "we four older people had better talk this matter overby ourselves. Suppose you walk home with me.
"Ithink," said Aunty Jane, forgetting all about the saucepan that had led her to the Cottage, "that the orphan asylum is the place for that unspeakable child."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Bennett, "she'll certainly have to go to the asylum."
THE Cottage door closed behind the three excited parents and Aunty Jane. The four Cottagers, all decidedly pale and subdued, looked at one another in silence. It is one thing to confess a fault; it is quite another to be ignominiously found out. Jean and Bettie and Marjory were feeling this very keenly; but Mabel was far more troubled at the prospect of losing Rosa Marie.
"The orphan asylum!" breathed Bettie, at length.
"It's wicked," blazed Mabel, "to make an orphan of a person that isn't."
"I've heard," said Marjory, reflectively, "that orphans have to eat fried liver."
"Horrors!" gasped Mabel.
"And codfish."
"Ohhorrors!" moaned Mabel, who detested both liver and codfish.
"And prunes," pursued teasing Marjory, wickedly remembering Mabel's dislike for that wholesome but insipid fruit. The prunes proved entirely too much for Mabel.
"Pup—pup—prunes!" she sobbed. "And you stand there and don't do a thing to save her! I guess if I were Eliza escaping with my baby on cakes of ice——"
"Rosa Marie's about the right color," giggled Marjory, who could not resist so fine an opportunity to tease excitable Mabel.
"You'd all be glad enough to help, but when it's just me——"
"Oh, we'll help," soothed Jean, slipping an arm about Mabel. "You know we always do stand by you."
"Yes, we'll all help," promised Bettie, "if you'll just tell us what to do. Onlypleasedon't get us into any more trouble with our mothers."
"There's the cellar," suggested Mabel,doubtfully, yet with glimmerings of hope. "I read a story once about a lady who sat on a cellar door, knitting stockings."
"Why in the world," demanded Marjory, "did she sit on the door?"
"Some soldiers were hunting for an escaped prisoner and she had him hidden there."
"Was the cellar all horrid with old papers and rats and mice and spiders and crawly things with legs?" asked Bettie, with interest.
"I hope not," shuddered Mabel, "but a soldier wouldn't mind. Dear me, I wish we'd cleaned that cellar when we first came into the Cottage. If we had, it'd be just the place to hide Rosa Marie in."
"Perhaps it isn't too late, now," said Marjory, stooping to loosen the ring in the kitchen floor. "Let's look down there, anyway."
"Let's," agreed Bettie. "It'll be something to do, at least."
Everybody helped with the door. When it was open and propped against the kitchen stove, the four girls crouched down to peer into the depths below. Even Rosa Marie, who had been released from the table-leg, crept to the edge to look.
They were not very deep depths. The place was filled with rubbish, mostly old papers and broken pasteboard boxes; but it was perfectly dry, and clean except for a thick layer of dust.
"Let's clean it out," said Mabel, recklessly grasping an armful of dusty papers and dragging them forth.
"Phew!" exclaimed Jean, tumbling back from the hole. "Er—er—er hash!"
"Oh, ki—hash! Hoo!" blubbered Bettie, likewise tumbling backwards.
"Who-is-she, who-is-she," sneezed Marjory.
"Kerchoo, kerchoo, kerchoo!" sneezed Rosa Marie, her head bobbing with each sneeze. "Kerchoo, kerchoo!"
"It's pepper," explained Mabel, when she had finishedhersneeze. "I spilled a lot of it the day of Mr. Black's dinner party. I didn't know what else to do with it, so I swept it down that biggest crack."
"Goodness! What a housekeeper!" rebuked Jean, wiping her eyes.
"It's good for moths," consoled Bettie. "At any rate, Rosa Marie won't get moth-eaten."
"Perhaps," suggested Mabel, hopefully, "it's driven away all the rats and crawly things."
Working more cautiously, the girls drew forth the yellowed papers and pasteboard left by some former untidy occupant of the Cottage. They burned most of the rubbish in the kitchen stove, Jean standing guard lest burning pieces should escape to set fire to the Cottage. The work of clearing the cellar, indeed, was precisely what the girls needed, after the humiliating events of the day. All four were growing more cheerful; but theyworked as swiftly as they dared, for they felt certain that the cellar, as a place of concealment for Rosa Marie, would be speedily needed.
The cellar proved to be a square hole about three feet deep. When Mabel, who for once was doing the lion's share of the work, had swept the boarded floor and sides perfectly clean, it was really a very tidy, inviting little shelter; as neat a shelter as fugitive soldier could desire.
"Now," said Mabel, "we'll put a piece of carpet and an old quilt in the bottom, tack clean papers around the sides——"
"Papers rattle," offered Marjory, sagely.
"Then we'll use cloth," declared Mabel, snatching an apron from the hook behind the door. "We'll begin right away to practise with Rosa Marie, so she'll get used to it. Then we must rehearse our parts, too."
The retreat ready, Rosa Marie went without a murmur into the underground babytender—Marjorygave it that name. Rosa Marie, at least, would do her part successfully. But it was different above ground.
"Who," demanded Jean, "is to sit on the door and knit?Icouldn't—I'd fly to pieces."
"It's my child," said Mabel, "I'mgoing to."
"But," objected Marjory, "youcan'tknit. You don't know how."
"I can crochet," triumphed Mabel, "and I guess that's every bit as good."
"Where," asked Bettie, "is your crochet hook?"
But that, of course, was a question that Mabel could not answer, because Mabel never did know where any of her belongings were. Thereupon, Jean, Marjory and Mabel began a frantic search for the missing article. Mabel had used it the week previously; but could remember nothing more about it.
"Goodness!" groaned Mabel, grovelingunder the spare-room bed in hopes that the hook might be there. "If I'd dreamed that my child's life was going to depend on that hook, I'd have kept it locked up in father's fire-proof safe."
"That's what you get," said Marjory, with one eye glued to the top of a very tall vase, "for being so careless. It isn't in here, anyway."
"Here's one," announced Bettie, scrambling in hastily and locking the door behind her. "I skipped home for it. But there's no time to lose. All our mothers and Aunty Jane are going out of Mrs. Mapes's gate with their best hats and gloves on. There's something doing!"
In another moment, the cellar door was closed, a rocking chair was placed upon it, and Mabel, with ball of yarn and crochet hook in hand, was nervously twitching in the chair. Her fingers were stiff with dust—there had been no time to wash them—so the loop that she tied in the end of the whiteyarn was most decidedly black; but Mabel was thankful to achieve a loop of any color, with her whole body quivering with excitement and suspense.
"Goodness!" she quavered. "That soldier lady was a wonder! Think of her looking calm outside with her heart going like a Dover egg-beater. Do—doIlook calm?"
"Here," said Bettie, extending a basin of warm water. "Soak your hands in this. Warm water is said to be soothing."
"Also cleansing," giggled Marjory.
"Hurry!" gasped quick-eared Jean, snatching the basin and hurling a towel in Mabel's direction. "I heard our gate click. There's somebody coming."
"Don't let 'em in," breathed Mabel, defiantly.
"I'm afraid," said Jean, "we'll have to."
"Anyway," soothed Bettie, "we'll peek first—there's the door-bell!"
JEAN and Bettie flew to one window, Marjory to the other. Mabel wanted to fly, too, but she remained faithfully at her post, feeling quite cheered by her own heroism.
"It's dark gray trousers with a crease in 'em; not skirts," announced Marjory, peering under the edge of the shade.
"Probably a man from the asylum," shuddered Bettie. "Let's keep very still. He may think that this is the wrong house and go somewhere else."
"But," objected Jean, "he'll only come back again."
"Yes," sighed Bettie. "I s'pose we will have to open the door. You do it, Marjory."
"I don't want to," returned Marjory, unexpectedlyshrinking. "It seems too much like giving Rosa Marie into the hands of the enemy. After all, we're going to miss her dreadfully and Mabel'll be just about broken-hearted. Shedoesget so attached to things—Oh! He's ringing again."
"We'll have to unlock the door," sighed Jean, placing her hand on the key, "but dearie me, I feel just as Marjory does about it. Knit fast, Mabel."
The key turned in the lock, but the girls did not need to open the door; the visitor did that. Then there were rapturous cries of "Mr. Black! Mr. Black!"
Mabel wanted to greet Mr. Black, too, for there was nobody in the world that was kinder to little girls than the stout gentleman who had just opened their door; but she remembered that the soldier lady (in spite of the Dover egg-beater heart) had remained seated, placidly knitting; so Mabel likewise sat still and plied her crochet hook.
"Hi, hi!" exclaimed Mr. Black. "Whatare you all locked in for? And here I had to ring four times when I came with a present—apples right off the top of my own barrel. Began to be afraid I'd have to eat them all myself, you were so long letting me in."
"If we'd guessed that it was you and apples," said Marjory, "we'd have met you at the gate."
"Where's the other girl?" asked Mr. Black's big, cheery voice. "Doesn't she like apples, too?"
"In the kitchen," chorused Jean, Marjory and Bettie.
"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Black, striding kitchenward, "here she is, knitting like any old lady. Aren't you coming in here to eat apples with the rest of us?"
"Can't," mumbled Mabel.
"What's the matter, grandma?" teased Mr. Black. "Rheumatism troubling you to-day?"
"Nope," returned Mabel.
"Lost all your teeth?"
"Nope."
"Are you knitting me a pair of socks or is it mittens?"
"Just a chain," replied Mabel, suddenly beaming. "But, Mr. Black, does it really look as if I were knitting?"
"Precisely," smiled Mr. Black. "So much so that you remind me of the story of the woman who sat on the trap door and knitted—By Jove! Thatisa trap door! Here's the ring sticking up."
The girls shot a quick glance at the floor. Then they gazed guiltily at one another. Sure enough! The tell-tale ring stood upright, ready for use. No one had thought to conceal it.
"Is there a wounded soldier down there?" asked Mr. Black, jokingly.
"No!" shouted all four with suspicious haste.
The deep silence that followed was suddenly punctuated by a muffled sneeze fromRosa Marie. Undoubtedly, some of the pepper dislodged from the crack in the floor had sifted down to the prisoner.
The faces of the four girls flushed guiltily. Mr. Black looked wonderingly at the little group. It was plain that something was wrong. Jean, who had always met her friend's glance with level, truthful eyes, was now looking most sheepishly at her own toes. Bettie, hitherto always ready to tell the whole truth, was now fiddling evasively with the corner of her apron. Marjory's fair skin was crimson; her usually frank blue eyes were intent on something under the kitchen table.
"Is there some sort of an animal in that cellar?" demanded Mr. Black.
Rosa Marie chose this moment to give another large sneeze.
"Is it something you're afraid of?" demanded Mr. Black.
"'Fraid of losing," mumbled Mabel, shamefacedly. Poor Mabel realized onlytoo well that she, with her knitting and her too-perfect playing of the part, had given the secret away; and she felt all the bitterness of failure.
Seizing the back of Mabel's chair, Mr. Black drew it swiftly off the trap door. In another moment, he had the door open.
Rosa Marie, blinking at the sudden light, bobbed upward. Mr. Black involuntarily started back from the opening.
"What under heavens is that!" he gasped. "A monkey?"
And, indeed, the error was a perfectly natural one, for all he had been able to see was a tousled head of hair, beneath which gleamed small black eyes.
"I should say not!" blazed Mabel. "It's my little girl—my Rosa Marie."
"Does she bite? Is she dangerous? Is that why you treat her like potatoes?"
"Most certainly not," returned Mabel, with dignity. "She's an Indian."
"Bless me!" said Mr. Black, leaningcautiously forward. "Let's have a look at her."
Now that the secret was out, everybody eagerly clutched some portion of Rosa Marie's clothing. She was drawn, with some difficulty and sundry tearings of cloth, from the "Soldier's Retreat." Mabel cuddled the blinking small person in her lap.
"Did you pick her up in the woods?" asked Mr. Black, "or did you simply kidnap her? Or, dreadful thought! Did you order her by number from some catalogue? And did they charge you full price?"
Then Mabel, helped by the other three, told all that they knew of the history of Rosa Marie; and of Mabel's affection for the queer brown baby. They told him everything. Mabel, with visions of the orphan asylum's doors yawning to engulf precious Rosa Marie, considered it a very sad story. She felt grieved and indignant because Mr. Black, instead of sympathizing, laughed until his sides shook. Even thepathetic diet of liver, codfish and prunes seemed to amuse him.
"What would you have said if your mothers had asked you where this child was?" inquired Mr. Black presently. "I mean, when you had her down cellar?"
Jean looked at Bettie, Bettie looked at Marjory, Marjory looked at Mabel.
"We never thought of that," confessed Bettie.
"Oh," groaned Mabel, holding Rosa Marie closer, "our plan isn't any good after all. We'd have to tell the truth if they asked; we always do."
"Yes," said Jean, "they'd get it out of us at once."
"Even," teased Marjory, shrewdly, "if Mabel, sitting upon that trap door, were not every bit as good as a printed sign."
"Never mind," soothed Jean, slipping an arm about Mabel's shoulders, "we'd rather be honest than smart, since we can't be both."
Mabel needed soothing. She sat still and made no sound; but large tears were rolling down her cheeks and splashing on Rosa Marie's black head. Mr. Black regarded them thoughtfully. He noticed too that Mabel's moderately white hand was closed tightly over Rosa Marie's brown fingers. It reminded him, some way, of his own youthful agony over parting with a puppy that he had not been allowed to keep—he had always regretted that puppy.
Suddenly the front door, propelled by some unseen force, opened from without to admit the three mothers and Aunty Jane, followed closely by Mr. Tucker, Dr. Bennett and two young women in nurses' uniform. They crowded into the little parlor and filled it to overflowing. None of the Cottagers said a word; but Mabel, tears still rolling down her cheeks, silently clasped both arms tightly about Rosa Marie's body. It began to look as if Rosa Marie would have to be taken by force.
"It's all arranged," announced Mrs. Bennett, breathlessly. "The asylum is willing to take her and she is to go at once with these young ladies. Come, Mabel, don't be foolish. Take your arms away. You're behaving very badly—There, there, I'll buy you something."
"You're just a little too late," said Mr. Black, keeping watchful eyes on Mabel's speaking countenance. "I've decided to take the responsibility of Rosa Marie into my own hands."
WHEN Mr. Black went home that afternoon to explain the matter to his good sister, Mrs. Crane, he took with him not only Rosa Marie, but Jean, Marjory, Bettie and Mabel, whose parents had given them permission to escort the brown baby to her new home.
"You see," said he, while waiting for Rosa Marie to be made somewhat more attractive, "I want you to tell the story to Mrs. Crane, precisely as you told it to me. But don't mentionmeuntil you get to the very end."
With her hair brushed and braided and her fat little body stuffed into a pink gingham apron that the Cottagers had laboriously cut down from a wrapper of Mrs. Halliday's, Rosa Marie looked her best, inspite of the fact that she wore no shoes and stockings. She trotted contentedly at Mabel's side; but Bettie, who was supposed to be walking with Mr. Black, pranced delightedly about him in circles, to show her gratitude. Jean and Marjory followed more sedately but with beaming countenances.
Now that Mrs. Crane was no longer poor, she was always dressed very neatly in black silk. Except for that she was precisely the same jolly, good-natured woman that she had been when she lived alone in the little house just across the street from Dandelion Cottage. Now, however, she lived with her brother, Mr. Black, in his big, imposing, but rather gloomy house. She had no husband, he had no wife and neither had any children. Perhaps that is why they were both so fond of the Dandelion Cottagers.
Mrs. Crane was planting bulbs in the garden when Mr. Black ushered his procession in at the gate.
"Bless my soul!" said she, "here you arejust in time to help. I always said that if ever I got a chance to plant all the tulip bulbs I wanted, I'd die of pure happiness; but I guess I standmorechance of dying of a broken back. My land! I've planted two thousand three hundred and forty-eight of the best-looking bulbs I ever laid eyes on, and there ain't a hole in those boxes yet. They're all named, too. Here's Rachel Ruish, Rose Grisdelin, Rosy Mundi, Yellow Prince, the Duke of York—think of havinghimin your front yard—and Lady Grandison, two inches apart, clear to the gate. But land! I suppose a body's tongue'd go lame countingdiamonds."
"Why don't you let Martin plant them?" asked Mr. Black, with a twinkle in his eye. It was plain that he enjoyed his talkative elderly sister.
"And have them all bloom in China?" retorted Mrs. Crane. "Now you know, Peter, that Martin couldn't get a bulb right end up if there were printed directions onthe skin of every bulb. But Jean there, and Bettie——"
"We'll do it," cried the girls. "Just tell us how."
"Two inches apart, pointed end up, all the way along those little trenches," directed Mrs. Crane, seating herself in the wheelbarrow. "No, notyou, Mabel. You and Martin—Well, I won'tsayit. Why! What's the matter with your face? Looks to me as if you'd dusted the coal bin with yourself and then cried about it. What's the trouble?"
Thereupon Mabel introduced Rosa Marie, who had been shyly hiding behind a rosebush, told her story and graphically described the horrors of the orphan asylum.
"While I don't believe that any orphan asylum is as black as you've painted that one," said Mrs. Crane, "it does seem a pity to shut a little outdoor animal like that up in a cage when she ain't used to it. Now, Peter, you listen to me. Why couldn'twekeep Rosa Marie here for a time. Like enough, her mother'll be back after her most any day. In the meantime, she'd be more company than a cat and easier to wash than a poodle."
"Well now, I don't know," returned Mr. Black, winking at Mabel. "A child is a great deal of trouble."
"Shame on you, Peter Black. It's only yesterday that you bought a wretched old horse to keep his owner from ill-treating him; and here you are refusing——"
"Oh, not exactly refusing——"
"Begrudging, anyway, to rescue that innocent lamb——"
"She means black sheep," whispered Marjory, into Jean's convenient ear.
"From that institution. Peter Black! I'm just going to keep that child, anyway."
At this, all five laughed merrily. Rosa Marie, cheered by the sound, reached gravely into a paper bag, gravely handed each person a tulip bulb and appropriatedone herself. She took a generous bite out of hers.
"We'll plant 'em in a ring around that snowball bush," said Mrs. Crane, rescuing the bitten bulb, bite and all. "That shall be Rosa Marie's own flower bed."
"There's a nursery on the second floor," said Mr. Black. "You girls must help us fix it up. And, Mabel, perhapsyouwould like to spend this money for some toys that would just exactly suit Rosa Marie."
Mabel beamed gratefully as she accepted the money and the responsibility. Never before had any one singled her out to perform a task that required discretion. It was always Jean, or Bettie, or sometimes even Marjory that was chosen. Never before had greatness been thrust upon Mabel. She lavished grateful, affectionate glances on Mr. Black and inwardly determined to save part of the cash with which to buy him a Christmas present, not realizing that that would be a misappropriation of funds.
Mabel, however, felt a pang of jealousy when Rosa Marie, digging contentedly in the sand at Mrs. Crane's feet, allowed her former guardian to depart absolutely unnoticed.
"Ididthink," confided Mabel to Bettie, who walked beside her, "that she'd at leastlookas if she cared."
That night the mothers made peace with their daughters, and Aunty Jane extended a flag of truce to Marjory.
"It was all for your own good," explained Mrs. Bennett, her arm about Mabel, who was missing the pleasant task of putting Rosa Marie to bed. "I couldn't let you grow up with a little Indian continually at your heels. You'd have grown tired of her, too. And by keeping silence so long, you did a great deal of harm. If we'd known about the matter at once, we might have been able to find her mother. Now it's too late."
"I never thought of that," said Mabel, contritely. "I'll tell right away, next time."
"Mabel! There mustn'tbea next time. Promise me this instant that you'll never borrow another baby unless you know that its mother really wants to keep it. Promise."
"All right, I promise," said Mabel, cheerfully.
"But Ican'tthink," remarked Mrs. Bennett, "what possessed Mr. Black to be so foolish as to take such a child into his own home."
There were other persons that wondered, too, why Mr. Black should burden his household with the care of what Martin, his man, called an uncivilized savage; but the truth of the matter was just this. The large silent tears rolling down Mabel's forlorn countenance had suddenly proved too much for the tender heart of Mr. Black. In some ways, perhaps, impulsive Mr. Black was not a wise man; but, where children were concerned, there was no doubt of his being an exceedingly tender person.
NOW that the burden of caring for Rosa Marie was shifted to older and more competent shoulders, the Cottagers' thoughts returned to their school-work. It was time. Never had lessons been so neglected. Never before had four moderately intelligent little girls seemed so stupid. But of course with their minds filled with Rosa Marie, it had been impossible to keep the rivers of South America from lightmindedly running over into Asia, or the products of British Columbia from being exported from Calcutta.
These fortunate girls attended a beautiful school. That is, the building was beautiful. It stood right in the middle of a great big grassy block, entirely surrounded, as Bettie put it, by street, which of course addedgreatly to its dignity. It was built of "raindrop" sandstone, a most interesting building material because no two blocks were alike and also because each stone looked as if it had just been sprinkled with big, spattering drops of rain. It was hard when looking at it to believe that it wasn't raining, and certain naughty youngsters delighted in fooling new teachers by pointing out the deceiving drops that flecked the balustrade. Perhaps even the grass was fooled by this semblance to showers for, in summer time, it grew so thriftily that no one had to be warned to "Keep off," so a great many little people frolicked in the schoolyard even during vacation.
Of course the Dandelion Cottagers were not in the same classes in school. Jean, being the oldest, the most sedate and the most studious, was almost through the eighth grade. Marjory, being naturally very bright and also moderately industrious, was in the seventh. Mabel and Bettie werenot exactly anywhere. You see, Bettie had had to stay out so often to keep the next to the youngest Tucker baby from falling downstairs, that naturally she had dropped behind all the classes that she had ever started with; and Mabel—of course Mabelmeantwell, but when she studied at all it was usually the lesson for some other day; for this blundering maiden nevercouldremember which was the right page. But one day she happened by some lucky accident to stumble upon the right one, and on that solitary occasion she recited so very brilliantly that Miss Bonner and all the pupils dropped their books to listen in astonishment, and Mabel was marked one hundred.
But in spite of this high mark in good black ink (if one stood less than seventy-five red ink was employed) the thing did not happen again that fall because Mabel was too busy bringing up Rosa Marie to study even the wrong lesson. However, she was exceedingly fond of pretty Miss Bonner and,having learned the exact date of that young woman's birthday, hoped to appease her by a gift to be paid for by contributions from all the pupils in Miss Bonner's room. Mabel herself received and cared for the slowly accumulating funds, and the little brown purse was becoming almost as weighty a responsibility as Rosa Marie had been. Sometimes it rested in Mabel's untrustworthy pocket, sometimes in her rather untidy desk, sometimes under her pillow in her own room at home. One day Mrs. Bennett found it there.
"Why, Mabel!" she exclaimed. "Where did all this money come from? I knowyoudon't possess any."
"It's the M. B. B. P. F.," responded Mabel, who was brushing her hair with evident enjoyment and two very handsome military brushes. "I guess I'd better put it in my pocket."
"The what?" asked puzzled Mrs. Bennett.
"The Miss Bonner Birthday Present Fund. I'm the Cus—Cus—Custodium."
"The what kind of cuss?" asked Dr. Bennett, who had just poked his head in at the door to ask if, by any chance, Mabel had seen anything of his hair brushes.
"The Custodium," replied Mabel, with dignity.
"I think she means 'Custodian.'" explained Mrs. Bennett, rescuing the brushes.
"Well," retorted Mabel, "the toad part was all right if the tail wasn't. Marjory named me that, and she's always using bigger words than she ought to."
"So is somebody else," said Dr. Bennett, forgetting to scold about the brushes. "But I think the 'Custodium' had better hurry, or she'll be late for school."
That was Friday, and the little brown purse contained two dollars and forty-seven cents, which seemed a tremendous sum to inexperienced Mabel.
She remembered afterwards how verybig, imposing and substantial the school building had looked that morning as she approached it and noticed some strangers fingering the "rain-drops" to see if they were real. Indeed, everybody, from the largest tax-payer down to the smallest pupil, was proud of that building because it was so big and because there was no more rain-drop sandstone left in the quarry from which it had been taken. Even thoughtless Mabel always swelled with pride when tourists paused to comment on the queer, spotted appearance of those massive walls. She meant to point that building out some day to her grandchildren as the fount of all her learning; for the huge, solid building looked as if it would certainly outlast not only Mabel's grandchildren but all their great-great-grandchildren as well. But it didn't.
The catastrophe came on Saturday. Afterwards, everybody in Lakeville was glad, since the thing had to happen at all, that the day was Saturday, for no one likedto think what might have happened had the trouble come on a schoolday. It was also a Saturday in the first week of November, which was not quite so fortunate, as there was a stiff north wind.
At two o'clock that afternoon the streets were almost deserted, but weatherproof Dick Tucker, with his hands in his pockets, was going along whistling at the top of his very good lungs. By the merest chance he glanced at the wide windows of Lakeville's most pretentious possession, the big Public School building.
From four of the upper windows floated thin, softly curling plumes of gray smoke. The windows were closed, but the smoke appeared to be leaking out from the surrounding frames.
"Hello!" muttered Dick, suddenly shutting off his whistle. "That looks like smoke. The janitor must be rebuilding the furnace fire. But why should smoke—I guess I'll investigate."
The puzzled boy ran up the steps, pulled the vestibule door open and eagerly pressed his nose against the plate-glass panel of the inner door, which was locked. Through the glass, however, he could plainly see that the wide corridor was thick with smoke. He could even smell it.
"Great guns!" exclaimed Dick. "There's things doing in there! That furnace never smokes as hard as all that and besides the Janitor always has Saturday afternoons off. Perhaps the basement door is unlocked."
Dick ran down the steps to find that door, too, securely fastened.
"I guess," said Dick, with another look at the curling smoke about the upper windows, "the thing for me to do is to turn in an alarm."
Dick happened to know where the alarm-box was situated, so, feeling most important, yet withal strangely shaky as to legs, the lad made for the corner, a good long block distant, smashed the glass according todirections, and sent in the alarm, a thing that he had always longed to do.
Five minutes later, the big red hosecart, with gong ringing, firemen shouting and dogs barking, was dashing up the street. The hook and ladder company followed and a meat wagon, or rather a meat-wagon horse, galloped after. The foundry whistle began to give the ward number in long, melancholy, terrifying toots and the hosehouse bell joined in with a mad clamor. People poured from the houses along the hosecart's route, for in Lakeville it was customary for private citizens to attend all fires.
Dick, feeling most important, stood on the schoolhouse steps and pointed upward. The hosecart stopped with a jerk that must have surprised the horses, firemen leaped down and in a twinkling the foremost had smashed in the big glass door.
"It's a fire all right," said he.
Meanwhile the Janitor, chopping wood in his own backyard (which was his way ofenjoying his afternoons off), had listened intently to the fire alarm.
"Six-Two," said he, suddenly dropping his ax. "Guess I'll have a look at that fire. That's pretty close to my school."
JEAN, Bettie, Marjory and Mabel ran with the rest to see what was happening, for their homes were not far from the schoolhouse. Indeed, owing to its ample setting, the building was plainly visible from all directions; and from a distance, it always loomed larger than anything else in the town. To all the citizens it was a most unusual and alarming sight to see thick, black smoke curling about the eaves and rising in a threatening column above the familiar building. Such a thing had never happened before.
Marjory was the first of the quartette to discover what was going on. She had opened her bedroom window the better to count the strokes of the fire-bell when, to herastonishment, she saw the fire itself or at least the smoke thereof. Her first thought was of her three friends; for of course no Cottager could view such a spectacle as this promised to be without the companionship of the other three.
So Marjory flew around the block—like a little excited hen, Dr. Tucker said—and collected the girls. They ran in a body to join the swelling crowd that surrounded the smoking building.
"Keep back out of danger," called Aunty Jane, who was watching the fire from her upstairs window.
"We will," shrieked Marjory, who, with the other three, was rushing by.
"Don't get mixed up with the hose," warned Dr. Tucker, who was carrying young Peter to view the fire.
"We won't," promised Bettie. "We'll stand on the very safest corner."
"This is it," declared Jean, stopping short on the sidewalk. "We can see right overthe heads of the folks that are close to the building."
"Should you think," panted Mabel, hopefully, "that there'd be school Monday?"
"Looks doubtful," said Marjory.
"Not upstairs, anyway," returned Jean. "Everything must be smoked perfectly black. And it's getting worse every minute instead of better."
"Goodness!" cried Mabel, suddenly turning pale at a new and alarming thought. "I do hope it won't burnmyroom. The money for Miss Bonner's birthday present is in my desk. It's—it's a horrible lot of money to lose. I ought never to have left it there. Dear me! Do you think——"
"Phew!" cried Jean, paying no heed to Mabel. "Look at that!"
"That" was a terrifying flash of red that suddenly illumined six of the big upper windows.
"The High School room," groaned Bettie. "It's—it'sflames!"
"Hang it!" growled an indignant tax-payer. "Why doesn't somebodydosomething? That building cost fifty thousand dollars."
"Fire started from a defective flue on top floor," explained another bystander, "but that's no reason why the whole place should go. There's no fire downstairs, but therewillbe—What's that? No water? Broken hydrant?"
Mabel listened attentively. The bystander continued:
"Then the whole building is doomed. It's had time enough to get a tremendous start."
"Oh, look!" cried Jean. "It's bursting through into the next room—myroom! Oh, howdreadful! All our plants, our books, our pictures—Oh, oh! I can't bear to look."
Firemen and volunteer helpers were, hurrying in and out the wide south door. Men carried out towering piles of books andtossed them ruthlessly to the ground. Miss Bonner's big pink geranium was added to the heap. The Janitor appeared with the big hall clock, that wouldn't go at all on ordinary occasions but was now striking seven hundred and twenty-seven—or something like that—all at one stretch. It seemed to be crying out in alarm. The roar of flames could now be heard, likewise.
"Why!" exclaimed Jean, wheeling suddenly. "Where's Mabel? Wasn't she right beside you a minute ago, Bettie? I certainly saw her there."
"She was—but she isn't now," returned Bettie, looking about anxiously. "I thought she was behind me."
"Dear me!" murmured motherly Jean. "I hope she hasn't gone any closer. Suppose the scallops on that roof should begin to melt off."
"Oh, look!" cried Marjory. "There! In the doorway!"
All three looked just in time to see ashort, not-very-slender girl in an unmistakable red cap dart in at the smoky doorway.
"Oh," groaned Jean, "it's Mabel!"
"Oh," moaned Marjory, "why did I ever tell her that there was a fire?"
"I'm afraid," hazarded Bettie, "that she's gone to Miss Bonner's room to get that money."
Bettie was right. That was exactly what Mabel had done.
All along Mabel's way hands had stretched out to stop the flying figure. But the hands were always just a little too late. You see, the owners of the tardy hands did not realize quickly enough that rash little Mabel actually meant to enter a building whose top floor was all in flames. She was fairly inside before the onlookers grasped the situation.
"How perfectly foolish!" cried Marjory, stamping her foot in helpless rage. "Of course somebody'll get her out—there's twomen going in now—but how perfectly silly for her to go in at all!"
Mabel, however, was not feeling at all foolish. No, indeed. The little girl, to her own way of thinking, was doing a worthy, even a heroic, deed. She was rescuing the precious two dollars and forty-seven cents that her class had so laboriously raised to buy Miss Bonner a birthday gift. She would have liked to accomplish it in a little less spectacular manner, but, no other way being available, she had made the best of circumstances and was ignoring the crowd. She hoped, indeed, that no one had noticed her; with so much else to look at it seemed as if one small girl might easily remain unobserved. To be sure she was risking her life, the life of the only little girl that her parents possessed; but that seemed a small affair beside two dollars and forty-seven cents. The roof might fall, the cornice might drop, the huge chimney might collapse, the suffocating smoke or scorchingflames might suddenly pour into that still unburned lower room. Let them! Heroes never stopped for such trifles with such a sum at stake.
By this time, Jean, Marjory and Bettie were white and absolutely speechless with fear. Four firemen were sitting on Dr. Bennett to keep him from rushing in after the little girl he had promptly recognized as his own, and five women were supporting and encouraging Mrs. Bennett, who had grown too weak to stand although she still had her wits about her.
"Fifty dollars reward," Mr. Black was shouting, "to the man that gets that child!"
He would have gone after her himself, but Mrs. Crane had him firmly by the coat-tails and both Dr. and Mrs. Tucker were clinging to his arms.
"Be aisy, be aisy," Mrs. Malony, the egg-woman was murmuring to the world in general. "Miss Mabel's the kind thot's always escapin' jist be the skin av her teeth.Rest aisy. Thim fire-laddies'll be havin' her out av thot dure in another jiffy."
But, although the crowd rested as "aisy" as it could, the moments went by and no Mabel appeared.
With every instant the fire grew worse. By this time, the smoke and angry sheets of flame had burst through the roof and were streaming, with a mighty, threatening roar, straight up into the blackened sky—a splendid sight that was visible for a long distance. There was no water to check the mighty fire, for, a very few moments after the hose had been attached, the hydrant had burst and the water that should have been busy quenching the fire was quietly drenching the feet of many an unheeding bystander.
And presently the thing that everybody expected happened. With a lingering, horrible crash a large part of the upper floor dropped to the main hall below. Smoke poured from the lower doors and windows. In another moment leaping hungry flameswere visible in every room except the basement. The entire superstructure seemed now just like a gigantic, topless furnace; and of course it was no longer possible for even the firemen to venture inside.
Butwherewas Mabel?
MABEL, with the Janitor and four pursuing firemen at her reckless heels, had made a bold dash through the long corridor that led to Miss Bonner's room. Owing to a strong upward draft, there was surprisingly little smoke in this corridor and none at all in Miss Bonner's distant corner.
Still hotly pursued, Mabel, who had the advantage of knowing exactly whither she was bound, darted down the narrow aisle, reached into her desk, and, unselfishly passing by sundry dearly loved treasures of her own, seized the fat brown purse. Such joy to find it when so many of the desks had been stripped of their contents!
She was none too soon, for the next moment the Janitor's hands had closed uponher and, plump as she was, the sturdy fellow easily carried her out of the room, although Mabel protested crossly that she would much rather walk. In this uncomfortable fashion they reached the corridor.