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