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