Rosa Marie
NOT long after Mabel's ineffectual attempt to borrow an orphan Mrs.
Bennett dispatched her small daughter to Lake Street to find out, if
possible, why Mrs. Malony, the poultry woman, had failed to send the
week's supply of fresh eggs.
Now, the way to Mrs. Malony's was most interesting, particularly to a
young person of observing habits. There were houses on only one side
of the street and most of those were tumbling down under the weight of
the sand that each rain carried down the hillside. But the opposite
side of the road was even more attractive, for there one had a grassy,
shrubby bank where one could pick all sorts of things off bushes and
get burrs in one's stockings; a narrow stretch of pebbled beach where
one could sometimes find an agate, and a wide basin of very shallow
water where one could almost--but not quite--step from stone to stone
without wetting one's feet. It was certainly an enjoyable spot. The
distance from Mabel's home to Mrs. Malony's was very short--a matter of
perhaps five blocks. But if a body went the longest way round, stopped
to scour the green bank for belated blackberries, prickly hazelnuts,
dazzling golden-rod or rare four-leaved clovers; or loitered to gather
a dress-skirtful of stony treasures from the glittering beach, going to
Mrs. Malony's meant a great deal more than a five blocks' journey.
Just a little beyond the poultry woman's house, on the lake side of
the straggling street, a small, but decidedly attractive point of land
jutted waterward for perhaps two hundred feet. On this projecting point
stood a small shanty or shack, built, as Mabel described it later,
mostly of knot-holes. She meant, without knowing how to say it, that
the lumber in the hut was of the poorest possible quality.
On this long-to-be-remembered day, a small object moving in the
clearing that surrounded the shack attracted Mabel's attention.
Curiosity led her closer to investigate.
"It's just as I thought!" exclaimed Mabel, peering rapturously through
the bushes. "It's a real baby!"
Sure enough! It _was_ a baby.
Mabel edged closer, moving cautiously for fear of frightening her
unexpected find. She saw a small toddler, aged somewhere between two
and three years, roving aimlessly about the chip-strewn clearing. The
child's round cheeks, chubby wrists, bare feet and sturdy legs were
richly brown. A straggling fringe of jet-black hair overhung the stout
baby's black, beadlike eyes.
Near the doorway of the rickety shack a man, half French, half Indian,
stood talking earnestly and with many gesticulations to a dark-skinned
woman, framed by the doorway. The woman had large black eyes, shaded
by very long black lashes. She wore her rather coarse black hair in
two long, thick braids that hung in front of her straight shoulders.
In spite of her dark color, her worn shoes, her ragged, untidy gown,
she seemed to Mabel an exceedingly pretty woman. The man, too, was
handsome, after a bold, picturesque fashion; but the woman was the more
pleasing.
Mabel approached timidly. She felt that she was intruding.
"Good-morning," said she, ingratiatingly. "Is this your little boy?"
"Him girl," returned the woman, with a sudden flash of white teeth
between parted crimson lips. "Name Rosa Marie. Yes, him _ma petite_
daughtaire. You like the looks on him, hey?"
"Oh, so much," cried Mabel, impulsively. "Oh, _would_ you do me a
favor?"
"A favaire," repeated the woman, with a puzzled glance. "W'at ees a
favaire?"
"Oh, _would_ you lend your baby to me? Would you let me have her to
play with for---- Oh, for all day?"
"Here?" queried the mother, doubtfully.
"No, not here. In my own home--up there, on the hill. _Could_ I keep
her until six o'clock? I just adore babies, and she's so fat and
cunning! Oh, please, _please_! I'd be just awfully obliged."
A look of understanding flashed suddenly between the man and the woman;
but Mabel, stooping to make friends with little Rosa Marie, did not
observe it.
"Your fodder 'ave nice house, plainty food, plainty money?" queried the
woman, running a speculative eye over Mabel's plain but substantial
wardrobe.
"Oh yes," returned Mabel, thoughtlessly. "And besides I have a
playhouse. That is, it isn't exactly mine, but I just about live in it
with three other girls, and that's where I want to take Rosa Marie.
I'll be awfully careful of her if you'll only let me take her. Oh,
_do_ you think she'll come with me? Couldn't you _tell_ her to?"
The woman, bending to look into Rosa Marie's black eyes, talked loudly
and rapidly in some foreign tongue. The mother's voice was harsh,
but her eyes, Mabel noticed, seemed soft and tender, and much more
beautiful than Rosa Marie's.
"Now," said the woman, turning to Mabel and speaking in broken English,
"eef you want her, you must go at once. Go now, I tell you. Go queek,
queek! Pull hard eef she ees drag behind. But go, I tell you, _go_!"
The voice rose to an unpleasant, almost too stirring pitch that jarred
suddenly on Mabel's nerves; but, obeying these hasty instructions, the
little girl drew Rosa Marie out of the inclosure, led her across the
street and lifted her to the sidewalk. Looking back from the slight
elevation, Mabel noticed that the man was again talking earnestly and
gesticulating excitedly; while the woman, once more framed by the
doorway, followed, with her big black eyes, the chubby figure of Rosa
Marie.
"I'll bring her back all safe and sound," shouted Mabel, over her
shoulder. "Don't be afraid. Good-by, until six o'clock!"
Escorting Rosa Marie to Dandelion Cottage proved no light task.
Her legs were very short, it soon became evident that she was not
accustomed to using them for walking purposes, the way was mostly
uphill and the little brown feet were bare. At first Mabel led, coaxed
and encouraged with the utmost patience; but presently Rosa Marie sat
heavily on the sidewalk and refused to rise. That is, she didn't _say_
that she wouldn't rise. She remained sitting with such firmness of
purpose that it seemed hopeless to attempt to break her of the habit.
Mabel walked round and round her firmly seated charge in helpless
despair. Rosa Marie and the sidewalk were one.
"Want any help?" asked a friendly voice. It belonged to a large,
freckled boy who was carrying two pails of water from the lake to one
of the tumble-down houses.
[Illustration: ROSA MARIE AND THE SIDEWALK WERE ONE.]
"Yes, I do," responded Mabel, promptly. "If you could just lift this
child high enough for me to get hold of her I think I could carry her."
So the boy, setting his pails down, obligingly lifted Rosa Marie's
solid little person, Mabel clasped the barrel-shaped body closely, and,
after a word of thanks to the kind boy, proceeded homeward. But even
now her troubles were not ended. By silently refusing to cuddle, Rosa
Marie converted herself into a most uncomfortable burden. Her entire
body was a silent protest against leaving her home.
"Do make yourself soft and bunchy," pleaded Mabel, giving Rosa Marie
sundry pokes, calculated to make her double up like a jack-knife.
"Here, bend this way. _Haven't_ you any joints anywhere? Do hold tight
with your arms and legs. _This_ way. Pshaw! You're just like a
stuffed crocodile. Well, _walk_ then, if you can't hang on like a real
child. There's one thing certain, you shan't sit down again. I s'pose
we'll get there _sometime_."