Discovery
SCHOOL began the first day of October--fortunately, repairs to the
building had delayed the opening. And there was Rosa Marie still on the
Cottagers' hands, still a dark and undivulged secret. In the meantime,
Mabel had paid many a visit to Mrs. Malony, who for reasons of her own
had kept silence about the borrowed baby. Probably she felt that Mrs.
Bennett would blame her for advising Mabel to harbor the deserted child.
"No, darlint," Mrs. Malony would say, encouragingly. "Oi ain't exactly
_seen_ her, but she'll be back prisintly, she'll be back prisintly--Oh,
most anny toime, now. Just do be waitin' patient and you'll see me
come walkin' in most anny foine day wid yon blackhaired lass at me
heels an' full to the eyes of her wid gratichude. Anny day at all, Miss
Mabel."
Buoyed by this hope, Mabel had waited from day to day, hoping for
speedy deliverance. And now, school!
"We'll just have to get excused for part of each day," said Marjory,
always good at suggesting remedies. "Last year, all my recitations came
in the morning; perhaps they will again. Then, if one of you others
could do all your reciting during the afternoon we could manage it."
The year previously Mabel had been obliged to spend many a half-hour
after school, making up neglected lessons. Now, however, she studied
furiously. If she failed frequently it was only because she couldn't
help making absurd blunders; it was never for lack of study. In this
one way, at least, Rosa Marie proved beneficial.
The united efforts of all four made it possible for Rosa Marie to
possess a more or less unwilling guardian for all but one hour during
the forenoon. It grieves one to confess it, but Rosa Marie spent that
solitary hour securely strapped to the leg of the dining-room table;
but, stolid as ever, she did not mind that.
It was there that Aunty Jane discovered her, the second week in
October. Aunty Jane had missed her best saucepan. Rightly suspecting
that Marjory had carried it off to make fudge in, she hurried to the
Cottage, discovered the key under the door-mat, opened the door and
walked in.
Rosa Marie was grunting. "Eigh, ugh, ugh, ee, ee, _ee_, hee!" to her
own bare brown toes.
"For mercy's sake! What's that?" gasped Aunty Jane, with a terrified
start. "There's some sort of an animal in this house."
Arming herself with the broken umbrella that stood in the mended
umbrella jar in the front hall, Aunty Jane peered cautiously into
the dining-room. The "animal" turned its head to blink with mild,
expressionless curiosity at Aunty Jane.
"My soul!" ejaculated that good lady, "what are you, anyway?"
The pair blinked at each other for several moments.
"Are--are you a _baby_?" demanded Aunty Jane.
No response from Rosa Marie.
"What," asked Aunty Jane, cautiously drawing closer, "is your name?"
Still no response.
"Who tied you to that table?"
Silence on Rosa Marie's part.
"I'm going straight after Mrs. Mapes," declared Aunty Jane, retreating
backwards in order to keep a watchful eye on the queer object under the
table. "I might have known that those enterprising youngsters would be
up to _something_, if I gave my whole mind to pickles."
Excited Aunty Jane collected not only Mrs. Mapes, but Mrs. Tucker and
Mrs. Bennett, before she returned to the Cottage. And then, the three
mothers and Aunty Jane sat on the floor beside Rosa Marie and asked
questions; useless questions, because Rosa Marie licked the table-leg
bashfully but yielded no other reply.
This lasted for nearly half an hour. And then, school being out and the
four Cottagers discovering their front door wide open, Jean, Bettie,
Marjory and Mabel, all sorts of emotions tugging at their hearts,
rushed breathlessly in. On beholding their mothers and Aunty Jane,
they, too, turned suddenly bashful and leaned, speechless, against the
Cottage wall.
"Whose child is that?" demanded all four of the grown-ups, in concert.
"Mine," replied Mabel.
"Mabel's," responded the other three, with disheartening promptness.
"What!" gasped the parents and Aunty Jane.
"I borrowed her," explained Mabel, "so she's _mostly_ mine."
"She's spending the day here, I suppose," said Mrs. Mapes.
"Ye-es," faltered Mabel. Marjory giggled, and Mabel turned crimson.
"I hope," said Mrs. Bennett, severely, "that you're not thinking of
keeping her all night."
"I--I--we--" faltered Mabel, "we--we sort of did."
"Well!" exclaimed Mrs. Bennett, not knowing how very late she was, "I
guess we've come just in time. Mabel, put that child's things on and
take her home at once."
"I can't," replied Mabel.
"Why not?"
"She hasn't any home."
"No home!"
"No. It's--it's run away."
"What! That baby?"
"No," stammered Mabel, "that baby's home. Not--not the house. Just her
mother. She--she--Oh, she'll be back, _some_ day."
"Mabel Bennett!" demanded Mrs. Bennett, suspecting something of the
truth, "how long have you had that child here?"
"Not--Oh, not so _very_ long," evaded Mabel.
"Mabel," demanded her mother, "tell me, instantly, exactly how long?"
"About--yes, just about five weeks."
"Five weeks!" gasped Mrs. Bennett.
"Five _weeks_!" shrieked Mrs. Tucker.
"Five weeks!" groaned Mrs. Mapes.
"Fi--ve weeks!" cried Aunty Jane.
"It'll be five to-morrow," said Bettie.
"No, the day after," corrected Marjory.
For the next few moments the mothers and Aunty Jane were too astounded
for further speech. The girls, too, had nothing to say. All four of the
Cottagers kept their eyes on the floor, for they knew precisely what
their elders were thinking.
"Jean," began Mrs. Mapes, reproachfully.
"I--I _wanted_ to tell," stammered Jean.
"I wouldn't let her," defended Mabel, looking up. "They _all_ wanted to
tell, but I wouldn't let them. Truly, they did, Mrs. Mapes."
"But five whole weeks!" murmured Mrs. Bennett. "I wonder that you were
able to keep the secret so long. Why! I've been over here half a dozen
times at least to ask for my scissors and other things that Mabel has
carried off."
"So have I," said Mrs. Mapes.
"So have I," echoed Mrs. Tucker.
"And so have I," added Aunty Jane, "and I've never heard a sound from
that remarkable child."
"You see," confessed Bettie, flushing guiltily, "we kept the door
locked. Whenever we saw anybody coming we whisked Rosa Marie into the
spare-room closet."
"If Rosa Marie had been an ordinary child," explained Jean, "she would
probably have howled; but you see, every blessed thing about us was so
new and strange to her that she just thought that everything we did was
all right. And anyhow, she doesn't have the same sort of feelings that
Anne Halliday does. Anne would have cried."
"You naughty, naughty children," scolded Mrs. Mapes, "to keep a secret
like that for five whole weeks."
"But, Mother," protested Jean, gently, "we never supposed it was going
to be a five-weeks-long secret. We didn't _want_ it to be. We've been
expecting her horrid mother to turn up every single minute since Rosa
Marie came."
"It was all my fault," declared loyal Mabel. "_They'd_ have told, the
very first minute, if it hadn't been for me. Blame me for everything."
"What," asked Mrs. Bennett, "do you intend to do with that--that
atrocious child?"
"She _isn't_ atrocious!" blazed Mabel, with sudden fire. "She's a
perfect darling, when you get used to her, and I _love_ her. She isn't
so very pretty, I know, but she's just dear. She's good, and that--and
that's--Why! You've said, yourself, that it was better to be good than
beautiful."
"But what do you intend to do with her?" persisted Mrs. Bennett.
"Keep her," said Mabel, firmly. "She doesn't eat anything much but milk
and sample packages."
"You can't. I won't have her in my house. Why! Her parents are probably
dreadful people."
"That's why she ought to have me for a mother and you for a
grandmother," pleaded Mabel, earnestly. "But if you don't like her,
I'll keep her here."
"But you can't, Mabel. It's so cold that there ought to be a fire here
this minute, and you can't possibly leave a child alone with a fire."
"Couldn't _you_ take her, Mrs. Mapes?" pleaded Mabel.
"No, I'm afraid I couldn't. If she were the least bit lovable----"
"Oh, she _is_----"
"Not to me," returned Mrs. Mapes, firmly.
"Wouldn't _you_ take her, Mrs. Tucker?"
"What! With all the family I have now? I couldn't think of such a
thing."
"Then you," begged Mabel, turning to Aunty Jane. "There's only you and
Marjory in that great big house. Oh, _do_ take her."
"Mercy! I'd just as soon undertake to board a live bear! Why! Nobody
wants a child of _that_ sort around. She's as homely----"
"I'm extremely glad," said Mabel, with much dignity and a great deal of
emphasis, "that _my_ child doesn't understand grown-up English."
"Perhaps," said Mrs. Mapes, smiling with sympathetic understanding,
"we four older people had better talk this matter over by ourselves.
Suppose you walk home with me.
"_I_ think," said Aunty Jane, forgetting all about the saucepan that
had led her to the Cottage, "that the orphan asylum is the place for
that unspeakable child."
"Yes," agreed Mrs. Bennett, "she'll certainly have to go to the
asylum."