A Surprise
JEAN and Bettie flew to one window, Marjory to the other. Mabel wanted
to fly, too, but she remained faithfully at her post, feeling quite
cheered by her own heroism.
"It's dark gray trousers with a crease in 'em; not skirts," announced
Marjory, peering under the edge of the shade.
"Probably a man from the asylum," shuddered Bettie. "Let's keep very
still. He may think that this is the wrong house and go somewhere else."
"But," objected Jean, "he'll only come back again."
"Yes," sighed Bettie. "I s'pose we will have to open the door. You do
it, Marjory."
"I don't want to," returned Marjory, unexpectedly shrinking. "It seems
too much like giving Rosa Marie into the hands of the enemy. After
all, we're going to miss her dreadfully and Mabel'll be just about
broken-hearted. She _does_ get so attached to things--Oh! He's ringing
again."
"We'll have to unlock the door," sighed Jean, placing her hand on the
key, "but dearie me, I feel just as Marjory does about it. Knit fast,
Mabel."
The key turned in the lock, but the girls did not need to open the
door; the visitor did that. Then there were rapturous cries of "Mr.
Black! Mr. Black!"
Mabel wanted to greet Mr. Black, too, for there was nobody in the world
that was kinder to little girls than the stout gentleman who had just
opened their door; but she remembered that the soldier lady (in spite
of the Dover egg-beater heart) had remained seated, placidly knitting;
so Mabel likewise sat still and plied her crochet hook.
"Hi, hi!" exclaimed Mr. Black. "What are you all locked in for? And
here I had to ring four times when I came with a present--apples right
off the top of my own barrel. Began to be afraid I'd have to eat them
all myself, you were so long letting me in."
"If we'd guessed that it was you and apples," said Marjory, "we'd have
met you at the gate."
"Where's the other girl?" asked Mr. Black's big, cheery voice. "Doesn't
she like apples, too?"
"In the kitchen," chorused Jean, Marjory and Bettie.
"Bless my soul!" said Mr. Black, striding kitchenward, "here she is,
knitting like any old lady. Aren't you coming in here to eat apples
with the rest of us?"
"Can't," mumbled Mabel.
"What's the matter, grandma?" teased Mr. Black. "Rheumatism troubling
you to-day?"
"Nope," returned Mabel.
"Lost all your teeth?"
"Nope."
"Are you knitting me a pair of socks or is it mittens?"
"Just a chain," replied Mabel, suddenly beaming. "But, Mr. Black, does
it really look as if I were knitting?"
"Precisely," smiled Mr. Black. "So much so that you remind me of the
story of the woman who sat on the trap door and knitted--By Jove! That
_is_ a trap door! Here's the ring sticking up."
The girls shot a quick glance at the floor. Then they gazed guiltily at
one another. Sure enough! The tell-tale ring stood upright, ready for
use. No one had thought to conceal it.
"Is there a wounded soldier down there?" asked Mr. Black, jokingly.
"No!" shouted all four with suspicious haste.
The deep silence that followed was suddenly punctuated by a muffled
sneeze from Rosa Marie. Undoubtedly, some of the pepper dislodged from
the crack in the floor had sifted down to the prisoner.
The faces of the four girls flushed guiltily. Mr. Black looked
wonderingly at the little group. It was plain that something was wrong.
Jean, who had always met her friend's glance with level, truthful eyes,
was now looking most sheepishly at her own toes. Bettie, hitherto
always ready to tell the whole truth, was now fiddling evasively with
the corner of her apron. Marjory's fair skin was crimson; her usually
frank blue eyes were intent on something under the kitchen table.
"Is there some sort of an animal in that cellar?" demanded Mr. Black.
Rosa Marie chose this moment to give another large sneeze.
"Is it something you're afraid of?" demanded Mr. Black.
"'Fraid of losing," mumbled Mabel, shamefacedly. Poor Mabel realized
only too well that she, with her knitting and her too-perfect playing
of the part, had given the secret away; and she felt all the bitterness
of failure.
Seizing the back of Mabel's chair, Mr. Black drew it swiftly off the
trap door. In another moment, he had the door open.
Rosa Marie, blinking at the sudden light, bobbed upward. Mr. Black
involuntarily started back from the opening.
"What under heavens is that!" he gasped. "A monkey?"
And, indeed, the error was a perfectly natural one, for all he had been
able to see was a tousled head of hair, beneath which gleamed small
black eyes.
"I should say not!" blazed Mabel. "It's my little girl--my Rosa Marie."
"Does she bite? Is she dangerous? Is that why you treat her like
potatoes?"
"Most certainly not," returned Mabel, with dignity. "She's an Indian."
"Bless me!" said Mr. Black, leaning cautiously forward. "Let's have a
look at her."
Now that the secret was out, everybody eagerly clutched some portion of
Rosa Marie's clothing. She was drawn, with some difficulty and sundry
tearings of cloth, from the "Soldier's Retreat." Mabel cuddled the
blinking small person in her lap.
"Did you pick her up in the woods?" asked Mr. Black, "or did you simply
kidnap her? Or, dreadful thought! Did you order her by number from some
catalogue? And did they charge you full price?"
Then Mabel, helped by the other three, told all that they knew of the
history of Rosa Marie; and of Mabel's affection for the queer brown
baby. They told him everything. Mabel, with visions of the orphan
asylum's doors yawning to engulf precious Rosa Marie, considered it
a very sad story. She felt grieved and indignant because Mr. Black,
instead of sympathizing, laughed until his sides shook. Even the
pathetic diet of liver, codfish and prunes seemed to amuse him.
"What would you have said if your mothers had asked you where this
child was?" inquired Mr. Black presently. "I mean, when you had her
down cellar?"
Jean looked at Bettie, Bettie looked at Marjory, Marjory looked at
Mabel.
"We never thought of that," confessed Bettie.
"Oh," groaned Mabel, holding Rosa Marie closer, "our plan isn't any
good after all. We'd have to tell the truth if they asked; we always
do."
"Yes," said Jean, "they'd get it out of us at once."
"Even," teased Marjory, shrewdly, "if Mabel, sitting upon that trap
door, were not every bit as good as a printed sign."
"Never mind," soothed Jean, slipping an arm about Mabel's shoulders,
"we'd rather be honest than smart, since we can't be both."
Mabel needed soothing. She sat still and made no sound; but large
tears were rolling down her cheeks and splashing on Rosa Marie's
black head. Mr. Black regarded them thoughtfully. He noticed too that
Mabel's moderately white hand was closed tightly over Rosa Marie's
brown fingers. It reminded him, some way, of his own youthful agony
over parting with a puppy that he had not been allowed to keep--he had
always regretted that puppy.
Suddenly the front door, propelled by some unseen force, opened from
without to admit the three mothers and Aunty Jane, followed closely by
Mr. Tucker, Dr. Bennett and two young women in nurses' uniform. They
crowded into the little parlor and filled it to overflowing. None of
the Cottagers said a word; but Mabel, tears still rolling down her
cheeks, silently clasped both arms tightly about Rosa Marie's body. It
began to look as if Rosa Marie would have to be taken by force.
"It's all arranged," announced Mrs. Bennett, breathlessly. "The asylum
is willing to take her and she is to go at once with these young
ladies. Come, Mabel, don't be foolish. Take your arms away. You're
behaving very badly--There, there, I'll buy you something."
"You're just a little too late," said Mr. Black, keeping watchful
eyes on Mabel's speaking countenance. "I've decided to take the
responsibility of Rosa Marie into my own hands."