A Birthday Party
BUT if Mabel derived little joy from her experience as a heroine, there
was at least some satisfaction in knowing that there could be no school
on Monday, for Mabel was decidedly partial toward holidays.
"If I ever teach school," she often said, "there'll be two Saturdays
every week and no afternoon sessions."
Jean, however, really liked to go to school. So did Marjory, but Bettie
was uncertain.
"If," said Bettie, "I could go long enough to know what grade I
belonged in it might be interesting; but when you only attend in
patches it's sort of mixing. There's a little piece of me in three
different grades."
When Mrs. Crane realized that there could be no school on Monday,
she too was pleased. She stopped a moment after church on Sunday to
intercept the girls on their way to Sunday School.
"My!" said she. "How spruce you look!"
They did look "spruce." Tall Jean was all in brown, even to her gloves
and overshoes. Marjory's trim little winter suit was of dark green
broadcloth with gray furs, for neat Aunty Jane, whatever her other
failings, always kept Marjory very beautifully dressed. Bettie's short,
kilted skirt was red under a boyish black reefer that had once belonged
to Dick, and a black hat that Bob had discarded as "too floppy" had
been wired and trimmed with scarlet cloth to match the skirt. This
hand-me-down outfit was very becoming to dark-eyed Bettie, but then,
Bettie was pretty in anything. Plump Mabel was buttoned tightly into a
navy blue suit. Although she had owned it for barely six weeks it was
no longer big enough either lengthwise or sidewise.
"But," said Mabel, cheerfully, "by holding my breath most of the time I
can stand it for one hour on Sundays."
"How would you like," asked Mrs. Crane, "to spend to-morrow with me and
Rosa Marie?"
"We'd love to," said Jean.
"We'd like it a lot," said Marjory.
"Just awfully," breathed Bettie.
"Oh, goody!" gurgled Mabel.
"You see," said Mrs. Crane, "I'm not altogether easy about Rosa Marie.
I do every living thing I can think of, but someway I can't get inside
that child's shell. I declare, it seems sometimes as if she really
pities me for being so stupid. And I think she's falling off in her
looks."
"Oh, I _hope_ not," cried Mabel, fervently.
"No," agreed Marjory, "it certainly wouldn't do for Rosa Marie to fall
off very _much_."
"However," returned Mrs. Crane, loyally, "she might be very much worse
and at any rate she is warm and well fed, even if she does seem a
bit--foreign. So that Janitor put you down through the dust-chute, did
he, Mabel? You must have landed with quite a jolt."
"No," returned Mabel, rather sulkily, for every one was mentioning the
dust-chute. "I had all September's and October's sweepings to land on.
It was all mushy and springy, like mother's bed."
"How," pursued kindly Mrs. Crane, "did he get you out?"
"I'd--I'd rather not say," mumbled Mabel, flushing a brilliant crimson.
No one else had thought to ask this dreaded question, and the papers,
fortunately, had overlooked this detail.
"Why!" giggled teasing Marjory, "he _must_ have dragged her out by
her feet because she's so fat that she couldn't possibly have turned
herself over in that narrow space. It's just like a chimney, you know.
I've often looked down that place and wondered if Santa Claus could
manage the trip down. Oh, Mabel! It must have been funny! Tell us about
it."
Mabel grinned, but it was rather a sickly grin.
"First," she said, "he clawed out a lot of papers and stuff. Ugh! It
was horrid to feel everything sliding right out from under me--I didn't
know _how_ far I was going to drop. Then he grabbed my two ankles and
just jerked me out on the bias through the little door at the bottom. I
suppose it was a lot quicker. But he _didn't_ need to make me climb all
that coal."
"Yes, he did," returned Jean. "The cornice on the other three sides was
all loose and flopping up and down in the flames. Pieces kept falling.
The coal-bin side was the last to burn--the wind went the other
way--and Miss Bonner's room was the last to catch fire."
"That Janitor," declared Mrs. Crane, with conviction, "knew exactly
what he was about. Now, girls, you'll be sure to come to-morrow, won't
you? I think it will do Rosa Marie good and there's a reason why I'd
like a little company myself, but I shan't tell you just now what it
is."
"Oh, do," begged all four.
"No," returned Mrs. Crane. "It's a secret, and not a living soul knows
it but me. I'll tell you to-morrow."
"We'll _surely_ come," promised the girls.
Of course they kept their promise. The four Cottagers arrived very soon
after breakfast, were let in most sedately by Mr. Black's man, who
smiled when the unceremonious visitors rushed pell-mell past him to
fall upon Mrs. Crane, who was watering plants in the breakfast room.
"Tell us the secret!" shouted Mabel. "Oh--I mean good-morning!"
"Good-morning," smiled Mrs. Crane, setting the watering pot in a safe
place. "The secret isn't a very big one. It's only that to-day is
my birthday and I thought I'd like to have a party. You're it. The
cook is making me a birthday cake, but she doesn't know that it is a
birthday cake."
"Goody!" cried Mabel.
"Doesn't Mr. Black know it's your birthday?" queried Jean.
"I don't think so. You see, it's a long time since Peter and I spent
birthdays under the same roof, and men don't remember such things very
well. We'll surprise him with the cake to-night. Now let's go to the
nursery."
Rosa Marie's dull countenance brightened at sight of her four friends.
She gave four solemn little bobs with her head.
"Mercy!" cried Marjory, "she's learning manners."
"And see," said Bettie, "she's stringing beads."
"That's a surprise," said Mrs. Crane, proudly. "I taught her that."
"Fourteen," said Rosa Marie, unexpectedly.
"Goodness me!" cried Mabel. "Can she count?"
"Ye-es," admitted Mrs. Crane, guardedly, "but not to depend on. In
fact, fourteen is the only counting word she _can_ say. Peter taught
her that."
"Fourteen," repeated Rosa Marie, holding up her string of beads.
"You ridiculous baby!" laughed Mabel, hugging her. "Who are the pretty
beads for?"
Rosa Marie hurriedly clapped the string about her own brown throat.
"No, no," remonstrated Mrs. Crane. "You're making them for Mabel."
But Rosa Marie set her small white teeth firmly together and continued
to hold the beads against her own plump neck.
"_She_ knows whose beads they are," laughed Jean.
"I can't teach her a single Christian virtue," sighed Mrs. Crane.
"There isn't one unselfish hair in that child's head."
"She's too young," encouraged Bettie. "All babies are little savages."
"Not Anne Halliday," said Jean, who fairly worshiped her small cousin.
"That's different," said Marjory. "Anne was born with manners."
"The little Tuckers weren't," soothed Bettie. "Rosa Marie will be
generous enough in time."
"I wish I could believe it," sighed Mrs. Crane.
"Hi, hi! What's all this racket?" cried Mr. Black from the doorway. "Is
Rosa Marie doing all that talking? Get your things on quick, all of
you, and come for a ride with me."
"A ride!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane. "What in?"
"An automobile," returned Mr. Black, turning to wink comically at
Bettie.
"An automobile!" echoed Mrs. Crane. "I'd like to know whose. There's
only one in town and I don't know the owners."
"Yours," twinkled Mr. Black. "It's your birthday present."
"How did you know that this was the day?"
"Perhaps I remembered," said Mr. Black, smiling rather tenderly at his
old sister. "You _used_ to have them on this day."
"I do still," beamed Mrs. Crane. "That's why I invited the girls;
they're my birthday party. But what's this about automobiles?"
"Only one. It's yours."
"Peter Black! I don't believe you."
"Look out the hall window."
Everybody rushed to the big window in the front hall. Sure enough! A
splendid motor car stood at the gate.
"Peter," faltered Mrs. Crane, "have I _got_ to ride in that? I've never
set foot in one, and I'm sure I'd be scared to at this late day."
"What! Not ride in your own automobile? Bless you, Sarah, in another
week you'll refuse to stay out of it. Get your things on, everybody;
and warm ones, too. Find extra wraps for these girls, Sarah. There's
room for everybody but Rosa Marie."
"Now, isn't that just like a man?" said Mrs. Crane, looking about
helplessly. "Whose clothes does he think you're going to wear for
'extra wraps'? His, or mine?"
Everybody laughed, for obviously Mr. Black's house was a poor one in
which to find little girls' garments.
"We'll stop at your houses," said he, "and pick up some duds. Besides,
perhaps your mothers might like to know that you've been kidnaped.
What! no hat on yet? Here, pin this on," said Mr. Black, handing Mrs.
Crane a pink dust-cap. "I can't wait all day."
"Mercy! That's not a bonnet," cried Mrs. Crane, scurrying away. "I'll
be ready in two minutes."