The Call Returned
THE following Saturday, the girls carried their Christmas sewing to
Jean's. The sewing had not reached a very exciting stage, so tongues
moved faster than fingers. Mabel was still working on a shoe-bag for
her father but, owing to some misadventure, one of the two compartments
was several sizes larger than the other. Mabel regarded this difference
with disapproval until comforting Jean came to the rescue.
"Perhaps," suggested Jean, "there's a difference in the size of your
father's feet."
"Oh, there is," cried Mabel, gleefully. "His right shoe is always
tighter than the left."
"But," objected quick-witted Marjory, "it isn't his feet that are going
into that bag. It's his shoes, and they're the same size."
"Oh," groaned Mabel, settling into a disconsolate heap, "that's so."
"Never mind," said Bettie. "Give me the bag, and I'll fix those
pockets."
Bettie was embroidering an elaborate pincushion for her mother, but she
stopped so often to help the others that there seemed small hope of its
ever getting finished. Marjory, who was making one just like it for her
Aunty Jane, was progressing much more rapidly.
Jean, rummaging in her work-bag, was trying to decide which of four
partly completed articles to sew on when a carriage stopped at Mrs.
Mapes's gate.
"It's a caller," said Jean. "We'll have to vacate. Here, scurry into
the dining-room with all your stuff. I'll answer the bell; and you,
Bettie, remind Mother to take off her apron--she's apt to forget it."
Jean, stopping long enough to twitch the chairs into place, went primly
to the door.
"Good-morning," said a familiar voice, "I've come to return your
visit. It's all right, James. You needn't wait."
"Come back, girls," called Jean, when she had ushered the caller in.
"It's Henrietta."
"What luck!" cried Henrietta, pulling off her gloves. "Now I can
make a long, long call instead of four short ones. What are you
doing--Christmas presents? Give me a spool of fine white thread, some
pins and a sofa pillow. I'm going to make one, too."
"Take off your things," said Jean, smilingly.
Henrietta wriggled out of her jacket and tossed her hat on the couch.
"What is it going to be?" asked Bettie, watching the merry visitor's
deft fingers fly to and fro.
"Lace," returned Henrietta. "I learned to make it in France. Of course
these aren't the right materials for very fine lace, but I can make an
edge for a pincushion or a mat. I like to do things with my fingers."
"Can you draw?" asked Bettie.
"A little," returned Henrietta, modestly, "but you mustn't tell Miss
Rossitor, or she'll have _me_ doing cows and pigs and roosters."
"What grade do you belong in?" asked Jean.
"None," laughed the visitor, arranging the pins in what looked like
a very intricate pattern. "I couldn't be graded. I'm having Domestic
Science under the Methodist church, Senior Latin in the Council
Chamber, Post-graduate French in a cloak-room off the A. O. U. W. Hall,
Sophomore American History with the Baptists, and I'm doing mathematics
in the kindergarten--or somewhere down there. I had to go back to the
very beginning. If I ever tell you anything with numbers in it don't
believe it. I don't know six from six hundred. But I'm doing lessons in
five different buildings and getting lots of exercise besides. That's
doing pretty well for my first year in school."
"Your first year!" cried Marjory. "Surely you're fooling!"
"Not this time," assured Henrietta. "I've had governesses and tutors
ever since I could think, but this is truly my first school year. And
it's great fun. But if I stay in America, I'm to go to boarding school,
Grandmother says. I've always wanted to, and Grannie thinks it will be
good for me to be with other girls. You see, I've always lived with
grown folks, so I need to renew my youth."
"Mother's been reading the boarding-school advertisements in the
magazines lately," said Mabel. "I heard her read some of them aloud to
Father. But of course they couldn't have been thinking about _me_. But
they sounded interesting."
"Perhaps," offered Bettie, "they had read all the stories and those
boarding schools were all they had left to read."
"I guess so," said Mabel.
"Aunt Jane reads them, too," added Marjory. "There's some money that is
to be used for my education and for nothing else. When I've finished
with High School I'm to go to College."
"Oh well," laughed, Jean, lightly, "you're safe for another five years."
"_I_'m not," returned Henrietta. "I'm going next September, and if
Grandmother had known how the schools were going to be you wouldn't be
having the pleasure of my company now. She says I'm getting thin in the
pursuit of knowledge--it's too scattered, in Lakeville. That's why she
made me ride to-day."
"Look!" cried Mabel, her eyes bulging with astonishment. "She's really
making lace!"
"It's for you," said Henrietta, flashing a bright glance at
Mabel. "It's an apology, Mam'selle, for my past--and perhaps my
future--misdeeds."
"I _said_ I didn't like you," blurted honest Mabel, "but I do."
"Don't depend on me," sighed Henrietta. "I don't wear well. You'll find
the real me rubbing through in spots. Granny says I'm an imp that came
in one of Dad's Hindoo boxes."
"Why does your grandmother call you Midge?" asked Bettie.
"Because she doesn't like Henrietta. You see, I have five names--they
do that sort of thing on the other side--and I take turns with them.
When I find out which one suits me best, I'll choose that one for
keeps."
"What are they?" demanded Mabel.
"Henrietta Constance Louise Frederika Francesca--you see, there isn't
a really suitable name in the lot. But when you have five quarrelsome
aunts, as Father had, you have to please all or none of them by giving
your poor helpless baby all their horrid names. Call me Sallie--I've
_always_ wanted to be Sallie."
"Think of anybody," laughed Jean, "with as many names as that wanting a
new one."
"Where's that baby you adopted?" asked Henrietta, abruptly changing the
subject. "Didn't one of you adopt a baby or something like that?"
"It was Mabel," replied Marjory. "The rest of us are pretty good, but
Mabel's sort of thoughtless about borrowing things. She just happened
to borrow an unreturnable baby, one day."
"Where is it now?"
"At Mr. Black's. Her name is Rosa Marie."
"I'd like to see her," said Henrietta, carefully moving a pin.
"Stay to luncheon," urged Jean. "Father's away, so there'll be plenty
of room. Afterwards we can all pay a visit to Rosa Marie."
"I'm afraid," said Marjory, "she's getting to be a burden to Mrs.
Crane."
"Yes," agreed Bettie, "but it isn't Rosa Marie's fault. Mrs. Crane has
been reading a lot of books about bringing up children--you know she
never had any. Before she discovered how many things _might_ happen
to a baby she was quite comfortable; but now she's always certain that
Rosa Marie is coming down with something."
"And she doesn't seem very bright," mourned Jean.
"Who--Mrs. Crane?"
"No, Rosa Marie. You see, we don't know exactly how old she is--Mabel
didn't think to ask--but she seems big enough to be lots smarter than
she is. We're rather disappointed in her."
"I'm not," protested Mabel, loyally. "She's just slow because she
hasn't any little brothers and sisters. She's a _dear_ child."
"Cheer up, Mabel," soothed Henrietta. "As long as she's beautiful she
doesn't need to be bright."
At this, Marjory looked at Jean, then at Bettie, and smiled an odd,
significant smile. Here was a chance to get even with Henrietta; and,
unconsciously, Mabel helped.
"She's beautiful to me," said Mabel, "and she's ever so cunning."
"What color are her eyes?"
"Dark," said Marjory. "Darker than yours."
"Then she's a brunette?"
"Ye-es," said Marjory, as if considering the question. "She's darker,
at least, than I am."
"We all are," said Henrietta, with an admiring glance at Marjory's
golden locks. "We seem to shade down gradually. Mabel comes next, then
Jean, then Bettie; I'm the darkest, because Bettie's eyes are like
brown velvet, but mine are black, like bits of hard coal. Where does
Rosa Marie come in?"
"I think," said Marjory, with an air of pondering deeply, "that Rosa
Marie is almost, if not quite, as dark as you; even darker, perhaps.
But her hair isn't as curly."
"Dear little soul," breathed Henrietta, tenderly. "I've a tremendous
liking for babies, but they're pretty scarce at our house. But there
was one in England that was--Oh, if I could just see that English baby
_now_! Wouldn't I just hug her!"
Henrietta's eyes were unwontedly tender, her expression unusually sweet.
"You're not a bit like you've been any of the other times," observed
Bettie. "I like you a lot better when you're like this."
"I'm not myself to-day," twinkled Henrietta. "I'm Sallie--just plain
Sallie. But beware of me when I'm Frederika, the Disguised Duchess.
_That's_ when I'm not to be trusted."
"I think," said Jean, listening to some faraway sound, "that lunch is
about ready."
"Good!" exclaimed Henrietta. "The sooner it's over, the sooner I can
hug that darling baby. It's months since I've held one in my arms--the
dear little body."
"You'll find----" began Mabel; but the other three promptly headed her
off before she had time to explain that Rosa Marie was a pretty big
armful.
"It's time to go home," exclaimed Marjory and Bettie, in chorus. "Come
on, Mabel."
"If you'll excuse me," said Jean, speaking directly to Mabel, "I'll go
set a place for Henrietta. Sorry I can't ask everybody to stay; but
come back at two o'clock."