CHAPTER III
Mabel's Day
ALMOST hopeless as it seemed at times, Mabel and the silent brownbaby finally reached Dandelion Cottage. There they found Jean, seatedin a chair with her lovely little cousin Anne Halliday perched likea pink and white blossom on the edge of the dining table before her,tying Anne's bewitching yellow curls with wide pink ribbons. Anne wasa perpetual delight, for, besides being a picture during every momentof the long day, her ways were so quaint and so attractive that no onecould help admiring her.
Marjory, her countenance carefully arranged to depict the deepestsorrow, stood guard over the Marcotte twins, who, touchingly coveredwith nasturtiums, were laid out on the parlor cozy corner, awaitingburial. Their blue eyes blinked and their pink toes twitched; but, onthe whole, they played their parts in a most satisfactory manner.
Bettie, with two small but attractive Tucker babies clinging to herbrief skirts, was exclaiming: "These are my jewels," when tired, dustyMabel, pushing reluctant Rosa Marie before her, walked in.
"For mercy's sake, what's that!" gasped Jean, sweeping Anne Hallidayinto her protecting arms.
"Is--is it something the cat dragged in?" asked Marjory.
"Is--_can_ it be a _real_ child?" demanded Bettie.
"This," announced Mabel, with dignity, "is _my_ child. Her name is RosaMarie--with all the distress on the _ee_."
"The distress seems to be all over both of you," giggled Marjory.
"That's just dust," explained Mabel.
"Did you both roll home like a pair of barrels?" queried Jean, "or didthe Village Improvement folks use you to dust the sidewalks?"
"What's the matter with that child's complexion?" demanded Marjory. "Isshe tanned?"
"Coming home took long enough for us both to get tanned," returnedMabel, crossly, "but Rosa Marie's French, I guess."
"French! French nothing!" exclaimed Marjory. "She's nothing but alittle wild Indian. Look at her hair. Look at her small black eyes.Look at her high cheekbones. Where in the world did you get her?"
Mabel explained. For once, the girls listened with the most flatteringattention. Anne Halliday bobbed her pretty head to punctuate eachsentence, the Tucker babies stood in silence with their mouths open,even the nicely laid-out Marcotte twins on the sofa sat up to hear thetale.
"And she's all mine until six o'clock," concluded Mabel, triumphantly.
"If she were mine," said Jean, "I'd give her a bath."
"I'd give her two," giggled Marjory.
So Mabel, assisted by Jean, Marjory, Bettie, little Anne, the twoTucker babies and the now very much alive Marcotte twins gave RosaMarie a bath in the dish-pan. Although they changed the water as fastas they could heat more in the tea-kettle, although they used a wholebar of strong yellow soap, two teaspoonfuls of washing powder and a_very_ scratchy washcloth lathered with Sapolio, Rosa Marie, who boreit all with stolid patience, was still richly brown from head to heels,when she emerged from her bath.
"Let's play Pocohontis!" cried Marjory, seizing the feather duster."Put feathers in her hair and drape her in my brown petticoat. I'll beCaptain John Smith in Bob Tucker's rubber boots."
"You won't either," retorted Mabel, indignantly. "I guess, after Idragged this child all the way up here to play 'Mother' with, I'm notgoing to have her used for any old Pocohontises. She's my child, andI'm going to have the entire use of her while she lasts."
"After all," replied Marjory, cuttingly, "I don't want her. I'm sure_I_ wouldn't care for any of _that_ colored children. The usual shadeis quite good enough for me."
But, while the novelty lasted and in spite of Marjory's declaration,Rosa Marie was a distinct success. Little Anne Halliday's cunningestways and quaintest speeches went unheeded when Rosa Marie refused towear shoes and stockings. She had never worn a shoe, and, withoututtering a word, she made it plain that she had no intention ofhampering her pudgy brown feet with the cast-off footgear of the youngTuckers.
Neither would she wear clothes, until Jean showed her the solitarygarment she had arrived in, now soaking in a pan of soapy water. Afterthey had arrayed her in a long-sleeved apron of Anne's--it didn't goround, but had to be helped out with a cheese-cloth duster--it wasevident that the unaccustomed whiteness bothered her. She was not usedto being so remarkably stiff and clean.
The Marcotte twins, again prepared for burial, quarrelled mostengagingly as to which should be buried under the apple-tree, bothpreferring that fruitful resting-place to the barren waste underthe snowball bush; but nobody listened because Rosa Marie was doingextraordinary things with her bowl of bread and milk. Having lapped themilk like a cat, she was deftly chasing the crumbs round the bowl witha greedy and experienced tongue. It was plain that Rosa Marie had notable manners.
As for the infantile Tuckers, they were an old story. On this occasionthey crawled into the corner cupboard and went to sleep and nobodymissed them for a whole hour, just because Rosa Marie was emittingqueer little startled grunts every time Marjory's best doll wailed"Mam-mah!" "Pap-pah!" for her benefit. There was no doubt about it,Rosa Marie was decidedly amusing.
The day passed swiftly; much too swiftly, Mabel thought. Very muchmothered Rosa Marie, who had obligingly consumed an amazing amount ofmilk--all, indeed, that the Cottagers had been able to procure--startedhomeward, towed by Mabel. That elated young person had declined alloffers of company; she coveted the full glory of returning Rosa Marieto her rightful guardian. Mabel, indeed, was visibly swollen withpride. She had given the Cottagers a most unusual treat. She had notonly surprised them by proving that she _could_ borrow a baby, buthad kept them amused and entertained every moment of the day. It hadcertainly been a red-letter day in the annals of Dandelion Cottage.
Mabel more than half expected to meet Rosa Marie's mother at the veryfirst corner. The other real mothers had always seemed desirous--overdesirous, Mabel thought--of welcoming their home-coming babies backto the fold; but the mother of Rosa Marie, apparently, was of a lessgrudging disposition.
Mabel laboriously escorted her reluctant charge to the very door of theshanty without encountering any welcoming parent. The borrower of RosaMarie knocked. No one came. She tried the door. It was locked.
"How queer!" said Mabel. "Seems to me I'd be on hand if I had anengagement at exactly six o'clock. But then, I always _am_ late."
Dragging an empty wooden box to the side of the house, Mabel climbed tothe high, decidedly smudgy window and peered in.
There was no one inside. There was no fire in the battered stove. Thedoors of a rough cupboard opposite the window stood open, disclosingthe fact that the cupboard was bare. There were no bedclothes in therough bunk that served for a bed; no dishes on the table; no clothinghanging from the hooks on the wall. Both inside and outside the housewore a strangely deserted aspect. It seemed to say: "Nobody lives herenow, nobody ever did live here, nobody ever will live here."