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Adopting of Rosa Marie

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<h2>CHAPTER X Breaking the News</h2> WHEN Mr. Black went home that afternoon to explain the matter to his good sister, Mrs. Crane, he took with him not only Rosa Marie, but Jean, Marjory, Bettie and Mabel, whose parents had given them permission to escort the brown baby to her new home. "You see," said he, while waiting for Rosa Marie to be made somewhat more attractive, "I want you to tell the story to Mrs. Crane, precisely as you told it to me. But don't mention me until you get to the very end." With her hair brushed and braided and her fat little body stuffed into a pink gingham apron that the Cottagers had laboriously cut down from a wrapper of Mrs. Halliday's, Rosa Marie looked her best, in spite of the fact that she wore no shoes and stockings. She trotted contentedly at Mabel's side; but Bettie, who was supposed to be walking with Mr. Black, pranced delightedly about him in circles, to show her gratitude. Jean and Marjory followed more sedately but with beaming countenances. Now that Mrs. Crane was no longer poor, she was always dressed very neatly in black silk. Except for that she was precisely the same jolly, good-natured woman that she had been when she lived alone in the little house just across the street from Dandelion Cottage. Now, however, she lived with her brother, Mr. Black, in his big, imposing, but rather gloomy house. She had no husband, he had no wife and neither had any children. Perhaps that is why they were both so fond of the Dandelion Cottagers. Mrs. Crane was planting bulbs in the garden when Mr. Black ushered his procession in at the gate. "Bless my soul!" said she, "here you are just in time to help. I always said that if ever I got a chance to plant all the tulip bulbs I wanted, I'd die of pure happiness; but I guess I stand more chance of dying of a broken back. My land! I've planted two thousand three hundred and forty-eight of the best-looking bulbs I ever laid eyes on, and there ain't a hole in those boxes yet. They're all named, too. Here's Rachel Ruish, Rose Grisdelin, Rosy Mundi, Yellow Prince, the Duke of York—think of having him in your front yard—and Lady Grandison, two inches apart, clear to the gate. But land! I suppose a body's tongue'd go lame counting diamonds." "Why don't you let Martin plant them?" asked Mr. Black, with a twinkle in his eye. It was plain that he enjoyed his talkative elderly sister. "And have them all bloom in China?" retorted Mrs. Crane. "Now you know, Peter, that Martin couldn't get a bulb right end up if there were printed directions on the skin of every bulb. But Jean there, and Bettie——" "We'll do it," cried the girls. "Just tell us how." "Two inches apart, pointed end up, all the way along those little trenches," directed Mrs. Crane, seating herself in the wheelbarrow. "No, not you, Mabel. You and Martin—Well, I won't say it. Why! What's the matter with your face? Looks to me as if you'd dusted the coal bin with yourself and then cried about it. What's the trouble?" Thereupon Mabel introduced Rosa Marie, who had been shyly hiding behind a rosebush, told her story and graphically described the horrors of the orphan asylum. "While I don't believe that any orphan asylum is as black as you've painted that one," said Mrs. Crane, "it does seem a pity to shut a little outdoor animal like that up in a cage when she ain't used to it. Now, Peter, you listen to me. Why couldn't we keep Rosa Marie here for a time. Like enough, her mother'll be back after her most any day. In the meantime, she'd be more company than a cat and easier to wash than a poodle." "Well now, I don't know," returned Mr. Black, winking at Mabel. "A child is a great deal of trouble." "Shame on you, Peter Black. It's only yesterday that you bought a wretched old horse to keep his owner from ill-treating him; and here you are refusing——" "Oh, not exactly refusing——" "Begrudging, anyway, to rescue that innocent lamb——" "She means black sheep," whispered Marjory, into Jean's convenient ear. "From that institution. Peter Black! I'm just going to keep that child, anyway." At this, all five laughed merrily. Rosa Marie, cheered by the sound, reached gravely into a paper bag, gravely handed each person a tulip bulb and appropriated one herself. She took a generous bite out of hers. "We'll plant 'em in a ring around that snowball bush," said Mrs. Crane, rescuing the bitten bulb, bite and all. "That shall be Rosa Marie's own flower bed." "There's a nursery on the second floor," said Mr. Black. "You girls must help us fix it up. And, Mabel, perhaps you would like to spend this money for some toys that would just exactly suit Rosa Marie." Mabel beamed gratefully as she accepted the money and the responsibility. Never before had any one singled her out to perform a task that required discretion. It was always Jean, or Bettie, or sometimes even Marjory that was chosen. Never before had greatness been thrust upon Mabel. She lavished grateful, affectionate glances on Mr. Black and inwardly determined to save part of the cash with which to buy him a Christmas present, not realizing that that would be a misappropriation of funds. Mabel, however, felt a pang of jealousy when Rosa Marie, digging contentedly in the sand at Mrs. Crane's feet, allowed her former guardian to depart absolutely unnoticed. "I did think," confided Mabel to Bettie, who walked beside her, "that she'd at least look as if she cared." That night the mothers made peace with their daughters, and Aunty Jane extended a flag of truce to Marjory. "It was all for your own good," explained Mrs. Bennett, her arm about Mabel, who was missing the pleasant task of putting Rosa Marie to bed. "I couldn't let you grow up with a little Indian continually at your heels. You'd have grown tired of her, too. And by keeping silence so long, you did a great deal of harm. If we'd known about the matter at once, we might have been able to find her mother. Now it's too late." "I never thought of that," said Mabel, contritely. "I'll tell right away, next time." "Mabel! There mustn't be a next time. Promise me this instant that you'll never borrow another baby unless you know that its mother really wants to keep it. Promise." "All right, I promise," said Mabel, cheerfully. "But I can't think," remarked Mrs. Bennett, "what possessed Mr. Black to be so foolish as to take such a child into his own home." There were other persons that wondered, too, why Mr. Black should burden his household with the care of what Martin, his man, called an uncivilized savage; but the truth of the matter was just this. The large silent tears rolling down Mabel's forlorn countenance had suddenly proved too much for the tender heart of Mr. Black. In some ways, perhaps, impulsive Mr. Black was not a wise man; but, where children were concerned, there was no doubt of his being an exceedingly tender person. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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