Back Aa

Adopting of Rosa Marie

Close

<h2>CHAPTER XXI Getting Even</h2> LUNCHEON at Jean's that day proved a lively affair, for both boys were home; Henrietta chatted as frankly and as merrily as if she had known them all her life. Wallace, who was shy, squirmed uneasily at first and kept his eyes on his plate; but Roger, who had encountered the visitor in his French class, was able to respond to her friendly chatter. "I like boys," asserted Henrietta, frankly, "but I haven't any belonging to me but one and he's a horrid muff—sixteen and a regular baby. He's my cousin." "I thought you liked babies," laughed Jean. "I do, but not that kind. He's been molly-coddled until it makes you sick to look at him." "Trot him out," offered Roger. "I'll give him an antidote." "He's in England," said Henrietta, "and I hope he'll stay there. He hasn't any idea of doing anything for himself; he's always talking about what he'll do when somebody else does such and such a thing for him." "You mean," said Roger, "he hasn't any American independence." "That's it," agreed Henrietta. "He'd have made a nice pink-and-white girl, but he's no use at all as a boy." "How dark it's getting," said Jean. "I can hardly see my plate." "I think," prophesied Wallace, breaking his long silence, "that it's going to snow. The sky's been a little thick for three days; when it comes we'll get a lot." "Goody!" cried Henrietta, "I've never seen a real Lake Superior snowstorm and I want to. So far all the snow we've had has come in the night. I want to see it snow." "You wouldn't," growled Wallace, "if you had to shovel several tons of it off your sidewalk." "Will it snow very soon?" queried Henrietta, eagerly. "Probably not before dark," returned Wallace, turning to glance at the dull sky. "It's only getting ready." Enthusiastic Henrietta, that odd mixture of extreme youth and premature age, was all impatience to see Rosa Marie. She had telephoned her grandmother to ask permission to spend the day with her new friends, and now she was eager to add Rosa Marie to the list. It was easy to see that she was expecting to behold something very choice in the line of babies. Jean was tempted to undeceive her, but loyalty to Marjory kept her silent. "A baby," breathed Henrietta, rapturously, "is the loveliest thing in all the world. Isn't it most two o'clock? Wait, I'll look at my watch—Mercy! I forgot to wind it!" "Hark!" said Jean, "I think I hear the girls. Yes, I do." "Get on your things," commanded Marjory, opening the door. "Bettie stopped to feed the cat, sew a button on Dick, wash Peter's face, tie up her father's finger and hook her mother's dress, but she's here at last and we're to pick up Mabel on the way because Dr. Bennett called her back to wash her face." "We mustn't stay too long," warned Jean, glancing at the dull sky. "It looks as if it would get dark early." Mrs. Crane was glad to see her visitors and appeared delighted to add a new girl to her collection of youthful friends. "You and Jean are just of a size," said she. "And about the same age," added Bettie, who had always regretted the two years' difference in her age and Jean's. "I wish I were as old as that." "Aren't you afraid," blundered well-meaning Mrs. Crane, turning to Bettie, "that she'll cut you out? You and Jean have always been as thick as thieves. Don't you let this pretty Henrietta steal your Jean away from you." Bettie, dear little unselfish soul, had hitherto been conscious of no such fear, but now her big brown eyes were troubled. This new possibility was alarming. "We'd like to see Rosa Marie," said Marjory. "Is she well?" "She has a bad cold," returned Mrs. Crane, shaking her head, sorrowfully. "I've just been looking through my books, and in the very first one I found more than twenty-five fatal diseases that begin with a bad cold." "Didn't you find any that folks ever get over?" suggested Jean, comfortingly. "Why, yes," replied Mrs. Crane, brightening. "I've known of folks pulling through at least twenty-four of them. But there's one thing. You won't like Rosa Marie's clothes to-day. They're—they're sort of an accident." "An accident?" questioned Bettie. "What happened?" "Why, you see, I ordered her a ready-made dress out of a catalogue. It sounded very promising but—Well, it's warm, but I guess that's about all you can say for it. I'll take you to the nursery; I have to keep her out of drafts." Rosa Marie, well and becomingly clad, would hardly have captured a prize in a beauty show, even with very little competition. Poor little Rosa Marie, suffering with a severe cold, appeared a most unlovable object. Her eyes were dull and all but invisible, her nose and lips were red and swollen and her wide mouth seemed even larger than usual. The catalogue dress was more than an accident; it was an out and out calamity. Its gorgeous red and green plaid was marked off like a city map in regular squares with a startling stripe of yellow. Moreover, the alarming garment was a distressingly tight fit. "It looked," sighed Mrs. Crane, apologetically, "as pretty as you please in that book; but of course nobody would think of buying such goods as that outside a catalogue. But Rosa Marie liked it." After the first glance, however, the Cottagers did not look at Rosa Marie or the hideous plaid. They gazed instead at Henrietta's speaking countenance. Having led their new friend to expect something entirely different in the way of infantile charms, they wanted to enjoy her surprise; but strangely enough they did not. It was evident that something was wrong with their plan. The bright, expectant look faded suddenly from the sparkling black eyes. All the animation fled swiftly from the girlish countenance. Two large tears rolled down Henrietta's cheeks. "Oh," she mourned, "I was so lonely for a real, dear little baby." "Dear me," sighed penitent Jean, "we thought you'd enjoy the joke. We saw at once that you supposed that Rosa Marie was an ordinary child—a nice little pink and white creature in long clothes. It seemed such a good chance to get even that we——" "It was my fault," apologized Marjory. "I tried to fool you. I never thought you'd care." "I'm sorry," said offended Mabel, stiffly, "that you don't like Rosa Marie. She's much more interesting than a common baby, and I think, when I picked her out——" "It isn't that," said Henrietta, smiling through her tears. "You see, I had a baby cousin in England that I just hated to leave—Oh, the sweetest, daintiest little-girl baby—and she'll be all grown up and gone before I ever see her again. I simply adored that baby." "Never mind," soothed Bettie, generously. "We've any number of real babies at our house and three of them are small enough to cuddle. And even the littlest one is big enough to be played with." "What an accommodating family," said Henrietta, wiping her eyes. "I guess they'll make up for this remarkable infant." "Rosa Marie certainly isn't looking her best to-day," admitted Jean, "but you'll really find her very interesting when you know her better. But she never does appeal to strangers—we've found that out." "And just now," said Bettie, "she's surely a sight; but when you've seen her in the cunning little Indian costume that Mr. Black bought for her you'll really like her." "Perhaps," said Henrietta, doubtfully. <hr class="chap" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2