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Girl Scouts Series, Volume 1

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT HOME

or

Rosanna's Beautiful Day

by

KATHERINE KEENE GALT







[Illustration: The little procession turned and made its way back to the
lunch basket.]




The Saalfield Publishing Company
Chicago Akron, Ohio New York
Made in U. S. A.
Copyright, MCMXXI, by
The Saalfield Publishing Company




THE GIRL SCOUTS SERIES

1 THE GIRL SCOUTS AT HOME

2 THE GIRL SCOUTS RALLY

3 THE GIRL SCOUT'S TRIUMPH




THE GIRL SCOUTS AT HOME

CHAPTER I


Little Rosanna Horton was a very poor little girl. When I tell you more
about her, you will think that was a very odd thing to say.

She lived in one of the most beautiful homes in Louisville, a city full
of beautiful homes. And Rosanna's was one of the loveliest. It was a
great, rambling house of red brick with wide porches in the front and on
either side. On the right of the house was a wonderful garden. It
covered half a square, and was surrounded by a high stone wall. No one
could look in to see what she was doing. That was rather nice, but of
course no one could look out either to see what they were doing on the
brick sidewalk, and that does not seem so nice.

At the back of the garden, facing on a clean bricked alley, was the
garage, big enough to hold four automobiles. The garage was covered with
vines. Otherwise, it would have been a queer looking building, with its
one door opening into the garden, and on that side not another door or
window either upstairs or down. The upstairs part was a really lovely
little apartment for the chauffeur to live in, but all the windows had
been put on the side or in front because old Mrs. Horton, Rosanna's
grandmother, did not think that chauffeurs' families were _ever_ the
sort who ought to look down into the garden where Rosanna played and
where she herself sat in state and had tea served of an afternoon.

At one side of the garden where the roses were wildest and the flowers
grew thickest was a little cottage, built to fit Rosanna. Grown people
had to stoop to get in and their heads almost scraped the ceilings. The
furniture all fitted Rosanna too, even to the tiny piano. This was
Rosanna's playhouse. She kept her dolls here, and there was a desk with
all sorts of writing paper that a maid sorted and put in order every
morning before Rosanna came out.

This doesn't sound as though Rosanna was such a poor little girl, does
it? But just you wait.

A good ways back of this playhouse was another small building that
looked like a little stable. It was a stable--a really truly stable
built to fit Rosanna's tiny pony. He had a little box stall, and at one
side there was space for the shiniest, prettiest cart.

Rosanna did not go to school. There was a schoolroom in the house, but I
will tell you about that some other time. Rosanna disliked it very much:
a schoolroom with just one little girl in it! _You_ wouldn't like it
yourself, would you?

Rosanna's clothes were the prettiest ever; much prettier then than they
are now. And such stacks of them! There was a whole dresser full of
ribbons and trinkets and jewelry besides. (Poor little Rosanna!)

She danced like a fairy, and every day she had a music lesson which was
given her, like a bad pill, by a severe lady in spectacles who ought
never to have tried to smile because it made her face look cracked all
over and you felt so much better when the smile was over. Oh, poor,
poor, _poor_ little Rosanna!

Do you begin to guess why?

You have not heard me say a word about her dear loving mother and her
big joky father, have you? They were both dead! This is such a pitiful
thing to have come to any little girl that I can scarcely bear to tell
you. Both were dead, and Rosanna lived with her grandmother, who was a
very proud and important lady indeed. There was a young uncle who might
have been good friends with Rosanna and made things easier but she
scarcely knew him. He had been away to college and after that, three
years in the army. Once a week she wrote to him, in France; but her
grandmother corrected the letters and usually made her write them over,
so they were not very long and certainly were not interesting.

Mrs. Horton was sure that her son's little daughter could never be
worthy of her name and family if she was allowed to "mix," as she put
it, with other children. So Rosanna was not allowed to _have_ any other
children for friends, and Mrs. Horton was too blind with all her
foolish family pride to see that Rosanna was getting queer and vain and
overbearing. Every day they took a drive together, usually through the
parks or out the river road. Mrs. Horton did not like to drive down
town. She did not like the people who filled the streets. She said they
were "frightfully ordinary." It was a shameful thing to be ordinary in
Mrs. Horton's opinion. She had not looked it up in the dictionary or she
would have chosen some other word because being ordinary according to
the dictionary is no crime at all. It is not even a disgrace.

Rosanna's books were always about flowers and fairies, or animals that
talked, or music that romped up and down the bars spelling little words.
There were never any people in them, and if any one sent her a book at
Christmas about some poor little girl who wore a pinafore and helped her
mother and lived in two rooms and was ever so happy, _that_ book had a
way of getting itself changed for some other book about bees or flowers
the very night before Christmas.

"She will know about those things soon enough," said Rosanna's
grandmother.

But every afternoon when they sat in the rose arbor in the middle of the
beautiful garden, Rosanna would get tired reading and she would stare up
at the clouds and see how many faces she could find.

One day she startled and of course shocked her grandmother by saying in
a low voice, "Dean Harriman!"

"Where?" said Mrs. Horton, staring down the walk.

"In that littlest cloud," said Rosanna, unconscious of startling her
grandmother. "It is very good of him, only his nose is even funnier than
it is really. Sort of knobby, you know."

"Please do not say 'sort of,'" said Mrs. Horton. "And if you are looking
at pictures in the clouds, I consider it a waste of time, Rosanna!"

She struck a little bell, and the house boy came hurrying across the
lawn. Mrs. Horton turned to him.

"Find Minnie," she said, "and tell her to send Miss Rosanna a volume of
_Classical Pictures for Young Eyes_."

So Rosanna looked at _Classical Pictures_, and for that afternoon at
least kept her young eyes away from the clouds. And never again did she
share her pictures with her grandmother.

Rosanna was not a spiritless child, but every day and all day her life
slipped on in its dull groove and she did not know how to get out.

Poor little Rosanna! To the little girl behind it, a six-foot brick wall
looks as high as the sky. And the garden, as I have told you before, was
a very, _very_ big garden indeed. Plenty large enough to be very
lonesome in.

One morning Mrs. Horton was not ready to drive at the appointed time.
Rosanna was ready, however, and was dancing around on the front porch
when the automobile rolled up. She ran toward it but drew back at the
sight of a strange chauffeur. He touched his cap and said "Good
morning!" in a hearty, friendly way, very different to the stiff manner
of the man who had been driving them. Rosanna went down to him.

"Where is Albert?" she asked.

"He does not work here now," said the man. "I have his place."

"What is your name?" said Rosanna.

"John Culver," said the new chauffeur. "What is your name?"

Rosanna frowned a little. She liked this new man with his crinkly,
twinkly blue eyes and white teeth. A deep scar creased his jaw, but it
did not spoil his friendly, keen face. But chauffeurs usually did not
ask her name. There had been so many going and coming during the war.
She decided to walk away but could not resist his friendly eyes.

"I am Miss Rosanna," she said proudly.

"Oh!" said the man, and Rosanna had a feeling that he was amused. So she
went on speaking. "I will get in the car, if you please, and wait for my
grandmother."

He opened the door of the limousine and before she could place her foot
on the step, he swung her lightly off her feet and into the car.

"There you are, kiddie!" he said pleasantly, and Rosanna was too stunned
to say more than "Thank you!" as the door opened and her grandmother
appeared, the maid following, laden with the small dog.

Mrs. Horton nodded to the new man and gave an order as he closed the
door.

"Our new man," said Mrs. Horton to Rosanna, then settled back in her
corner and took out a list which she commenced to check off with a gold
pencil. Rosanna, holding the dog, looked out the windows.

There were children all along the street: little girls playing dolls on
front doorsteps and other little girls walking in happy groups or
skipping rope. Boys on bicycles circled everywhere and shouted to each
other. They made a short cut through one of the poor sections of the
city. Here it was the same: children everywhere, all having the best
sort of time. They were not so well dressed, that was all the
difference. They had the same carefree look in their eyes. Rosanna gazed
out wistfully, longingly.

And now you surely guess why Rosanna, with her beautiful home, her pony
and her playhouse, her lovely garden, and her room full of pretty
things, still was so very, very poor.

Rosanna did not have a single friend.




CHAPTER II


John Culver brought them home and as they left the car Mrs. Horton
enquired, "Is your apartment comfortable, John?"

"Perfectly comfortable, thank you," said Culver.

"You are married?" Mrs. Horton continued.

"Yes," replied Culver.

"Any children?"

"One little girl," said Culver, glancing at Rosanna with a smile.

Mrs. Horton saw the look. She said nothing, but when Rosanna sat before
her at the great round table, eating her luncheon, Mrs. Horton remarked,
"Of course, Rosanna, you will make no effort whatever to meet the child
living over the garage. Unless you make the opportunity, she will never
see you, thanks to the arrangement of the windows. She is a child that
it would be impossible for you to know."

Rosanna did not reply.

"Rosanna?" said her grandmother sharply.

"Yes, grandmother," sighed poor Rosanna.

After luncheon Mrs. Horton dressed and was driven away to a bridge
party. Rosanna practiced scales for half an hour, talked French with her
governess for another long half, and then wandered out into the garden
and commenced to wonder about the child over the garage. How old was
she? What was she like? Rosanna wished she could see her. There was a
rustic seat near the garage and Rosanna went over and curled up on its
rough lap. She stared and stared at the garage, but the blank brick
walls with their curtains of vines gave her no hint.

It seemed as though she had been sitting there for hours when she
fancied a small voice called, "Hello, Rosanna!"

Rosanna sat perfectly still, staring at the brick wall.

"Hello, Rosanna!" said the voice again softly. It was a strangely sweet,
gentle voice and seemed to come from the air. Rosanna cast a startled
glance above her.

There was a little laugh. "Look in the tree," said the pleasant voice.

Rosanna, mouth open, eyes popping, looked up.

A big tree growing in the alley, close outside the brick wall, leaned
its biggest bough in a friendly fashion over Rosanna's garden. High up
something blue fluttered among the thick leaves. Then the branches
parted, and a face appeared. Rosanna continued to stare.

The little girl in the tree waved her hand.

"You don't know me, do you, Rosanna?" she teased. "But I know you. You
are Rosanna Horton, and you live in that lovely, lovely house and this
is your garden. Is that your playhouse over there? And oh, _is_ there an
honest-for-truly pony in that little barn? Dad says there really is. Is
there?" She stopped for breath, and beamed down on Rosanna.

"How did you get up there?" said Rosanna. _She_ was not allowed to climb
trees.

"Father made a little ladder and fastened it to the trunk with wires so
it won't hurt the wood. If Mrs. Horton doesn't mind, he is going to fix
a little platform up here. There is a splendid place for it. Then I can
study up here where it is all cool and breezy and whispery. Don't you
like to hear the leaves whisper? He is going to put a rail around it so
we won't fall off."

"Who is _we_?" asked Rosanna. "Have you brothers and sisters?"

"No, I haven't," said the little girl. "Mother says it is my greatest
misfortune. She says that I shall have to make a great many friends to
make up for it, and that if I don't I will grow selfish. Wouldn't you
hate to be selfish? I 'spect you have dozens and _dozens_ of little
girls to play with. How happy you must make everybody with your lovely
garden and things! My mother says that is what things are for: to share
with people. She says it is just like having two big red apples. If you
eat them both, why, you don't feel good in your tummy; but if you give
one to some one, you feel good everywhere, and you have a good time
while you are eating them and get better acquainted, and it just does
you good. Do little girls come to see you every day?"

"No," said Rosanna, "I don't know any little girls. My grandmother won't
let me."

"Won't _let_ you?" said the girl in the tree in a shocked tone. "Why
won't she let you?"

"She says I would learn to speak bad grammar and use slang, and grow up
to be vulgar."

"Goodness me!" said the stranger. She sat rocking on her bough for a few
minutes. Then: "Why would you have to learn bad things of other girls?"
she demanded. "I wouldn't let _anybody_ teach me anything I didn't want
to know. I should think it would be nice to have you teach _them_ good
grammar if you know it, and not to use slang, and all that. She must
think you are soft! My mother says if you are made of putty, you will
get dented all over and never be more than an unshapely lump, but if you
are made of good stone, you can be carved into something lovely and
lasting. But that is just your grandmother," said the girl. "Where is
your mother? Is she off visiting?"

"She is dead," said Rosanna. A wave of unspeakable longing for the lost
young mother swept over her and her lip trembled as she spoke.

"Oh, poor, poor Rosanna!" said the little tree girl softly. "Oh,
Rosanna, I feel so sorry! If you ever want to borrow mine, I wish you
would. I wish you would! My mother says that when a woman has even just
one child in her heart, it grows so big that it can hold and love all
the children in the world. You borrow her any time you need her,
Rosanna!" Then feeling that perhaps the conversation ought to take a
livelier strain, she did not wait for Rosanna to answer, but continued,
"I wish somebody hadn't built this apartment over your garage so that
none of the windows look out on your garden. We are going to hate that,
aren't we?"

"Grandmother had it built that way so we would not see the people living
there," Rosanna explained.

"Oh!" said the tree girl. "Well, of course you know that _I_ live there
now. We came two days ago, and my name is Helen Culver. We would love to
play together, wouldn't we?"

"Oh, indeed we would!" said Rosanna.

"Well, then we will," said Helen joyfully. "I must go now. I think it is
practice time. I will see you after luncheon. Good-bye!" and she slid
down the tree and disappeared.

Rosanna went skipping to the house. She was so happy. It was not her
practice time, but she was going to practice because Helen was so
engaged. Her mind was full of Helen as she sat doing finger exercises
and scales. How lovely and clean and bright she looked with her big,
blue eyes and blond docked hair! Her teeth were so white and pretty and
her voice was so soft and low. And she had a dimple! It was Rosanna's
dream to have a dimple in her thin little cheek.

Rosanna commenced to play scales. She took the C scale--it was so easy
that she could think. She was so happy that she played it in a very
prancy way, up and down, up and down. Then it commenced to stumble and
go ve-ry, v-e-r-y slowly. Rosanna had had an awful thought. The same
thought had really been there all the time, but her heart was making
such a happy noise that she wouldn't let herself hear it. Now, however,
it made such a racket she just had to listen. Over and over with the
scales it said loudly and harshly, "Will your grandmother let you play
with that little girl who lives over the garage? Will your grandmother
even let you _know_ that little girl who lives over the garage? Will
she? Will she?"

Rosanna Horton knew the answer perfectly well.




CHAPTER III


The only thing to do, Rosanna decided, was to talk to her grandmother
after luncheon when they usually sat in the rose arbor. Rosanna, playing
scales, felt quite brave. She would explain everything: how Helen Culver
used the best of grammar, and no slang, and climbed trees in rompers and
did not scream. Then when she had assured her grandmother of all this,
she would tell her quite firmly that she, Rosanna, needed a friend.

It seemed simple and easy, but when luncheon was announced, she decided
not to speak until later and when finally they went out to the rose
arbor, Rosanna commenced to feel quite shaky and instead of talking she
fell into a deep silence.

And then, that minute, that very identical second, something happened
that changed everything. A messenger boy came with a telegram. And if it
hadn't been for that messenger boy this story would never have happened.
If he had been a _slow_ messenger boy, half an hour late...but he just
hurried along on his bicycle and arrived that second. Oh, a dozen things
might have happened to delay the boy, but there he was just as Rosanna
said, "Grandmother!" in a small but firm voice.

Rosanna said nothing more because her grandmother opened the telegram
with fingers that shook a little in spite of her iron will. But as she
read it a look of relief and joy lighted her proud face.

"Good news, Rosanna," she said. "The best of news! Your Uncle Robert has
reached America!"

"Won't he have to fight any more, grandmother?"

"No; he will come home and be with us. But as I have told you, dear, he
was slightly wounded over there in Germany, and I think if I can arrange
everything for your comfort, I will go and meet him. He is in New York,
and I shall see for myself if he needs any doctoring or care that he
could not get here. Then perhaps we will stay at the seaside or in the
mountains for a week or so. Would you mind being left with the maids for
that long? Perhaps one of your little acquaintances would like to come
and play with you once or twice a week."

This was a great privilege in her grandmother's eyes, as Rosanna knew,
and she said, "Thank you, grandmother," and started to tell her then and
there about Helen. But Mrs. Horton went right on talking.

"Come to my room with me while I pack," she said, rising.

Rosanna did not get a chance to say one word to her. She listened while
her grandmother called up an intimate friend who lived near by and
arranged for her to come in every day to see how Rosanna was getting
on. She called John in and told him just where he could drive the car
when Miss Rosanna took her daily ride. "If she wants to take a little
girl friend with her, she is to do so, as I want her to have a good
time," Mrs. Horton told him.

When she woke the next morning, Rosanna lay for a long while thinking.

So Uncle Robert had actually come home! And grandmother had gone to meet
him! She might be away a week or more. Then her thoughts flew to Helen.
Wasn't it too, _too_ wonderful? Her grandmother had said quite clearly
that one of her little acquaintances might come and play with her.

Usually Rosanna took forever to dress. She was really not at all nice
about it. Big girl as she was, Minnie always dressed her, and she would
scriggle her toes so her stockings wouldn't go on, and would hop up and
down so the buttons wouldn't button. It was very exasperating and she
should have been soundly spanked for it: but of course Minnie, who was
paid generous wages, only said, "Now, Miss Rosanna, don't you bother
poor Minnie that-a way!"

This morning, however, she was out of bed and into the cold plunge
without being pushed and she actually _helped_ with her stockings. She
was ready for breakfast so soon that Minnie said, "Well, well, Miss
Rosanna, looks like it does you good to have your grandmother go 'way!"

With one thing and another, she did not get a chance to go down to the
overhanging tree until after luncheon.

She peered eagerly up.

Helen was there, curled up on a big bough, a book in her lap and a gray
kitten playing around her.

"Here I am!" said Rosanna, smiling.

"And here am I," answered Helen, smiling back.

"Did you expect me sooner?" asked Rosanna.

"No; I was hoping you wouldn't come. I suppose you never have things to
do, but I am a very busy little girl. I help mother, and practice my
music, and she is teaching me to sew and cook. Of course we have cooking
at school but no one can cook like mother, and I want to be just like
her. I told her about you last night, and she said you could borrow her
whenever you wanted to."

"I too have things to do," said Rosanna, who felt as though she ought to
be of some use since Helen was so industrious. "When I get through with
my bath mornings Minnie dresses me--"

"_Dresses_ you?" exclaimed Helen in astonishment. "Why, Rosanna, can't
you dress yourself?"

Rosanna felt a queer sort of shame. "I never tried," she confessed, "but
I am sure I could."

"Of course you could," said Helen briskly. "The buttons and things in
the back are hard, but my mother makes most of my things slip-on so I
can manage everything. Why don't you try to dress yourself, Rosanna?
You wouldn't want folks to know that you couldn't, would you? Of course
you don't mind my knowing, because I am your friend and I will never
tell; but you wouldn't want most people to know?"

Rosanna had never thought about it at all, but now it seemed a very
babyish and helpless thing. She determined to dress herself in future.
To change the subject she said, "Why don't you come down into the
garden? I want to show you my playhouse and the pony."

"I'd love to," said Helen, and slid rapidly down the tree and out of
sight behind the brick wall.

Rosanna heard her light footsteps running up the stairs leading to the
apartment over the garage. She sat down on the rustic seat and waited as
patiently as she could. It seemed a long time before Helen appeared at
the little gate in the wall.

"Mother thinks that you ought to ask your grandmother if she would like
to have me come and see you," she said, looking very grave.

"Oh, that's all right!" said Rosanna. "Grandmother has gone away, and
she said the very last thing that I could have somebody come and see me
whenever I wanted."

"But did she say me?" Helen persisted. "My father drives for your
grandmother and perhaps she may think we are not rich and grand enough
for you."

"Why, no, she didn't say _you_. She didn't say _any_body. She said I
might have anyone I like, and I like you. It is all right. You can ask
Minnie; she heard her say I could have company. She doesn't know you,
you see, so she _couldn't_ say that you were the one to come. She told
me 'some little girl.'"

"That sounds all right," said Helen. "I will go tell mother. She was not
sure I ought to come." She disappeared once more through the little
gate, and Rosanna waited. She was not happy. Her grandmother had
certainly not named any little girl, but Rosanna knew that she did not
mean or intend that Rosanna should entertain the little girl who lived
over the garage. Her grandmother thought every one was all right if they
belonged to an old family. The first thing she ever asked Rosanna about
any little girl was "What is her family?" or "Who are her people?"

Rosanna, whose conscience was troubling her in a queer way, determined
to ask Helen about her family, although it seemed that was one of the
things that were not very nice to do. But perhaps Helen had a family. In
that case she could settle everything happily.

The children joined hands and went skipping along the path toward the
playhouse, Helen's bobbed yellow locks shining in the sun and Rosanna's
long, heavy, dark hair swinging from side to side as she danced along.

She led the way through the little door into the little living-room of
the playhouse and stood aside as Helen cried out with wonder and
pleasure.

"Oh, oh, oh, Rosanna!" the little girl exclaimed. "Oh, it is too dear!
May I please look at everything, just as though it was in a picture
book?"

Helen moved from one place to another in a sort of daze. She tried the
little wicker chairs one after another. She sat at the tiny desk and
touched the pearl penholders and the pencils with Rosanna's name printed
on them in gold letters. All the letter paper said _Rosanna_ in gold
letters at the top too; it was beautiful.

The little piano was real. It played delightfully little tinkly notes
almost like hitting the rim of a glass with a lead pencil. Helen was
charmed. She could scarcely drag herself away to see the other wonders
of the playhouse. The little dining-room was built with a bay window,
which had a window seat, and a hanging basket of ferns. The little round
table, the sideboard and the chairs were all painted a soft cream color,
and on each chair back, and the sideboard drawers and doors sprays of
tinty, tiny flowers were painted.

Helen hurried from these splendors to the kitchen. And it was a real
kitchen!

"If our domestic science teacher could only see this!" groaned Helen.

The room was larger than either of the others, and there was plenty of
room for two or three persons, at least for a couple of children and one
grown person if she was not so very large. There was a little gas stove
complete in every way, a cabinet, and a porcelain top table, as well as
a white sink and draining board. The floor was covered with blue and
white linoleum, and the walls were papered with blue and white tiled
paper with a border of fat little Dutch ships around the top. Little
white Dutch curtains hung at the windows.

"Oh my! Oh my!" sighed Helen. "This is the best of all! The other rooms
you can only sit in and enjoy, but here you can really _do_ things and
learn to be useful."

She opened a little cupboard door and discovered all sorts of pans and
kettles made of white enamel with blue edges.

"I never come out here at all," said Rosanna.

"Perhaps they are afraid you will burn yourself," suggested Helen.

"No, the stove is a safe kind, made specially for children's playhouses,
but I don't know how to cook, so I don't play in the kitchen at all.
Make-believe dinners are no fun."

Helen gave a happy sigh.

"Well, _I_ can cook," she said, "and I will teach you how."

"Won't that be fun!" said Rosanna. She suddenly threw her arms around
Helen's neck and kissed her. "Oh, Helen, I am so happy," she said.




CHAPTER IV


After Helen had looked the wonderful kitchen over to her heart's
content, the children went back to the pretty living-room, where they
examined the books in the little bookcase, and then each carrying a
comfy wicker chair, went out on the wide porch. A big grass rug was
spread there, and there was a little porch swing and a wicker table.

Rosanna commenced to tell Helen about herself. She told much more than
she intended, and by the time she had finished, Helen knew more about
her new friend than Rosanna's own grandmother had ever guessed.

Helen herself was a very happy, busy little girl, with wise and loving
parents. They were poor, and Mr. Culver had very wisely taken the first
position that offered as soon as he came home from France and found that
the firm he had formerly worked for had given his position to some one
else, a man much less capable than Mr. Culver and who worked willingly
for wages that Mr. Culver did not feel like accepting. Yes, they were
poor, but as Mr. Culver said, "Just you wait, folkses; this will be fun
to remember some day." And Mrs. Culver called it "our school" and told
Helen that they must both strive to know the best and easiest way of
doing everything while they had to do all for themselves.

Helen's eyes filled with tears when she heard of the death of Rosanna's
young father and mother in a railroad accident when she was such a
little thing that now she could scarcely remember them.

"And then you came to live with your grandmother?" she said, struggling
not to go to Rosanna and hug her tight. A little girl without mother or
father! It was too dreadful.

"Yes, she came to the hospital and as soon as I was well--I was just
scratched up a little--she brought me here."

"Well," said Helen briskly, "it must be fine to have a grandmother. I
suppose grandmothers are 'most exactly as good as mothers," she went on,
trying to make light of Rosanna's misfortune. "I expect they cuddle you
and play with you and hold you 'most exactly like mothers."

"Mine doesn't," said Rosanna sadly. "She kisses me good-night; at least
she holds her cheek so I can kiss _her_, but she never plays with
anybody. And she never holds me: she says I am too big to get on
people's laps. But I guess I must have been a big baby because she never
did hold me even when I was little. There must be different kinds of
grandmothers."

"A little girl I know has one, and my grandmother says that it is a
disgrace the way she spoils that child, and she says she wants me to
grow up to be an honor to our house. You see I am the only grandchild
there is.

"Grandmother had a daughter long ago, but she died when she was only
two, and grandmother was married twice and both her husbands died."

"You seem to have quite a dying family," said Helen politely.

"Yes, we have." Rosanna commenced to feel quite proud of the fact now
that Helen had mentioned it.

"I have an uncle too, and he 'most died over in France but he is home
now."

"My father was there too," said Helen proudly. "He had to give up
everything to go, but mother wouldn't let him say that he had to stay
home and work for us so he went. Mother went to work typewriting and we
lived in three rooms, and I went to school and cooked our suppers at
night. Mother used to come home so tired. After the dishes were washed,
we used to sit and knit. I learned to knit without looking on, so I
could knit and study all at the same time. You are the only friend I
have here in Louisville," concluded Helen, "but of course when school
begins I will have lots of them."

Rosanna was conscious of a jealous pang. She didn't want this
bright-eyed little girl who had just come into her life to have other
friends.

"I don't see why you have to have other friends if you have me," she
said. "Why can't we play together all the time, and have good times? My
grandmother said I was to take you riding every day, and we can have
such fun. If you have a lot of other friends, Helen, you won't come here
at all."

"Why, yes, I will, Rosanna! You will be my bestest friend of all. But
mother says we all need a number of people in our lives because if we
don't we will all get to thinking the same things and talking the same
way, and it is very bad for us."

"Well, I can't have any," said Rosanna hopelessly. "I told you that
before. I suppose if she hadn't had to go to New York, I would never
have had you for a friend. That is the way my grandmother is."

"Oh, well," said Helen, "when she gets back we will explain things to
her, and I am sure she will get to understand all about things. Why, you
just _have_ to have friends, Rosanna, and I want you to have me if you
think you like me enough."

"Oh, I do; indeed I do!" cried Rosanna. "I just can't stand it if she
doesn't let me have you! We will have such good times, Helen, and I can
learn to cook, and we can learn to play duets together and it will be
such fun."

"I should say so!" said Helen happily. "And don't you think it would be
fun to see what all we can do for ourselves? I mean without asking
Minnie. I am sure mother would think it would make us sort of helpless.
Of course she is your maid, and if you would rather have her to do
things for you--"

"No; let's do everything ourselves," said Rosanna, eager to please, and
with a feeling that with someone to enjoy it with her the task would be
a pleasure.

"I tell you what, Helen, until school opens I can be your very best
friend, and you can play with me 'most all the time, and we will be so
happy."

Minnie watched them from a side window in the big house but they did not
see her. Minnie was pleased. She had heard what Mrs. Horton had said
about some child coming to play with Rosanna. Minnie being wiser than
Rosanna and grown up, knew very well that Mrs. Horton did not mean Helen
Culver. But Minnie had had one or two disastrous experiences with the
children who went to the very select dancing school with Rosanna, and
the quiet, pretty, well-behaved girl playing there in the garden seemed
almost too good to be true. She had never seen Rosanna look so well and
so happy. She was glad to see the chauffeur's child "makin' good" as she
expressed it. Minnie's young man had also returned from overseas and she
was sewing every spare moment on things for her own little house and for
herself. If Rosanna had a chance to play all day every day for a whole
week, or as long as Mrs. Horton stayed away--and Minnie piously wished
her a long trip--why, she could be ready for the young man and the
little house just that much sooner.

As soon as this most splendid thought found its way into Minnie's mind
she commenced to make plans to help the children, and as the first one
occurred to her she put her work in her pocket and hurried across to the
playhouse, where she fairly gasped at the sight of Rosanna awkwardly but
cheerfully sweeping leaves and stems off the porch while Helen shook the
rugs.

"Time for you to dress for the evening. Miss Rosanna," she said. "And
wouldn't you like to invite Miss Helen over to supper, and have it
served here on your own porch?"

"Oh, wouldn't that be fun?" cried Rosanna "Wouldn't you like that,
Helen?"

"Indeed I would!" said Helen. She jumped off the porch and looked to see
if the rug was straight. "I will go right home and ask my mother and if
I don't come straight back and tell you, you will know that I can come
to supper." She ran off, returning just at supper time.

Minnie served the meal and it was all as delicious as a party. Even the
cook was glad to see Rosanna really happy. And after the last bit of the
dessert, a pink ice-cream, had been slowly eaten, the two little girls
sat talking in quite a grown-up manner.

Presently Helen's bright eyes spied a lady at the other end of the
garden.

"Someone is coming!" she exclaimed.

"That is a friend of grandmother's. She is coming over every day to see
how I am getting along."

"Good-evening, Rosanna," said the lady. "I think this looks as though
you were having a very nice time indeed."

"We are, Mrs. Hargrave," said Rosanna. "This is my friend, Helen
Culver."

Helen curtseyed.

"How do you do, Helen," said Mrs. Hargrave. "The Culvers of Lee County,
I suppose. A fine old family, my dears. As good as yours, Rosanna. Well,
well, I am glad you are both having a nice time! If you want anything of
me, Rosanna, telephone me and I will be over every day. You little girls
must both come and have luncheon with me some day." She bade them
good-night and walked off, feeling that she had done her whole duty.

"It is time for me to go home," said Helen. "I didn't practice my half
hour this evening, so I must go and do it now."

"I didn't practice either," said Rosanna. "I want to work hard at my
music if we are to play duets. I don't want to be the one who always has
to play secondo. Besides, I have a bee-_u_-ti-ful secret for
to-morrow."




CHAPTER V


When Rosanna went to bed that night she commenced by sitting down on the
floor and taking off her own socks and slippers. Then while Minnie stood
looking at her in pleased surprise, she carefully took off her hair
ribbon and folded it up!

"Minnie," she said, "have you any little girls in your family?"

"Yes, Miss Rosanna, ever so many."

"As little as me?" pursued Rosanna.

"Some littler, and some just about like you, and some larger."

"Well," said Rosanna, "do they most of them dress and undress
themselves?"

"Indeed yes!" said Minnie. "They would get good and spanked if they
tried any funny work with their mothers. Not that it's not all right,
Miss Rosanna, for you to be cared for, but land, my sisters are all too
busy to bother! And besides, those children have got to learn to do for
themselves sooner or later, and the sooner the better. And I will say,
Miss Rosanna, good wages nor anything will _ever_ make me think it is a
good thing to have my babying you along as big as you are. I don't see
why I can't earn my money just as honest and give just as much work for
it by learnin' you to stand on your own feet, as you might say."

"Well," said Rosanna wisely, "let's make a game of it, Minnie. While
grandmother is away, play you are working for _me_ and teach me to be
like your little girls."

"Bless your heart!" said Minnie tenderly. "I have feelings, you will
find, Miss Rosanna, if I _am_ only a maid, and I certainly do think you
are a dear child. Whatever gets some of the queer ideas in your head I
don't know!"

"Why, my little new friend Helen Culver dresses herself and combs her
own hair and everything. And all your little girls in your family fix
themselves, and when I told Helen that you dress me she looked sort of
funny. Then suppose you had to go away for awhile, what would I do? None
of the other maids know where my things are and, besides, I don't like
to have anyone but you fix me and button me up. You are real kind and
soft when you touch me, Minnie. I think you try to be a mother to me."

To Rosanna's horror, Minnie burst into tears.

"Oh, the saints forgive me!" she sobbed. "To think you have thought of
that and me dressin' you half the time that rough and sudden! Oh, Miss
Rosanna dear, just you take notice of me after this!"

"Why, I don't need to," said Rosanna. "You _are_ good to me, and if you
will, just play you work for me and show me where my things are and how
to do things. Helen is going to teach me to cook if you will come sit in
the kitchen and I am going to see if Mrs. Culver will show me how to
sew."

Minnie sniffed. "If she can beat me sewin'," she said scornfully, "she's
beatin' me at my own game. I learned of the nuns in the convent school
where your stitches has to be that small you can't find 'em. You just
let me help with your sewin', dearie."

"That will be fine," said Rosanna, dancing up and down. "Oh, I do wish
grandmother was going to stay away longer than a week! That's such a
short time to learn everything in, I don't see how I can do it all."

"Nor I," said Minnie. "And I sure do wish the same for your grandmother,
that she will treat herself and Mr. Robert to a good long trip. She
don't stay away enough for her own good, I say. Well, wishing never does
much good. All we can do is just put in all the time we can, Miss
Rosanna, and we will do exactly what you say. We will make a play of it
and I will start this very minute. You will find your clean night dress
in the left hand end of the second drawer of your dresser."

"Here it is," said Rosanna a moment later. "What a lot of them I have!
Do I need such a big pile, Minnie?"

"Well, not really, Miss Rosanna. You outgrow them mostly."

"Then we won't get any more for a long, long time," said Rosanna.
"Minnie, what do you think about my hair?"

"I will have to comb that for you, dearie; it is so very long and
thick."

"I was thinking," said Rosanna slowly, "about docking it. It is a great
bother."

"Oh, my sufferin' soul!" cried Minnie, with a face of horror. "Oh me, oh
my! Don't you think of that ever again, Miss Rosanna! If anything in the
_world_ happened to your hair, well, I don't want to think what your
grandmother would do to me. Your hair is her pride and glory. It is the
only thing I ever heard her brag about. 'You can tell Rosanna in a crowd
as far as you can see her,' says she, 'by her hair; just that dark color
full of streaks of gold like, and curls at that.' No, Miss Rosanna, you
can learn to sew and cook and take care of yourself, and not much harm
done for her to fret about, but for _mercy's_ sake don't you go touching
your hair."

"Well, it _is_ a bother," said Rosanna, "but we will let it alone for
awhile. Now you must come and wake me early, Minnie, and bring your
sewing so you can sit here and tell me when I don't do the right thing.
After breakfast, if cook will give us some things, I will get Helen and
we will do some baking. Won't that be fun? And in the afternoon I am
going to give Helen and you a surprise."

"Me too? Do you mind if Minnie kisses you good-night, dearie?" she asked
softly.

Rosanna sleepily held up her arms. "Oh, I wish you would, Minnie! It is
so nice to have somebody want to kiss me without my asking them to do
it."

Minnie kissed her tenderly. "Bless you, dearie, old Minnie will kiss you
good-night every night!"

She turned out the light and snapped on the electric fan.

And at once, it seemed to Rosanna, it was morning. There must have been
some time between, however, because Minnie went and looked over all her
things, and rejoiced to think what great progress she could make on her
wedding things in a week if she didn't have to wait on Rosanna all the
time, and after she had put everything back in the trunk and locked it
up as though it was the greatest treasure in the world, she went down to
see the cook. She told her all about what Rosanna had planned, and the
cook listened and sniffled and blew her nose hard several times and then
got up and brought out a big basket. This she set on the kitchen table
and commenced to fill with any number of things: salt and pepper and
flour and spices and baking powder and raisins, and all sorts of things.
The next morning when Rosanna went into the playhouse kitchen for a look
on her way to call Helen, there was everything any little girl would
possibly need to cook with, all arranged in rows on the shelves of the
tiny cupboard. And wonder of wonders, just inside the door was a little
ice-chest.

"Oh, oh! Where did that come from?" cried Rosanna, clapping her hands
and running to open it.

"Cook found it in the store room," said Minnie, smiling. "It was the one
they used in your nursery when you were a baby. She cleaned it all out,
and I think you will find something in it besides ice."

Sure enough there _was_ something besides ice, but Rosanna took one
little glance and then ran like the wind for the kitchen, where she
burst upon the astonished cook, and reaching as far around her as her
short arms would go, hugged her hard. Then she ran to the brick wall and
called Helen.

It seemed about a second before the two children were in the playhouse
kitchen, aprons on, and hard at work.

Minnie was made superintendent and sat sewing in a wicker chair beside
the table, where she could give advice. Helen was chief cook and Rosanna
was assistant--the most delighted and thrilled assistant that ever beat
an egg or stirred a batter. By eleven o'clock the cooking was done and
every pot and pan washed and put in its place. Helen said that was the
rule in domestic science school, so although they were both tired with
their labors and Rosanna wished in her heart that she could tell Minnie
to clean up as she usually did whenever a mess was made, they stuck to
their task and it did not take very long to finish the work and make the
kitchen all spick and span.

Rosanna was conscious of a new feeling, a sort of glow, at her heart.
Never before in her life had she spent a really useful morning. She had
learned to cook several things, and had the best time she had ever had
in her life.

"What shall we have? A party?" asked Helen, sinking down in one of the
wicker chairs.

Rosanna laughed. "Now I am going to tell my surprise, Minnie," she said.
"But when I made it up I didn't think we would help with it ourselves.
No, indeed; I thought you and cook would have to do it all, and we would
just sit around." She laughed. "I think it would be loads of fun to take
our cookies and the jello we made, and make some sandwiches of the cold
meat cook put in our ice-box, and pack the lunch hamper just as though
we were grown up, and fill the thermos bottles with milk, and go to
Jacobs Park for supper to-night."

Helen gave a scream of delight. "Oh, splendid!" she cried, "I have not
been out there yet, and dad says it is perfectly beautiful--just like
real country."

"Don't you suppose your mother would like to go, Helen?" asked Rosanna.

"Of course she would!" said Helen promptly, "but she has gone to
Jeffersonville and will not be back until to-morrow morning. It was nice
of you to think of her, Rosanna."

When the hamper was packed to their satisfaction, they called Minnie
back to see if they had forgotten anything.

"Why, who's going, Miss Rosanna?" asked Minnie, looking into the basket
with much surprise.

"You and Mr. Culver and Helen and me," said Rosanna wonderingly.

"Well, dearie, whatever are you going to do with all these things to
eat?" said Minnie. "This basket holds enough for eight grown people, and
you have packed it full."

"I think we can eat it by supper time," said Rosanna. "You have no idea
how good those cookies and things are. Do you think we have forgotten
anything, Minnie?"

"Where is the corkscrew for your olive bottle?" said Minnie. "And what
are all those little bundles?"

"Hard boiled eggs," said Helen.

"Have you put in salt and pepper for 'em?"

"I don't believe we have," said Rosanna. She ran to get some.

"What is in that dish?" Minnie went on relentlessly.

"Salad, and the other one has fruit jello."

"They won't ride very well, I am fraid," said Minnie. Then seeing a look
of disappointment in the children's faces she hastened to add, "Well, I
say that is a grand supper, and cook never did a bit better for Mr.
Robert when he was home and used to give motoring parties. Now I have a
plan myself. Both you children go and take a nap. Please do that for
Minnie, Miss Rosanna."

Rosanna was sure she could not sleep, but about one minute later she was
dreaming of dinner parties and kitchens. When she woke up it was three
o'clock and Minnie was shaking her gently.

Rosanna was off the bed like a shot. She had just reached the porch when
Helen came running up, dressed plainly and sensibly in a plain dark
gingham and sandals.

"The car is all ready," she said, "and daddy is driving it around to the
front door. And oh, he thinks he can't stay with us. He has so much
studying to do he is going to leave us there with you, Minnie, and come
for us whenever you say."

"Well, that's all right," said Minnie. "Only now that makes three to eat
all that supper."

Rosanna picked up her cape and a thermos bottle and skipped down the
broad steps after the house boy, who carried the heavy lunch hamper.

"Never you mind, Minnie," she said. "Wouldn't you be s'prised to see us
eat every bit of it?"

"No, I wouldn't," said Minnie firmly. "I'd be _scared_."




CHAPTER VI


Driving through the winding roads of beautiful Iroquois Park, or Jacobs
Park as it is better known to the people of Louisville, they found a
lovely glade where the grass was smooth and where the trees grew close
all about. They were screened from the passersby, and it looked as
though the little place had just been waiting for a couple of little
girls to come there and enjoy a treat.

For a long time they played while Minnie sat comfortably at the foot of
a tree and sewed on one of her doilies. Suddenly they were interrupted
by the sound of crying.

Both girls stood motionless in amazement. Minnie put down her work. The
crying continued. It was no feeble wail, but a good hearty roar with a
running accompaniment of sobs in another key. Two children were being as
miserable and unhappy as they knew how. As they came close to the leafy
screen that protected Rosanna and Helen, the girls were able to see as
well as hear the sobbing pair.

The most noise was made by a chubby, red-faced little fellow wearing a
cap. He was dragging an empty box by a string, like a little wagon, and
his roars did not prevent an air of lively interest in his
surroundings. His face was tear streaked, and he cried with the air of
one who never intends to stop. A girl, rather smaller, followed. She
clutched her brother firmly by the back of the blouse and allowed him to
drag her forward.

Her eyes were screwed tight shut, her head was thrown back and she
shuffled along, the very picture of woe. Three other children completed
the mournful group. A larger girl, who staggered along under the weight
of the fat baby she was carrying, and another small boy who stalked
along, scowling unhappily, but with firm steps and squared shoulders as
though he would not let himself be overcome by misfortune.

"Oh, oh, _oh_!" cried the little girl. "Oh, oh, _oh_!" It seemed all she
could say.

"L--let l-loose of me!" roared the boy whose blouse she was clutching.

"Please stop your crying," begged the older girl, setting the baby on
his feet and shifting him to the other arm. "The police will come if you
don't."

"I don't care! Ow, ow, ow!" yelled the boy.

Rosanna backed up to Minnie and stood there quite overcome. Not so with
Helen, however. After a good look, she pushed through the leafy screen,
jumped down the low bank and proceeded to ask questions. At the sound of
her voice the small girl opened her eyes and her sobs dwindled to a
steady sniffle. The boy stopped instantly. He looked ashamed. The big
girl once more put down the baby, setting it on the bank, and the boy
who had not cried stared off down the road, never giving Helen a glance.
Presently the girl sat down with the baby and Helen dropped down beside
her. Rosanna was filled with curiosity.

"I am going down to see what it is all about," she said to Minnie.

"Don't go too close, dearie; you might catch something," said Minnie,
intent on her cross-stitching and not caring much what the matter was.

Rosanna slipped shyly down the bank and stood beside Helen.

"She is telling me about it," said Helen, turning to Rosanna. "She
earned the carfare to bring them out here for the afternoon by digging
weeds on lawns. Go on!"

"Well," said the strange girl, "we took the car, and got out here, and I
had to carry the baby and help Luella there, so I couldn't carry
anything else. And Tommy wanted to carry the supper because he said he
was the biggest, and he wouldn't let Myron even take hold of the basket.
And when we got off the car Luella fell down and bumped herself, and the
car went off, and then I asked Tommy where was the lunch, and he had
left it on the car! He always forgets everything. I oughtn't to have let
him have it, but, you see, I had the baby and had to help Luella. Tommy
wanted to run after the car, but it was 'most out of sight. He couldn't
ever catch it."

"So that's all the trouble. They want their supper, and there isn't any.
I have a bottle of milk in my bag for the baby, but that is all there is
except carfare home, and I'm sorry but p'raps next time Tommy will think
how he leaves good suppers on street cars. We were going to have bread
and butter and doughnuts and three plums apiece."

At the mention of the lost feast, Tommy burst out with even greater
noise. Luella's eyes closed and her sniffles changed to a low howl.

"I'm hungry!" roared Tommy. "I didn't go to lose the supper. I gotta
have sumpin' to eat!"

"No, you haven't either," said the girl. "You haven't got to have
anything to eat any more than Myron has. Why don't you act like Myron?
I'd be ashamed of myself, and you a whole year older!"

"That's just it!" said Tommy, stopping long enough to talk. "Myron's
littler and thinner, and he don't need it so much."

"Well, I bet he does!" said his sister. "Now you come along down to the
playgrounds, and you can each have a good big drink of water and then
you won't mind missing your supper."

She stood up wearily and shouldered the baby. She was a sweet looking
little girl, but careworn as though she had carried the baby most of his
life. And so she had. The other children started down the road, Tommy
and Luella silent for the time. It had been a comfort to tell their
troubles to someone.

"Good-by," said the strange girl, smiling over her shoulder. She kissed
the baby. "Shake a paddy good-by," she said, and a little dimpled hand
wagged a farewell at Rosanna and Helen.

"We're very sorry," said Helen. "Good-by!"

"Good-by!" echoed Rosanna.

They scrambled up the bank and stopped, staring. In the middle of the
grassy lawn that they had chosen for their picnic ground stood the lunch
hamper. It looked as big as a house!

"Bread and butter and three plums apiece," said Helen under her breath.

"Bread and butter and three plums apiece," echoed Rosanna. "Helen," she
said solemnly, "this is the reason we packed such a lot of lunch. Come
on!" She turned and dashed down the bank and along the shady road. For
the first time in her life Rosanna was doing something that had not been
suggested to her; something that was out of the regular order of things.
She did not ask herself if the children belonged to nice families. She
rather knew they had no family at all in the sense her grandmother
always used. She did not stop to remember how shocked and horrified her
grandmother would be if she could see her racing along trying to
overtake the grubby little group of poor children. With Helen close
behind, she skimmed around the first curve and spied them ahead.

Rosanna and Helen commenced to call and wave their arms. The girl heard
and once more set down the baby. Tommy heard and squeezed out a louder
howl. Luella opened her eyes. Myron glanced at them and again turned
away and stared down the road. Rosanna and Helen dashed up.

"We want you to come and have supper with us," said Rosanna, with her
sweet smile. "We have a lovely supper and we cooked most of it
ourselves, and we brought a whole hamper full."

Tommy shut up suddenly. This was something he could not afford to miss
hearing. Luella showed that her eyes could open and be very large and
round indeed.

"I don't feel we had better," said the older girl slowly. She certainly
looked very tired.

"Oh yes, you must!" said Rosanna. "The basket holds just enough for
eight people--grown-up people at that; and there are only three of us.
Minnie thought we were crazy to pack so much, but the things looked so
nice when they filled the boxes cramful. _Please_ do come!"

"I don't know," she said hesitatingly.

Helen looked at her and made a sign that Rosanna did not see. Then "I
_thought_ you were a Girl Scout," she said. "Now that makes it all right
for you to come to us because, as you see, I am a Girl Scout too, and
you know we must serve each other when in need."

A look of pleasure lighted the girl's face.

"Why, if you are sure there is enough," she said. "I am so tired
carrying the baby, it would seem good just to sit down and rest awhile.
But Tommy eats a lot."

"We don't mind that," said Rosanna. "I don't want a single bit of that
supper left to carry home."

The little procession turned and made its joyful way back to the lunch
basket.

Rosanna and Helen seated their little guests, and Minnie, her kind heart
touched by the tired face and drooping shoulders of the little girl who
had carried the heavy baby so far, took the child and commenced to play
with it.

The girls spread the paper lunch cloth smoothly on the ground and
commenced putting the food on the table. Tommy stared with round eyes.
Myron glanced at the feast and then looked away while, to everyone's
astonishment, Luella commenced to cry.

"My land of love, what's the matter now?" said Minnie, speaking over the
head of the baby, who nestled happily in her lap.

Everybody looked at Luella who mumbled something and sobbed right along.

"What does she say?" asked Helen.

The older girl looked dreadfully embarrassed.

"I'm so ashamed of her," she exclaimed in a low tone. "She does think up
such dreadful things! She is crying because those plums are green, and
she knows I won't let her eat any."

"Plums?" said Helen and Rosanna together.

"Over there," cried Luella, sniffling and pointing.

Both girls began to laugh, then stopped as they noticed the unhappy look
on the large girl's face.

"I don't wonder she thinks those are plums," said Helen. "I thought they
were plums when I was little and always called them plums long after I
knew they were olives. Here, Luella, you can eat one now if you wish,
but I don't believe you will like them at all. I didn't when I was
little."

Luella took the offered dainty and popped it into her mouth. She managed
to eat it, although she made awful faces. Tommy, watching her, did not
ask for a serving.

"Can I help?" said the strange girl politely. "I wish you would let me.
I would feel better to do something when you are going to give us such a
perfectly lovely supper."

"Please sit still and rest," said Rosanna, smiling. "You want to feel
real good and hungry when supper is ready, and I am sure you must be
tired nearly to death. And if you would tell us your name.... We know
which is Tommy, and Myron, and Luella, but we don't know the baby's
name, nor yours."

"The baby is little Christopher," said the guest, reaching over to pat
the little hand, "and my name is Mary. You are Rosanna and you are
Helen, and I heard them call you Minnie."

"Perfectly right," said Minnie. "Will it hurt the baby to crawl around
on the grass?"

"Oh, no, indeed," said Mary. "He crawls all over. He gets some dreadful
tumbles but he never cries. He has fallen out of bed so many times that
we keep the floor all covered with pillows in front of the bed, and last
week he fell down the cellar stairs. Tommy forgot and left the door
open."

"My good land, didn't it kill the poor child?" asked Minnie.

"No, there was a bushel basket partly full of potatoes on the landing,
and he fell into those and never hurt himself at all. He didn't even cry
but a minute. He is the best baby we have ever had."

"My land, you poor chicken, you!" said Minnie. "You talk like you was
the mother of the whole bunch!"

"I help a lot with them," said Mary simply, "and I guess they are 'most
as much mine as mother's. You see she works and somebody has to take
care of them. And it isn't such very hard work, especially since I
joined the Girl Scouts. All the girls are so good, and have such a lot
of good times, and oh, it makes everything different!"

"What are Girl Scouts?" said Rosanna. Both girls looked at her in
amazement. "I know what Boy Scouts are," she said hastily, "but I never
heard of Girl Scouts."

Helen patted her on the arm. "Well, Rosanna, some day I will tell you
all about them, but now we must hurry and get the rest of the things on
the table because I don't think Tommy will ever live if he has to wait
much longer."

"I know Myron is awfully hungry too," said Mary, smiling at her little
brother. "He never says a word, but I can tell what he thinks. Myron is
such a help to me. He is just as good at remembering things as Tommy is
at forgetting them."

"He helped to forget the lunch," said Tommy.

Myron spoke up in self-defence. "No, I didn't! I was helping Mary pick
up Luella and I thought you had it. You had it the last I saw."

"I put it down after that," said Tommy as though that explained
everything.

"I think I will lay the baby down beside this tree and let him have his
bottle," said Mary. "That will keep him quiet all the time we eat."

"Wait a minute until we fix a nice place," said Minnie. She brought a
couple of auto robes and made a smooth, soft bed under the tree.

"There he is!" she said. Mary, who had been unwrapping wads of
newspapers, produced a bottle of milk which she gave the baby. He
settled down to a quiet enjoyment of his meal, and Mary sighed as she
sat down at the edge of the tablecloth.

"I _do_ hope you won't mind if I look at everything," she said. "I never
_saw_ so many _lovely_ things in my life even in a delicatessen
window."




CHAPTER VII


The children, very, very solemn but oh so thrilled, seated themselves on
the grass and silently accepted the plates of good things that Helen and
Rosanna dished out for them. It is to be said for the everlasting credit
of the jello that it did _not_ melt, and the salad _did_ ride well,
although Minnie had gloomily expected it to be "all over the place" as
she expressed it.

How those children did eat! Commencing with the ham sandwiches and the
lettuce and egg sandwiches, and the cold hard-boiled eggs, and crackers
and olives, and fruit salad, and very, _very_ thin iced tea with lemon
in it, and jello for dessert!

About half way through the smaller children commenced to thaw out and
lose their shyness, and talk. _How_ they did talk! Myron said nothing
(but that was expected of Myron). When at last Rosanna was tipping up
the second thermos bottle to see if there was a drop of tea left, and
they were all eating the last cookies very, very slowly, partly to make
them last and partly because they were so full and comfortable, Rosanna
happened to notice Myron. She motioned to Helen to look. Myron had not
eaten everything. He had slyly lifted the tablecloth and had hidden
under it a ham sandwich rather nibbled as to edge, a small pile of
cookies (his share) and his plate of jello, which he had slipped off on
a paper napkin.

"He couldn't eat all his supper, and he is afraid we won't like it,"
whispered Rosanna.

"I am going to ask him," said Helen. She stepped over to the boy, who
was sitting close to his little pile of goodies as though trying to hide
it. "Couldn't you eat all your supper?"

Myron nodded.

Mary glanced quickly at her brother, and said, "Why, Myron, _whatever_
are you trying to do?"

Tommy piped up. "I guess he's going to take 'em home to eat on the way."

"I am _not_!" said Myron hotly, stung into self-defence as usual by his
brother. "I am _not_! Going to take it home to mamma and Gwenny. I
haven't had a speck more'n my share. I counted every time, and everybody
had four cookies 'cept Tommy. He had six. And I saved my sandwich out,
and the jell!"

Tears stood in Mary's eyes. "But it isn't polite, Myron, to take
anything away without asking and, anyway, I know mamma and Gwenny will
be satisfied to just hear about our good time, and they wouldn't want
you to do such a thing." She tried to put the cookies back on the table
but Myron clung to them stubbornly.

"No, no!" he said. "They are _my_ things! I went without 'em, and I want
to take them home to mamma and Gwenny. Gwenny never had any cookies
like those. And the jell is so pretty. I put a egg in my pocket too."
Myron's lip trembled, but he did not cry although Tommy giggled openly.

"Of course you shall take them home to your mother! Who is Gwenny--your
dog?" asked Rosanna.

"Gwenny is my _sister_!" said Myron furiously.

Rosanna felt that she always said the wrong thing.

"Oh, excuse me, Myron," she said meekly.

A shade of sorrow passed over Mary's bright little face as she said,
"Gwenny can never go anywhere with us. She is sick, and never goes
anywhere."

"Sick in bed?" questioned Rosanna.

"No, she has a wheel chair, and when her back doesn't hurt too much, she
can be wheeled around the house and sometimes out in the yard. But she
wouldn't want Myron to do anything like this, so rude."

"But Gwenny never _had_ any cookies as good as those, and the jell is so
pretty!" repeated Myron stubbornly.

"I think it is so nice of you, Myron," said Rosanna. "I wish I had known
about Gwenny too so I could have saved her some of my cookies. Let me
help you do them up. You can take them to her just as you meant to, and
I know she will like them because her little brother went without to
save some for her. And some day soon, Myron, we will bring her a whole
picnic for herself, and perhaps she will ask you to help her eat it."

"I'll help her too," said Tommy, puffing up his chest. "I'd just as
soon!"

Minnie, bending over the hamper, whispered to Rosanna, "I'll bet he'll
help her! My, my, how I do want to fix that boy! I wish my third sister
from the oldest, Louisa Cordelia, had him for a while. I reckon one day
with her would make him feel different on a good many subjects. Little
pig!" Minnie's eyes snapped.

Rosanna laughed. "I suppose he doesn't know any better, Minnie."

"Know any better? Well, Miss Rosanna, Myron didn't need any help about
remembering his poor hard-worked mother and his sick sister. I don't
doubt Mary thought of 'em too, but she was too polite to say a word
after all you have done for them. But poor little Myron didn't know it
wasn't polite, so he just goes ahead and keeps part of his treat. If
there are any cookies in Master Tommy's pockets, they will never get as
far as his house."

"Well, I think he _is_ selfish," said Rosanna regretfully. "But, Minnie,
we must take some good things to that Gwenny. I think grandmother would
want me to."

After the supper things were all packed away in the hamper, everybody
sat around and wondered what to do next. Then Rosanna had a fine idea.

She seated herself next the shy little Myron and suggested that
everybody should tell a story. Tommy and Myron looked rather wild.
Rosanna saw the look, and said that she thought they ought to commence
with Helen, because she looked as though she knew lots of stories.

Helen said she didn't know so very many, but she was willing to try.

"This is a really truly story about a little, little boy. He did not
have any brothers or sisters, and he was very lonely and unhappy
although he had nice clothes and plenty to eat. So he thought if he just
had a little kitten or a dog to play with and live with he would be a
good deal happier, and perhaps he would even get to be as happy as he
could be. But his mother did not like to have dogs or cats around
because they tracked up things, so she wouldn't let him have them. And
somebody wanted to give him a canary but his mother thought it would be
a lot of trouble to feed. And once he 'most got a pair of white rats
with his Fourth of July money, but they simply wouldn't let him. So
there he was; and he grew lonelier and lonelier and he used to sit on
the top step and stare down the street and wish he might whistle at the
dogs he saw, but he wouldn't for fear one of them might be looking for a
home and then it would be so disappointed after he had patted it and
been kind to it, if it had to go on again.

"Well, one day there was a picnic down the river. The people went by
boat and then landed at the picnic grove, and spent the afternoon. The
little boy, whose name was Peter, went with his mother and aunt, and
when they got to the grove his mother said to his aunt, 'I don't see any
reason why Peter shouldn't walk around and amuse himself and play with
some of those children.' And his aunt said, 'Yes, if he doesn't fall
into the river,' and his mother said, 'Peter, you see to it that you
don't go near the bank.'

"Peter said 'yes, ma'am,' and really meant to mind. He walked off and
pretty soon--oh, yes, I forgot to say that his mother gave him ten cents
to spend for popcorn or on the merry-go-round. So pretty soon Peter saw
a dog walking around with his tail sort of down as though he didn't know
anybody and was not having a very nice time. Peter didn't call him, but
he wished he knew the dog, he was such a pretty collie with beautiful
long hair and such a nice face. Pretty soon the dog saw Peter, and quick
as a wink he knew that Peter was lonely too, so he came up to him. They
got to be friends in a minute and went walking off together, and Peter
spent his ten cents for popcorn and shared it with the dog.

"So they went around liking each other more and more, and when it came
time for supper the dog lay right under Peter's chair, and Peter's
mother said, 'Well, if you haven't picked up a dog! I declare that child
beats all!'

"After supper Peter and the dog walked around some more, and Peter knew
that soon the boat would start and he would have to leave the dog and he
felt worse and worse about it until he almost couldn't bear it at all.

"And he was thinking so hard that he forgot what his mother had told
him, and walked along the top of the bank by the river. It was a high
bank and crumbly; and all of a sudden a piece broke off and Peter
slipped and slid down, down into the river, and under he went. The next
thing he knew he was on the bank, and his mother was crying, and there
was a lot of people, and the dog was there wet as sop, and he was trying
to lick Peter's face, and Peter's mother was letting him do it. And a
man said, 'Madame, if it hadn't been for that dog, your son would have
been drowned. I saw it all.'

"Then Peter's mother kissed him, and patted the dog, and she said,
'Peter, if that dog has no home we will take him for your dog, and if he
has, we will try to buy him.' But it turned out that the dog did not
belong to anyone, and so Peter took him home, and had him for his dog
always."

"Why, that's a perfectly beautiful story!" exclaimed Rosanna, and all
the children thought so too.

"You ought to see _my_ dog," said Tommy. "He's a fighter, he is!"

"How can you say that?" said Mary. "He is only three months old and can
scarcely walk straight."

"Well, I bet he will fight when he gets bigger."

"He's not your dog anyhow," said Myron. "He's Gwenny's."

"Yes, and Myron bought him for her at the Pet Shop with money he earned
himself. It is a toy poodle, so he won't ever be big."

"Now who tells the next story?" asked Rosanna. "I think it is Tommy's
turn."

"Don't know none," said Tommy.

"Don't know _any_," his sister corrected him. "Go on and try, Tommy."

Tommy breathed hard, then said rapidly:

"Well, once over on the parkway two kids was playin', and a man came
along drivin' a race horse, and it had got scared at a nautomobile, and
was runnin' away, and the rein had broke, and the man he yelled, 'I'll
give anybuddy a million dollars to stop this horse,' and one of the kids
'bout my size give a leap and grabbed the horse by the nose and stopped
him. And the man jumped right out and give the kid a million dollars."

"The saints forgive him!" said Minnie. She did not say who.

"Mercy me!" said Rosanna.

"What did he do with the money?" asked Helen.

"Spent it," said Tommy promptly. "Went right down town and spent it."

"What could he spend such a lot for?" asked Helen.

"Spent it for candy and ice-cream cones and sody and cake, and he went
to the circus and all the side shows, and Fontaine Ferry and bought a
nautomobile and sling shot and everything."

"My sister Louisa Cordelia ought to know you," said Minnie.

"Don't want to know any girls," said Tommy rudely.

Rosanna felt that it was time to change the conversation. "Now who
next?" she asked pleasantly. "What story can Luella tell?"

"I don't believe she can tell any story," said Mary, "but she knows some
little verses she learned in school. They have such a sweet young lady
for a teacher; mamma says she never saw anybody take such pains with the
children as she does." She turned to Luella who was wriggling in
embarrassment and biting her finger. "Speak something Miss Marie taught
you, Luella honey."

"Miss Marie?" said Minnie. "Miss Marie? What is her other name?"

"Corrigan," said Mary.

"Well, then, that's my younger sister," said Minnie proudly. "She's a
teacher, and I _will_ say she is a good one. Nothing would do but she
must go through normal school and teach. Seems like she was just made
for it, so patient and loving." She cast a glance at Tommy. "Not much
like my sister Louisa Cordelia, she isn't."

"The children just love her to death," said Mary. "Go on, honey, and say
the little piece about the little bird."

Luella arose, breathed hard, curtseyed, and very sweetly recited,


A little bird sat on a tree,
  And waved his little wing at me.
He said, "This seems a pleasant day,
  I think perhaps I'll fly away."
He bent his pretty little head,
  "I don't see any worms," he said.
He shook his pretty feathers out.
  "It's growing cold without a doubt.
When all the leaves have fallen down
  And all the trees are bare and brown,
When snow is deep on dell and hill,
  And wintry winds are cold and chill,
This would not be the place for me,"
  He said, and teetered on his tree.
"I know a land far, far away,
  Where winter is as warm as May."
He waved a wing and winked an eye,
  And off he flew, "Good-bye, good-bye!"




CHAPTER VIII


All the children except Tommy clapped their hands when Luella finished.
It did indeed sound sweet and she spoke it very prettily, waving her
hand and winking her own eye at the end.

Rosanna and Myron felt that their time had come. They looked at each
other, but Minnie settled the question.

"Now it is Miss Rosanna's turn," she said, "and then Myron's. Ladies
first. Give us a real nice story, Miss Rosanna."

"About robbers," said Tommy, chewing on a grass stem.

"I don't know any about robbers," said Rosanna pleasantly, "but I do
know one about a cat, or a kitten rather, and it really happened. Helen
told one about a dog, and this is about a cat.

"Once there were two little boys, Walter and Harold, and they were going
a long, long way to their new home in the West where they were going to
live. And they had a pet kitten that they wanted to take along so badly
that fin'ly their mother and father said they might take it if they
would carry it in its basket all the way and never ask anyone else to
take care of it. So they said they would, and by-and-by they had
everything packed up and ready, and when the time came, they started
off and got on the train, kitten and all.

"They had things for it to eat and milk for it to drink, and when the
conductor was not in the car they used to take it out of its basket and
pet it and play with it. And the kitten didn't mind it a bit.

"Well, when they had been on the train a couple of days they let the
kitten out, and Harold had it on his lap sound asleep.

"But just when they were at a station and the train was standing still,
something awfully exciting happened outside the window, and both boys
forgot the kitten. She jumped down from Harold's lap and went along
under the seats toward the end of the car. She thought she was going to
have a nice little walk, but just then the brakeman came into the car
and there was a kitten under one of the seats. He thought of course it
had hopped on the car there at the station, so he took it up and put the
poor little thing off the train, and then that _very_ minute the whistle
blew and off they went.

"It was a vestibule train, and when Walter and Harold found out that
their kitten was gone they hunted every inch of the car over, and then
hunted through the next car, thinking that she might have gone across
the vestibule and into the other car. But she was not there. Just then
along came the brakeman again and when the boys asked him if he had seen
a kitten, he said, 'Why, sure! Was that _your_ cat? I thought she had
hopped on the train back there at the last station, and I took her and
put her off.'

"Well, the boys felt so badly they didn't know what to _do_, and the
brakeman said they would not stop at any station for sixty miles. Walter
said he was going back to see if he could find her, but the brakeman
said she was most likely gone by this time or somebody had picked her
up. He was awfully sorry about it.

"When they had gone the sixty miles the car stopped, but the boys didn't
care to look out or anything. They just sat and thought about their
little kittie, and Harold said, 'Seems as though I can hear her cry,'
and Walter said, 'Don't say that again,' and then he looked funny,
because he thought he could hear her himself!

"Harold said, 'I suppose she is dead, and that is her ghost.' Walter
said, 'No, it's not; even kitten ghosts don't make a noise. There it is
again.'

"And then they looked around very slowly, the way you do when you think
something is going to happen and you don't know just what it will be,
and there in the seat back of them was the brakeman and he was holding
that kitten!

"When he opened the car door he found her squeezed up in a corner of the
top step, where she had ridden all that long way. When the brakeman
tossed her off she knew that the boys were on the train, so she climbed
right back, but she didn't get on quick enough to get into the
vestibule before the door was shut, so she had to hang on and ride
outside. She was scared nearly to death and jumped at every sound and
trembled for days, but the boys petted her and comforted her, and
by-and-by she felt all right. And there were lots of mice in the house
they went to live in, and that took her mind off herself. And that's all
of that," said Rosanna, smiling.

"That's a nice story," said Minnie. "Now let's hear what Myron has to
tell."

Myron shook his head. "Oh, go on, Myron," said Helen. "Tell us a story,
please, even if it _is_ short!"

"Once there was a little boy," said Myron, without waiting to be teased.
"Once there was a little boy and he had a mamma and two brothers and
three sisters, and he grew up and made lots of money, and bought lots of
nice things for his mamma, and his two brothers and his three sisters
and that's all."

"The dear lamb!" said Minnie. "That's the best story of the lot."

"Mine was better," said Tommy. "Mine was a real feller."

"Oh," murmured Minnie, "Louisa Cordelia has just _got_ to get hold of
you, young man!"

"I suppose it is my turn now," said Mary, "as long as you want to save
Minnie for the last. Could you let me say you a little poetry, or was
Luella's enough? I think some poetry sort of mixes things up a little."

"I think poetry is _lovely_," said Rosanna sweetly. "We loved Luella's
verses."

"Well, then I will say some instead of a story." Mary cleared her throat
and, rising, made a little bow.

UNAFRAID

The day I die, I'll quickly go
  Past all the angels, row on row,
Straight up to God; I'll know His face
  Even up there in that new place.

In Sunday School, the way they teach,
  God is almost too great to reach.
They act a little bit afraid;
  Because the world and all He made.

But if He made the heavens blue,
  He made the sweet wild violets too;
And Oh, what careful work it took
  To plan the small trout in the brook.

I know He's just the very size
  Of father; with most loving eyes.
Just big enough so one like me
  Can safely lean against His knee.

"Those were lovely verses," said Minnie when Mary had finished. "I
wonder who wrote them."

"My teacher wrote them," said Mary. "I think they are real nice."

"I do think it is a waste of time for me to tell a story," said Minnie.
"First you know the machine will be here and then we will have to hurry
home."

"I would like to hear you tell a story ever so much," said Mary. "I know
it would be a nice one, but I must be starting along pretty soon. It is
a long way from here to the car track, and I have to stop so often on
account of the baby being so heavy. It is so funny about babies, they
seem to get so heavy toward night."

"Indeed they do after you have lugged them about all day," said Minnie.
"I say I know all about it, dearie."

"We are not going to let you walk at all," said Rosanna. "We are going
to take you wherever you live right in the car."

"Nautomobile ride! Nautomobile ride!" chanted Tommy, tossing his cap.

"I think you are just too good," said Mary. "Will your automobile hold
such a lot?"

"Oh, yes, indeed, and more too!" said Rosanna, glad for once that she
had a big Pierce-Arrow.




CHAPTER IX


"I hear the car coming," said Minnie. Everybody listened, and sure
enough the big car rounded the bend and drew up at the bank with a
mighty blast of the horn. Tommy yelled in reply and bolted for it, the
others following, loaded down with the empty hamper and rugs, and by no
means least, the baby, awake now and very happy after his sleep.

Minnie marshalled them into their places, putting the two boys on the
front seat with Mr. Culver, and off they rolled. When they reached the
little house where the children lived, Mary thanked Rosanna and Helen
and Minnie and Mr. Culver again and she would have liked to thank the
car too, and the hamper. Even Tommy managed to say, "Much obliged!"
before he rushed to the house so he could have the fun of telling all
about it before Mary could get there.

But Mary did not mind. This was something that would have to be told
over and over a dozen or twenty times. She stood with Luella and Myron,
the baby looped over her arm, and watched the car disappear with a
feeling of happiness and gratitude that filled her thin little frame to
overflowing.

When the car reached the great white steps of Rosanna's house, the two
little girls said good-night.

"I never had such a nice, lovely, beautiful day in all my life,
Rosanna," she said. "And all because you were so good and kind."

"You would have thought of it just the same," said Rosanna, blushing.
"But oh, Helen and Minnie, _wasn't_ it lucky that we took such a lot of
lunch?"

"Well, it did turn out so," said Minnie.

The car rolled away, and Rosanna and Minnie went into the big, cool
hall.

On the table was a letter addressed to Rosanna in her grandmother's
stiff, precise handwriting. Rosanna took it up with a sort of groan.

"That's to tell when she is coming home, of course," she said. "I won't
read it until I am all undressed. Everything is going so beautifully and
I am learning such a lot and having such a lovely time that it doesn't
seem as though I could bear to have it come to an end."

"I think you ought to read your letter, Rosanna," Minnie said. "I don't
believe in leaving things. You expect bad news in that letter and you
are having a horrid time all the time you are getting ready for bed. You
couldn't feel any worse if you opened it. And suppose there was good
news in it? Then you would wish you had found it out before, wouldn't
you?"

"I suppose so," said Rosanna listlessly.

She sighed and, taking the letter, tore off the end of the envelope and
commenced to read. The second sentence caused her to cry out. She turned
to Minnie, hugged her, and cried, "Oh, Minnie, you are so wise! Just
listen to this!" The letter read:


"My dear Granddaughter Rosanna:

"What news I have had from home leads me to believe that you are well
and being nicely cared for.

"Since this is the case, I feel that it will be possible for me to
remain here in the East for a few weeks with your Uncle Robert. He is
not ill, you understand, but is run down and nervous from the effects of
his wound and many trying experiences abroad. He is fussing because he
has lost track of a soldier friend of his, the man who saved his life.
He is doing all he can to trace him, as he feels--and of course so do
I--that we could never do enough to repay the debt we owe him.

"About yourself, I hope you will have a good time. Do not forget to
practice. Mrs. Hargrave spoke of seeing a very interesting child at our
house. I am very glad you have found among your acquaintances one whom
you would like to make your friend. I can trust you, Rosanna, to choose
wisely. And I am glad to see that Mrs. Hargrave says that this Helen
somebody comes of an old Lee County family. I cannot read the name. Mrs.
Hargrave is a very careless penman. Always write distinctly, Rosanna.
It is one of the many marks of good breeding.

"Your Uncle Robert sends his love. He is anxious to see you.

"Your loving grandmother,

"VIRGINIA LEE HORTON."


Rosanna read the letter twice.

Then she turned and looked at Minnie. "It's good and bad too, isn't it,
Minnie? You know Helen is _not_ one of the Culvers of Lee County, but
she is just as good and sweet as though she belonged to all the Lee
County Culvers in the world. Minnie, what shall I do?"

"You must do what you think right, dearie," said Minnie, her kind, wise
eyes searching the girl's face. "I can't tell you what to do. You must
decide for yourself. It's one of the biggest things in the world to
learn; that is, to decide what is right and wrong without someone
telling us."

She kissed Rosanna good-night and left the room. A moment later she
returned. "Mrs. Hargrave just telephoned, dearie, that she wants you and
Helen to take luncheon with her to-morrow." Once more she bade the
little girl good-night, and Rosanna, tired out, fell asleep before the
door was closed.

She did not see Helen the next day until time for luncheon, but when she
waked up she found a book lying beside her bed. Helen had sent it over
to her. It was all about the Girl Scouts, and their rules and duties
and pleasures, and Rosanna found it hard work not to sit down and read
instead of taking her cold bath and dressing herself. Then after
breakfast came the history lesson and the music and dressing again, and
when Helen, very crisp and dainty, came in ready to go to Mrs.
Hargrave's, she found that Rosanna had not had time to read a single
line.

Mrs. Hargrave lived three houses away, and the children felt very
important and fine, especially Helen, who had never been asked to
luncheon with a grown-up lady before. Her eyes grew round when they
entered the house. It was so dim and cool and "old timey" as Helen put
it.

Mrs. Hargrave always dressed in the latest fashion for old ladies, yet
somehow she always looked as though she belonged to another day and
time. When she drove about the city she scorned the modern automobile.
She went in the spickest and spannest little carriage drawn by an old,
sleek and still frisky roan horse with a gold mounted harness and her
driver was a colored man as haughty and aristocratic looking as Mrs.
Hargrave herself; perhaps a little more so.

She advanced to meet the two little girls with a charming manner that
made them curtsey their very prettiest and caused them to feel more
important and grown up than ever.

During luncheon Mrs. Hargrave said:

"Will your brother return to college now that the war is over, Helen?"

Helen looked up in surprise. "I think you have me mixed up with some
other little girl, Mrs. Hargrave," she said. "I have no brother."

Mrs. Hargrave stared at her guest. "Are you not Lucius Culver's youngest
child?" she questioned. "The Lee County Culvers?"

"No, Mrs. Hargrave," said Helen. "I am John Culver's daughter."

"Another family," said Mrs. Hargrave and changed the subject politely by
asking Rosanna what she had heard from her grandmother.

Helen sat thinking. She was a straightforward, honest little girl, and
somehow she felt as though she was sailing under false colors as far as
Mrs. Hargrave went. She felt sure of Rosanna; Rosanna did not care
whether she was poor or rich, and it made no difference at all to her
that Helen's father worked for Mrs. Horton. But some people were
different, Helen reflected. Twice Mrs. Hargrave had spoken of Helen
being one of the Culvers of Lee County, and Helen wondered if it would
make any difference to the fine old lady sitting there in her soft,
shimmery silks, with the long string of real pearls about her neck if
she thought the little girl sitting there as her guest was living over a
garage back of Mrs. Horton's elegant home. It puzzled Helen and troubled
her. But try as she might, not once did the talk turn so she could
bring in what she felt she wanted Mrs. Hargrave to know. It just
_wouldn't_ come about.

After luncheon was over Mrs. Hargrave took the children and showed them
some of the strange and curious things about the house.

Then she had a delightful suggestion to make. She herself was obliged to
go down town to see her lawyer and she thought it would be very nice for
the girls to come for a little ride. To Rosanna, used only to
automobiles, and Helen who rode most of the time in street cars, the
idea of riding along after the proud gold-harnessed, frisky old horse in
the spick-and-span carriage was a treat and an adventure. Making
themselves politely small and quiet, sitting on either side of Mrs.
Hargrave, they went trotting down Third Street, turned by the big white
library building, and continued down Fourth Street where they eyed the
crowds, read the giddy signs in front of the movie houses and looked at
the window displays.

While Mrs. Hargrave talked to her lawyer, the girls sat in the carriage
and pretended that they were grown-up ladies.

When Mrs. Hargrave came out, they started up Fourth Street.

"Do you know," said Mrs. Hargrave, "this is the first time in all my
life that any little girls have visited me without their mothers? And I
have had the _nicest_ time I think I ever had. I want to remember it
always." She gave the signal to stop, and asked the children to get out.

"There is something I want to get here," she said, and led the way into
a big jeweler's shop. The two girls stopped to look at the rings in the
case near the door, but Mrs. Hargrave called them. "I need a notebook
and pencil and I thought you would like to help me select it. I am a
rather fussy and very forgetful old lady."

She did seem fussy over that notebook, but finally chose a dainty gold
one with a square in the center for initials. Attached by a tiny gold
chain was a slender pencil with a blue stone in the top.

Then, to their amazement, the clerk laid two others exactly like it on
the counter. Three just alike!

"I think it would be nice for us all to remember our pleasant day, don't
you?" asked Mrs. Hargrave, smiling. "I want to give you each one just
like this one that I am getting for myself. Then we will think of each
other whenever we use them."

Helen lifted Mrs. Hargrave's delicate old hand and laid it against her
cheek.

"Oh, Mrs. Hargrave," she cried, "I will _never_ forget you. I don't need
the notebook, but it is too lovely, and I will keep it as long as I
live."

Mrs. Hargrave's eyes filled with tears. "Bless your heart!" she said.




CHAPTER X


The very next day Mrs. Hargrave was called into the country to see a
sick cousin. She telephoned Minnie before she left and told her that she
felt that things were going along as well as anyone could possibly
expect, and that she was delighted with Rosanna and her little friend.
This message distressed Minnie for she was just about to go to see Mrs.
Hargrave.

Minnie was not happy. Silly and foolish as it was, she well knew that
the proud old Mrs. Horton would not be willing to accept as poor and
simple a child as Helen for Rosanna's closest friend, no matter how
sweet and well mannered she might be. Minnie, who knew real worth when
she saw it, despised Mrs. Horton for her overbearing ideas, but what to
do she didn't know. She feared a storm if she let things go until Mrs.
Horton's return, yet she dreaded a separation for the children, when
they might enjoy each other for two or three weeks longer.

Rosanna was improving daily. Minnie was pleased and proud to see how she
continued to do for herself and learn in every way to be independent.
Her sewing was wonderful. She was working eagerly on a little dark blue
dress like Helen's for herself, and with Minnie's help was even putting
a little simple cross-stitching on the cuffs and yoke. Rosanna was
prouder of that dress than of anything she had ever had in her
beautiful, crowded wardrobe.

Minnie felt that she wanted to consult with someone, and the most
sensible person she knew was Mrs. Hargrave. But with Mrs. Hargrave away,
all Minnie could see to do was to let things go along, and "trust to
luck" as she put it. Minnie didn't like "trusting to luck" at all; and
every time she saw the two children playing together so happily and
busily she shook her head and sighed.

Rosanna, too, in a dim way was feeling troubled, because she too knew
her grandmother, and remembered other times when she had been severely
scolded for trying to make friends with children whose parents did not
measure up to the standard set by Mrs. Horton.

In fact, for all the seeming happiness, no one was wholly happy but
Helen!

Helen had been taught by her wise young mother that the most important
things in life are not to be measured as anything that money can buy.
According to Mrs. Culver, a little girl must be obedient and truthful
and well behaved and kind. She must have a low and pleasant voice and be
able to sit in the presence of her elders without trying to enter the
conversation unless asked to do so. These things she had taught Helen,
and her little girl had been a ready pupil. Mrs. Culver was justly proud
of her.

Rosanna was just a bit afraid. And the fear caused her to go in a line
that was not _perfectly_ straightforward. She was sorry enough for it
afterward--sorrier than she thought she could ever be. But that did not
mend things in the least.

Because she did not know just how to turn around and explain everything
to her grandmother and still be sure of her happy time, to say nothing
of protecting her dear Helen from distress, when she answered her
grandmother's letter she wrote as follows:


Dear Grandmother:

"I was glad to get your letter, and I am glad Uncle Robert is home
again. Give my love to him, please. I am glad you are having a good
time, and I hope you will stay away as long as you like. I am having a
very good time. Oh, grandmother, I am having a lovely time. What do you
think? Mrs. Hargrave had Helen and me to luncheon with her, and she
likes Helen as much as I do, only she doesn't belong to the Lee family,
and after luncheon Mrs. Hargrave took us down town with her, and before
we came home she bought each of us a gold notebook with a gold pencil on
a gold chain fastened to it. She bought herself one too so we each have
one just like a secret society.

"I am learning to cook and to sew. I am making myself a dress. It is
very pretty. I shall make a good many of my dresses after this. It saves
a good deal of money, Minnie says, and I can help the poor with it.

"We went out to Jacobs Park for a picnic, and five poor little children
had lost their basket of supper. So I thought what you would do if you
saw five little children who had lost their supper, and I asked them to
have supper with us. There was enough, on account of our taking Uncle
Robert's hamper, and Uncle Robert always liking to be generous.

"We have planned a great many things. If they don't all get done before
you come home, grandmother, perhaps you will enjoy doing them too.

"I am learning a great deal about the Girl Scouts. I want to be one.

"Did you know our cook has a little lame boy at home? I was glad to find
it out. It is one more person to be kind to. I have sent him all my set
of puzzle pictures.

"Minnie is planning to get married. She has a trunk of things. When you
come home won't it be nice because we can go down town and buy something
for her. She will like something you have given her.

"She likes you very much, I am sure, because she always says, 'Well, all
I can say is there's not many like your grandmother in this world.'

"I think it is so nice to be liked. I want to grow up to be liked. I
think being a Girl Scout will help. Helen says all sorts of girls
belong, rich as well as poor, and that it broadens you.

"This is a long letter, grandmother, but I had a good deal to tell you.
So please have a good time, grandmother, and I am your loving little
girl

"ROSANNA."


Minnie sent a letter too. It read:


"Mrs. Horton:

"I wish to report that everything seems to be going smoothly. Mrs.
Hargrave has taken a great liking to Miss Rosanna, and her new friend
Miss Helen, and likes to have them with her. Miss Rosanna practices and
studies faithfully, and her music teacher says she never had such a
bright pupil. I have her take a rest in the middle of each day. The day
you left she broke her bottle of tonic, and I could not get more, as you
have the prescription. But I do not think she needs it. She has gained
two pounds since you left us. I give her hair a hundred strokes each
night. I think she wants to bob her hair, it is so very long and heavy,
but I tell her not for worlds, as you are so proud of it.

"We are keeping to the routine you ordered except when Mrs. Hargrave
has made some slight change, but of course I know that is all right, as
you told me she might wish to do so.

"Respectfully,

"MINNIE."


And Mrs. Hargrave wrote from the country a letter full of praise for
both little girls and for Minnie.

Mrs. Horton received all three letters the same day. She slipped them
away in her portfolio, thinking as she did so, with a smile, of Cousin
Hendy's trunks full of letters.

One thing troubled her a little. It seemed as though she could see in
all the letters evidences that little Rosanna was undergoing some slight
changes in her way of thinking and acting. And Mrs. Horton did not care
to have Rosanna change in the least. She was perfectly satisfied the way
she was. It had not occurred to Mrs. Horton to wonder if poor little
motherless Rosanna was satisfied with her pampered, lonely life.

Mrs. Horton had Rosanna's life all mapped out. However, she remembered
the high stone wall and reflected that the child could see very little
of the outside world if she was kept behind that.




CHAPTER XI


How the time did fly! The days were not long enough for all the two
girls crowded into them.

In a few weeks Helen would be going away to a Scout camp where dozens of
girls would live in tents and row and swim and fish and cook and listen
to wise and sympathetic talks from their leaders. Helen knew all about
it from past trips, and she spent hours while they sat working on their
presents for Mrs. Hargrave, whose birthday was rapidly approaching,
telling Rosanna all about their good times. Rosanna felt that she never
could bear it if she couldn't be a Girl Scout. Helen, not knowing Mrs.
Horton, did not see how any grown person could refuse such a request and
she told Rosanna so.

They had made a great many plans for Mrs. Hargrave's birthday. She was
coming to take dinner with them.

Mrs. Hargrave never looked more beautiful nor more imposing than when
she arrived. The two girls were overcome with pride as they saw their
guest descend from her little carriage and, laying her hand on the arm
of the old colored man who attended her, walk slowly up the steps.

When dinner was served, it was perfectly splendid to hear Mrs. Hargrave
exclaim over the flowers and the favors and everything.

During the meal the children told Mrs. Hargrave what they hoped to be.

Rosanna wanted to be an artist. Helen said she intended to grow up and
marry and be the mother of a family.

"Bless my soul!" said Mrs. Hargrave, staring at her. "What put that in
your head?"

"Something mother learned in college," said Helen simply. "She believes
it, and of course so do I. There was a teacher in college who was very
wise, mother says, and he warned them and warned them against what he
called popular complaints. He said they must always be careful before
they joined anything and promised to uphold it to understand _exactly_
what it was and how far it would lead them. He said it didn't matter
whether they were thinking of going into a nunnery or joining the
Salvation Army or the Suffragets or what else, they wanted to ask
themselves could they lift themselves and help humanity by doing that
thing. And he said in this day and age when there were so many
dissatisfied people everywhere, he thought the most important thing in
the world was to teach everyone, and especially children, the love of
country."

"Wise man," said Mrs. Hargrave, nodding. "What else?"

"He told them that love of country was not boasting about where you came
from, and telling everybody how high the corn grows in New York, or how
blue the grass is in Kentucky or things about places like that. He says
that is nothing but bragging. But he said what people needed was to love
all their country, east and west and south and north, to try to
understand one another and to pull together for the United States.

"And he said that if every one of those girls who married and had
children would teach them this as hard as ever they could, some day the
states would really be united, and wiser laws would be made, and all the
young Americans would love their country and be willing to live for her.
He said it is harder to live faithfully for anything than to die for it
because it takes so much longer."

"Bless my soul!" said Mrs. Hargrave again. "Go on!"

"That's all," said Helen. "I don't see what else I can do except teach
some children of my own about it, do you, Mrs. Hargrave?"

"I think that would be the finest thing you could do," said the
childless old lady. "Quite the finest! Are you going to college?"

"I want to," said Helen, "if we can afford it. We are saving up for it
all the time."

"How do you save?" asked Mrs. Hargrave. She was certainly a curious old
lady.

"Well," said Helen, "I wear my hair docked, and that saves a lot in
hair ribbons, only this fall mother says I must let it grow. When mother
takes me to buy a coat, we look at _two_ good ones that will last two
winters, but perhaps one has pretty braid or something on it, that makes
it cost more. Then if one of us looks as though we wanted it the other
one whispers, 'Rah rah rah, college ah,' which is our own college yell,
and we take the _plain_ one.

"Lots of ways it looks to be harder on mother than it is on me. I know
she goes without so many things she would love--lectures and concerts
and all that. I just _hate_ that part!"

"I am glad you do," said Mrs. Hargrave.

"Helen and I are hoping that we can go to college together," said
Rosanna.

"Rosanna is so dear," said Helen. "She wants to help me save, but of
course that won't do."

"I don't see why not," said Rosanna. They had talked this over many
times. "Do you see, Mrs. Hargrave? I never spend my allowance."

"No," said Mrs. Hargrave, "it wouldn't do at all. In the first place
Helen is earning her education in a lovely way, and your allowance is
given you. It is no effort for you to get it, so it does not benefit
you, my little dear. Helen must go on herself. Her help could only come
from a fairy godmother."

"There are no fairy godmothers," said Rosanna bitterly.

"I was beginning to think there might be," said Mrs. Hargrave.

"No," said Rosanna. "If there was a fairy godmother, just one in all the
world, she would come and make my grandmother let me go out of the
garden and know lots of little girls and go to school and be a Girl
Scout."

Mrs. Hargrave sat thinking as she tasted her ice. Then she asked, "What
are these Girl Scouts?"

"I have all the books," said Helen eagerly. "May I bring them around to
show you? Then you can see just why Rosanna wants to be one. I am sure
Rosanna could not be hurt by knowing a lot of little girls and learning
all the things that are required of the Girl Scouts."

"Why should she be hurt?" said Mrs. Hargrave.

"Why, grandmother thinks I should not go out of my class."

"Class is all right," said Mrs. Hargrave. "It is very necessary, but
what you want to look for, Rosanna, is _worth_. Suppose Helen here was
not in your own class. Suppose her father was a laboring man of some
sort, and she lived away from this part of town, that wouldn't change
Helen."

Helen looked up in amazement. "But my father is--"

Mrs. Hargrave interrupted. "I will tell you what I will do, Rosanna, I
will talk to your grandmother myself if she makes any objections to your
going to school and all the rest." She rose as she spoke, and they
wandered out to the rose garden where coffee was served for Mrs.
Hargrave and where the children offered their gifts.

When she went home at last, she put an arm around each child. "This is
the happiest birthday I have had. Good-night, and thank you! I will help
you all I can, Rosanna, and I feel very sure, Helen, that your savings
or the fairy godmother will take you to college with Rosanna. Two little
girls as nice and sweet and well-bred as you ought to be friends all
your lives."

She kissed them both and, carrying her presents, went down the steps
leaning on the arm of her servant.

"I feel full of a happy sadness," Rosanna sighed. "I don't see why, do
you?"

"No," said Helen, "only that she is so perfectly lovely. She is just as
though there was two parts to her. The outside pretty, but old and
wrinkled and kind of high and grand, while there is somebody just too
sweet, and real young and dancy and loving on the inside. And the inside
one can never grow old at all, but will go right on understanding how
you feel, and when the outside gets too old to last any longer, why, she
will just go and be a young, young angel."

"I guess that's it," said Rosanna. "But what a fuss there is about class
and position and where you were born, isn't there?"

"Yes," said Helen. "When she was talking about workingmen I tried to
tell her about my father working for your grandmother."

"Yes, she interrupted you," said Rosanna. "I don't see as it makes any
difference what he does. No matter what _any_body thinks, Helen, we are
going to be friends? You promised me that."

"Of course," said Helen.

"Well, it was a nice party, wasn't it, Helen? I think Mrs. Hargrave did
truly have a good time."

When Helen went home that night she was very quiet. Her mother thought
she was tired, but Helen was thinking. She loved Mrs. Hargrave dearly,
and she wanted her to know some things that she evidently was all mixed
up about.

The following morning she did not go over to see Rosanna. Instead she
dressed with even greater care than usual and went slowly around to Mrs.
Hargrave's, where she found her in a bright little morning room, sitting
before a large desk.

"I wanted to tell you something," said Helen, "and I am going to get it
all mixed up. I sort of have the feeling that _everything_ is mixed up
and that I am doing something that is not quite right. So I came over to
you. I didn't even tell mother because I was afraid it would worry her.
You see _she_ doesn't understand either."

"Dear me, how mysterious!" said Mrs. Hargrave.

"It is like this," said Helen, plunging into the middle. "You have been
so good to me that I want to tell you that I am not one of the Culvers
of Lee County or any other county. I am just the plainest sort of a
little girl. I have the nicest father and mother in the whole world, but
they are poor, and my father does work. He works for Mrs. Horton; he is
her chauffeur, and we live in the apartment over the garage.

"What will she say, Mrs. Hargrave, when she knows what a plain little
girl I am? I thought I would come and tell you about it. I don't see
what difference being poor makes if one tries to be nice inside, do
you?"

"No," cried Mrs. Hargrave. "It makes no difference at all. Don't let
anyone make you think that. And your coming to tell me this shows me
just what sort of a child you are," and she kissed Helen.

"Now, let's get this thing all straight as far as you understand it, my
dear, and then I will tell you what I think about it."

So for a long time they sat together, Helen's hand in Mrs. Hargrave's
while Helen told all about herself and her friendship with Rosanna, and
Mrs. Hargrave chuckled when she thought of her letters to Mrs. Horton
and how she had innocently misled her.




CHAPTER XII


Rosanna had just finished her luncheon that very same day, when she
heard Minnie talking to someone over the telephone. Minnie, seeing
Rosanna behind her, merely said yes and no and hung up as soon as she
could.

"What are you planning to do, Miss Rosanna?" she asked.

"This afternoon?" said Rosanna. "Well, Helen is coming over with her
mother and we are going to sit on the porch of the playhouse and sew.
Helen and I are going to make a couple of rompers for Baby Christopher.
Helen and her mother went over to see Gwenny the other day, and Mrs.
Culver says that baby actually has nothing to put on. And there is no
money to buy anything with because Gwenny has had to have a new brace
that cost thirty dollars. Oh, Minnie, will I be rich when I grow up?"

"Yes, you will," said Minnie.

"How much; millions?" wistfully.

"A good lot anyhow," said Minnie.

"Oh, I am so glad!" said Rosanna. "I am going to make so many people
happy with it. There is such a lot of things you can do with money,
Minnie, to help people. I was so sorry when I heard about that brace. I
am going to save more of my allowance after this and keep listening so I
will hear when somebody wants something like that. Only there are some
things that you can't buy with money. I couldn't buy Helen, could I? And
I couldn't buy Mrs. Hargrave."

Minnie started.

"No, dearie, you couldn't," she said. "And I have got to trot along now
because I have to go out this afternoon, and if Mrs. Culver and Helen
are coming over, I know you will be all right."

Rosanna found her little workbasket and, taking a book to read until her
guests came, went over to the playhouse and commenced rocking in one of
the little wicker chairs.

Minnie dressed carefully but plainly and went out. Rosanna would have
been much surprised if she had seen her hurry down the street and turn
into Mrs. Hargrave's big house.

Mrs. Hargrave was waiting for her and after a kindly greeting she said:
"Minnie, I want you to tell me all about this Culver family, and how
Rosanna found Helen, and how they happen to be such good friends, and
how it is that you allowed it when you know just how Mrs. Horton feels
about family and all that."

Minnie did not flinch.

"I have been wanting to come and tell you all about it," she said, "but
I thought that you would find out things from the children. Mrs. Horton
just won't let Rosanna know _any_ children at all. But I don't feel like
saying all I would like to say, seeing how I work for Mrs. Horton."

"You would free your mind, I reckon, if you were at your own home,
wouldn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I would!" said Minnie.

"Well, then," said Mrs. Hargrave, "suppose you and I talk as though we
were just a couple of human beings who want to do a kind turn for two
little girls. That Helen child was over here this morning, to tell me
that she was afraid I thought she belonged to some fine family like the
Culvers of Lee County. Lee County indeed! Those Culvers are scalawags,
every man of them! She is lucky she doesn't own one of them for a
father.

"And the honest little angel was afraid I would be disappointed when I
found out who she really is. Well, Minnie, I was never so pleased with a
child in my life! I am going to do something for her some day.

"Now I want to hear from you just how this friendship started. It seems
a letter that I wrote to Mrs. Horton put the seal on it and I want to
know where we all stand."

"Whatever we do there is going to be an awful fuss," said Minnie,
sighing. She sat on the edge of the chair facing Mrs. Hargrave and told
that lady more of Rosanna's lonely, friendless little life than Mrs.
Hargrave had ever guessed. She told her of the difference in Rosanna
since Helen had come, and her fears for the child if Mrs. Horton should
come back and forbid their friendship.

"I shall just leave!" concluded Minnie.

"Don't be an idiot!" said Mrs. Hargrave, frowning. "That would be a nice
thing to do with Rosanna heartbroken. Now, Minnie, all there is to this
is that Mrs. Horton years and years ago had a younger sister who eloped
with a no-account man whom she met when she visited his sister. They
were really very common people, and Mrs. Horton's little sister died of
a broken heart.

"When Mrs. Horton married, her children were boys, as you know, and she
carried her bitterness in her heart until her son's little orphan girl
came to live with her. She is making a great mistake with Rosanna and
she must somehow be made to see it before it is too late. But that is
the reason for her foolishness.

"She adored her little sister, and she adores Rosanna. I am sorry the
affair is so mixed up, but you just leave it to me. In the meantime do
just as you are doing and give the girls all the chance you can to have
a good time. I will stand back of little Helen if I have to adopt her. I
suppose her parents are healthy?"

Minnie giggled. "Yes, ma'am; healthy and real young."

"Well, well, there must be some other way then," said Mrs. Hargrave,
smiling. "To start, I will write Mrs. Horton a letter just before she
returns, and I think a heart-to-heart talk will arrange things nicely."

In the meantime, Mrs. Culver had helped the girls cut out two sets of
dark, comfortable rompers, and Rosanna had sewed them up on her little
machine.

Mrs. Culver was also making a romper for Baby Christopher. Hers was a
cunning one for Sunday, a little pink check with bands of plain pink,
and buttons nearly as big as tea saucers sewed on wherever a button
would go.

Mrs. Culver was a wise woman, and she knew that Baby Christopher, small
as he was, would have a good effect on his many brothers and sisters if
he could be made beautiful and dressy on the one day in the week when
the busy family had time to enjoy his cunning ways. So Christopher was
to have three rompers--good, new, beautiful rompers of his own.

While Mrs. Culver sat thinking the two girls talked about the opening
of the Girl Scout troop in the school Helen was to enter in the fall.




CHAPTER XIII


One morning Mrs. Hargrave was called to the telephone to speak with Mrs.
Culver. Mrs. Culver wanted to know if Mrs. Hargrave thought it would be
all right to take the two girls to Fontaine Ferry for the afternoon, eat
their supper there, and return when the children had had a chance to see
the electrical display.

"It is the sort of a place one always wants to see once, like Coney
Island," she said, "and I think the girls are about the right age to
have a good time there for a few hours without being disillusioned."

Mrs. Hargrave agreed with her.

"It will be a wild adventure for Rosanna," she said. "I have faith in
Helen keeping her head, but you must watch Rosanna. If she looks too
feverish, bring her home, please."

"I will indeed," promised Mrs. Culver.

"Of course you will; I am not afraid," said Mrs. Hargrave. "Send the
children around here before you start."

Once more Uncle Robert's hamper was dragged out and stocked with good
things. They were to start at three o'clock. When they were ready they
went skipping down the street to Mrs. Hargrave's house.

"Well, Rosanna," she said, "I wonder what your grandmother will say to
me when she finds out that I have given you permission to go to Fontaine
Ferry? I know you will have a splendid time. I have never been there
myself, and I am sorry that I can't go today. I am obliged to take the
six o'clock train for the country. Cousin Hendy has sent for me post
haste. She says she is at the point of death. I suppose this time it is
cucumbers. They are about ripe now.

"I want you both to remember everything you do, so you can tell me about
it. If I stay in the country for a few days, Rosanna, I will write a
letter to your grandmother telling her just what I think about a great
many things, and urging her to let you join the Girl Scouts.

"And as long as I can't go and have a good time spending my money, I
want you children to take it and spend it for me. This is not for your
education, Helen. I want you to promise to spend it, every bit."

They kissed her good-by and calling their thanks went dancing away.

The car was waiting, and off they went on the pleasant ride through the
city and out Broadway. As there was plenty of time, they drove through
Shawnee Park and along the bluff overlooking the Ohio River creeping
sluggishly past. Then they turned, and went a short mile to the entrance
to the Ferry.

Parking the car, they went in, Mr. Culver bringing the hamper of supper.
The Ferry is a very large place and every foot of it is covered with
tan-bark, smooth and brown and springy. Rosanna felt as though she was
walking in a riding academy. Everything was exquisitely clean.

As the children walked along, they commenced to hear music everywhere
and to see the merry-go-rounds whirling, the Ferris wheel spinning high
in the air, the squeals from the shute-the-shutes, and hundreds of other
fascinating noises. They found a place where they could check the hamper
and coats, and sat down on a bench for a little to look around.

Presently Helen's father said, "Well, we will have to start if we want
to see everything. Shall we have a ride on the merry-go-round to start
with?"

Rosanna drew out her envelope.

"We must spend our dollar," she said and tore it open. Helen did the
same. Each envelope held a clean new ten dollar bill. The children
looked at them in amazement.

"And I can't use it for college!" Helen wailed. "She made me promise to
spend it."

When they reached the merry-go-round, they chose the wildest looking
horses and mounted them in fear and trembling. When they had finished
the wonderful five minutes, they tried the chariots. Then there was a
certain camel that looked safe and steady, and Helen rode a lion.

They wanted to ride all day, but Helen's father warned them that there
were other things to see. They walked along looking everywhere at once
when Rosanna gave a scream. She found herself looking into a mirror,
clear and bright; but what had it done to Rosanna? She was really a thin
little girl who had often had to take cod liver oil. In the mirror she
gazed at a fat chunk with Rosanna's features and hair and about ten
times Rosanna's breadth. It was quite terrifying. Then she heard an awed
gasp from Helen followed by a shriek of laughter, and ran over to see
what was left of Helen in a mirror that had drawn her out to the
thickness of a needle. Together the girls looked and laughed.

After they had torn themselves away from this amusement, they came to a
booth where dozens of rings like embroidery hoops could be thrown over
pegs in the wall. Each peg had a prize hanging above it: gold watches,
diamond rings, wrist watches, gold and silver bracelets, and dozens of
other things. But most of the pegs had little bright tin tags or medals
and you had to get ten of those before you could exchange them for a
near-gold breast-pin.

Helen and Rosanna were very much excited over this, and could have been
quite covered with medals. They would not throw the rings on any peg
that was worth while. Finally they moved on in disgust, after paying the
man about a dollar apiece.

On a corner were a group of little burros, the tiny Mexican donkeys and
children could ride along to the corner and back for ten cents. Nothing
in the whole world could make those donkeys go off a slow walk. They
knew perfectly well that it didn't pay to frisk up their heels and bolt,
so they simply wagged an ear or flirted a tail if the children slapped
them.

"I suppose they have traveled to that corner fifty million times," said
Helen, watching the solemn procession take its way with the donkey boys
following close on the donkeys' heels and shouting to them to "Giddap!"

"Poor dears!" said Rosanna. "How tired of it all they must be!"

It took a lot of argument before they decided to try the Ferris wheel,
but Rosanna wisely said that it would probably be the last chance _she_
would ever have to try it, and Helen said that she wouldn't want to come
unless Rosanna could, so the children seated themselves and were
strapped in the basket, and presently when all the little basket seats
were full, off they went. It was perfectly frightful when you have just
been a simple human being all your life and suddenly try sailing up and
around all at the same time! At the top there was a drop, a sort of
launching out right into space, and the girls clung to each other and
shut their eyes.

After they had rested awhile they went along, threading their way
through the crowds until they came to the roller coaster.

Here they sat in a little car which held four people, but Mrs. Culver
still refused to leave the ground. They embarked from a little platform,
and were in one car of a little train of four. On the other side of the
platform four other cars were filling up. When all the seats were taken,
someone gave a signal and off went the little trains down such a steep
grade that their rush carried them far up another incline. This was
repeated over and over until they had reached a great height. Here there
was a sheer drop as straight as it could be made without taking the cars
off the rails, and down they went, turning and twisting. All at once
they were plunged into a pitch black tunnel.

"Oh, oh, _oh_!" cried Rosanna. It was the first time she had screamed,
but she did not hear herself because everyone else was screaming too.

Then as suddenly as they had plunged into the dark, they came out into
the light again, gave a few more turns and drops for good measure, and
stopped at the very identical place where they started.

They got out of their car, and staggered, rather than walked, over to
Mrs. Culver, who was laughing at them. Rosanna's long curls were blown
every which way around her small, dark face, and Helen's bobbed hair was
sticking straight up.

"There is a Trip to the Moon right over here," said Mr. Culver. "Don't
you want to go?"

"No, thank you," said Rosanna feebly, and Helen said, "Why, daddy, I
couldn't bear another thing today! Let's go back and ride those nice
steady wooden horses."

They walked back to the merry-go-round, and spent a happy half hour
riding the menagerie. After that it was time to get supper. It always
takes a long time to eat a picnic supper, and dusk was close when at
last they finished. One by one the stars came out and then as though
touched by a great spring, Fontaine Ferry burst into a dazzling blaze of
electric lights.

Blazing, twinkling, winking, the lights hung or turned or whirled.
White, colored groups, and single stars, among the trees, down the wide
drive-ways, the Ferry had turned into fairyland.

"This is the best of all," said Rosanna softly.

"Isn't it?" answered Helen, her eyes wide. "How I wish Mrs. Hargrave
could see it! That _young_ Mrs. Hargrave that is inside the old shell of
a Mrs. Hargrave would have all sorts of pretty thoughts about it. Don't
you know she would?"

"Tomorrow you must come over real early," said Rosanna as they rode
home, squeezing Helen's hand. "And I owe grandmother a letter. It will
be easy to make a nice letter out of all we have seen. I wish Mrs.
Hargrave would come home to-morrow."

The car drove up before the big house, and Rosanna, tired out, but so
very, very happy, thanked Mr. and Mrs. Culver and ran up the steps. The
car waited, purring at the curb, to see that the door was promptly
opened. Rosanna heard the lock shoot back and the knob turn.

"It's all right," she said, looking down at the car. With a wave and a
smile Mr. Culver drove off, and happy little Rosanna turned slowly,
speaking as she did so.

"Oh, Minnie dear, I have had the bestest sort of a time!" she said. "I
only wish you--" She looked up. Her grandmother stood before her.

"Why, grandmother, when did you get home?" said Rosanna with a smile,
lifting her face to be kissed.

Her grandmother did not bend down. Instead she stood very stiff and
straight, looking at Rosanna with hard, cold, angry eyes that cut her
like swords.

"Go to your room!" said Mrs. Horton in a dreadful voice.




CHAPTER XIV


Rosanna turned pale, but she looked steadily into her grandmother's cold
eyes.

"I have done nothing wrong, grandmother," she said. "I--"

"Go to your room!" repeated Mrs. Horton, pointing to the stairs. "I will
attend to you later."

Rosanna slowly climbed the broad staircase, clinging to the handrail and
dragging her feet like a very tired old woman instead of a dear little
happy girl. She felt herself trembling. Over and over she thought of
what she had just said to Helen of her grandmother: "I am sure she means
to be kind." Yet here, without a word of explanation, she was ordered to
her room without a single greeting, as though she had indeed done
something _very_ naughty. Reaching her room, she sat down on the side of
her bed and tried to think it out. What had she done? Where was Minnie?

Minnie: where was she? _Minnie_ could tell her what had come to pass to
make her grandmother so angry. She walked unsteadily over to the table
and pressed the electric button by which she always summoned Minnie when
she needed her.

Almost at once the door opened; but it was not Minnie. Mrs. Horton came
in and closed the door.

"What do you want?" she asked harshly.

"I rang for Minnie," said Rosanna in a low voice.

"You can get to bed as best you can," said Mrs. Horton. "Minnie will not
be allowed to see you. Minnie has been discharged. She is untrustworthy,
and I would have sent her packing to-night, but she insisted on her
right to stay under this roof until morning. So she is in her room where
I have ordered her to remain."

"Can't I see her again ever, grandmother?" asked Rosanna, with trembling
lips.

"Certainly not!" said Mrs. Horton. "You are a bad, ungrateful child. Get
to bed as best you can! I cannot trust myself to talk to you to-night.
Tomorrow I will tell you what I think of the way you have acted in my
absence."

"I have not been naughty," said Rosanna. "I did just as you told me I
could do. I saved your letter so I could show you if you said anything
about it. Oh, grandmother, please, I have not been naughty! I have been
so happy."

"_Happy!_" sneered Mrs. Horton. "_Happy!_ There is a low streak in you.
To think of the way you have been acting--I will see you to-morrow after
I have seen Mrs. Hargrave, and when I can control myself."

She swept from the room without saying good-night, and Rosanna remained
seated on the bed, her head whirling, her mouth dry and quivering.

Rosanna did not try to undress. Warm as it was, she was chilled to the
bone. What would happen to Helen? And of course Mr. Culver would have to
go. An hour went by, and another. She heard her grandmother coming up
the stairs. Quick as thought she pressed the button and the room was
pitch dark. Her grandmother approached her door, opened it a crack and
listened. Hearing nothing, seeing nothing, she closed it and went on to
her own room.

Rosanna breathed freely again, and turned on the light. An overpowering
desire to see Minnie swept over her. She _must_ see Minnie, must comfort
her and be comforted. She felt that she would go mad if she had to spend
the night alone. She looked at the little gold clock on her table. It
was eleven o'clock.

She slipped off her shoes, and noticed for the first time that she was
still wearing her coat and hat. She tossed them aside, once more put out
the light, and tiptoed toward the door. She was going to Minnie.

With the greatest care she turned the knob and opened the door a crack.
She opened the door wide and stepped into the blackness of the hall.

Something soft and warm and human collided with her. Hands clutched her,
and a well-known voice whispered, "Dearie!"

After the first moment of fright, Rosanna felt herself go limp. She
clung fast.

"Oh, Minnie, Minnie!" she choked.

"Hush!" whispered Minnie. She drew Rosanna into her own room, closed the
door, and switched on the light.

"Oh, my precious lamb!" she said. "What did she do to you? Oh, why
didn't I come sooner? You look fit to die. Come, dearie, and let your
Minnie do for you to-night."

She took Rosanna on her lap and tenderly undressed her. Then she folded
a warm kimono around the shivering, nervous child and, sitting down in a
deep chair, took her on her lap and held her tight.

Rosanna stiffened and sat up. "Suppose she comes in?" she said.

"No danger!" said Minnie. "I turned the key." She laughed. "If she wants
to see you again she will have to wait until to-morrow, no matter what.
I don't intend to see that look on your pretty dear face much longer.
Now tell your Minnie just what happened."

"I don't seem to be able to remember much about it," said the tired and
frightened child; "only when I came home,--and oh, Minnie, we _did_ have
such a good time!--there was grandmother at the door instead of you. And
she seems to think that I have done something that has disgraced her,
and she won't tell me anything at all until to-morrow, only she told me
to come to my room and go to bed if I could get to bed without you and
she said you were untrustworthy--and--and that she had sent you to your
room to stay until to-morrow, and then she is going to make you go, and
oh, Minnie, Minnie, what _shall_ I ever do without you?"

"There, there! Minnie will find some way of staying near you if she has
to wear a wig and make believe she is somebody else entirely."

"What _have_ I done?" asked Rosanna. "Was it all because we went to
Fontaine Ferry? Mrs. Hargrave said I might go."

"A little of it is that," said Minnie, "but the worst of her madness is
because you have been playing with a little girl clean out of your own
class, as she puts it, and she blames everybody. Everybody that she can
discharge has got to go--and I guess that will be about everybody but
you."

"Then I might as well die," said Rosanna. "I can't go back and live the
way I used to live. You know I can't do it, Minnie. I can't; I just
_can't_! Oh, Minnie, it seems as though I had only been happy for three
weeks in all my life, and what shall I do? I do love Helen, and she is
just as nice as I am, and so are her mother and father. Oh, don't you
suppose Uncle Robert can fix it?"

"He didn't come home with her," said Minnie. "When he does the mischief
will be done. It is just her sinful pride, if I do say it about your
grandmother, and sure as sure there will come a day and that soon, when
her pride will have a fall. I only wish I could run away with you,
dearie. But you will have to be brave, and I will see you as soon as
ever I can. You know my telephone number, and if she ever goes out you
just call me up."

"I don't feel brave," whispered Rosanna, hiding her face on Minnie's
shoulder. "I don't see how I will ever bear to stay alone all night."

"That you needn't if you would like your Minnie," said she. "Just you
get into your bed and be quiet, and I will be back in a minute." She
tucked Rosanna between the sheets, and hurried away as silent as a
shadow.

In a few minutes she returned, ready for the night. She drew a big couch
close beside Rosanna's little bed and lay down.

"There we are!" she said, taking Rosanna's hand. "Now look here,
Rosanna. In the morning when your grandmother talks to you, don't try to
talk back, and whatever you do, _don't be afraid_. Just let her talk,
and tell her to see Mrs. Hargrave. She has seen me all she ever wants
to, I guess, but Mrs. Hargrave is not afraid of anybody. I wish she was
here. Now you will remember what I say, won't you, dear? Don't be
afraid."

"What will she do to Helen?" asked Rosanna.

"Do to Helen?" said Minnie, sitting up. "Do to Helen? Well, she won't
get within shouting distance of Helen. I guess I have not been shut up
in my room all evening so as anyone would notice it. The Culvers are all
prepared, and Helen won't know anything about it until long after it is
all over."

"That is good," sighed Rosanna. "I can't bear to have Helen unhappy as I
am. It does seem as though I have to be unhappy such a lot, don't you
think so, Minnie?"

Minnie leaned over and kissed her.

"Poor child!" she said softly. "Never you mind! I have a feeling that
there is something good coming out of this. I don't know what, but you
must bear whatever your grandmother says to you with that thought in
mind, and remember what I say."

"I will try," promised Rosanna, and then because she was exhausted with
the shock of the evening after the tiresome but glorious day Rosanna,
clasping Minnie's hand tight, went to sleep immediately.

When she awoke next day it was very late, and the sun was shining
through the flowered chintz curtains. She felt something queer and
crackly in the bed by her foot, and threw back the covers. There was a
letter tied to her ankle by a piece of ribbon. Rosanna could not help
laughing, it was such a funny place to put a letter.

"Dearie," it read, "we slept like tops both of us, and now I must get
out of here before your grandmother wakes up. I am going to tie this to
your ankle because that is the only place she would never think to look
if she should come in while you are still asleep, and go to looking
through things, though the saints know there is nothing she is not
welcome to see as we have every button on, and not a rip anywhere.

"I take this pencil in hand to tell you that I stayed all night and held
your hand. At any rate you were holding mine when I woke up not long
ago.

"Now I am going to leave right off, as I do not care to eat again under
this roof, things being as they are. I don't know about your going down
to breakfast. If you wake late enough, she will be over at Mrs.
Hargrave's and you could have your breakfast up here. Just ring the bell
three times. I will fix it with Hannah to bring you a tray as soon as
ever you call.

"Don't forget what I told you last night about being afraid. There is
nothing for you to be afraid of, and you can do for yourself now just as
nicely as though you were a grown-up young lady. And don't forget that
just as soon as your Minnie is married you can come to see me just as
often as you please, and I don't think it will hurt you to come and see
your own nursemaid in her own little house which is already being paid
for in instalments, and you can cook candy in my kitchen which is to be
blue and white in honor of the playhouse, and we will feel honored to
have you, and no one to object whatever you do.

"I must go now. Oh, dear, I'll worry every second: but don't you fret
one mite, Rosanna dear, as there is nothing at all to worry about.

"Your Minnie."

Her kind, good Minnie! There was one who loved her anyway. And she knew
Helen loved her.

She determined to be brave. When she thought everything over, she could
not feel that she had done anything wrong in the least. But when her
grandmother talked to her, she always felt guilty of everything that her
grandmother wanted her to feel guilty about. She dreaded seeing Mrs.
Horton. There was a knock on the door and there was her breakfast, the
best that cook could send up.

Rosanna was very hungry, and there was nothing left but plates and cups
and saucers when she finished and pressed the bell button. Hannah
hurried up and took the tray.

"We think you had better not say anything about this until you see what
your grandmother is going to do," said Hannah and hurried off while
Rosanna settled herself to wait.

Presently the door opened. Mrs. Horton, more pale and angry than ever,
came in. She was carrying a plate. There was a glass of water and a
slice of bread on it. She set it down hard on the table.




CHAPTER XV


"There is your breakfast," said Mrs. Horton, looking at Rosanna with her
steely eyes. "Bread and water will be part of your punishment."

"I am not hungry," said Rosanna in a low tone.

"Then you may leave it there until you are," said her grandmother.
"Bread and water will be your fare until you have apologized to me and
have proved that you regret your disgraceful conduct while I was away."

"I don't think that I did anything that was disgraceful, grandmother,"
said Rosanna gently.

"You will when I get through with you," said her grandmother grimly. "I
hope I may be able to bring you to your senses. I am only sorry you are
too big a girl to punish as I would like to punish you."

"Have you seen Mrs. Hargrave?" asked Rosanna.

"She is away. I suppose that is one reason that you went wild."

"I did nothing without asking her if it would be all right," said
Rosanna.

"That seems impossible," said Mrs. Horton.

"It is true," asserted Rosanna.

"Rosanna, be careful what you say!" exclaimed her grandmother angrily.

Remembering what Minnie had advised, Rosanna said nothing.

Her grandmother continued, "I have thought this all over and you know as
well as I do what you have done, and how you have offended me, and I see
no use in talking about it at all. You will stay here on a diet of bread
and water until you are in a different frame of mind. I don't need to
have you tell me how you feel, or what you think. A look at your face is
quite sufficient. You are stubborn and unrepentant. Perhaps after a week
or two spent thinking, you will see things in a different light. You
will not be allowed any privileges at all. You will not even have your
lessons. When your Uncle Robert comes home, you will not see him unless
you have repented enough to be allowed to come down to your meals. Do
you understand?"

Something queer and hard and grown-up came into Rosanna's soul. She
looked her angry grandmother straight in the eye.

"Grandmother," she said very gently, "I hope you will not say anything
that you will be sorry for."

"Don't be impertinent!" said Mrs. Horton.

"I don't mean to be," said Rosanna.

"You are!" said Mrs. Horton.

Rosanna turned around. "Oh, grandmother!" she commenced, then stopped.

"Oh, grandmother what?" asked Mrs. Horton.

"Nothing. Excuse me," said Rosanna.

"Then that's all," said Mrs. Horton. "You understand me?"

"I think I do," said Rosanna. She did not look up, and Mrs. Horton,
unable to catch her eye, left the room.

Lunch time came, and with it her grandmother with a fresh glass of water
and another slice of bread. Immediately after, Hannah appeared with a
tray of luncheon.

Rosanna was really not hungry, but she was wise enough to know that it
was a very bad thing to go without eating, especially when one has
decided on a very serious and terrifying step. The afternoon dragged
away.

At five her grandmother came in and offered her still another glass of
water and slice of bread. Rosanna thanked her.

"Have you anything to say to me?" asked Mrs. Horton.

"No, grandmother," replied Rosanna, "only that I am very sorry that you
are angry with me, and I hope some day you will be sorry too that you
did not love me when I was here to love."

"Do you think of leaving?" said Mrs. Horton sneeringly. "You had better
tell me where you are going so I can send your clothes. I believe that
is the way they do with the sort of people you have been making friends
with."

Rosanna did not reply:

"Let me catch you leaving this room!" said Mrs. Horton. She went out and
closed the door. Rosanna nodded her head. Her mind was made up. She
crossed to the dainty dresser, and switching on the lights did something
she had never done in her life. Rosanna was not vain in the least, but
if you could have seen her then, turning this way and that, lifting her
long, heavy curls, wadding them on top of her head, or trying them in a
long braid, you would have said that she seemed to be a very vain little
girl indeed.

She appeared satisfied at last with what she saw in the glass, and
noticed that it was growing quite dark.

She went over to her little bed, and knelt.

"Please, dear Lord," she whispered, "I don't want to do anything wrong.
Please help me because I am so afraid. And now that Minnie is gone and
Helen, please give me somebody to love me. Amen."

She felt better after that, and sat down by the window. It was almost
dark....

When Mrs. Horton left Rosanna, she went down to the big, dim library
and, seating herself at her desk, commenced to write letters. She found
it difficult to collect her thoughts and there was a bad feeling in her
heart, as though she was wrong, as though she was doing something
unwise, unkind, and perhaps really wicked. But she thrust it out of her
thoughts because she didn't think that she ever _could_ do anything
really wrong.

Something pressed hard on her heart, and she grew very restless. Some
impulse led her to go to the telephone and call Mrs. Hargrave on the
long distance line.

Mrs. Hargrave, who was very much bored by Cousin Hendy, was delighted to
hear her old friend's voice. She did not let Mrs. Horton get a word in
edgewise for the first two minutes. She seemed to think Mrs. Horton
didn't care how much that telephone call was going to cost. She asked
how she was, and how Robert was, and had he found his lost friend, and
she certainly hoped he had, and when had they returned, and oh, wasn't
it too bad Robert had been unable to come with his mother?

Then like a person who saves the best to the last, she asked with a note
of triumph in her voice:

"Well, how do you think your darling Rosanna looks? I suppose you know
she has gained five pounds while you were away. I think she is vastly
improved. And so happy! My dear, of course, it is hard for us to realize
it, but I think once in awhile it is a good thing to get right out and
let the home people do for themselves and learn to depend on themselves
a little. Don't you?"

Mrs. Horton smiled grimly. "It has certainly not worked out here to any
great advantage, during my absence," she said.

"What?" asked Mrs. Hargrave. "I don't believe I hear you."

Mrs. Horton spoke into the telephone with careful distinctness. "If you
do not know what has happened during my absence," she said, "I will tell
you the state of affairs existing here in my home now, and you may be
able to guess that something serious has occurred. In the first place
Rosanna is in her room on a diet of bread and water. My chauffeur, with
his pushing wife and ordinary child, has been discharged, and told to
vacate to-morrow. Rosanna's maid, Minnie, had been discharged and is
gone. All the servants have had severe scoldings."

There was a long silence, then Mrs. Hargrave said, "Are you crazy?"

"Not at all!" said Mrs. Horton.

"I will be home to-morrow morning," said Mrs. Hargrave. "I'll have to
get there as soon as I can to keep you from making more of your dreadful
mistakes. In the meantime, I am ashamed of you. Don't you go near
Rosanna with your cutting speeches until I see you. Oh, I can't talk to
you! Good-night!"

She rang off and Mrs. Horton slowly replaced the receiver. No, she did
not intend to go near Rosanna. Rosanna was settled for the night so far
as she was concerned. On her way up to bed, she opened the door of
Rosanna's room, and listened. The child was sleeping so calmly that her
grandmother could not even hear her breathe. She could see the little
mound that Rosanna's body made on the bed, but she did not go into the
room. She went on to her own room and sat down to think. The light was
dim; just one small night light burning, and Mrs. Horton sat down in her
favorite lounging chair and gave herself up to her unhappy thoughts. She
was conscious of a feeling of wrongdoing yet she did not recognize it as
such. Instead, she was sure that she had been very deeply wronged. After
all her teaching, after all the years she had spent guarding Rosanna, on
the first chance the child had slipped away from all she had been told.
She shuddered when she thought of it, remembering her own young sister
and her unhappy fate. She did not realize that she was judging all
humanity by the commonplace young scamp her sister had unfortunately
married. It did not occur to her to ask herself if all the fine young
men and women her son knew were also of that type.

The next thing she knew, the cold woke her. It was dawn, and she had
slept in her chair all night. She was chilled to the bone. She slowly
undressed, and feeling sore and stiff, took a hot bath and wrapped up in
a warm kimono. She was about to lie down and finish the night when she
thought of Rosanna.

Mrs. Horton stepped into a pair of slippers and crossed the room. As
she passed her desk, she looked up full at the picture of her dead son
and his wife, Rosanna's father and mother. She stopped. Somehow those
faces would not let her pass. They held her with sad, questioning eyes.

"What are you doing with our little child?" they seemed to say. "Have
you loved her, mother? Have you been tender with her? Have you tried to
understand her? Have you remembered that she is just a baby?"

Mrs. Horton thought of Rosanna in her beautiful, lonely room way down
the corridor. She commenced to have a very guilty feeling.

"Have you loved her?" asked the two sad faces. "Have you been tender
with her, mother?"

"I have done my duty by the child," answered Mrs. Horton. She went down
the corridor to Rosanna's room, her head held high. The cold, pallid
light of the hour just before day filled the house.

Mrs. Horton opened Rosanna's door and went in. She looked long at the
little bed as though she could not believe her eyes. Then crossing, she
opened the bathroom door, and then the clothespress, calling Rosanna's
name sharply. There was no reply. The little dog followed her into the
room and went sniffing and whining about. Mrs. Horton rushed back to the
bed and saw that the little mound she had thought in the dark the night
before was Rosanna was only a neat pile of little dresses.

Rosanna was gone!

Mrs. Horton remembered that the child was very fond of a wide seat in
the library. She hurried down the broad stairs, expecting to find that
the lonely child had crept down there to sit awhile and, like herself,
had dropped to sleep, but the big room was empty. Mrs. Horton's heart
commenced to hammer in a very strange way. Of course Rosanna must be in
the house somewhere, and although she felt it was a very undignified
thing to do, she went from room to room making a close and careful
search of every nook where a child could hide. There was not a single
sign of the little girl. Mrs. Horton had hoped to find Rosanna without
calling the servants, but as she looked and looked, and the knowledge
came to her that perhaps Rosanna was not in the house at all, she was
filled with terror. She commenced to press the electric buttons
frantically and, wide-eyed and half dressed, the household commenced to
gather from the servants' wing.

She managed somehow to let them know that Rosanna had disappeared, and
everyone commenced a search that stretched to the playhouse, the pony
stable and the garden.

She staggered up to her room and with shaking hands commenced to dress
herself. The two sad faces on the wall stared at her.

"Oh, mother, mother, where is our baby?" they asked.

"Gone--gone--" said Mrs. Horton.




CHAPTER XVI


Rosanna was gone.
When or where or how no one could tell. By eight o'clock on that
dreadful morning the neighborhood had been scoured, the alleys searched
and the police were talking darkly of kidnapers and of dragging the
river.

Mrs. Horton knew that no one could have entered the house, but she was
at a loss to see how Rosanna could have been taken out or have gone out
without being seen, even if she had not gone before dark. The
neighborhood was full of children, and no one, young or old, had seen
Rosanna, who was well known by sight by everyone on the block.

At quarter past eight, to Mrs. Horton's surprise, Mrs. Hargrave walked
in. It was evident by her distressed look and trembling hands that she
had learned what had happened.

"Well, Virginia, you have done it this time!" she said. "I have been
telling you for the last forty years that your unholy pride would get
you into trouble, and it has. If anything happens to hurt Rosanna--well,
I just won't tell you what I think; I reckon you know without my saying
it. Now begin at the beginning and tell me in as few words as possible
just what you did to her. I don't want to know now what you thought
_she_ had done or what you thought about it yourself. I want to know
_what you did to Rosanna_."

Mrs. Hargrave seated herself on the edge of a chair as though she might
fly off at any moment. She listened intently while Mrs. Horton, still
thinking of the accusing eyes in the two pictures, told how she had
punished Rosanna.

When she had finished, Mrs. Hargrave spoke. "I don't see how you will
ever forgive yourself."

"I couldn't bear to have her grow up rough and coarse like so many of
these modern children. I wanted to keep her away from all lowering
influences."

"Fiddle-dee-_dee_!" said Mrs. Hargrave, beating a tiny hand on the arm
of her chair. "Fiddle-dee-dee and fiddle_sticks_ with your 'lowering
influences'! What did you do but leave her to her own thoughts and no
one to talk to but a stiff old woman and a houseful of servants? Well,
you have done it! What are you doing to find her?"

"I have put it in the hands of the police, and they have an extra shift
of detectives searching the city." Mrs. Horton trembled so she could
scarcely speak.

"Detectives, yes!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "Walking around the alley, two
and two, looking for all the little girls with long, black curls. That's
about all _that_ will do for you. Have you called Minnie?"

"I don't know where she lives," parried Mrs. Horton.

"Well, I _do_!" said Mrs. Hargrave.

She hurried to the telephone, and after a moment returned. "She will be
right over," she said.

"That does not seem necessary," said Mrs. Horton. She dreaded to see
Minnie.

"It does to me," said Mrs. Hargrave. She softened a little. "Now, my
dear," she said, "you are not able to carry this thing through alone. A
frightful thing has happened, and it is likely that we may never see our
little Rosanna again." She choked back the tears. "Have you spoken to
Mr. Culver?"

"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Horton. "The name sounds familiar."

"It ought to!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "A splendid fellow--your chauffeur."

"I thought his name was Carver," said Mrs. Horton. "You all write so
badly. No, I have not seen him; he is the cause, or part of the cause of
this dreadful affair."

"Not so much as I am if you are going to look at it like that," said
Mrs. Hargrave. "Next to Rosanna, his daughter is the nicest little girl
I ever saw. I am going to do something for her some day, and I will
thank you, my dear, not to abuse her. Now I want you to send for John.
_I_ want to see him if you don't."

"I think the police captain saw him," said Mrs. Horton.

"Shall I ring that bell or will you?" demanded her friend.

Mrs. Horton rose.

"Send for the chauffeur," she ordered the house boy.

"I think they's gone, ma'am," he said.

"Well, you run as fast as ever you can and tell them not to go," said
Mrs. Hargrave. "Mrs. Horton wants to see both Mr. and Mrs. Culver."

The house boy bolted.

The Culvers came gravely in. Both looked pale and distressed. Mrs.
Horton studied Mrs. Culver with surprise. Well dressed, beautiful and
refined, she was not the woman Mrs. Horton had expected to see.

Mrs. Hargrave took charge.

"Good-morning, my dears," she said. "There is just one thing for us all
to do now, and that is to put aside all personal feelings, just as you
would want your friends to do if something dreadful had happened to our
dear Helen, and all work together to see if we cannot save our little
Rosanna from whatever fate has overtaken her. I wondered if you have
ever heard her say anything that would lead you to think that if she did
leave this house of her own accord, she would go to any one person?"

"Only Minnie," said Mrs. Culver in a voice as cultivated and low as Mrs.
Hargrave's own.

"I have sent for Minnie," said Mrs. Hargrave. "I talked to her over the
telephone and she knows nothing at all about Rosanna, but she is coming
over at once. I want you to tell us, Mrs. Culver, if you ever heard
Rosanna say anything that would lead you to think that she would run
away."

Mrs. Culver hesitated, then with a flush said:

"I think it is only my duty to say that Rosanna was the loneliest child
I have ever seen. If she is found, I hope that something can be done to
place her among people who will give her not only care, but love."

"How dare you say that I did not love her?" cried Mrs. Horton.

"I say it because I love Rosanna," said Mrs. Culver, "and I cannot help
thinking that if my child should be left motherless, I would rather wish
her dead than brought up as you are trying to bring her up, Mrs. Horton.

"Oh, why, _why_ did you not let her have her friends? If you object to
us because we are simple people and poor, why did you not see to it that
she had friends in her 'own set' as you call it? And as for the
friendship between my child and Rosanna, we had your own letter for our
permission."

"We certainly did," said Mrs. Hargrave.

"I cannot talk about this now," said Mrs. Horton. "Please leave me."

"Don't you go a step farther than your own house, John," said Mrs.
Hargrave briskly. "I am going to give orders for awhile. Mrs. Horton, as
you see, is overcome. We need you. Take one of the cars and ride about
and see what you can see, John, and you, my dear, stand ready to do
anything that you can, like the fine girl that you are." She smiled and
the two left the room, tears streaming down the face of Mrs. Culver. As
they went slowly through the garden, Minnie burst through the gate, and
rushed toward the house. She did not even see them. She hurried to the
library, and hesitating for a second to pull herself together, knocked
on the door and entered as Mrs. Horton called, "Come!"

Minnie bowed, and Mrs. Hargrave at once said: "Minnie, can you imagine
where Rosanna would go if she left home, when she was as unhappy as she
was last night?"

"Only to my house," said Minnie. "If anybody abused her as I will say
they _did_, yet mentioning no names, and if anybody made a prisoner of
her, and spent most of their time year in and out making her unhappy,
and with you away, Mrs. Hargrave, I know if my darling Miss Rosanna was
let to go anywhere of her own free will, she would come to her Minnie
who loves her. That child needed to be cuddled and loved, Mrs. Hargrave,
ma'am, and I was the only person about here who ever held her on a lap,
and I know she would start for me. But you'll not find her for one long
while. How she got out of the house I don't know. But why she went I
can pretty well guess, and what if a gang of robbers should meet Miss
Rosanna going along all alone and her so beautiful with her long curls
and pretty dresses? What would they do but pick her up right off, and
carry her away and hold her for some people who didn't appreciate her
when they had her, to pay them a fortune to get her back?" Here Minnie
commenced to cry.

"Don't do that!" said Mrs. Horton sharply. "I can't stand it!"

Minnie turned to her.

"Mrs. Horton, now that the dear child is stolen and by this time
probably murdered and buried, and no one the wiser, I think it is only
right to tell you that it is all your fault. While I was working here
and felt that I could do for Miss Rosanna, I was careful to say nothing
at all, and it can never be laid to me that I said one word against you
to your granddaughter. No, ma'am, Mrs. Horton, I was true to the wages I
earned. I never said one word even to my young man about the way you
froze all the happiness out of that dear departed child. And what I
could do I did. I tucked her in at night and always kissed her, and when
I found out how she wanted to be held tight, I held her and told her
fairy stories. And I found out all I could about her father and mother
from the other servants, and from cook who has been here for forty
years or so, and I told her all the funny things her father did when he
was a little boy, and she said it made her feel real acquainted with
'em.

"And she heard or read about putting candles and flowers in front of the
statues and paintings of the saints, and she wanted to do it with her
mother and father, but she knew she would be told not, so she used to
put little bunches of flowers back of the pictures between them and the
wall, and mercy knows if they have stained the wall paper. And when they
was faded I used to take them out, and oh dear, she was so sweet!"

Minnie choked, Mrs. Hargrave cried quite openly, and Mrs. Horton, deadly
pale and dry-eyed, sat shaking like a leaf, her eyes fixed on the
painting of her son on the opposite wall.

"And I think it was a _shame_ and a SIN and a CRIME," said Minnie hotly,
"that nobody but me did these things for her, Mrs. Hargrave, ma'am!

"And now she's gone, and I'll say she's somewhere dead of a broken heart
just because she wasn't let to have a single friend and that Helen, the
nicest child I ever did see except Miss Rosanna, and what if she _was_
poor? And I don't know what good blood is if it don't show in nice
manners and pretty speech and pleasant thoughts and Helen Culver had
nothing else.

"Oh, I just feel we will never see Miss Rosanna again, and what did she
wear off?"

"I don't know," said Mrs. Horton, speaking for the first time.

"You better find out!" said Minnie tartly.

"The detectives know," said Mrs. Horton.

"Oh, Mrs. Horton I sound hard on you, but it's all true, and I can't
take it back, and I'm not working here or I wouldn't have said it: but I
wish there was something I could do. What _can_ I do? I'd like to pick
up her room if I might, please."

"The detectives do not want it touched," said Mrs. Horton. "There is
nothing you can do."

Minnie, wiping her eyes, vanished in the direction of the kitchen to see
the cook, and Mrs. Horton turned to Mrs. Hargrave.

"Does it seem to you that these people have any right to attack me like
this?" she asked with dry lips. "I was not hard with Rosanna. I loaded
her with toys and pleasures, and I think they are all very hard on me."

"What do you think about yourself?" asked Mrs. Hargrave gently. "Did you
ever hold her and laugh with her, and tell her stories?"

"No; it was not my way," said Mrs. Horton.

"But it was the way of a child," said Mrs. Hargrave. "The way of a
tender little motherless child! I do not want to be hard on you, but I
have told you for forty years that your pride would be your undoing."

"The telephone!" said Mrs. Horton. She rushed to the instrument and
talked for a little with a member of the police force, then she came
dragging back to the library.

"They have finished searching the hospitals, and nowhere is there a
child answering to the description of Rosanna. I was actually hoping to
find her in one of the hospitals."

Suddenly she buried her proud head in her hands and broke into hard
sobs. Mrs. Hargrave went over and put an arm around the bowed shoulders.
Presently Mrs. Horton said: "If we only get her back! I never meant to
be hard, but I did try so hard to bring her up so she would never have
to live and die as unhappily as my little sister, and I felt that if she
could be made unbending and proud she would never choose unworthy
friends."

"But you were wrong, my dear," said Mrs. Hargrave. "Don't you see it
now? There is nothing to be gained in this life by remaining narrow. We
must know life and our fellowmen in order to be able to choose wisely
and well. How can we tell the worthy from the unworthy unless we have
known enough of people to be able to recognize both the good and bad?
Oh, Virginia! I feel that Rosanna will come back to you, to us, and we
must remember that we are old women, and she is a child, and like calls
to like. We must remember that God expects us to love and guide her but
she must have friends and outside interests."

"Oh, if she only, only comes back!" cried Mrs. Horton.




CHAPTER XVII


The dreadful day dragged to a close, while the detectives and the entire
police force scoured the city and the surrounding country.

For the one day they had succeeded in keeping the disappearance out of
the papers, hoping that if Rosanna was actually in the hands of
kidnapers they would not be frightened into taking her away or harming
her to insure their own safety.

Mrs. Hargrave went restlessly back and forth between her own house and
Mrs. Horton's, while Mrs. Horton walked endlessly up and down near the
telephone, listening and praying for news and imagining horrible things.

Throwing her pride to the winds, Minnie settled herself at Mrs.
Horton's, determined to be on hand if her darling Miss Rosanna needed
her. Minnie, for all her dismal predictions, did not give up hope but
the thought of what might be happening to Rosanna almost drove her wild.
She could not keep out of Rosanna's room, yet she could not bear to
touch a thing that the delicate little hands had handled. She wouldn't
dust. Rosanna's brush and comb lay on the dresser, and Minnie looked at
them tenderly, thinking of the long curls and wondering where and how
that lovely head was resting.

Mr. Culver went down town to a friend of his and borrowed a small car.
In this he scoured the city, and penetrated the most disreputable
portions with carefully worded questions concerning a child that had
strayed away. At lunch time Helen asked him if he would take her over to
see Mary and Gwenny. Helen had been spending her money for Gwenny, and
wanted to get her purchases where she could not see them and have them
remind her of Rosanna. Poor Helen had cried herself almost sick. With
all her broken, loving little heart she had prayed that she might be of
some help in finding Rosanna, for she too was sure that she would be
restored.

Mr. Culver was glad to take Helen over to Gwenny's, so Helen did the
things up in a neat parcel and they started.

"Don't you suppose if everyone knew that Rosanna was lost that they
would all help to look for her?" asked Helen.

"It will all come out in to-morrow morning's paper," answered Mr.
Culver. "They were afraid of scaring the people who are holding her, if
someone is holding her. The police hoped to find her before the
kidnapers were scared into carrying her a long ways off, or hiding her
perhaps in some of the caves around here. You see, Helen, with a family
as rich as the Hortons are, a child is sometimes held for what they call
ransom; that is, an immense sum of money which the parents are glad to
pay rather than have the child killed."

Mary and Gwenny were greatly shocked at the news, and wanted to hear all
about it over and over. Mr. Culver went on an errand and Helen waited
there with the two girls.

"Are they sure she wasn't hurt when she was trying to go somewhere?"
asked Mary.

"Mary saw a little girl run over by an automobile last night," said
Gwenny.

"She wasn't really run over," corrected Mary, "but pretty near."

"You don't think it was Rosanna?" cried Helen eagerly.

"Oh, no, it wasn't Rosanna," said Mary. "Rosanna never had on a dress
like that; it was just the kind of a dress I would wear and, besides,
her hair was cut short. And she wasn't pretty like Rosanna."

"Did you see her close up?" asked Helen curiously.

"Not very," confessed Mary. "She was all covered with dust where the
automobile had rolled her into the gutter, and her head was cut, and she
was unconscious: but she didn't look like Rosanna any more than I do. I
was just wondering if they had been to the hospitals."

"Yes, they went through them all," said Helen. "There were lots of
children that had been hurt one way and another, and there was one
little girl who had been hurt on the head, and couldn't tell who she
was, but she was not Rosanna. The detectives took a picture of Rosanna
along so they could be sure."

"That must have been the little girl I saw hurt," said Mary. "It was
right on Third Street, and they took her down to the Morton Memorial
Hospital right away. But it wasn't Rosanna."

"No, of course not," sighed Helen.

"Of course not!" echoed Mary.

"I wish it _was_ Rosanna," said Helen with a sob. "I wish it was!"

Leaving these thoughts to worry Mary and Gwenny, Helen went off with her
father, and in the course of time reached home.

There was a message from Mrs. Horton asking Helen to come to her as soon
as she could.

"I wish you would go with me," said Helen wistfully to her mother.

"I do not think I had better," said Mrs. Culver. "She asked particularly
for you. Don't get excited whatever is said. I trust you to act as
though I was at your side. You know, darling, that I always trust you."

Helen burst into tears. "Oh, mother, dear, dear mother, think of poor,
poor Rosanna who has no mother at all to go to for advice!"

Mrs. Culver hugged her little girl tight, wondering if little Rosanna
had perhaps gone to the young mother she had lost so long ago.

When Helen entered the library, she found that old Mrs. Horton had
collapsed, and was lying on the sofa covered with a blanket. There was a
chill in the large, dark room. Mrs. Hargrave, very sober and haggard
looking, drew Helen to her and kissed her. Then to Helen's amazement
Mrs. Horton kissed her too.

"My dear little girl," she said feebly, "I want to tell you that I find
I have made a great mistake, and I am sorry for everything. When Rosanna
comes back, I want you two little girls to be the best of friends. And I
want you to ask your father to stay with me. Perhaps he will do it if
you ask him. Mrs. Hargrave says that he is working on an invention of
some sort. He will certainly have as much spare time to give to his
studies here as he could in any business I know of. I want you to tell
him all this from me."

"Thank you so much," said Helen in her soft little voice. Then there
being nothing that she could think of to say, she stood waiting for Mrs.
Horton to speak. But Mrs. Horton wearily turned her gray face to the
wall and sighed.

"Would you mind if I go up and speak to Minnie?" Helen asked timidly.

"Not at all," answered Mrs. Horton. "It comforts me to know that there
is a child in the house. I think you will find Minnie in Rosanna's room.
You know the way."

Again she turned to the wall as though she had parted with hope, and
Helen ran quietly up the broad stairs and down the corridor to Rosanna's
room. Minnie was there sitting in her little sewing chair, mending a
dress of Rosanna's. Her tears fell on it as she worked.

"Don't do that, Minnie!" she said, throwing her arm around her. "I know
we will find Rosanna, and then everything will come out right."

She sat down on Minnie's lap, and told her everything that her father
had said, and all that Mrs. Horton had said, and then all about her
visit with Mary and Gwenny.

"As far as I go," said Minnie crossly, "the sooner they get all this in
the paper the better I will like it. Why, if there is one thing on earth
more than another that will stir folks up it is a lost child. All the
people, and the Boy Scouts and everybody will be hunting around
everywhere."

"And where do the Girl Scouts come in?" asked Helen hotly. "They will do
just as good work as the Boy Scouts will." She got up and commenced to
walk around the room. Minnie, having finished her sewing, arose too and
after a moment's thought produced from somewhere a silk duster, and
began wiping off the chairs and other furniture.

Helen watched her idly as she moved about the room, then the two large
portraits caught her attention.

"Wasn't Rosanna's mother beautiful?" she said, staring. "Her eyes seem
to look right at you as if she was trying to tell you something."

"I don't doubt she is, the dear saint!" said Minnie. "You can't begin to
know what a heap Rosanna thinks of those pictures. She used to want to
keep flowers in front of each one the way they do in churches in front
of the saints; but she didn't dare because she knew her grandmother
wouldn't let her. So she used to pick posies and tie little bunches and
slip them down behind the picture next the wall. She asked me if I
didn't think it would mean just as much. And I know it did, the lamb,
the dear, dear lamb! I told her grandmother about it too, every word.

"Why, the day you went to Fontaine Ferry--gracious, it seems a year
ago!--she fixed a little bit of a wreath of sweet peas and tucked it
behind the picture. It must be there yet all withered."

Minnie went over to the picture, and taking the heavy frame in both
hands held the picture away from the wall a little.

Something fell to the floor, but it was not the withered flowers.

When Minnie looked down, she stared and stared and, still staring,
crumpled down on her knees, wild, round eyes on the object. Helen ran to
her.

"Oh, oh, oh," moaned Minnie, "have I gone mad?"

On the floor tied by a ribbon, was Rosanna's beautiful hair!

For a space Minnie and Helen stood as though they had been frozen.
Minnie touched the long, soft locks and again moaned but all at once
Helen commenced to dance up and down.

"Now we have her, now we have her!" she cried. "Come down and tell Mrs.
Horton, Minnie! We have found Rosanna! Come, come!"

She tried to drag Minnie to the door, but Minnie pulled back.

"What do you mean?" she demanded.

"Why, don't you see?" cried Helen. "She cut it off because she didn't
want anybody to know who she was, and everyone always looked at her
lovely hair. She gave it to her mother. Oh, _don't_ you see, Minnie? And
then she started for your house, and the automobile hit her, and I just
_know_ that is our Rosanna in the hospital! Of course Mary was sure it
was not Rosanna on account of her hair. Oh, come, let's tell her
grandmother. She does truly and truly love Rosanna, Minnie. Come, let's
tell her!"

"Yes, and then find out that it isn't Rosanna at all and break her heart
for sure," said the practical Minnie. "You go down and tell Mrs.
Hargrave will she please come up here a minute, and you see that she
comes. She will know what's best to do."

Minnie bent over the long locks so carefully brushed and tied, and again
her tears flowed while Helen sped down the stairs on her errand.

Mrs. Hargrave, who had plenty of common sense, followed at once, and her
shock and surprise when she saw the curls of dark hair equalled theirs.

"Minnie is quite right," she said, nodding her head. "Mrs. Horton is in
a very bad condition. I feel as though the little girl in the hospital
may be Rosanna, but if we should find ourselves mistaken I don't know
what the effect on Mrs. Horton would be. Say good-by to Mrs. Horton,
Helen, and go tell your mother what we have found. Then ask your father
to bring you around to my house in the car. You, Minnie, slip out the
back door and meet me outside. Don't say one word until we see who this
child is. I don't see why they have not reported her if it is Rosanna.
She must have been asked to tell her name, and Rosanna is not grown up
enough to think of making up a name for the occasion. Besides she would
be glad to come home. If it is Rosanna--let me hurry!"

One by one they carefully left the house. It was late, and Mrs. Horton
seemed to be dozing. Telling the cook to put off getting dinner until
Mrs. Horton had rested, Minnie slipped out, and reached Mrs. Hargrave's
house just as the car drove up. Mrs. Hargrave came briskly trotting
along the walk a moment later and was helped in.

"It is a good thing that I am a trustee and director over at that
hospital," she remarked, "so they won't try to fuss about our seeing the
child, whoever she is. If it is only Rosanna--"

It was a swift ride. Every heart was beating quickly. If it was only
Rosanna!

Entering the hospital, Mrs. Hargrave went to the superintendent's
office, where a firm, stern looking woman met them.

"A child was hurt by an automobile last night and brought here," she
said briefly.

Mrs. Hargrave interrupted her. "I want to see her," she said.

"It is not the Horton child, if that is what you mean," said the
superintendent. "This was a short-haired child in a very ordinary dress.
She was struck on the head and was unconscious for hours. We are
surprised that no inquiry has been made."

"I am making one now," said Mrs. Hargrave crisply. "I said I wanted to
_see_ this child."

"You know it is against the rules, Mrs. Hargrave," the superintendent
objected.

"Fiddle-dee-dee!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "What ward is she in?"

The superintendent gave up. She had known that she would. Mrs. Hargrave
always had her own way. She led them down to the elevator, where they
waited and waited with what patience they could gather until the car
came slowly down and took them up to the general wards.

They tiptoed in. The little girl was bandaged and pale and sleeping
heavily; but oh, joy of joys, it _was_ Rosanna!




CHAPTER XVIII


"And it was just like a fairy story," said Helen, telling her mother
about it afterwards, "because even while the nurse was telling how the
little girl had not spoken a word, or even looked at anybody, Rosanna
just opened those big eyes of hers, and said, 'Hello, Helen!' And I
simply didn't know what to say, so I just said 'Hello,' too."

It was indeed Rosanna, and Rosanna was herself again, aside from a very
badly bumped head that had come near being a very seriously hurt head.
She was too weak and ill to seem to wonder why she was in a hospital
room with a couple of trained nurses feeling of her pulse, and dear Mrs.
Hargrave with the tears rolling down her faintly pink old cheeks.

All Mrs. Hargrave said was, "We will be back in a minute, Rosanna," and
shooed everybody out into the hall, even the stern superintendent.

"Now then," said Mrs. Hargrave with one peek back to see that the nurse
that had stayed was doing her full duty, "now the thing is, how are we
going to get her home?"

"Oh, she can't go home," said the superintendent in a shocked voice.
"She ought to stay here for three or four days anyway."

"Fiddle-dee-_dee_!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "Home is the place for her, and
besides I have reasons for wanting her to be under the care of her
grandmother right away."

"I can't take the responsibility," said the superintendent stubbornly.
"You will have to see the house doctor, Mrs. Hargrave."

"Very well," said Mrs. Hargrave. She turned to a nurse passing. "Go get
Doctor Smith, my dear; tell him Mrs. Hargrave wants him at once."

Doctor Smith came sooner than the superintendent hoped he would.

"Well," he said, "if it is possible to get her home without jarring her,
I think it would be a good thing. Her head is not injured, but her
nerves are shaken, and if she can be at home in her own room she will
regain her strength very quickly. I want you to take a trained nurse
with you, however."

"Of course!" said Mrs. Hargrave briskly, "Now how shall we take her? In
an ambulance, or can we manage in the car? It is very large."

"Could one of you hold her?" said the doctor.

"I can and will," said Minnie decidedly. "I know just how she likes to
be held, the lamb!"

"Then she can go now if you like," said the doctor, and the
superintendent pursed up her mouth and stalked downstairs, scorning the
elevator.

How smoothly Mr. Culver drove that car! Not a jounce or bump disturbed
the pale little patient, and he "drove the car at a walk" as Mrs.
Hargrave had asked him.

When they reached home, Mrs. Hargrave asked Rosanna if she could be
comfortable there for a couple of minutes, and seeing her nod feebly,
she went briskly into the house. She looked into the library. Mrs.
Horton, exhausted by her regrets and sorrow, had fallen into a heavy
sleep.

Quickly Mrs. Hargrave went back and beckoned. Mr. Culver gathered
Rosanna up in his arms, and with Minnie leading the way, carried her to
her pretty room. She gave a sigh of happiness when she felt herself
tucked into her own soft, pleasant bed, and a tear squeezed itself from
under her closed lids, but it was a tear of joy.

Mrs. Hargrave returned to the library and sat down. It was a half hour
before Mrs. Horton awoke.

"No news?" she asked with a groan.

"The best in the world!" said Mrs. Hargrave, patting her friend's hand.
"The best in the world, Virginia, and you must take it bravely."

"Tell me quickly," begged Mrs. Horton. "They have found her? Where is my
child?"

"Yes, we have found her," said Mrs. Hargrave, "and she is in her own
little bed upstairs."

"Oh, oh!" cried Mrs. Horton, covering her eyes.

"She was nearly run over on Third Street, and has a pretty bad bump and
a cut on her head. We found her in the hospital. No one knew who she was
because she had cut off her curls, and she had on a dress I never saw
before. Helen thinks it is one she bought to give that Mary child I
told you about. Now don't mind her hair, Virginia; it will grow, and
_do_ be gentle with her."

"Mind her hair--be gentle with her!" repeated Mrs. Horton indignantly.
"I will tell you what I am going to do from this time on, and just you
try to interfere if you dare! I am going to _spoil_ Rosanna. I thought I
was doing the right thing, and you don't know how I wanted to pet her
and love her and play with her, but I was such a goose that I thought if
I didn't keep her at a distance she wouldn't respect me. Why, she cares
a thousand times more for you than she does for me this very minute! So
you just watch me. I am going to make her love me best! I am going to
begin now." She rose and started for the door.

"Don't you want to fix your hair first?" asked Mrs. Hargrave in
amazement. "It is all tousled up, and your nose is red and shiny."

"It can stay so!" said the elegant Mrs. Horton. "I don't mind at all
letting her see that I was breaking my heart for her. Perhaps it will
help her to believe that I have one."

Followed by Mrs. Hargrave, Mrs. Horton mounted the stairs as lightly as
a girl. Minnie was just coming down.

"Miss Rosanna keeps asking for you, Mrs. Horton," she said, "and the
nurse thought if you would mind coming in to see her she would drop off
to sleep."

"I _am_ coming!" said Mrs. Horton. She entered the room, and Mrs.
Hargrave again felt a keen pride in her friend. She approached the bed
and, smiling down brightly, bent and kissed the little girl softly on
the cheek.

"Well, darling," she said, "how are you feeling now?"

Rosanna lifted her arms. "Oh, grandmother, I am so sorry I ran away and
made you so unhappy! I can see it in your face. Please forgive me! I
will be such a good little girl when I get well!"

"You have always been a good little girl, my precious," said her
grandmother, kneeling by the bed and laying her arm over Rosanna. "Only
we didn't just understand each other, and now everything is going to be
different. I want you to go to sleep now, and we can talk about
everything when you are well again. And you must sleep all you can,
because the very first meal you can sit up for, Helen is coming over to
have with you. A party, you know, right up here. And Helen is very
lonesome. Now go to sleep. Minnie, your good Minnie, will stay right
with you, and I will come back soon." Once more she kissed Rosanna and
silently left the room. Outside the door she turned to Mrs. Hargrave and
for a moment cried soft and happy tears on her shoulder. Then the two
old ladies kissed each other tenderly.

"It is going to be all right, Amanda," said Mrs. Horton.

"Indeed it is, Virginia," said Mrs. Hargrave. "I am more thankful than I
can say. And now I wonder when we are going to have anything to eat. I
am not sure when I had a meal last. Down at Cousin Hendy's, I believe,
and as she was just coming out of one of her attacks, that was mostly
prepared breakfast foods. I don't mind saying that I am starved. Do you
suppose you will have enough to eat here to-night to be any inducement
for me to accept your invitation for dinner when I get it?"

Half an hour later just as they sat down to the table, in walked Mrs.
Horton's son Robert. Mrs. Hargrave shook her head when after the first
greetings he asked for Rosanna.

"In bed," said Mrs. Horton. "I will have something to tell you about her
later, Robert, but now tell us what has happened since I left you."

"The kiddie isn't in disgrace for anything, is she?" insisted Robert.

"Not at all!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "Did you find your friend?"

"I certainly did!" said the young man, smiling, "and it's a good thing
too. He was hurt worse than I was, and it is going to be a long time
before he will be able to do much of anything. He has a wife and a child
or two, so I thought the best thing to do was to get them all down on
the stock farm. That's what kept me. I went down to Lexington with them
instead of coming straight home. He took one of the kiddies with him,
and the others will follow. That is a great little girl of his, mother.
She told me some of the greatest yarns about what she did in an
organization called the Girl Scouts. It certainly is interesting and a
wonderful thing for girls. Teaches them all sorts of things, you know.
Why, that child was more self-reliant than lots of the grown girls I
know. You must be sure to have Rosanna join it, mother. She needs it, I
feel sure. I scarcely know Rosanna, but her letters always had about as
much originality as a sheet of blank paper."

"I don't think that was Rosanna's fault," said Mrs. Horton. "I think you
will find her changed greatly."

"Well, however that may be, you let her join the Girl Scouts anyway.
Why, the fun they get out of it is worth everything. And in summer they
camp and put up jams and things, at least the group this youngster
belonged to did, and she is certainly great. Such a polite little
thing."

"Rosanna can invite her up here to see her," said Mrs. Horton.

"I guess you would think she was not in Rosanna's class," he said,
staring at his mother.

"Class?" said Mrs. Horton. "Class has nearly wrecked my life twice; now
we are going to pay some attention to worth and brains."

They were sitting in the library a little later, when John Culver
entered. He did not see Robert lounging on a divan in a dim corner of
the big room as he said, "Mrs. Horton, this check that you have given me
to date is made out to John Carver and of course I could not cash it."

"Isn't that the way you spell your name?" asked Mrs. Horton.

"Culver: John Winston Culver," said Culver. "J. W. Culver will do, of
course."

"John Winston Culver!" cried Robert, leaping from the divan in a manner
you wouldn't expect from a wounded soldier. "Not Culver, the inventor?"

"A little that way," laughed Culver, "but scarcely enough to be called
_the_ inventor. I wish I was!"

Robert was shaking him by the hand.

"Well, you are all right!" he said. "Why, our people in the foundry have
been looking for you all over the East. What are you doing here?"

"It is too long a story to tell you now," said Mr. Culver, "but I will
be more than glad to get in touch with the office if there is anything
in it."

"There is a fortune in it," said Robert, "just as soon as you get the
machine perfected! We must have it, and we will give you fine terms for
a right to its exclusive use. What are you doing here?"

"I am your mother's chauffeur," said Mr. Culver. "I wanted something to
do that would give me a good deal of leisure to work on the engine and
after I came back from France we were visiting my wife's people here
and I saw your mother's advertisement and took the place."

"It is almost too good to be true!" said Robert. "If you agree, we'll
work the thing out together."

Mr. Culver looked at Mrs. Horton, then at Mrs. Hargrave. "Stay; please
stay!" was the message he read in both pairs of eyes.

"That will be fine," he said to Robert. "I need some help, and you are
just the one to put me in the way of getting it. See you to-morrow," he
added and went out, forgetting the check.

"Well, I believe in fairies now," said Robert. "Half a dozen of the
biggest concerns in the country are after that young man. If I dared, I
would lock him up for safe keeping. To think that he is here right on
the place! Talk of luck! Why, he is worth a million dollars to us right
now, with his improved engine."

"Luck; luck!" said Mrs. Hargrave. "Pretty poor luck, I call it for me!"

"Why?" asked Mrs. Horton.

"Oh, nothing, nothing!" sighed Mrs. Hargrave. "Only I had it all planned
to do something nice for Helen."




CHAPTER XIX


Two days went by, during which Rosanna slept most of the time or tossed
about her pretty bed, unable to rest on account of the pain in her head.

Rosanna learned then, for the first time, the lesson that it is never
right to run away from the duty that faces us. It came to her slowly but
surely in the hours of her recovery that no good ever comes to those who
shirk. If Rosanna had waited, she would have saved herself and many
others a great deal of unhappiness.

Rosanna was a very little girl, yet she might have stood firm because
she knew in her heart that she was not to blame and that should have
given her courage. As she lay there and day by day learned from one and
another the terrible suffering her running away had brought on every
one, Rosanna was filled with shame and despair. How could any one, how
could her grandmother ever forgive her?

And the worst of her punishment was that they would not let her talk.
She wanted to beg every one who came caring for her so tenderly to
forgive her, but the nurse simply would not let her say a word. No one
was allowed to stay with her for more than five minutes and then _they_
did all the talking.

This did not go on long, of course. Came a day when the nurse smilingly
helped her into a big lounging chair and stood by looking on while a
hairdresser straightened and trimmed the haggled locks into a perfectly
docked hair cut. A bang almost covered the plasters on her temple and
when the task was completed, Rosanna felt very dressed up indeed.

That afternoon she saw Uncle Robert--a jolly, affectionate Uncle Robert
who came to tell her a great piece of news. He had adopted a French
orphan, a lovely little girl belonging to a family that had been wiped
out in the war.

"She made me remember that I had a little niece over here," said Uncle
Robert. "I used to tell her about you, and I know you will enjoy knowing
her."

"Isn't she coming here to live?" asked Rosanna hopefully.

"I don't know yet," said Uncle Robert, frowning. "You see I have not
told a soul yet excepting yourself. I don't know how that would strike
mother. It seems to me that it would give her a good deal of care. Two
girls to bring up, you know. Your Uncle Robert tackled a big problem
when he adopted an orphan, don't you think so, Rosanna?"

"I don't think so," said Rosanna, smiling. "Orphans are real easy to
keep, Uncle Robert. You see there are not many bad ones like me."

"I won't have you say that!" said Uncle Robert, giving the hand he was
holding a little shake. "I think you are a real easy orphan: easy to get
along with and easy to look at and easy to keep. I hope mine will be
half so good, and I hope I will love her a quarter as well as I do my
niece Rosanna."

"Oh, thank you, Uncle Robert!" sighed Rosanna. "I am so glad you are
home. I had forgotten how nice you are."

Uncle Robert rose. "We have said so many nice things to each other that
I feel all good and happy inside," he laughed. "And before something
happens to make me feel otherwise, here goes your little Uncle Bobby
downstairs to talk the thing over with mother. She is in the library
with Mrs. Hargrave. The fact is, Rosanna, I was so glad to be at home
again and so busy with one thing and another, that I forgot all about
Elise. That's her name; Elise. This morning I had a letter from the Red
Cross people, and they expect to come over in a couple of weeks. So I
must get busy. But honestly, Rosanna, I do think it would be pretty hard
for mother to take her in. I could enter her in some good
boarding-school in the city."

"But they wouldn't _love_ her!" cried Rosanna. "Little girls want to be
_loved_."

Uncle Robert cleared his throat. "We will have to see to that part
somehow, won't we, Rosanna? Well, I will talk to mother, and as soon as
we decide I will come and tell you about it. At least I will if you will
promise to take a nap."

"I will if you will promise to wake me up."

"It's a go!" agreed Uncle Robert, and went off whistling.

Mrs. Horton heard the whistle.

"Robert has something on his mind," she said to Mrs. Hargrave. "He has
whistled just like that ever since he was a tiny boy whenever he was
fussed or worried or in mischief. He will come in here and tell me
something; just you see if he doesn't. Well, Robert," as the young man
entered, "did you find Rosanna looking pretty well?"

"Perfectly fine! That child is going to be a beauty some day, mother. I
never realized how pretty she is."

"You have been gone three years, and that makes all the difference in
the world in a child her age," said Mrs. Horton.

"That may be so," conceded Robert. Then he tumbled headlong into his
story, and Mrs. Horton looked at Mrs. Hargrave with an amused smile.

"Well, mother, I want to 'fess up to something. I hope you will not pass
judgment until I have told you the whole story. Do you both care to
listen?"

Both ladies assured him that they would be delighted.

"For a couple of months I was billeted in a little French village near
the border. I was fortunate to find my quarters in a house which must
have been very fine at one time. It was very nearly a ruin when I
arrived but the owner, an old noblewoman, was still living in one corner
and welcomed me as though she was still a woman of leisure and fortune
greeting an expected and distinguished guest. She was certainly a dear
old lady and we were regular pals in no time.

"She did all the work; of course there was no one to help her, except
her little niece, an orphan girl about the age of Rosanna. It must have
been Rosanna that made me notice her, and she was certainly a dainty
little thing. The aunt was miserably ill. I got one of our doctors after
her case, but he said there was no hope. She was simply burned out with
the terrors and hardships she had been through. And her heart was all to
the bad.

"She knew it, the plucky old dear. She was a gallant soldier, I can tell
you! One night she woke me groaning. I hurried in to her and told her
she must let me take care of her all I could. I told her I had a mother
at home and all that sort of thing, you know, to make her easy about
having me wait on her, and she was no end grateful--more than I
deserved. But she worried. She knew that she didn't have the strength to
go through many attacks like that, and how she did mourn over that
niece. I didn't blame her, seeing the way things are over there.

"It went along two weeks more, and one night I heard a gentle tapping on
the door of my room. It was Elise, the little girl. Her aunt was having
another attack. I hurried in, and as soon as I saw her I knew the poor
old lady was going where she would not have to slave and starve any
more, and going soon. She took my hand.

"'Elise; oh, Elise!' she managed to gasp. Mother, honestly I just could
_not_ help it! I said, 'Don't worry, madame! I have told you of my
mother and my home. I would esteem it so great a favor, such an honor,
if you would give Elise to me.'"

Mrs. Horton's lip trembled. Mrs. Hargrave let two large tears slip
unnoticed down her pretty, faded pink cheeks.

"Well, she died perfectly happy," continued Robert. "And there I was
with a little girl on my hands! I turned her over to some women I knew
in the Red Cross, and she has been well taken care of ever since. I saw
her when I stopped over in Paris on my way home. Food and a little care
had made her look like a different child.

"Then I sailed, and she sort of slipped my mind until this morning. I
have a letter here telling me that the Red Cross friends are about to
sail for home and they are bringing Elise, of course. That was the first
time I really realized what I had let myself in for. I might have put
her in a convent over there if I had not promised the old lady that I
would personally look after her. But I did promise!

"Now what I want is some advice. Remember, I am not asking you to have
Elise here. You have Rosanna and I think that is enough. But you both
must know of some nice place where she can be placed and where it would
be homelike. I told Rosanna about it when I was up there just now, and
she didn't want me to put her in a school. She said little girls wanted
to be loved."

Mrs. Horton winced.

"Did she suggest a place for her?" she asked.

"Yes, she did," said Robert.

"Didn't she ask you to bring her here?" continued Mrs. Horton.

"Oh, Virginia, wait; _please_ wait!" cried Mrs. Hargrave suddenly. "Oh,
Virginia, you have Rosanna, and now Robert is home. You don't know how
lonely I am. Virginia, Robert dear, you have known me all your life but
I am not nearly, nearly as old as I look, and I can love. Give me your
little girl, Robert! She can be your ward just the same, but let me have
her for my little daughter. I am so lonely, and I will be so good to
her!"

Mrs. Hargrave buried her face in her tiny handkerchief and sobbed.
Robert glanced at his mother. She nodded. Robert went over to Mrs.
Hargrave and folded his strong arms round the little old lady.

"Dear old friend, how can I ever thank you?" he said. "Of course I know
you will be good to the child! Elise is yours!"




CHAPTER XX


An hour later Robert went up the stairs, wounds, shell shock and all,
three steps at a time! He wakened Rosanna by tickling her on the nose.

"Well, Rosanna, me dear," said her uncle in a very small-boy and
frivolous manner, "there's news a plenty for you."

"Well, honey, what's the good word?" he asked her when he had finished.

"Oh, Uncle Robert," said Rosanna, "I just never _would_ believe that
anything so perfectly lovely could happen out of a book. Just to think
of it! What will Helen say? Of course you know, Uncle Robert, that I
would have loved to have Elise here, but I just know that Mrs. Hargrave
will be so happy. Her house is so big, and there are no noises in it. It
always seems as though the rooms are whispering to each other."

"I know what you mean," said Robert, nodding. "I like 'em to shout;
don't you?"

"Well," said Rosanna wisely, "perhaps not quite shout, but it is nice
when they talk anyway. Mrs. Hargrave is always wanting to be a fairy
godmother to someone, and now she can be just plain really-truly mother,
and that is much nicer. I know she will love Elise, and she is so dear
to lean up against. She is always so soft and silky feeling."

"I never hoped for such luck!" said Uncle Robert. "We want to make a
real little American of Elise. We will do great things for her, even if
she is going to be Mrs. Hargrave's daughter. I want her to ride and
swim, and do all the things you do."

"I don't swim, Uncle Robert," said Rosanna. "I wish I could! I will need
to know how if she decides to let me join the Girl Scouts."

"I am no Girl Scout myself," said Uncle Robert, "but I have a medal or
two for long distance swimming, and we are going to turn you into a
little fish as soon and as painlessly as we can. So that's all of that!
Riding, too. I know you can ride that speck of a pony out there, but you
must have a horse now, a real _horse_. I meant to get each of you one
but I suppose Mrs. Hargrave will think that it is her privilege to get
one for Elise."

"Did you feel as though you wanted to spend as much money as two saddle
horses would cost?"

"I certainly did," said Uncle Robert. "Why?"

"Well, if you do feel like that, wouldn't it be nice if Helen could have
that other one?"

"Rosanna, you have got a brain," said Uncle Robert, patting her hand.
"The very thing! One more thing settled. Now about this Girl Scout
business. What is it, anyway?"

"I can't tell you all about it myself," said Rosanna, "but the daughter
of a friend of grandmother's who is at the head of the troop we hope to
join is coming over soon to tell me all about it."

"Another little girl?" asked Uncle Robert.

"No," said Rosanna, "she is a real grown-up young lady; quite old. About
twenty, I think, but Helen has met her, and she says she is just as nice
as she can be. And grandmother says so too; so it must be so."

"It is if mother says so," said Uncle Robert, smiling. "She is hard to
please in the matter of 'quite old young ladies.' Well, go on."

"There is a book on that table that tells you all about it," said
Rosanna. "Why, they learn to do _every_thing, Uncle Robert! And they
camp out, and have meetings!"

"And passwords and secret signs and all that, I suppose," said Uncle
Robert, laughing.

"You get to know lots and lots of other girls, too," said Rosanna.

"I suppose you do, you poor starved little thing!" said Uncle Robert.
"Well, you are going to be one anyhow, for better or for worse, and we
will run Elise in. She will have a bad time at first getting used to
American children and their ways, but I want to knock off about ninety
years from her score. She is too old for any use. It's awful to see a
kiddie so settled and grown up."

"Mrs. Hargrave is just the one to have her then," said Rosanna, "because
Mrs. Hargrave isn't any age at all, really. She looks old on the
outside, but she is just as young as Helen and me. She actually makes up
things to play! And she can dress paper dolls bea-_u_-ti-fully. Elise
will love her right off. Mrs. Hargrave said she wanted to be a Girl
Scout herself, but she thought she wouldn't try for it because she could
have more fun just visiting them at their meetings and driving out to
camp with hampers of goodies. I don't think I can ever tell you, Uncle
Robert, how I have wanted to join. Even now I can't feel that it will
really come true. Suppose grandmother should change her mind?"

"She isn't a changeable person," said Uncle Robert, "and besides she
loves you so that she would give you anything in the world that you want
except perhaps an airplane."

"There is the most beautiful young lady downstairs to see you, dearie,"
Minnie said, as she came in and straightened Rosanna's coverlet. "She is
something in the Girl Scouts, and her name is Miss Marjorie Hooker."

"That's the one!" said Rosanna, nodding to Uncle Robert. "Does
grandmother say for her to come up here?"

"Just for a little while."

"Please don't go, Uncle Robert," said Rosanna as he rose. "_Please_
don't go! I wouldn't know what to say to her."

"Neither would I," remarked Uncle Robert.

"But I feel scared!" pleaded Rosanna.

"So do I!" said Uncle Robert. "How do you expect me to talk to ferocious
young women Scouts? Does she look very strong, Minnie? Perhaps you
noticed if she was carrying a rope?"

"_Rope?_" repeated Rosanna.

"Yes," said her uncle. "I believe it is a great stunt of the Boy Scouts
to learn to tie awfully hard knots and swing a lariat and all that.
Perhaps the Girl Scouts do these things too. She might want to show you
how it is done. I would just hate to have her tie _me_ up!"

"I won't let her," promised Rosanna stoutly. "I will take care of you,
Uncle Robert, no matter how big and strong she is. Bring her up,
Minnie."

"You don't want to be too awful scared, Mr. Robert and Miss Rosanna
dear," Minnie giggled. "For one of her size, she looks and acts real
mild."

"My!" said Rosanna. "I think I know just who Miss Marjorie Hooker is.
She lives round the corner on Fourth Street. She is a dark lady, and
tall; taller than you. She plays golf all the time. I see her starting
out with her clubs every day."

"Getting her strength up," said Uncle Robert with a mock groan.
"Rosanna, I am a brave man to stay with you. What are the Girl Scouts,
I'd like to know, that I should stay here and be roped?"

"Hush!" warned Rosanna. "Here they come!"

Minnie opened the door and stood aside. Uncle Robert quickly rose, and
squared his shoulders.

"Miss Hooker to see you, Miss Rosanna," said Minnie with her queer
smile.

High heels clicked on the hardwood floor, and Miss Marjorie Hooker came
in. Uncle Robert suddenly grasped the back of a chair as though he was
afraid of falling down. Rosanna sat straight up in bed and stared with
round eyes. Miss Marjorie Hooker clicked across the big room and almost
shyly took Rosanna's hand.

"How do you do?" she said in a silvery, small voice that fitted her tiny
self to perfection. "It is so good of you to see me!"

"W-w-won't you sit down?" asked Rosanna feebly.

Miss Hooker looked at Uncle Robert.

"This is my Uncle Robert Horton," said Rosanna prettily.

Miss Hooker bowed and smiled, showing two fairy dimples. "I thought
perhaps you were the doctor," she tinkled. She sat down in the nearest
chair. It was ten times too big for her, but by sitting well toward the
edge, her little feet nearly touched the floor. Rosanna kept staring.
Uncle Robert seemed to grow very brave. He commenced to talk to the mite
and managed to treat her like a really grown-up person. Rosanna was
proud of him. But was it possible that this little lady, the smallest
grown person she had ever known, was really the Captain of the Girl
Scouts?

"So you are going to be a Girl Scout?" said Miss Hooker, turning her
dimples on Rosanna.

"I _want_ to be," said Rosanna. "Do you think they will accept me?"

"I know they will be delighted to take you in; but you know that you
have certain things to learn and certain preparations to make before you
become a regular member."

"Yes," said Rosanna. "I have the manual here."

"The best thing is for you to read it and then I will explain anything
to you that you do not understand. We _do_ have such good times!"

She smiled delightfully at Rosanna and at Uncle Robert, who looked
really cheered up and happy and showed no signs at all of leaving the
room. Rosanna wouldn't have minded if he had. She wanted a chance to
talk alone with this fairy-like creature in those ridiculously grown-up
clothes.

Miss Marjorie Hooker made it quite clear that she had not come to call
on Uncle Robert. She had come to see Rosanna. She made it so clear that
presently Uncle Robert, who did not want to go at all, spoke of a
forgotten engagement and said good-by. When he bent to kiss Rosanna, he
whispered, "I don't mind being roped at all, Rosanna!" but Rosanna did
not understand.

After he had gone, the fairy in the big chair seemed to grow less timid.

"I just think it is fine that you are going to be one of us," she said,
dimpling delightfully. "We do have the _best_ times! Last summer we went
camping on our farm out toward Anchorage. We were in a grove back of the
house, and if you didn't have to go down to the house for the newspapers
and milk and things, you could imagine that we were miles from everyone.
Can you swim?"

"No," answered Rosanna, "but I mean to learn."

"Oh, you must!" said Miss Hooker. "Everyone should know how."

"Of course," agreed Rosanna. "And a great many people do know how, so I
suppose I will be able to learn. It seems very hard."

"Not a bit of it!" trilled Miss Hooker. "I have several medals for long
distance swimming myself, and I taught myself when I was just a little
girl."

"You are not so very large now, are you?" ventured Rosanna.

"No, I am _not_," said Miss Hooker in what was for her quite a cross
tone. "Oh, Rosanna, how I would love to be tall! There is a girl round
the corner on Fourth Street, and she is about six feet tall, and I just
_envy_ her so! Why, what are you laughing at?"

"Oh, you please must excuse me!" begged Rosanna, "but when Minnie told
us the young lady was coming to see me about the Girl Scouts, Uncle
Robert and I both made up our mind that you were that tall young lady.
And Uncle Robert said he was sure to be fearfully afraid of you. And
instead of that, you are _you_, just as sweet and little! Uncle Robert
needn't be afraid a bit, need he?"

"I am not at all sure," said Miss Marjorie Hooker. "Perhaps he will have
to be terribly afraid of me."




CHAPTER XXI


It was bedtime one night, and after Rosanna had been tucked in her
grandmother came up. She had been doing this ever since Rosanna came
home and the little girl had learned to long for the little talks they
had together. But this night Mrs. Horton sat down in the big chair, and
told Rosanna to come into her arms. Cuddled there on her grandmother's
lap, Rosanna rested while they had a talk that neither of them ever
forgot. For the first time Rosanna learned all about the little sister,
and Mrs. Horton in her turn came to know something of the thoughts and
loneliness and longings that go on in a little girl's mind. Rosanna told
her grandmother all about it, and if Mrs. Horton hugged her so tight
that it almost hurt and cried over her short hair, Rosanna felt all the
happier for it.

And Mrs. Horton forgot that she was a proud and haughty lady (indeed she
was really never that again) and told Rosanna how sorry she was that she
had been unloving because she had really never meant her cold manner.
She made Rosanna understand that she had always loved her but never,
never so deeply or so tenderly as now. And Rosanna begged her
forgiveness for running away, and for cutting off her hair. So by-and-by
they commenced to talk of happier things, feeling very near and dear to
each other the while.

It was such a wonderful talk that Rosanna felt that never again would
she be unhappy.

Before her grandmother left, she told Rosanna that Helen was coming over
the following day to take luncheon with her. Minnie had a table set in
the broad bay window, and there the luncheon was spread. They scarcely
ate at first, they were so glad to see each other. Almost the first
thing that Rosanna asked was news of Gwenny. Helen had seen her often
and her mother thought that she was slowly growing worse. Helen had been
to a meeting at the Girl Scouts and had told them about Gwenny. Perhaps
something would be done a little later. Tommy was just as selfish as
ever. Helen said it was awfully hard not to dislike him.

"I don't even _try_ to like him," said Rosanna. "I don't see how you can
be as good and kind as you are, Helen."

"Why, I don't like the feeling it gives me when I dislike people," said
Helen.

"How do you feel?" asked Rosanna. "I never thought about how it makes
_me_ feel."

"I don't know as I can tell exactly," said Helen, thinking hard. "Sort
of as though you were walking over rough cobblestones. I just don't like
it. And I feel as though it does something to my color. Just as though I
was all lovely pink or blue, and hating or disliking someone made me
turn the most horrid sort of plum color."

"How funny you are, Helen! When are you going away on your Girl Scout
camping trip? Isn't it almost time?"

Helen looked embarrassed. "I am not going," she said.

"Not _going_?" echoed Rosanna. "Oh, Helen, how _awful_! And you have
been planning so long for that. Why are you going to give it up?"

"I just changed my mind," she said.

"You don't change it away from such a lovely trip if you can help it,"
Rosanna persisted. "Helen, I believe--Helen, I want you to tell me the
truth now. I declare I believe you have given it up on account of _me_!"

"Well, then I have," said Helen. "Indeed, Rosanna, I would not have a
good time at all off on that trip knowing that you were here just
getting well and perhaps missing me. I couldn't do it!"

Rosanna could hardly speak.

"I just think you are a real true friend, Helen!" she said finally. "I
don't think you ought to give up your good times and I can't thank you
enough."

"I wouldn't enjoy it without you," persisted Helen. "Aren't you thrilled
about your uncle's little orphan? And did you ever see anyone so happy
as Mrs. Hargrave?"

"Never!" said Rosanna. "She has been telling me all about the room she
is having decorated. It must be _too_ beautiful!"

"It is," said Helen. "I went over there the other day and saw it. You
never saw anything so cunning in your life. All the furniture is
enameled cream color, with lovely little wreaths of flowers on it. Even
her brush and comb and those things are painted ivory. And the walls! In
each corner is a little cottage, right on the wall paper you know,
Rosanna, and between just woods that look as though you were seeing them
through a mist--sort of delicate and far away. And the rugs are a soft
delicate green like the grass in spring. I hope she is lovely enough for
all the love Mrs. Hargrave is going to give her."

"Uncle Robert says she is as sweet as she can possibly be," Rosanna
assured her. "Well, you are just too good to stay at home with me,
Helen. It won't be long before we are both Girl Scouts. And I think you
are just as good and sweet as you can be. I can't think what I would
have done without you. But here you are actually giving up your camping
for me."

Rosanna leaned over and impulsively kissed her guest.

"Dear Helen, I am _so_ happy," she said, "because now I know that I am
really your _best_ friend."