BUT if Mabel derived little joy from her experience as a heroine, there was at least some satisfaction in knowing that there could be no school on Monday, for Mabel was decidedly partial toward holidays.

"If I ever teach school," she often said, "there'll be two Saturdays every week and no afternoon sessions."

Jean, however, really liked to go to school. So did Marjory, but Bettie was uncertain.

"If," said Bettie, "I could go long enough to know what grade I belonged in it might be interesting; but when you only attend in patches it's sort of mixing. There's a little piece of me in three different grades."

When Mrs. Crane realized that there could be no school on Monday, she too was pleased. She stopped a moment after church on Sunday to intercept the girls on their way to Sunday School.

"My!" said she. "How spruce you look!"

They did look "spruce." Tall Jean was all in brown, even to her gloves and overshoes. Marjory's trim little winter suit was of dark green broadcloth with gray furs, for neat Aunty Jane, whatever her other failings, always kept Marjory very beautifully dressed. Bettie's short, kilted skirt was red under a boyish black reefer that had once belonged to Dick, and a black hat that Bob had discarded as "too floppy" had been wired and trimmed with scarlet cloth to match the skirt. This hand-me-down outfit was very becoming to dark-eyed Bettie, but then, Bettie was pretty in anything. Plump Mabel was buttoned tightly into a navy blue suit. Although she had owned it for barely six weeks it was no longer big enough either lengthwise or sidewise.

"But," said Mabel, cheerfully, "by holding my breath most of the time I can stand it for one hour on Sundays."

"How would you like," asked Mrs. Crane, "to spend to-morrow with me and Rosa Marie?"

"We'd love to," said Jean.

"We'd like it a lot," said Marjory.

"Just awfully," breathed Bettie.

"Oh, goody!" gurgled Mabel.

"You see," said Mrs. Crane, "I'm not altogether easy about Rosa Marie. I do every living thing I can think of, but someway I can't get inside that child's shell. I declare, it seems sometimes as if she really pities me for being so stupid. And I think she's falling off in her looks."

"Oh, I hope not," cried Mabel, fervently.

"No," agreed Marjory, "it certainly wouldn't do for Rosa Marie to fall off very much."

"However," returned Mrs. Crane, loyally, "she might be very much worse and at any rate she is warm and well fed, even if she does seem a bit—foreign. So that Janitor put you down through the dust-chute, did he, Mabel? You must have landed with quite a jolt."

"No," returned Mabel, rather sulkily, for every one was mentioning the dust-chute. "I had all September's and October's sweepings to land on. It was all mushy and springy, like mother's bed."

"How," pursued kindly Mrs. Crane, "did he get you out?"

"I'd—I'd rather not say," mumbled Mabel, flushing a brilliant crimson. No one else had thought to ask this dreaded question, and the papers, fortunately, had overlooked this detail.

"Why!" giggled teasing Marjory, "he must have dragged her out by her feet because she's so fat that she couldn't possibly have turned herself over in that narrow space. It's just like a chimney, you know. I've often looked down that place and wondered if Santa Claus could manage the trip down. Oh, Mabel! It must have been funny! Tell us about it."

Mabel grinned, but it was rather a sickly grin.

"First," she said, "he clawed out a lot of papers and stuff. Ugh! It was horrid to feel everything sliding right out from under me—I didn't know how far I was going to drop. Then he grabbed my two ankles and just jerked me out on the bias through the little door at the bottom. I suppose it was a lot quicker. But he didn't need to make me climb all that coal."

"Yes, he did," returned Jean. "The cornice on the other three sides was all loose and flopping up and down in the flames. Pieces kept falling. The coal-bin side was the last to burn—the wind went the other way—and Miss Bonner's room was the last to catch fire."

"That Janitor," declared Mrs. Crane, with conviction, "knew exactly what he was about. Now, girls, you'll be sure to come to-morrow, won't you? I think it will do Rosa Marie good and there's a reason why I'd like a little company myself, but I shan't tell you just now what it is."

"Oh, do," begged all four.

"No," returned Mrs. Crane. "It's a secret, and not a living soul knows it but me. I'll tell you to-morrow."

"We'll surely come," promised the girls.

Of course they kept their promise. The four Cottagers arrived very soon after breakfast, were let in most sedately by Mr. Black's man, who smiled when the unceremonious visitors rushed pell-mell past him to fall upon Mrs. Crane, who was watering plants in the breakfast room.

"Tell us the secret!" shouted Mabel. "Oh—I mean good-morning!"

"Good-morning," smiled Mrs. Crane, setting the watering pot in a safe place. "The secret isn't a very big one. It's only that to-day is my birthday and I thought I'd like to have a party. You're it. The cook is making me a birthday cake, but she doesn't know that it is a birthday cake."

"Goody!" cried Mabel.

"Doesn't Mr. Black know it's your birthday?" queried Jean.

"I don't think so. You see, it's a long time since Peter and I spent birthdays under the same roof, and men don't remember such things very well. We'll surprise him with the cake to-night. Now let's go to the nursery."

Rosa Marie's dull countenance brightened at sight of her four friends. She gave four solemn little bobs with her head.

"Mercy!" cried Marjory, "she's learning manners."

"And see," said Bettie, "she's stringing beads."

"That's a surprise," said Mrs. Crane, proudly. "I taught her that."

"Fourteen," said Rosa Marie, unexpectedly.

"Goodness me!" cried Mabel. "Can she count?"

"Ye-es," admitted Mrs. Crane, guardedly, "but not to depend on. In fact, fourteen is the only counting word she can say. Peter taught her that."

"Fourteen," repeated Rosa Marie, holding up her string of beads.

"You ridiculous baby!" laughed Mabel, hugging her. "Who are the pretty beads for?"

Rosa Marie hurriedly clapped the string about her own brown throat.

"No, no," remonstrated Mrs. Crane. "You're making them for Mabel."

But Rosa Marie set her small white teeth firmly together and continued to hold the beads against her own plump neck.

"She knows whose beads they are," laughed Jean.

"I can't teach her a single Christian virtue," sighed Mrs. Crane. "There isn't one unselfish hair in that child's head."

"She's too young," encouraged Bettie. "All babies are little savages."

"Not Anne Halliday," said Jean, who fairly worshiped her small cousin.

"That's different," said Marjory. "Anne was born with manners."

"The little Tuckers weren't," soothed Bettie. "Rosa Marie will be generous enough in time."

"I wish I could believe it," sighed Mrs. Crane.

"Hi, hi! What's all this racket?" cried Mr. Black from the doorway. "Is Rosa Marie doing all that talking? Get your things on quick, all of you, and come for a ride with me."

"A ride!" exclaimed Mrs. Crane. "What in?"

"An automobile," returned Mr. Black, turning to wink comically at Bettie.

"An automobile!" echoed Mrs. Crane. "I'd like to know whose. There's only one in town and I don't know the owners."

"Yours," twinkled Mr. Black. "It's your birthday present."

"How did you know that this was the day?"

"Perhaps I remembered," said Mr. Black, smiling rather tenderly at his old sister. "You used to have them on this day."

"I do still," beamed Mrs. Crane. "That's why I invited the girls; they're my birthday party. But what's this about automobiles?"

"Only one. It's yours."

"Peter Black! I don't believe you."

"Look out the hall window."

Everybody rushed to the big window in the front hall. Sure enough! A splendid motor car stood at the gate.

"Peter," faltered Mrs. Crane, "have I got to ride in that? I've never set foot in one, and I'm sure I'd be scared to at this late day."

"What! Not ride in your own automobile? Bless you, Sarah, in another week you'll refuse to stay out of it. Get your things on, everybody; and warm ones, too. Find extra wraps for these girls, Sarah. There's room for everybody but Rosa Marie."

"Now, isn't that just like a man?" said Mrs. Crane, looking about helplessly. "Whose clothes does he think you're going to wear for 'extra wraps'? His, or mine?"

Everybody laughed, for obviously Mr. Black's house was a poor one in which to find little girls' garments.

"We'll stop at your houses," said he, "and pick up some duds. Besides, perhaps your mothers might like to know that you've been kidnaped. What! no hat on yet? Here, pin this on," said Mr. Black, handing Mrs. Crane a pink dust-cap. "I can't wait all day."

"Mercy! That's not a bonnet," cried Mrs. Crane, scurrying away. "I'll be ready in two minutes."