CHAPTER XX

The Call Returned

THE following Saturday, the girls carried their Christmas sewing to Jean's. The sewing had not reached a very exciting stage, so tongues moved faster than fingers. Mabel was still working on a shoe-bag for her father but, owing to some misadventure, one of the two compartments was several sizes larger than the other. Mabel regarded this difference with disapproval until comforting Jean came to the rescue.

"Perhaps," suggested Jean, "there's a difference in the size of your father's feet."

"Oh, there is," cried Mabel, gleefully. "His right shoe is always tighter than the left."

"But," objected quick-witted Marjory, "it isn't his feet that are going into that bag. It's his shoes, and they're the same size."

"Oh," groaned Mabel, settling into a disconsolate heap, "that's so."

"Never mind," said Bettie. "Give me the bag, and I'll fix those pockets."

Bettie was embroidering an elaborate pincushion for her mother, but she stopped so often to help the others that there seemed small hope of its ever getting finished. Marjory, who was making one just like it for her Aunty Jane, was progressing much more rapidly.

Jean, rummaging in her work-bag, was trying to decide which of four partly completed articles to sew on when a carriage stopped at Mrs. Mapes's gate.

"It's a caller," said Jean. "We'll have to vacate. Here, scurry into the dining-room with all your stuff. I'll answer the bell; and you, Bettie, remind Mother to take off her apron--she's apt to forget it."

Jean, stopping long enough to twitch the chairs into place, went primly to the door.

"Good-morning," said a familiar voice, "I've come to return your visit. It's all right, James. You needn't wait."

"Come back, girls," called Jean, when she had ushered the caller in. "It's Henrietta."

"What luck!" cried Henrietta, pulling off her gloves. "Now I can make a long, long call instead of four short ones. What are you doing--Christmas presents? Give me a spool of fine white thread, some pins and a sofa pillow. I'm going to make one, too."

"Take off your things," said Jean, smilingly.

Henrietta wriggled out of her jacket and tossed her hat on the couch.

"What is it going to be?" asked Bettie, watching the merry visitor's deft fingers fly to and fro.

"Lace," returned Henrietta. "I learned to make it in France. Of course these aren't the right materials for very fine lace, but I can make an edge for a pincushion or a mat. I like to do things with my fingers."

"Can you draw?" asked Bettie.

"A little," returned Henrietta, modestly, "but you mustn't tell Miss Rossitor, or she'll have _me_ doing cows and pigs and roosters."

"What grade do you belong in?" asked Jean.

"None," laughed the visitor, arranging the pins in what looked like a very intricate pattern. "I couldn't be graded. I'm having Domestic Science under the Methodist church, Senior Latin in the Council Chamber, Post-graduate French in a cloak-room off the A. O. U. W. Hall, Sophomore American History with the Baptists, and I'm doing mathematics in the kindergarten--or somewhere down there. I had to go back to the very beginning. If I ever tell you anything with numbers in it don't believe it. I don't know six from six hundred. But I'm doing lessons in five different buildings and getting lots of exercise besides. That's doing pretty well for my first year in school."

"Your first year!" cried Marjory. "Surely you're fooling!"

"Not this time," assured Henrietta. "I've had governesses and tutors ever since I could think, but this is truly my first school year. And it's great fun. But if I stay in America, I'm to go to boarding school, Grandmother says. I've always wanted to, and Grannie thinks it will be good for me to be with other girls. You see, I've always lived with grown folks, so I need to renew my youth."

"Mother's been reading the boarding-school advertisements in the magazines lately," said Mabel. "I heard her read some of them aloud to Father. But of course they couldn't have been thinking about _me_. But they sounded interesting."

"Perhaps," offered Bettie, "they had read all the stories and those boarding schools were all they had left to read."

"I guess so," said Mabel.

"Aunt Jane reads them, too," added Marjory. "There's some money that is to be used for my education and for nothing else. When I've finished with High School I'm to go to College."

"Oh well," laughed, Jean, lightly, "you're safe for another five years."

"_I_'m not," returned Henrietta. "I'm going next September, and if Grandmother had known how the schools were going to be you wouldn't be having the pleasure of my company now. She says I'm getting thin in the pursuit of knowledge--it's too scattered, in Lakeville. That's why she made me ride to-day."

"Look!" cried Mabel, her eyes bulging with astonishment. "She's really making lace!"

"It's for you," said Henrietta, flashing a bright glance at Mabel. "It's an apology, Mam'selle, for my past--and perhaps my future--misdeeds."

"I _said_ I didn't like you," blurted honest Mabel, "but I do."

"Don't depend on me," sighed Henrietta. "I don't wear well. You'll find the real me rubbing through in spots. Granny says I'm an imp that came in one of Dad's Hindoo boxes."

"Why does your grandmother call you Midge?" asked Bettie.

"Because she doesn't like Henrietta. You see, I have five names--they do that sort of thing on the other side--and I take turns with them. When I find out which one suits me best, I'll choose that one for keeps."

"What are they?" demanded Mabel.

"Henrietta Constance Louise Frederika Francesca--you see, there isn't a really suitable name in the lot. But when you have five quarrelsome aunts, as Father had, you have to please all or none of them by giving your poor helpless baby all their horrid names. Call me Sallie--I've _always_ wanted to be Sallie."

"Think of anybody," laughed Jean, "with as many names as that wanting a new one."

"Where's that baby you adopted?" asked Henrietta, abruptly changing the subject. "Didn't one of you adopt a baby or something like that?"

"It was Mabel," replied Marjory. "The rest of us are pretty good, but Mabel's sort of thoughtless about borrowing things. She just happened to borrow an unreturnable baby, one day."

"Where is it now?"

"At Mr. Black's. Her name is Rosa Marie."

"I'd like to see her," said Henrietta, carefully moving a pin.

"Stay to luncheon," urged Jean. "Father's away, so there'll be plenty of room. Afterwards we can all pay a visit to Rosa Marie."

"I'm afraid," said Marjory, "she's getting to be a burden to Mrs. Crane."

"Yes," agreed Bettie, "but it isn't Rosa Marie's fault. Mrs. Crane has been reading a lot of books about bringing up children--you know she never had any. Before she discovered how many things _might_ happen to a baby she was quite comfortable; but now she's always certain that Rosa Marie is coming down with something."

"And she doesn't seem very bright," mourned Jean.

"Who--Mrs. Crane?"

"No, Rosa Marie. You see, we don't know exactly how old she is--Mabel didn't think to ask--but she seems big enough to be lots smarter than she is. We're rather disappointed in her."

"I'm not," protested Mabel, loyally. "She's just slow because she hasn't any little brothers and sisters. She's a _dear_ child."

"Cheer up, Mabel," soothed Henrietta. "As long as she's beautiful she doesn't need to be bright."

At this, Marjory looked at Jean, then at Bettie, and smiled an odd, significant smile. Here was a chance to get even with Henrietta; and, unconsciously, Mabel helped.

"She's beautiful to me," said Mabel, "and she's ever so cunning."

"What color are her eyes?"

"Dark," said Marjory. "Darker than yours."

"Then she's a brunette?"

"Ye-es," said Marjory, as if considering the question. "She's darker, at least, than I am."

"We all are," said Henrietta, with an admiring glance at Marjory's golden locks. "We seem to shade down gradually. Mabel comes next, then Jean, then Bettie; I'm the darkest, because Bettie's eyes are like brown velvet, but mine are black, like bits of hard coal. Where does Rosa Marie come in?"

"I think," said Marjory, with an air of pondering deeply, "that Rosa Marie is almost, if not quite, as dark as you; even darker, perhaps. But her hair isn't as curly."

"Dear little soul," breathed Henrietta, tenderly. "I've a tremendous liking for babies, but they're pretty scarce at our house. But there was one in England that was--Oh, if I could just see that English baby _now_! Wouldn't I just hug her!"

Henrietta's eyes were unwontedly tender, her expression unusually sweet.

"You're not a bit like you've been any of the other times," observed Bettie. "I like you a lot better when you're like this."

"I'm not myself to-day," twinkled Henrietta. "I'm Sallie--just plain Sallie. But beware of me when I'm Frederika, the Disguised Duchess. _That's_ when I'm not to be trusted."

"I think," said Jean, listening to some faraway sound, "that lunch is about ready."

"Good!" exclaimed Henrietta. "The sooner it's over, the sooner I can hug that darling baby. It's months since I've held one in my arms--the dear little body."

"You'll find----" began Mabel; but the other three promptly headed her off before she had time to explain that Rosa Marie was a pretty big armful.

"It's time to go home," exclaimed Marjory and Bettie, in chorus. "Come on, Mabel."

"If you'll excuse me," said Jean, speaking directly to Mabel, "I'll go set a place for Henrietta. Sorry I can't ask everybody to stay; but come back at two o'clock."