CHAPTER I THE PERSONS OF THE STORY The dandelion cottagers include Betty Tucker, Jeannie Mapes, Mabel Bennett, Marjorie Vail. The Tucker family, mostly boys. The Mapes family, two parents, two boys. Dr. and Mrs. Bennett, merely parents. Auntie Jane, a parental substitute. Mrs. Crane, the pleasantest neighbor. Mr. Black, the senior warden. Mr. Downing, the junior warden. Miss Blossom, the lodger. Mr. Blossom, the organ tuner. Grandma Pike, another neighbor. The unpleasantest neighbors include Mr. and Mrs. Milligan, Laura Milligan, the Milligan boy and the Milligan baby, the Milligan dog. CHAPTER I. Mr. Black's terms. The little square cottage was unoccupied. It had stood for many years on the parish property, having indeed been bought long before the parish bought the land for church purposes. It was easy to see how dandelion cottage came by its name at first, for growing all about it were great fluffy golden dandelions. But afterwards there was another good reason why the name was appropriate, and you will discover shortly. The cottage stood almost directly behind the big stone church in Lakeville, a thriving northern Michigan town, and did not show very plainly from the street, because it was so small by contrast with everything else near it. This was fortunate, because after the tuckers had moved into the big new rectory the smaller house looked decidedly forlorn and deserted. We'll leave it just where it stands, the church wardens had said, many years previously. It's precisely the right size for Doctor and Mrs. Gunn, for they would rather have a small house than a large one. When they leave us and we are selecting another clergyman, we'll try to get one with a small family. This plan worked beautifully for a number of years. It succeeded so well, in fact, that the vestry finally forgot to be cautious, and when it last it secured the services of Doctor Tucker, the church had grown so used to clergyman with small families that the vestrymen engaged the new minister without remembering to ask if his family would fit dandelion cottage. But when Doctor Tucker and Mrs. Tucker and eight little tuckers, some on foot and some in baby carriages, arrived, the vestrymen regretted this oversight. They could see at a glance that the tiny cottage could never hold them all. We'll just have to build a rectory on the other lot, said Mr. Black, the senior warden. That's all there is about it. The cottage is all out of repair anyway. It wasn't well built in the first place, and the last three clergymen have complained bitterly of the inconvenience of having to hold up umbrellas in the different rooms every time it rained. Their wives objected to the wallpaper and to being obliged to keep the potatoes in the bedroom closet. It's really time we had a new rectory. It certainly is, returned the junior warden, and we'll all have to take turns entertaining all the little tuckers that there isn't room for in the cottage while the new house is getting built. One of the eight little tuckers were boys. If it hadn't been for Betty they would all have been boys. But Betty saved the day. She was a slender twelve-year-old little Betty, with big brown eyes, a mop of short brown curls, and such odd clothes. Busy Mrs. Tucker was so in the habit of making boys garments that she could not help giving a boyish cut even to Betty's dresses. There were always sailor collars to the wastes, and the skirts were invariably kilted. Next this the little girl wore boys' shoes.  The little tuckers were not the only children in the neighborhood. Betty found a bosom friend in Dr. Bennett's maple, who lived next door to the rectory, another in Jeannie Mabes, who lived across the street, and still another in Marjorie Vale, whose home was next door to Dandelion Cottage. Jean, as her little friend's best-liked call her, was a sweet-faced, gentle-voiced girl of fourteen. Mothers of other small girls were always glad to see their own more scatterbrained daughters tucked under Jean's loving wing, for thoroughly nice Jean, without being in the least priggish, was considered a safe and a desirable companion. It doesn't always follow that to children like the persons it is considered best for them to like, but in Jean's case both parents and daughters agreed that Jean was not only safe but delightful, the charming daughter of a charming mother. Marjorie, a year younger and nearly a head shorter than Jean, often seemed older. Outwardly she was a sedate small person, slight blue-eyed, graceful, and very fair. Her manners at times were very pleasing, her self-possession almost remarkable. This was the result of careful training by a conscientious, but at that time sadly unappreciated, maiden aunt who was Marjorie's sole guardian. There were moments, however, when Marjorie, who was less sedate than she appeared, forgot to be polite. At such times her ways were apt to be less pleasing than those of either Betty or Jean, because her wit was nimbler, her tongue sharper, and her heart a trifle less tender. Her mother had died when Marjorie was only a few weeks old, her father had lived only two years longer, and the rather solitary little girl had missed much of the warm family affection that had fallen to the lot of her three more fortunate friends. Those who knew her well found much in her to like, but among her schoolmates there were girls who said that Marjorie was stuck up, affected, and too smart. Mabel, the fourth in this little quartet of friends, was eleven, large for her age and young for her years, always an unfortunate combination of circumstances. She was intensely human and therefore liable to air, and it may be said she very seldom missed an opportunity. In school she read with a tremendous amount of expression, but mispronounced half the words. When questions were asked, she waved her hand triumphantly aloft and gave anything but the right answer. She had a surprising stock of energy, but most of it was misdirected. Warm-hearted, generous, heedless, hot-tempered, and always blundering, she was something of a trial at home and abroad. Yet no one could help loving her, for everybody realized that she would grow up some day into a really fine woman and that all that was needed in the meantime was considerable patience. Rearing Mabel was not unlike the task of bringing up a St. Bernard puppy. Mrs. Bennet was decidedly glad to note the growing friendship among the four girls, for she hoped that Mabel would in time grow dignified and sweet like Jean, thoughtful and tender like Betty, graceful and prettily mannered like Marjorie. But this happy result had yet to be achieved. The little one-story cottage, too much out of repair to be rented, stood empty and neglected. To most persons it was an unattractive spot, if not actually an eyesore. The steps sagged in a dispirited way. Some of the windows were broken, and the fence, in sympathy perhaps with the house, had shed its pickets and leaned inward with a discouraged, hopeless air. But Betty looked at the little cottage longingly. She could gaze right down upon it from the back-bedroom window, a crate many times a day. It didn't seem a bit too big for a playhouse. Indeed, it seemed a great pity that such a delightful little building should go unoccupied when Betty and her homeless dolls were simply suffering for just such a shelter. Wouldn't it be nice, said Betty, one day in the early spring, if we four girls could have dandelion cottage for our very own? Wouldn't it be sweet, mimicked Marjorie, if we could have the moon in about twenty stars to play jacks with? The cottage isn't quite so far away, said Jean. It would be just lovely to have it, for we never have a place to play in comfortably. We're generally disturbing grown-ups, I notice, said Marjorie comically imitating her Aunt Jean's severest manner. A little less noise, if you please. Is it really necessary to laugh so much and so often? Even mother gets tired of us sometimes, confided Jean. There are days when no one seems to want all of us at once. I know it, said Betty, pathetically. But it's worse for me than it is for the rest of you. You have your rooms and nobody to meddle with your things. I no sooner get my dolls nicely settled in one corner than I have to move them into another because the babies poke their eyes out. It's dreadful, too, to have to live with so many boys. I fixed up the cunningest playhouse under the clothes-reel last week, but the very minute it was finished Rob came home with a horrid porcupine and I had to move out in a hurry. Perhaps, suggested Marjorie, we could rent the cottage. Who'd pay the rent? demanded Mabel. My allowance is five cents a week and I have to pay a fine of one cent every time I'm late to meals. How much do you have left? asked Jeannie, laughing. Not a cent. I was seven cents in debt at the end of last week. I get two cents a hundred for digging dandelions, said Marjorie, but it takes just forever to dig them. And, Ugg, I just hate it. I never have any money at all, sighed Betty. You see, there are so many of us. Let's go peek in at the windows, suggested Mabel, springing up from the grass. That much won't cost us anything at any rate. Away scampered the four girls, taking a short cut through Betty's backyard. The cottage had been vacant for more than a year and had not improved in appearance. Rampant vines clambered over the windows and nowhere else in town were there such luxurious weeds as grew in the cottage yard. Nowhere else were there such mammoth dandelions or such prickly burrs. The girls waited fearlessly through them, parted the vines, and pressing their noses against the glass, peered into the cottage parlor.  I don't think the paper is very pretty, said Mabel. We could cover most of the spots with pictures, suggested practical Marjorie. It looks to me sort of spidery, said Mabel, who was always somewhat pessimistic. Probably there's rats, too. I know how to stop up rat holes, said Betty, who had not lived with seven brothers without acquiring a number of useful accomplishments. I'm not afraid of spiders, that is, not so very much. What are you doing here? I heard a gruff voice so suddenly that everybody jumped. The startled girls wheeled about. There stood Betty's most devoted friend, the senior warden. Oh, Craig Betty, it's only Mr. Black. Were you looking for something? asked Mr. Black. Yes, said Betty, we're looking for a house. We'd like to rent this one, only we haven't a scrap of money. And what in the name of common sense would you do with it? We want it for our dolls, said Betty, turning a pair of big pleading brown eyes upon Mr. Black. You see, we haven't any place to play. Marjorie's Auntie Jane won't let her cut papers in the house, so she can't have any paper dolls. And I can't play any place because I have so many brothers. They tomahawk all my dolls when they play Indian, shoot them with beans when they play soldiers, and drown them all when they play shipwreck. Don't you think we might be allowed to use the cottage if we'd promise to be very careful and not do any damage? We'd clean it up, offered Marjorie as an inducement. We'd mend the rat holes, offered Jean, looking hopefully at Betty. Would you dig the weeds, demanded Mr. Black? There was a deep silence. The girls looked at the Sea of Dandelions, and then at one another.  Yes, echoed the others, we'd even dig the weeds, and there's just millions of them. Good, said Mr. Black. Now we'll all sit down on the steps, and I'll tell you what we'll do. It happens that the Village Improvement Society has just notified the vestry that the weeds on this lot must be removed before they go to seed. The neighbors have complained about them. It would cost the parish several dollars to hire a man to do the work, and we're short of funds just now. Now, if you four girls will pull up every weed in this place before the end of next week, you shall have the use of the cottage for all the rest of the summer in return for your services. How does that strike you? Oh! cried Betty, throwing her arms about Mr. Black's neck. Do let me hug you. Oh! I'm glad! Glad! There, there! cried Stout Mr. Black, shaking Betty off and dropping her where the dandelions grew thickest. I didn't say I was to be strangled as part of the bargain. You'd better save your muscle for the dandelions. Remember, you've got to pay your rent in advance. I shan't hand over the key until the last weed is dug. We'll begin this minute! cried enthusiastic Mabel. I'm going straight home for a knife. End of chapter one. Chapter two of Dandelion Cottage by Carol Watson Rankin. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter two. Paying the rent. This is a whopping big yard, said Mabel, looking disconsolidly at two dandelions and one burdock in the bottom of a bushel-basket. There doesn't seem to be any place to begin.  Then I'll make it bigger and bigger all around me in every direction until it joins the clearing next to mine. I'm a soldier, said Marjorie, brandishing a trowel, vanquishing my enemies. You know, in books the hero always battles single-handed with about a million foes and always kills them all and everybody lives happy ever after. Zip! There goes one! I'm a pioneer, said Jean, slashing away at a huge, tough burdock. I'm chopping down the forest primeval to make a potato patch. The dandelions are skulking Indians, and I'm capturing them to put in my bushel-basket prison. I'm just digging weeds, said Perzac, Mabel, and I don't like it. Neither does anybody else, said Marjorie, but I guess having the cottage will be worth it. Just pretend it's something else, and then you don't mind it so much. Play your diggin' for diamonds. I can't, returned Mabel hopelessly. I haven't any imagination. This is just plain dirt, and I can't make myself believe it's anything else. By suppertime the cottage-yard presented a decidedly disreputable appearance. Before the weeds had been disturbed they stood upright, presenting an even surface of green with a light crest of dandelion gold. But now it was different. Although the number of weeds was not greatly decreased, the yard looked as if, indeed, a battle had been fought there. Mr. Black, passing by in his way to town, began to wonder if he had been quite wise in turning it over to the girls. At four o'clock the following morning Sleepy Betty tumbled out of bed and into her clothes. Then she slipped quietly downstairs, out of doors, through the convenient hole in the back fence, and into the cottage-yard. She had been digging for more than an hour when Jean, rubbing a pair of sleepy eyes, put in her appearance. Oh! cried Jean disappointedly. I meant to have a huge bare field to show you when you came, and here you are ahead of me. What a lot you've done! Yes, assented Betty happily, there's room for me and my basket too in my patch. I'll have to go home after a while to help dress the children. Young though she was, she was only twelve, Betty was a most helpful young person. It is hard to imagine what Mrs. Tucker would have done without her cheerful little daughter.  The care of the family baby, too, fell to her lot. The boys were good boys, but they were boys. They were willing to do errands or pile wood or carry out ashes, but none of them ever thought of doing one of these things without first being told. Sometimes they had to be told a great many times. It was different with Betty. If Tom ate crackers on the front porch, it was Betty who ran for the broom to brush up the crumbs. If the second baby but one needed his face washed, and it seemed to Betty that there never was a time when he didn't need it washed, it was Betty who attended to it. If the cat looked hungry, it was Betty who gave her a saucer of milk. Dick's rabbits and Rob's porcupine would have starved if Betty had not fed them, and Donald's dog knew that if no one else remembered his bone, kind Betty would bear it in mind. The boys' legs were round and sturdy, but Betty's were very much like pipe stems. I don't have time to get fat, Betty would say, but you don't need to worry about me. I think I'm the healthiest person in the house. At least I'm the only one that hasn't had to have breakfast in bed this week. Neither Marjorie nor Mabel appeared during the morning to dig their share of the weeds, but when school was out that afternoon they were all on hand with their baskets. I had to stay, said Mabel, who was the last to arrive. I missed two words and spelling. What were they, asked Marjorie. Parachute and dandelion.  I don't know what parachutes are, but if there are any sort of weeds I hate them too. The girls laughed. Mabel always looked on the gloomiest side of things and always grumbled. She seemed to thrive on it. However she was built very much like a barrel and her cheeks were like a pair of round red apples. She was always honest, if a little too frank in expressing her opinions, and the girls liked her in spite of her blunt ways. She was the youngest of the quartet, being only eleven. There doesn't seem to be much grass left after the weeds are out, said Betty, surveying the bare sandy patch she had made. This has always been a weedy old place, replied Jean. I think the whole neighborhood will feel obliged to us if we ever get the lot cleared. Perhaps our landlord will plant grass seed. It would be fine to have a lawn. Perhaps, said Marjorie, he'll let us have some flower beds. Wouldn't it be lovely to have nasturtiums running right up the sides of the house? They'd be lovely among the vines, agreed Betty. I have some poppy seeds that we might plant in a long narrow bed by the fence. There are hundreds of little pansy plants coming up all over our yard, said Jean. We might make a little round bed of them right here where I'm sitting. What are you going to plant in your bed, Mabel? Butter-beans, said the practical young person promptly. Well, said Betty with a long sigh, we'll have to work faster than this or summer will be over before we have a chance to plant anything.  For a time there was silence. Marjorie, the soldier, fell upon her foes with renewed vigor, and soon had an entire regiment endurance vile. In the pioneer fell upon the forest with so much energy that its speedy extermination was threatened. Mabel seized upon the biggest and toughest burdock she could find, and pulled with both hands in all her might until, with a sharp crack, the root suddenly parted, and Mabel, very much to her own surprise, turned back somersault and landed in Betty's basket. Hi there, cried a voice from the road. How are you youngsters getting along? The girls jumped to their feet, all but Mabel, who was still wedged tightly in Betty's basket. There was Mr. Black with his elbows on the fence, and with him was the president of the Village Improvement Society. Both were smiling broadly. Sick of your bargain, asked Mr. Black. The four girls shook their heads emphatically. Hard work? Four heads bobbed up and down. Well, said Mr. Black encouragingly, you've made considerable headway to-day. Where are you putting the weeds? Asked the president of the Village Improvement Society. On the back porch in a piano box, said Betty. We had a big pile of them last night, but they shrank like everything before morning. If they do that every time, it won't be necessary for Mabel to jump on them to press them down. Let me know when you have a wagon load, said Mr. Black. I'll have them hauled away for you. For the rest of the week the girls worked early and late. They began almost at daylight, and the mosquitoes found them still digging it dark. By Thursday night only scattered patches of weeds remained. The little diggers could hardly tear themselves away when they could no longer find the weeds because of the gathering darkness. Now that the task was so nearly completed, it seems such a waste of time to eat and sleep. Betty was up earlier than ever the next morning, and with one of the boys' spades had loosened the soil around some of the very worst patches before any of the other girls appeared. By five o'clock that night the last weed was dug. Conscientious Betty went around the yard a dozen times, but however hard she might search not a single remaining weed could she discover. Good work, said Jean, balancing her empty basket on her head. It seems too good to be true, said Betty. But think of it, girls, the rent is paid. It's most time for Mr. Black to go by. Let's watch for him from the doorstep, our own precious doorstep. "'It needs scrubbing,' said Mabel. Besides, it isn't ours yet. Perhaps Mr. Black has changed his mind. Some grown-up folks have awfully changeable minds. "'Oh,' gasped Marjorie, wouldn't it be perfectly dreadful if he had?' It seemed to the little girls, torn between doubt and expectation, that Mr. Black was strangely indifferent to the calls of hunger that night. Was he never going home to dinner? Was he never coming?' "'Perhaps,' suggested Jean, he has gone out of town. "'Or forgotten us,' said Marjorie. "'Or died,' said Mabel dolefully. "'No, no,' cried Betty. There he is. He's coming around the corner now. I can see him. Let's run to meet him.' The girls scampered down the street. Betty seized one hand, Mabel the other, Marjorie and Jean danced along ahead of him, and everybody talked at once. Thus escorted Mr. Black approached the cottage lot. "'Well, I declare,' said Mr. Black, you haven't left so much as a blade of grass. Do you think you could sow some grass seed if I have the ground made ready for it?' The girls thought they could. Betty timidly suggested in our sturshums. "'Flower beds, too?' "'Why, of course,' said Mr. Black. "'Vegetables as well, if you like. You can have a regular farm and grow fairy bean-stocks and Cinderella pumpkins if you want to. And now, since the rent seems to be paid, I suppose there is nothing left for me to do but hand over the key. Here it is, Mr. Spetty, and I'm sure I couldn't have a nicer lot of tenants.' CHAPTER III Our own house! Think of it!" cried Betty, turning the key. "'Push somebody, the door-sticks! There! It's open!' "'Ugh!' said Mabel, drawing back hastily. It's awfully dark and stuffy in there. I guess I won't go in just yet.  "'Wait, I'll pull some of the vines back from the window. There! Can you see better?' "'Lots,' said Betty. This is the parlor girls. But oh! What raggedy paper! We'll need lots of pictures to cover all the holes and spots.' "'We'd better clean it all first,' advised sensible Jean. The windows are covered with dust, and the floor is just black.' "'This,' said Marjorie, opening a door, must be the dining room. "'Oh!  Just the place for our dishes!' "'You mean it would be if we had any,' said Mabel. Mine are all smashed.' "'Poo!' said Jean. We don't mean doll things. We want real grown-up ones. Why would a cunning little bedroom?' "'There's one off the parlor, too,' said Marjorie, and it's even cunninger than this.' "'My!  "'Mercy! I'm all over spiderwebs.' "'That's the kitchen,' explained Betty. Most of the plaster has fallen down, and it's rained in a good deal. But here's a good stovepipe hole, and such a cunning cupboard built into the wall. What have you found, Jean?' "'Just a pantry,' said Jean, holding up a pair of black hands, and lots of dust. There isn't a clean spot in the house.' "'So much the better,' said Betty, whose clouds always had a silver lining. We'll have just that much more fun cleaning up. I'll tell you what let's do, and we've all day to-morrow to do it in. We'll just regularly clean house. I've always wanted to clean house.' "'Me, too,' cried Mabel enthusiastically, we'll bring just oceans of water.' "'There's water here,' interrupted Jean, turning a faucet. Water in a pretty good sink. The water runs out all right.' "'That's good,' said Betty. We must each bring a broom and soap. And rags,' suggested Jean. And paper for the shelves,' added Marjorie. "'And where are our oldest clothes?' said Betty.' "'Oh, wow!' squealed Mabel. "'What's the matter?' asked the girls, running into the pantry. "'Spiders and mice,' said Mabel. I just poked my head into the cupboard, and a mouse jumped out. I'm all spiderwebby again, too.' "'Well, there won't be any spiders by to-morrow night,' said Betty consolingly, or any mice either if somebody will bring a cat. Now let's go home to supper. I'm hungry as a bear.' Everybody remembered to wear her oldest clothes, admonished Jean, and to bring a broom. "'I'll tie the key to a string and wear it around my neck night and day,' said Betty, locking the door carefully when the girls were outside. "'Aren't we going to have a perfectly glorious summer?' When Mr. Black, on the way to his office the next morning, met his four little friends, he did not recognize them. Jean, who was fourteen and tall for her age, wore one of her mother's calico wrappers, tied at the waist by the strings of the cook's biggest apron. Marjorie, in the much shrunken gown of a previous summer, had her golden curls tucked away under the housemaid's sweeping cap. Betty appeared in her very oldest skirt, surmounted by an exceedingly ragged jacket and cap, discarded by one of her brothers. While Mabel, with her usual enthusiasm, looked like a veritable ragbag. When Betty had unlocked the door, she had slept all night with a key in her hand to make certain that it would not escape. The girls filed in. "'I know how to handle a broom as well as anybody,' said Mabel, giving a mighty sweep and raising a such a cloud of dust that the four housecleaners were obliged to flee out of doors to keep from strangling.' "'Phew!' said Jean, when she had stopped coughing. "'I guess we'll have to take it out with a shovel.  "'I'll get Auntie's sprinkling can. Then the stuff won't fly so.' After that the sweeping certainly went better. Then came the dusting. "'It really looks very well,' said Betty, surveying the result with her head on one side, and an air of house-wifely wisdom that would have been more impressive if her nose hadn't been perfectly black with soot. It certainly does look better. But I'm afraid you girls have most of the dust on your faces. I don't see how you manage to do it. Just look at Mabel.' "'Just look at yourself,' retorted Mabel indignantly. "'You've got the dirtiest face I ever saw.' "'Never mind,' said Jean gently. "'I guess we're all about alike. I've wiped all the dust off the walls of this parlor, and I'm going to wash the windows and the woodwork, and after that I'm going to scrub the floor.' "'Do you know how to scrub?' asked Marjorie. "'No, but I guess I can learn.' "'There. Doesn't that pain look as if a really truly housemaid had washed it?' "'Oh, Mabel, do look out,' cried Marjorie. But the warning was too late. Mabel stepped on the slippery bar of soap and sat down hard in a pan of water, splashing it in every direction. For a moment Mabel looked decidedly cross, but when she got up and looked at the tin basin she began to laugh. "'That's a funny way to empty a basin, isn't it?' she said. "'There isn't a drop of water left in it.' "'Well, don't try it again,' said Jean. "'That's Mrs. Tucker's basin, and you've smashed it flat. You should learn to sit down less suddenly.' "'And,' said Marjorie, to be more careful in your choice of seats, we'll have to take up a collection and buy Mrs. Tucker a new basin, or she'll be afraid to lend us anything any more.' The girls ran home at noon for a hasty luncheon. Rested and refreshed, they all returned promptly to their house cleaning. They wanted to brush out the kitchen cupboard. It was not only dusty, but full of spider webs, and worst of all, the spiders themselves seemed very much at home. The girls left the back door open, hoping that the spiders would run out of their own accord. Apparently, however, the spiders felt no need of fresh air. Betty, without a word to anyone, ran home, returning a moment later with her brother Bob's old tame crow, blinking solemnly from her shoulder. She placed the great black bird on the cupboard shelf, and in a very few moments every spider had vanished down his greedy throat. "'He just loves them,' said Betty. "'How funny,' said Mabel. "'Whoever heard of getting a crow to help clean house? I wish he could scrub floors as well as he clears out cupboards.' The scrubbing, indeed, looked anything but an inviting task. Jean succeeded fairly well with the parlor floor, though she decided when that was finished that her wrists were so tired that she couldn't hold the scrubbing brush another moment. Marjorie and Betty together scrubbed the floor of the tiny dining room. Mabel made a brilliant success of one of the little bedrooms. "'But only,' the other girls said, by accidentally tipping over a pail of clean water upon it, thereby rinsing off a thick layer of soap. Then Jean, having rested for a little while, finished the remaining bedroom, and Marjorie scoured the pantry shelves. The kitchen floor was rough and very dirty. Nobody wanted the task of scrubbing it. The tired girls leaned against the wall and looked at the floor and then at one another. "'Let's leave it until Monday,' said Mabel, who looked very much as if the others had scrubbed the floor with her. "'I've had all the house cleaning I want for one day.' "'Oh, no,' pleaded Betty, everything else is done. Just think how lovely it would be to go home tonight with all the disagreeable part finished. We could begin to move in Monday if we only had the house all clean.' "'Couldn't we cover the dirtiest places with pieces of old carpet?' demanded Mabel. "'Oh, what dreadful housekeeping that would be,' said Marjorie. "'Yes,' said Jean. "'We must have every bit of it nice. Just if we sit on the doorstep and rest for a few moments we'll feel more like scrubbing.' The tired girls sat in a row on the edge of the low porch. They were all rather glad that the next day would be Sunday, for between the dandelions and the dust they had had a very busy week. "'Why?' said Betty, suddenly brightening. "'We're going to have a visitor, I do believe.' "'Hi there,' said Mr. Black, turning in at the gate. "'I smell soap. House cleaning all done?' "'All,' said Betty, wearily, except the kitchen floor. "'And oh, we're so tired. I'm afraid we'll have to leave it until Monday.  "'Stay right here on the doorstep, all of you, and eat every one of those nuts. I'll look around and see what you've been doing. I'm sure there can't be much dirt left inside when there's so much on your faces.'   This of course was the secret of Mr. Black's affection for Betty. Mr. Black, who was a modestly stout gray-haired man of fifty-five, with kind dark eyes and a strong rugged smooth-shaven countenance, had a great deal of money, a beautiful home perched on the brow of a green hill overlooking the lake, and a silk-hat. This last made a great impression on the children, for silk-hats were seldom worn in Lakeville. Mr. Black looked very nice indeed in his when he wore it to church Sunday morning. But Betty felt more at home with him when he sat bare-headed on the rectory porch, with his short, crisp, thick gray hair tossed by the south wind. Besides these possessions Mr. Black owned a garden on the sheltered hillside where wonderful roses grew as they would grow nowhere else in Lakeville. This was fortunate because Mr. Black loved roses and spent much time poking about them with trowel and pruning shears. Then there were shelves upon shelves of books in the big, dingy library, which was the one room that the owner of the large house really lived in. A public-spirited man, Mr. Black had a wide circle of acquaintances and a few warm friends. But with all his possessions and in spite of a jovial, cheerful manner and company, his dark, rather stern face, as Betty had very quickly discovered, was sad when he sat alone in his pew in church. He had really nothing in the world to love but his books and his roses. It was evident to everyone who had time to think about it that kind Mr. Black, whose wife had died so many years before that only the oldest townspeople could remember that he had had a wife, was, in spite of his comfortable circumstances, a very lonely man, and that, as he grew older, he felt his loneliness more keenly. There were others besides Betty who realized this, but it was not an easy manner to offer sympathy to Mr. Black. There was a dignity about him that repelled anything that looked like pity. Betty was the one person who succeeded without giving offence in doing this difficult thing. But Betty did it unconsciously, without in the least knowing that she had accomplished it, and this, of course, was another reason for the strong friendship between Mr. Black and her. The girls found the peanuts decidedly refreshing. Their unusual exercise had given them astonishing appetites. I wonder, said Betty some ten minutes later, when the paper bag was almost empty, what Mr. Black is doing in there. I think, from the swishing-swashing sounds I hear, said Jean, that Mr. Black must be scrubbing the kitchen. What! gasped the girls. Come and see, said Jean, stealing in on tiptoe. There sure enough was stout Mr. Black, dipping a broom every now and then into a pail of soapy water, and vigorously sweeping the floor with it. I think, whispered Mabel ruefully, that that's Mother's best broom. Never mind, consoled Jean. You can take mine home if you think she'll care. It's really mine, because I bought it when we had that broom drill in the sixth grade. It's been hanging on my wall ever since. Hi there, exclaimed Mr. Black, who, looking up suddenly, had discovered the smiling girls in the doorway. You didn't know I could scrub, did you? Mr. Black, quite regardless of his spotless cuffs, and his polished shoes, drew a bucket of fresh water and dashed it over the floor, sweeping the flood out of the doors and down the back steps. There, said Mr. Black, standing the broom in the corner, if there's a cleaner house in town than this, I don't know where you'll find it. In return for scrubbing this kitchen, of course, I shall expect you to invite me to dinner when you get to housekeeping. We will, we do, shouted the girls, and we'll cook every single thing ourselves. I don't know that I'll insist on that, returned Mr. Black teasingly, but I shan't let you forget about the dinner. CHAPTER IV Furnishing the Cottage After tea that Saturday night, four tired but spotlessly clean little girls sat on jeans as doorstep, making plans for the coming week. What are you going to do for a stove? asked Mrs. Mapes. I have a toy one, replied Mabel, but it has only one leg, and it always smokes. Besides, I can't find it. I have a little box, Stove, that the boys used to have in their camp, said Mrs. Mapes. It has three good legs, and it doesn't smoke at all. If you want it, and if you'll promise to be very careful about your fire, I'll have one of the boys set it up for you. That would be lovely, said Betty, gratefully. Mama has given me four saucers and a syrup jug, and I have a few pieces left of quite a large-sized doll's tea set. We have an old rug, said Marjorie, that I'm almost sure I can have for the parlor floor, and I have two small rocking chairs of my own. There's a lot of old things in our garret, said Mabel. Three legged tables and chairs with the seats worn out. I know, Mama, I'll let us take them. Well, said Betty, take everything you have to the college Monday, afternoon, after school. Bring all the pictures you can to cover the walls. And— Hark! said Mrs. Mapes. I think somebody is calling Betty. Oh, my! said Betty, springing into her feet. This is Bath Night, and I promised to bathe the twins. I must go this minute. I think Betty is sweet, said Jean. Mr. Black would never have given us the cottage if he hadn't been so fond of Betty. But she doesn't put on any heirs at all. She makes us feel as if it belonged to all of us.  You mustn't let her do all the work. Oh, we don't! exclaimed Mabel grandly. Why, what are you laughing at, Marjorie? Oh, nothing, said Marjorie. I just happen to remember how you scrubbed that bedroom floor. From four to six on Monday afternoon the little housekeepers, heavily burdened each time with their goods and chattels, made many small journeys between their homes and Dandelion Cottage. The parlor was soon piled high with furniture that was all more or less battered. Dear me, said Jean, pausing at the door with an armful of carpet, how am I ever to get in? Hadn't we better straighten out what we have before we bring anything more? Yes, said Betty. I wouldn't be surprised if we had almost enough for two houses. I'm sure I've seen six clocks. That's only one for each room, said Mabel. Besides, none of the four that I brought will go. Where will my two, said Marjorie, giggling? We might call this the house of the tickless clocks, suggested Jean. Or of the grindless coffee mill, giggled Marjorie. Or of the talkless telephone, added Mabel. I brought over an old telephone box so we could pretend we had a telephone. There were still several things lacking when the girls had found places for all their crippled belongings. They had no couch for the sofa pillows Mabel had brought. But Betty converted two wooden boxes and a long board into an admirable cozy corner. She even upholstered this sadly misnamed piece of furniture with the burlaps and excelsure that had been packed about her father's new desk. But it still needed a cover. The windows lacked curtains, the girls had only one fork, and their cupboard was so distressingly empty that it rivaled mother hubbards.  But as they had no beds, no provisions, and as their parents said quite emphatically that they could not stay away from home at night, part of this plan had to be given up. Most of the grown-ups, however, were greatly pleased with the cottage plan. Marjorie's Auntie Jane, who was nervous and disliked having children running in and out of her spotlessly neat house, was glad to have Marjorie happy with her little friends, provided they were all perfectly safe and out of earshot. Overworked Mrs. Tucker founded a great relief to have careful Betty take two or three of the smallest children entirely off her hands for several hours each day. When these infants, divided as equally as possible among the four girls, were not indeed indoors to serve as playthings, they rolled about contentedly inside the cottage fence. Mrs. Mother did not hesitate to say that she, for one, was thankful enough that Mr. Black had given the girls a place to play in. With Mabel engaged elsewhere, it was possible, Mrs. Bennett said, to keep her own house quite respectably neat. Mrs. Mapes indeed missed quiet orderly Jean, but she would not mention it for fear of spoiling her tender-hearted little daughter's pleasure, and it did not occur to modest Jean that she was of significant consequence to be missed by her mother or anyone else. The neighbors, finding that the long-deserted cottage was again occupied, began to be curious about the occupants. One day Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who lived almost directly opposite the cottage, found herself so devoured by kindly curiosity that she could stand it no longer. Intending to be neighborly, for Mrs. Crane was always neighborly in the best sense of the word, she put on her one good dress and started across the street to call on the newcomers. It was really a great undertaking for Mrs. Crane to pay visits, for she was a stout, slow-moving person, and owing to the antiquity in the consequent tenderness of her best garments, it was an ever-greater undertaking for the good woman to make a visiting costume. Her best black silk, for instance, had to be neatly mended with court plaster when all other remedies had failed. And her old, thread-lace collars had been darned until their original floral patterns had given place to a mosaic of spiderwebs. Mrs. Crane's motives, however, were far better than her clothes. Years before, when she was newly married, she had lived for months a stranger in a strange town, where it was no unusual occurrence to live for years in ignorance of one's next-door neighbor's very name. During those unhappy months poor Mrs. Crane, sociable by nature, and sadly afflicted with shyness, had suffered keenly from loneliness and homesickness. She had vowed, then, that no other stranger should suffer as she had suffered, if it were in her power to prevent it. So, in spite of increasing difficulties, kind Mrs. Crane conscientiously called on each newcomer. In many cases hers was the first welcome to be extended to persons settling in Lakeville, and although these visits were prompted by single-handedly generosity, it was natural that she should, at the same time, make many friends. These, however, were seldom lasting ones, for many persons whose business kept them in Lakeville for perhaps only a few months, afterwards moved away and drifted quietly out of Mrs. Crane's life. That afternoon the four girls realized for the first time that dandelion cottage was provided with a doorbell. In response to its lively jingling, Mabel dropped the potato she was peeling with neatness, but hardly with dispatch, and hurried to the door. "'Is your mother—is the lady of the house at home?' asked Mrs. Crane. "'Yes, sir. All of us are. There's four,' stammered Mabel, who wasn't quite sure of her ability to entertain a grown-up caller. "'Please walk in. Oh, don't sit down in that one, please. There's only two legs on that chair, and it always goes down flat.' "'Dear me,' said Mrs. Crane, moving toward the cozy corner, I shouldn't have suspected it. "'Oh, you can't sit there, either,' exclaimed Mabel. "'You see, that's the Tucker baby taking his nap.' "'My land,' said stout Mrs. Crane. I thought it was one of those new-fashioned roll-pillows.' "'This chair,' said Mabel, dragging one in from the dining-room, is the safest one we have in the house. But you must be careful to sit right down square in the middle of it, because it slides out from under you if you sit too hard on the front edge. "'If you'll excuse me just a minute, I'll go call the others. They're making a vegetable garden in the backyard.' "'Well, I declare,' said Mrs. Crane, when she had recognized the four young housekeepers, and had heard all about the housekeeping. "'It seems as if I ought to be able to find something in the way of furniture for you. "'I have a single iron bedstead I'm willing to lend you, and maybe I can find you some other things.' "'Thank you very much,' said Betty politely. "'I hope,' said Mrs. Crane pleasantly, that you'll be very neighborly and come over to see me whenever you feel like it, for I'm always alone.' "'Thank you,' said Jean, speaking for the household. "'We'd just love to.' "'Haven't you any children?' asked Betty sympathetically. "'Not one,' replied Mrs. Crane. "'I've never had any, but I've always loved children.' "'But I'm sure you have a lot of grandchildren,' said Mabel consolingly. "'You look so nice and grandmother-y.' "'No,' said Mrs. Crane, not appearing so sorrowful as Mabel had supposed an utterly grandchildless person would be. "'I've never possessed any grandchildren, either.' "'But,' queried Mabel, who was sometimes almost too inquisitive, "'haven't you any relatives, husbands, or anybody in all the world?' "'Many months afterward the girls were suddenly reminded of Mrs. Crane's odd contradictory reply. "'No, yes, that is no, none to speak of, I mean. "'Do you girls sleep here, too?' "'No,' said Jean. "'We want to, awfully, but our mothers won't let us. You see, we sleep so soundly that they're all afraid we might get the house afire, burn up, and never know a thing about it.' "'You're quite right,' said Mrs. Crane. "'I suppose they all like to have you at home once in a while.' "'Oh, they do have us,' replied Betty. We eat and sleep at home, and they have us all day Sundays. When they want any of us other times, all they have to do is to open a back window and call. "'Dear me, Mrs. Crane, I'll have to ask you to excuse me this very minute. There's somebody calling me now.' Other visitors, including the girl's parents, called at the cottage and seemed to enjoy it very much indeed. The visitors were always greatly interested and everybody wanted to help. One brought a little table that really stood up very well if kept against the wall. Another found curtains for all the windows—a little ragged, to be sure, but still, curtains. Grandma Pike, who had a wonderful garden, was so delighted with everything that she gave the girls a crimson petunia growing in a red tomato can, and a great many neat little homemade packets of flower seeds. Robb said they might have his porcupine if they could get it out from under the rectory porch. By the end of the week the cottage presented quite a lived in appearance. Bright pictures covered the dingy paper, and thanks to numerous donations the rooms looked very well furnished. No one would have suspected that the chairs were untrustworthy, the tables crippled, and the clocks devoid of works. The cottage seemed cozy and pleasant, and the girls kept it in apple-pie order. Out of doors the grass was beginning to show, and little green specks dotted the flower beds. Other green specks and crooked rows staggered across the vegetable garden. The four mothers, satisfied that their little daughters were safe in dandelion cottage, left them in undisturbed possession. I declare, said Mrs. MAPES one day, the only time I see Jean nowadays is when she's asleep. All the rest of the time she's in school or at the cottage. Yes, said Mrs. Bennet, when I miss my scissors or any of my dishes or anything else I always have to go to the cottage and get out a search warrant.  But I don't know when our own house has been so peaceful. CHAPTER V. POVERTY IN THE CAUTIGE. There's no use talking, said Jean one day, as the girls sat at their dining-room table eating their smoky toast and drinking the weakest of cocoa. We'll have to get some provisions of our own before long if we're going to invite Mr. Black to dinner as we promised. The cupboard's perfectly empty, and Bridget says I can't take another scrap of bread or one more potato out of the house this week. Auntie Jane says there'll be trouble, said Marjorie, if I don't keep out of her ice-box, so I guess I can't bring any more milk. When she says there'll be trouble there usually is if I'm not pretty careful. But, dear me, it is such fun to cook our own meals on that dear little box-stove, even if most of the things do taste pretty awful. I wish, said Mabel mournfully, that somebody would give us a hen so we could make omelettes. Whoever made omelettes out of a hen, asked Jean laughing. I meant out of the eggs, of course, said Mabel with dignity. Hens lay eggs, don't they? If we count on five or six eggs a day. The goose that laid the golden egg laid only one a day, said Marjorie. It seems to me that six is a good many. I wasn't talking about geese, said Mabel, but about just plain everyday hens. Six everyday hens, you mean, don't you? asked Marjorie teasingly. You'd better wish for a cow, too, while you're at it. Yes, said Betty, we certainly need one, for I'm not to ask for butter more than twice a week. Mother says she'll be in the poor house before summer's over if she has to provide butter for two families. I just tell you what it is, girls, said Jean, nibbling her cindery crust. We'll just have to earn some money if we're to give Mr. Black any kind of a dinner. Mabel, who always accepted new ideas with enthusiasm, slipped quietly into the kitchen, took a solitary lemon from the cupboard, added in half, and squeezed the juice into a broken-nosed pitcher. This done, she added a little sugar and a great deal of water to the lemon juice, slipped quietly out of the back door, ran around the house, and in at the front door, taking a small table from the front room. This she carried out of doors to the corner of the lot facing the street, where she established her lemonade stand. She was almost immediately successful, for the day was warm, and Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, who was entertaining two visitors on her front porch, was glad of an opportunity to offer her guests something in the way of refreshment. The cottage boasted only one glass that did not leak, but Mabel cheerfully made three trips across the street with it. It did not occur to any of them until too late, it would have been easier to carry the pitcher across in the first place. The lemonade was decidedly weak, but the visitors were too polite to say so. On her return a thirsty small boy offered Mabel a nickel for all that was left in the pitcher, and Mabel, after a moment's hesitation, accepted the offer. You're getting a bargain, said Mabel. There's as much as a glass and three quarters there, besides all the lemon. Did you get a whole pitcher full out of one lemon? asked the boy. You'd be able to make circus lemonade, all right. Before the other girls had time to discover what had become of her, the proprietor of the lemonade stand marched into the cottage and proudly displayed four shining nickels and the empty pitcher. Why, where in the world did you get all that? cried Marjorie. Surely you never earned it by being on time for meals. You've been late three times a day ever since we got the cottage. Sold lemonade, said Mabel. Our troubles are over, girls. I'm going to buy two lemons tomorrow and sell twice as much. Good! cried Betty. I'll help. They've promised to bring me a lot of our beauties tonight. They went to the woods this morning. I'll tie it in bunches, and perhaps we can sell that, too. Wouldn't it be splendid if we could have Mr. Black here to dinner next Saturday? said Jean. I'll never be satisfied until we've kept that promise. But I don't suppose we could possibly get enough things together by that time. I have a sample can of baking powder, offered Marjorie hopefully.  What's the good? asked Mbanner, a fact, Mabel. We can't feed Mr. Black on just plain baking powder, and we haven't any biscuits to raise it with. Dear me, said Jean, I wish we hadn't been so extravagant at first. If we hadn't had so many tea parties last week, we might get enough flour and things at home.  Never mind, consoled Mabel confidently. We'll be buying our own groceries by this time to-morrow, with the money we make selling lemonade. A boy said my lemonade was quite as good as you can buy at the circus. Unfortunately, however, it rained the next day and the next, so lemonade was out of the question. By the time it cleared, Betty's neat little bunches of arbutus were no longer fresh, and careless Mabel had forgotten where she had put the money. She mentioned no fewer than twenty-two places where the four precious nickels might be, but none of them happened to be the right one. Mercy me, said Betty, it's dreadful to be so poor. I'm afraid we'll have to invite Mr. Black to one of our bread and sugar tea parties, after all. No, said Jean firmly, we've just got to give him a regular seven-course dinner. He has them every day at home. We'll have to put it off until we can do it in style. Buy and buy, said Mabel, we'll have beans and radishes and things in our own garden, and we can go to the woods for berries. Perhaps, said Betty hopefully, one of the boys might catch a fish. Rob almost did once. I suppose I could ask Auntie Jane for a potato once in a while, said Marjorie. But I'll have to give her time to forget about last month's grocery-bill. She says we never before used so many eggs in one month, and I guess Maggie did give me a good many. Potatoes will keep, you know. We can save them until we have enough for a meal. While we're about it, said Betty, I think we'd better have Mrs. Crane to dinner, too. She's such a nice old lady, and she's been awfully good to us. She's not very well off, agreed Mabel, and probably a real first-class dinner would taste good to her. But, pleaded Betty, don't let's ask her until we're sure of the date. That is, I can't sleep nights for thinking of how Mr. Black must feel. He'll think we don't want him. You'd better explain to him, suggested Jean, that it isn't convenient to have him just yet, but that we're going to adjust as soon as ever we can. We mustn't tell him why, because it would be just like him to send the provisions here himself, and then it wouldn't really be our party. In spite of all the girls' plans, however, by the end of the week the cottage-larder was still distressingly empty. They had, indeed, industriously collected potatoes, only to have them carried off by an equally industrious rat, and Mabel's four nickels still remained missing. Things in the vegetable garden seemed singularly backward, possibly because the four eager gardeners kept digging them up to see if they were growing. Their parents and margarie's Auntie Jane were firmer than ever in their refusal to part with any more staple groceries. Perhaps if the girls had explained why they wanted the things, their relatives would have been more generous. But girl-like, the four poverty-stricken young housekeepers made a deep mystery of their dinner-plan. It was their most cherished secret, and when they met each morning they always said mysteriously, Good morning, remember MBD? Which meant, of course, Mr. Black's dinner. Mr. Black, indeed, never went by without referring to the girl's promise. When, he would ask, is that dinner-party coming off? It's a long time since I've been invited to a first-class dinner cooked by four accomplished young ladies. And I'm getting hungrier every minute. When I get up in the morning I always say, Now I won't eat much breakfast because I've got to save room for that dinner. And then, after all, I don't get invited. The situation was growing really embarrassing. The girls began to feel that keeping house, not to mention giving dinner parties with no income whatever, was anything but a joke. Chapter 6 A Lodger to the Rescue Grass was beginning to grow on the tiny lawn. All sorts of thrifty young seedlings were popping up in the flower beds, and Jean's pansies were actually beginning to blossom. The girls had trained the rampant Virginia creeper away from the windows, and had coaxed it to climb the porch pillars. From the outside no one would have suspected that dandelion cottage was not occupied by a regular grown-up family. Book agents and peddlers offered their wares at the front door, and appeared very much crestfallen when Betty, or one of the others, explained that the neatly kept little cottage was just a playhouse. Hand bills and sample packages of yeast cakes were left on the doorstep, and once a brand new postman actually dropped a letter into the mailbox. Mabel carried it afterward to Mrs. Bartholomew Crane, to whom it rightfully belonged. One afternoon when Jean was rearranging the dining-room pictures, they had to be rearranged very frequently, and when Mabel and Marjorie were busy putting fresh papers on the pantry shelves, there was a ring at the doorbell. Betty, who had been dusting the parlor, pushed the chairs into place, threw her duster into the dining-room, and ran to the door. A lady, Betty described her afterwards as a middle-aged young lady with the sweetest dimple, stood on the doorstep. "'Is your mother at home?' asked the lady, smiling pleasantly at Betty, who liked the stranger at once. "'She—she doesn't live here,' said Betty, taken by surprise. "'Perhaps you can tell me what I want to know. I'm a stranger in town, and I want to rent a room in this neighborhood. I'm to have my meals at Mrs. Baker's, but she hasn't any place for me to sleep. I don't want anything very expensive, but of course I'd be willing to pay a fair price. Do you know of anybody with rooms to rent? I'm to be in town for three weeks.'" Betty shook her head reflectively. "'No, I don't believe I do, unless—' Betty paused to look inquiringly at Jean, who, framed by the dining-room doorway, was nodding her head vigorously. "'Perhaps Jean does,' finished Betty. "'Are you very particular,' asked Jean, coming forward, about what kind of room it is?' "'Why, not so very,' returned the guest. I'm afraid I couldn't afford a very grand one. "'Are you very timid?' asked Betty, who had suddenly guessed what Jean had in mind.  "'Are there a great many mice and burglars in this neighborhood?' "'Mice,' said Jean, but not burglars. It's a very honest neighborhood. I think I have an idea, but you see there are four of us, and I'll have to consult the others about it, too. Sit here, please, in the cozy corner. It's the safest piece of furniture we have. Now, if you'll excuse us just a minute, we'll go to the kitchen and talk it over.'" "'Certainly,' murmured the lady, who looked a trifle embarrassed at encountering the gaze of the forty-two staring dolls that sat all around the parlor with their backs against the base-board. I hope I haven't interrupted a party.' "'Not at all,' assured Betty with her best company manner. "'Girls,' said Jean, when she and Betty were in the kitchen with the door carefully closed behind them. "'Would you be willing to rent the front bedroom to a clean, nice-looking lady, if she'd be willing to take it? She wants to pay for a room, she says, and she looks very polite and pleasant, doesn't she, Betty?' "'Yes,' corroborated Betty. I like her. She has kind of twinkling brown eyes and such nice dimples.' "'You see,' explained Jean, the money would pay for Mr. Black's dinner.' "'Why, so it would,' cried Marjorie. "'Let's do it.' "'Yes,' echoed Mabel. "'For goodness' sake, let's do it. It's only three weeks, anyway, and what's three weeks?' "'How would it be?' asked Marjorie cautiously, to take her on approval. Auntie Jane always has hats and things sent on approval, so she can send them back if they don't fit.' "'Splendid!' cried Mabel. If she doesn't fit dandelion cottage, she can't stay.' "'Oh!' gurgled Marjorie. What a dinner we'll give Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane. We'll have ice-cream and—' "'Huh!' said Mabel. Most likely she won't take the room at all. Anyhow, probably she's got tired of waiting and has gone.' "'We'll go and see,' said Jean. Come on, everybody.' The lady, however, still sat on the hard, lumpy cosy corner, with her toes just touching the ground. "'Well,' said she, smiling at the flock of girls. How about the idea?' The other three looked expectantly at Jean. Mabel nudged her elbow, and Betty nodded at her. "'You talk,' said Marjorie.  This house isn't good enough to rent to grown-ups, because it's all out of repair, so they've lent it to us for the summer for a playhouse. The back of it leaks dreadfully when it rains, and the plaster is all down in the kitchen. But the front bedroom is really very nice, if you don't mind having four kinds of carpet on the floor. This is a very safe neighborhood, no tramps or anything like that, and if you're not an awfully timid person, perhaps you wouldn't mind staying alone at night.' "'If you did,' added Betty, probably one of us could sleep in the other room, unless it happened to rain, it rains right down on the bed. "'Could I go upstairs to look at the room?' asked the young woman. "'There isn't any upstairs,' said Betty, pulling back a curtain.  "'You see, we'd have to play in the rest of the house.' "'Of course,' added Jean Hastily, if you had company you could use the parlor.' "'And the front steps,' said Betty. "'I'm very fond of children,' said the young lady, and I don't expect to have any company but you, because I don't know anybody here. I shall be away every day until about five o'clock, because I am here with my father, who is tuning church organs, and I have to help him. I strike the notes while he works behind the organ. He has a room at Mrs. Baker's, but she didn't have any place to put me. I think I should like this little room very much indeed. Now, how much are you going to charge me for it?' Jean looked at Betty, and Betty looked at the other two. "'I don't know,' said Jean at last. "'Neither do I,' said Betty. "'Would—' "'Would a dollar a week be too much?' asked Marjorie. "'It wouldn't be enough,' said the young woman promptly. My father pays five for the room he has, but it's really a larger room than he wanted. I should be very glad to give you two dollars and a half a week. I'm sure I couldn't find a furnished room anywhere for less than that. Can I move in to-night? I have nothing but a small trunk.' "'Yes,' said Betty, looking inquiringly at Jean. "'I think we could get it ready by seven o'clock. It's all perfectly clean, but you see we'll have to change things around a little and fix up the wash stand.' "'I'm sure,' said the visitor, turning to depart, that it all looks quite lovely just as it is. You may expect me at seven.' "'Well,' exclaimed Marjorie, when the door had closed behind their pleasant visitor, isn't this too grand for words? It's just like finding a bush with pennies growing on it, or a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Two and a half a week—that's—let me see—why, that's seven dollars and a half. We can buy Mr. Black's dinner and have enough money left to live on for a long time afterwards.' "'Mercy,' cried Mabel. "'We never said a word to her about taking her on approval. We didn't even ask her name.' "'Pasha,' said Jean. "'She's all right. She couldn't be disagreeable if she wanted to, with that dimple in those sparkles in her eyes. But girls, we have a tremendous lot to do.' "'Yes,' said Mabel. If she'd known that the pillows under those ruffled shams were just flower sacs stuffed with excelsior, she wouldn't have thought everything so lovely. "'Girls, what in the world are we to do for sheets? We haven't even won.' "'And blankets,' said Marjorie. "'And quilts,' said Betty. "'That old white spread is every bit of bedclothes we own. I was so afraid she'd turn the cover down and see that everything else was just pieces of burlap. "'It's a good thing the mattress is all right,' said Marjorie. But there isn't any bottom to the water-pitcher and the basin leaks like anything. "'We'll just have to go home,' said Jean, and tell our mothers all about it. "'We'll have to borrow what we need. We must get a lamp, too, and some oil, because there isn't any other way of lighting the house.' The four girls ran first of all to Betty's house with their surprising news. "'But Betty,' said Mrs. Tucker, when her little daughter, helped by the other three, had explained the situation. "'Are you sure she's nice? I'm afraid you've been a little rash.' "'Just as nice as can be,' assured Betty.' "'Yes,' said Dr. Tucker. "'I guess it's all right. I know the organ tuner. I used to see him twice a year when we lived in Ohio. His name is Blossom, and he's a very fine old fellow. I met his daughter this afternoon when they were examining the church organ, and she seemed a pleasant, well-educated young woman. I believe he said she teaches a kindergarten during the winter. And girls haven't made any mistake this time.' "'Then we must make her comfortable,' said Mrs. Tucker. "'You may take sheets and pillowcases from the linen closet, Betty, and you must see that she has everything she needs.' Excited, Betty danced off to the linen closet, and the others ran home to tell the good news. "'I filled a lamp for you, Betty,' said Mrs. Tucker, meeting Betty, with her arms full of sheets at the bottom of the stairs. Here's a box of matches, too.' When Betty was returning with her spoils to Dandelion Cottage, she almost bumped into Mabel, whom she met to the gate with a pillow under each arm, a folded patchwork quilt balanced unsteadily on her head, and her chubby hands clasped about a big brass lamp. "'The pillows are off my own bed,' said Mabel. Mother wasn't home, but she wouldn't care, anyway. But can you sleep without them?' "'Oh, I'll take home one of the Excelsior ones,' said Mabel. I can sleep on anything.' Gene came in a moment later with a pile of blankets and quilts. She, too, had a lamp, packed carefully in a big basket that hung from her arm. Marjorie followed almost at her heels, with more bedding, towels, a fourth lamp, and two candlesticks. "'Well,' laughed Betty, when all the lamps and candles were placed in a row on the dining-room table. I guess Miss Blossom will have almost light enough. Here are four big lamps and two candles. "'I've six more candles in my blouse,' said Mabel, laughing and fishing them out one at a time. I thought they'd do for the blue candlesticks Mrs. Crane gave us for the bedroom.' "'Isn't it fortunate,' said Gene, who was thumping the mattress vigorously, that we put the best bed in this room. Beds are such hard things to move.' "'Yes,' said Betty rather doubtfully, but I think we'd better tell Miss Blossom not to be surprised if the slats fall out once in a while during the night. You know they always do if you happen to turn over too suddenly.' "'We must warn her about the chairs, too,' said Marjorie. They're none of them really very safe.' "'I guess,' said Gene. I'd better bring over the rocking chair from my own room. But I'm afraid she'll just have to grin and bear the slats, because they will fall out in spite of anything I can do.' By seven o'clock the room was invitingly comfortable. The wash stand, which was really only a wooden box thinly disguised by a muslin curtain gathered across the front and sides, was supplied with a sound basin, a whole pitcher, numerous towels, and four kinds of soap. The girls had all thought of soap. They were unable to decide which kind the lodger would like best, so they laid Betty's clear amber cake of glycerin soap, Gene's centeless white castile, Marjorie's square of green cucumber soap, and Mabel's highly perfumed oval pink soap in a rainbow row on the wash stand. The bed, bountifully supplied with coverings, had dandelion cottage been suddenly transported to Alaska the lodger would still have had blankets to spare, so generously had her enthusiastic landlady's provided, looked very comfortable indeed. At half past seven when the lodger arrived with apologies for being late, because the dreiman who was to move her trunk had been slow, the cottage, for the first time since the girls had occupied it, was brilliantly lighted. "'We thought,' explained Betty, that you might feel less frightened in a strange place if you had plenty of light, though we didn't really mean to have so many lamps. We each supposed we were bringing the only one. Anyway, we don't know which one burns best.' "'If they should all go out,' said Mabel earnestly, there are candles and matches on the little shelf above the bed. When the lodger had been warned about the loose slats and the untrustworthiness of the chairs, the girls said good night.  "'It's pleasant to have you here. Still, I'm not afraid to stay alone. You must always do just as you like about staying, you know.  I think I was very fortunate in finding a room so near, Mrs. Bakers.' "'Thank you,' said Jean, but we always have to be home before dark, unless we have permission to stay any place.  We always have dinner later than you do, and the things can't be very cold.' CHAPTER VII. THE GIRLS DISCLOSE A PLAN. "'Did you sleep well, Miss Blossom?' asked Betty, shyly way-laying the allager who was on her way to breakfast. "'Yes,' said Miss Blossom, smiling brightly, though in spite of your warning and all my care, the bottom dropped out of my bed and landed the mattress on the floor. But no harm was done. As soon as I discovered I was not falling down an elevator shaft, I went to sleep again. I think if I had a few nails and some little blocks of wood I could fix those slats so they'd stay in better. You see, they're not quite long enough for the bed. "'I'll find some for you,' said Betty. "'You'll find them on the parlor table when you get back.' Before the week was over the girls had discovered that their new friend was in every way a most delightful person. She proved surprisingly skillful with hammer and nails, and besides mending the bed she soon had several of the chairs quite firm on their legs. "'Why?' cried Betty one day as she delightedly inspected an old black walnut rocker that had always collapsed at the slightest touch. "'This old chair is almost strong enough to walk. I'm so glad you've made so many of them safe, because when Mrs. Bartholomew Crane comes to see us she's always afraid to sit down. She's such a nice neighbor that we'd like to make her comfortable.' "'We do have the loveliest friends,' said Jean with a contented sigh. "'It's hard to tell which is the nicest one.' "'But the nicest two,' exclaimed Marjorie, discriminating nicely. "'Are Mr. Black and Mrs. Crane.  "'They're both nice. Both are kind of old. Both are dark and rather stout. But except for that they're altogether different. Mr. Black has everything in the world that anybody could want, and Mrs. Crane hasn't much of anything. Mr. Black is invited to banquets and things and rides and carriages and—' "'Has a silk hat?'' Mabel broke in. "'And Mrs. Crane,' continued to Jean, paying no attention to the interruption, can't afford to ride in the streetcar. I've heard her say so.' "'I wish,' groaned generous Mabel with deep contrition, that I'd never taken a cent for that lemonade I sold her last spring. If I'd dreamed how good and how poor she was I wouldn't have.' She might have had four rides with that money.' "'I wish,' said Jean, we could do something perfectly grand and beautiful for Mrs. Crane. She always does the kindest little things for other people.' "'Well,' demanded Marjorie, aren't we going to have her here to dinner too, when we have Mr. Black? Please don't tell anybody, Miss Blossom, it's to be a surprise.' "'Still, just a dinner doesn't seem to be enough,' said Jean, who, with her chin in her hand, seemed to be thinking deeply. Of course it helps, but I'd rather save her life or do something like that.' "'Little things count for a great deal in this world sometimes,' said Miss Blossom, leaning down to brush her cheek softly against Jean's. It's generally wiser to leave the big things until one is big enough to handle them.' "'Mrs. Crane is pretty big,' offered Matter-of-fact Mabel.' "'Oh, dear,' laughed Miss Blossom, that wasn't at all what I meant.' "'Mr. Black,' said Betty dreamily, has enough things, but I don't think he really cares about anything in the world but his roses. His face is different when he talks about them, kind of soft all about the corners and not so—not so—' "'Daniel Websterie,' supplied Jean understandingly. It must be pretty lonely for him without any family,' agreed Miss Blossom. "'I don't know what would become a father if he didn't have me to keep him cheered up. We're wonderful chums, father and I.' "'Oh,' mourned tender-hearted Betty, I wish I could make Mrs. Crane rich enough so she wouldn't need to mend all the time, and that I could provide Mr. Black with some really truly relatives to love him the way you love your father.' "'Oh, Betty, Betty,' cried Mabel, suddenly beginning in her excitement, to bounce up and down on the one chair that possessed springs. "'I know exactly how we can help them both. We could beg seven or eight children from the orphan asylum. They're glad to give them away, and let Mrs. Crane sell them to Mr. Black for ten dollars apiece.' Such a storm of merriment followed the simple solution of the problem that Mabel for the moment looked quite crushed. Her chair, incidentally, was crushed, too, for Mabel's final bounce proved too much for its farial constitution. Its four legs spread suddenly and lowered the surprised Mabel gently to the floor. Everybody laughed again, Mabel as heartily as any one, and for a time the sorrows of Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black were forgotten. The dinner party, however, still remained uppermost in all their plans. Mabel was in favor of giving it at once, but the other girls were more cautious so the little mistresses of dandelion cottage finally decided to postpone the party until after Miss Blossom had paid her rent in full. "'You see,' explained cautious Marjorie one day, when the girls were alone, she might get called away suddenly before the three weeks are up, and if we spent more money than we have it wouldn't be very comfortable. Besides, I've never seen seven dollars and a half all at once and I'd like to.' But the dinner plan was no longer the profound secret that it had been at first, for when the young housekeepers had told their mothers about their lodger, they had been obliged to tell them also what they intended to do with the money. In the excitement of the moment they had all neglected to mention Mrs. Crane. But later, when they made good this omission, their news was received in a most perplexing fashion. The girls were greatly puzzled, but they did not happen to compare notes until after something that happened at the dinner party had reminded them of their parents' incomprehensible behavior. "'Mama,' said Betty, one evening at suburb time, soon after Ms. Blossom's arrival. "'I forgot to tell you that we're going to ask Mrs. Crane, too, when we have Mr. Black, to dinner. It's to be a surprise for both of them.' "'What?' gasped Mrs. Tucker, dropping her muffin, and looking not at Betty, but at Dr. Tucker. "'Surely not Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black, too. You don't mean both at the same time.' "'Why, yes, Mama,' said Betty, it wouldn't cost any more.' Then the little girl looked with astonishment first at her father, then at her mother. For Dr. Tucker, with a warning finger against his lips, was shaking his head just as hard as he could at Mrs. Tucker, who looked at the very picture of amazement. "'Why?' asked Betty, what's the matter? Don't you think it's a good plan? Isn't it the right thing to do?' "'Yes,' said Dr. Tucker, still looking at Betty's mother, who was nodding her approval. "'I shouldn't be surprised if it might prove a very good thing to do. Your idea of making it a surprise to both of them is a good one, too. I should keep it the darkest kind of secret until the very last moment, if I were you.' "'Yes,' agreed Mrs. Tucker. I should certainly keep it a secret. Gene, too, happened to mention the matter at home, and with very much the same result. Mr. Mapes looked at Mrs. Mapes with something in his eye that very closely resembled an amused twinkle, and Gene was almost certain that there was an answering twinkle in her mother's eye. "'What's the joke?' asked Gene. "'I couldn't think of spoiling it by telling,' said Mrs. Mapes. "'If there's anything I can do to help with your dinner-party, I shall be delighted to do it.' "'Oh, will you?' cried Gene. When I told you about it last week I thought, somehow, that you weren't very much interested.' "'I'm very much interested, indeed,' returned Mrs. Mapes. "'I hope you'll be able to keep the surprise part of it a secret to the very last moment. That's always the best part of a dinner-party, you know.' "'Yes,' said Mr. Mapes. "'If you know who the other guests are to be, it always takes away part of the pleasure.' When Marjorie told the news, her Auntie Jane, who seldom smiled and who usually appeared to care very little about the doings in Dandelion Cottage, greatly surprised her niece by suddenly displaying as many as seven upper teeth. She showed, too, much flattering interest in the coming event that Marjorie plucked up courage to ask for potatoes and other provisions that might prove useful.  When Mabel told about the plan, she, too, was very much perplexed at the way her news was received. Her parents, after one speaking glanced at each other, leaned back in their chairs and laughed until the tears rolled down their cheeks. But they, too, heartily approved of the dinner-party and advised strict secrecy regarding the guests. School was out, and as Betty said, every day was Saturday, but the days were slipping away altogether too rapidly. The lawn by this time was covered with what Mabel called real grass. Great bunches of Jean's sweetest purple pansies had to be picked every morning so they wouldn't go to seed, and a long bed by the fence threatened to burst at any moment into blossom. Even the much disturbed vegetable garden was doing so nicely that it was possible to tell the lettuce from the radish plants. Two of Miss Blossom's three weeks had gone. She herself was to leave town the following Thursday, and the dinner-party was to take place the day after. But even the thought of the great event failed to keep the little cottagers quite cheerful, for they hated to think of losing their lovely lodger. Whenever this charming young person was not busy at one or another of the various churches with her father, she was busy playing with the children. "'Just exactly,' said Betty, as if she were just twelve years old, too. Her clever fingers made dresses for each of the four biggest dolls, and such cunning baby-bonnets for each of the four littlest ones. Best of all, she taught the girls how to do a great many things. She showed them how to turn the narrowest of hems, how to gather a ruffle neatly, and how to take the tiniest of stitches. Betty, who had to help with the weekly darning, and Marjorie, who had to mend her own stockings, actually found it pleasant work after Miss Blossom had shown them several different ways of weaving the threads. "'I just wish,' cried Mabel one day in a burst of gratitude, that you'd fall ill or something, so we could do something for you.  I assure you'd take beautiful care of me. I'm almost tempted to try it. Shall I have measles, or just plain smallpox?' CHAPTER VIII. In spite of the prospect of losing her, the last week of Miss Blossom's stay was a delightful one to the girls, because so many pleasant things happened. The best of all concerned the cottage dining-room. This room had proved the hardest spot in the house to make attractive, for it seemed to resist all efforts to make a well-furnished room of it. Most of the faded paper was loose, and much of it had dropped off in patches during the time that the cottage was vacant, showing the ugly dark painted wall underneath. It was only too evident that the pictures that the girls had fastened up carefully with pins had been put up for purposes of concealment. The ceiling was stained and dingy, and the rug was far too small to cover the floor where some industrious former occupant had dobed paint of various gaudy hues, while trying, perhaps, to find the right shade for the woodwork. Moreover what little furniture there was in the dining-room showed very plainly that it had not been intended originally for dining-room use. The buffet in particular proclaimed loudly in big black letters that it was nothing but a soap-box, and Betty's best efforts could not make anything else of it. Now that the day for the long-postponed dinner-party was actually set, the girls' attention was more than ever directed toward the forlorn appearance of the little dining-room. Dear me, said Betty, one day when the five friends seated around the table were cutting out pictures for a wonderful scrapbook for the little lame boy whom Miss Blossom had discovered living near one of the churches. I do wish this dining-room didn't look so sort of bedroom-y. Yes, said Jean, I've tried putting the buffet in every corner and all around the walls, and it won't look like anything but a wooden box. I tried covering it with a gathered curtain, said Mabel, but that made it look so like a wash-stand that I took it off again. Why, exclaimed Miss Blossom, you've given me a beautiful idea. I believe we could make a splendid side-board out of that piano-box that's so in our way on the back porch. We'd just have to saw the ends down a little, nail on some boards, paint it some plain dark color, and spread a towel over the top, and we'd have a beautiful Flemish oak side-board. I'll buy the can of paint. I'll do the painting, said Jean. I helped Mother paint our kitchen floor, so I know a little about it. That would be lovely. I've been thinking, too, that it would be a good idea to fix a little shelf under this window to hold your petunia and these two geraniums that are suffering so for sunshine. I think I could make it from the boards in that soap-box. Oh, thank you, cried Betty. I don't believe there's anything you don't know how to do. The piano-box, transformed by Miss Blossom and the four girls into a very good imitation of a Flemish oak side-board, did indeed make such an imposing piece of furniture that the rest of the room looked shabbier than ever by contrast. I'm afraid, said Miss Blossom surveying the effect with an error of comical dismay, that the rest of our dining-room really looks worse than it did before. It's like trying to wear a new hat with an old gown. But I'm proud of our handiwork. Yes, said Jean, it's a good deal more like a side-board than it is like a piano-box. It's the side-boardiest side-board I ever saw, said Mabel. But it's certainly too fine for this room. Never mind, said cheerful Betty, we'll let Mr. Black sit so he can see the side-board and we'll have Mrs. Crane face the geraniums on that cunning shelf. If their eyes begin to wander around the room, we'll just call their attention to the things we want them to see. When Mama entertains the sewing society, she always invites the first one that comes to sit in the chair over the hole in the sitting-room rug, so the others won't notice it. If we catch Mr. Black looking at the ceiling, we'll say, Oh, Mr. Black, did you notice the flowers on the side-board? Everybody laughed at Betty's comical idea. This desperate measure, however, was not needed. For one afternoon, the day after the side-board was finished, something happened—something lovelier than the girls had ever even dreamed could happen. It was only three o'clock, yet there was Miss Blossom coming home two whole hours earlier than usual. Her white-haired father was with her, and under his arm in a long parcel were seven rolls of wallpaper. My contribution to the cottage, said Mr. Blossom, laying the bundle at Betty's feet, and smiling pleasantly at the row of girls on the doorstep. It's paper for the dining-room, explained Miss Blossom. We happened to pass a store on our way to work this noon, where they were advertising a sale of odd rolls of very nice paper at only five cents a roll. There were two rolls that were just right for the ceiling and five rolls for the side-wall. This seemed just exactly the right thing for Dandelion Cottage, so we couldn't help buying it. It would have been wicked, said Mr. Blossom, cutting the string about the bundle, not to buy such suitable paper at such a ridiculous price. Oh, oh! cried the delighted girls as Mr. Blossom held up a roll for inspection. It might have been made for this house. Dandelion blossoms in yellow with such lovely soft green leaves, red Betty, and such a lovely light, creamy background. Oh, what's that? That's the border, replied Miss Blossom. See how graceful the pattern is, and how saucily those Dandelions hold their heads? Show them the ceiling, Father. Oh! cried Mabel. Just picked off Dandelion, scandered all over an ocean of milk. How pretty! We'll have the Village Improvement Society after us, laughed Marjorie. They don't allow a Dandelion to show its head. I love Dandelions, said Miss Blossom. Real ones, I mean. They're such gay, cheerful things, and such a beautiful color. I love them too, said Jean, because you know they paid our rent for us. But, said Mabel, I'm thankful we haven't got to dig all these Dandelions. Now, said Miss Blossom, we must go right to work. If everybody will help, Father and I will put it on for you. You needn't be afraid to trust us, because last spring we papered our two biggest rooms, and they really looked almost professional, except for one strip that Father got upside down. But your dining room will be in no danger on that score, for Father never makes the same mistake twice. Jean, you and Mabel can move all the furniture except the table and sideboard into the kitchen. We'll have to stand on the table. Betty, take down all the pictures. Father, you can be trimming the ceiling paper here on the sideboard while Marjorie starts the fire in the kitchen stove, so I can have hot water for my paste. We'll have our wall covered with Dandelions in just no time. Now, said Mr. Blossom, when the furniture was out and the pictures were all down, we must dig the soil up well, or our Dandelions won't grow. Everybody must tear as much as she can of this old paper off the wall. It's so ragged it comes off very easily. The roof used to leak, said Betty, but my brother Rob unrolled some tin cans and nailed them over the place where the truly shingles are gone, and it never leaked a mite the last four times it rained. The plaster seems fairly good, said Mr. Blossom. I could mend these holes with a little plaster of Paris if some obliging young lady would run with this dime to the drug store for ten cents worth. I'll go, said Mabel. I don't think I like peeling walls. Mabel, said Miss Blossom, isn't really fond of work, though I notice that she usually does her share. Everybody helped to mend the cracks, and everybody watched with breathless interest to see the first long strip, upheld by Mr. Blossom and guided by Miss Blossom in the cottage broom, go into place. Wouldn't it be awful, whispered Mabel, if it shouldn't stick? But it did stick, smooth and flat, and the paper was even prettier on the wall than it had been in the roll. A side strip next, Father, so we can see how it's going to look, pleaded Miss Blossom. Remember we're just children. At five o'clock, when half of the ceiling and one side of the wall were finished, the front door was opened abruptly. Hi there, said Mr. Black, putting his head in at the dining-room door. Why don't you listen when I ring your bell? Is that dinner of mine ready? I'm losing a pound a day. No, said Betty, jumping down from her perch on the sideboard, but it will be next Friday. We're getting it ready just as fast as ever we can. We're even papering the dining-room for the occasion. Well, said Mr. Black, I just stopped in to say that unless you could give me that dinner this very minute, I shall have to go hungry for the next five weeks. Oh! cried Betty in dismay, why? Because I'm going to Washington to-night by the six o'clock train, and I shall be gone a whole month, perhaps longer. Oh, dear, cried Betty, we just couldn't have you to-night. We're papering the dining-room, and besides, we haven't a single thing to eat but some stale cake that Mrs. Pike gave us. I strongly suspect, said Mr. Black, smiling over Betty's head at Mr. Blossom, that you don't really want me to dinner. Oh, we do, we do, assured Betty, earnestly, but we just can't have company to-night. You'll just let us know exactly when you're coming home. You'll find a beautiful dinner ready for you. All right, said Mr. Black, I'll telegraph. I'll say, my dear Miss Betty-Kins of Dandelion Cottage, it will give me great pleasure to dine with you to-morrow, or would you rather have me, say, the day after to-morrow, evening, yours most devotedly, and so forth. Yes, yes, cried Betty, that will be all right, but you must give us three days to get ready in. After all, however, it was Mabel that sent the telegram, and it was a very different one. CHAPTER IX CHANGES AND PLANS When the little dining-room whiffs finished, it was quite the prettiest room in the house, for the friendly blossoms had painted the battered woodwork a delicate green to match the leaves in the paper, and by mixing what was left of the green paint with the remaining paint left from the sideboard, clever Miss Blossom obtained a shade that was exactly right for as much of the floor as the rug did not cover. Of course all the neighbors and all the girls' relatives had to come in afterwards to see what Betty called the very dandelionist room in Dandelion Cottage. It seemed to the girls at the time fairly galloped from Monday to Thursday. They were heartily sorry when the moment came for them to lose their pleasant lodger. They went to the train to see the last of her and to assure her for the thousandth time that they should never forget her. Mabel sobbed audibly at the moment of parting and large tears were rolling down silent Betty's cheeks. Even the seven dollars and fifty cents that the girls had handled with such delight that morning paled into insignificance beside the fact that the train was actually whisking their beloved Miss Blossom away from them. When she had paid for her lodging she advised her four landlady's to deposit the money in the bank until time for the dinner party, and the girls did so, but even the importance of owning a bank account failed to console them for their loss. The train out of sight, the sober little procession, wended its way to Dandelion Cottage, but the cozy little house seemed strangely silent and deserted when Betty unlocked the door. Mabel, who had wept stormily all the way home, sat down heavily on the doorstep and wept fresh. Pinched to a pillow on the parlor couch, Jean discovered a little folded square of paper addressed to Betty, who was drumming a sad little tune on the window pane. Why, Betty, cried Jean, this looks like a note for you from Miss Blossom. Do read it and tell us what she says. It says, read Betty, my dearest of Betty's, thank you for being so nice to me. There's a telephone message for you. I wonder what it means, said Marjorie. Betty ran to the talk-list's telephone, slipped her hand inside the little door at the top, and found a small square parcel wrapped in tissue paper, tied with a pink ribbon, and addressed to Miss Betty Tucker, Dandelion Cottage. Betty hastily undid the wrappings and squealed with delight when she saw the lovely little handkerchief bordered delicately with lace that Miss Blossom herself had made for her. There was a daintily embroidered bee in the corner to make it Betty's very own. Marjorie happened upon Jean's note peeping out from under a book on the parlor table. It said, Dear Jean, don't you think it's time for you to look at the kitchen clock? Of course everybody rushed to the kitchen to see Jean take from inside the case of the tick-less clock a lovely handkerchief just like Betty's except that it was marked with J. Marjorie's note, which she presently found growing on the crimson petunia, sent her flying to the grindless coffee-mill, where she too found a similar gift. Well, said Mabel, who was now fairly cheerful, I wonder if she forgot all about me. For several anxious moments the girls searched eagerly in Mabel's behalf but no note was visible. I can't think where it could be, said housewife Lee Jean, stooping to pick up a bit of string from the dining-room rug and winding it into a little ball. I've looked in every room and— Why, what a long string! I wonder where it's all coming from? Under the rug, said Marjorie, making a dive for the bit of paper that dangled from the end of the string. Here's your note, Mabel. I think, Miss Blossom had written, that there must be a mouse in the pantry-mous-trap by this time. Yes, shouted Mabel a moment later, a lovely lace-edged mouse with an M on it. No, it's M.B., a really truly monogram, the very first monogram I ever had. Why, so it is, said Marjorie. I suppose she did that, so we could tell them apart, because if she'd put M on both of them we wouldn't have known which was which. Why, cried Jean, it's nearly an hour since the train left. Wasn't it sweet of her to think of keeping us interested, so we shouldn't be quite so lonesome? Yes, said Betty, it was even nicer than our lovely presence, but it was just like her. Oh, dear, said Mabel, again on a verge of tears. I wish she might have stayed forever. What's the use of getting lovely new friends if you have to go and lose them the very next minute? She was just the nicest grown-up little girl there ever was, and I'll never see—see her any—look out, Mabel, warned Marjorie. If you cry on that handkerchief you'll spoil that monogram. Miss Blossom didn't intend these for crying handkerchiefs. One good-sized tear would soak them. Miss Blossom was not the only friend the girls were fated to lose that week. Grandma Pike, as everybody called the pleasant little old lady, was their next-door neighbor on the west side, and the cottagers were very fond of her. No one dreamed that Mrs. Pike would ever think of going to another town to live. But about ten days before Miss Blossom departed the cheery old lady had quite taken everybody's breath away by announcing that she was going west, just as soon as she could get her things packed to live with her married daughter. When the girls heard that Grandma Pike was going away they were very much surprised and not at all pleased at the idea of losing one of their most delightful neighbors. At Miss Blossom's suggestion they had spent several evenings working on a parting gift for their elderly friend. The gift, a wonderful linen travelling case with places in it to carry everything a traveller would be likely to need, was finished at last. With so many persons working on it it was hard to keep all the pieces together, and the girls carried it to Grandma Pike, who seemed very much pleased. Well, well, said the delighted old lady, unrolling the parcel, if you haven't gone and made me a grand slipper bag, I'll think of you now every time I put on my slippers. No, no, protested Jean, it's a travelling case with places in it for most everything but slippers. We all sewed on it, explained Mabel, those little bits of stitches that you can't see at all are beddies. Jean did all this feather stitching, and Marjorie hemmed all the binding. Miss Blossom basted it together so it wouldn't be crooked. What did you do, Mabel? asked Grandma Pike, smiling over her spectacles. I took out the basting threads and embroidered these letters on the pockets. What does this P stand for? Pins, said Mabel. You see, it was sort of an accident. I started to embroider the word soap on this little pocket, but when I got the S-O-A done there wasn't any room left for the P, so I just put it on the next pocket. I knew that if I explained that it was the end of soap and the beginning of pins, you'd remember not to get your pins and soap mixed up. During the lonely days immediately following Miss Blossom's departure, Mrs. Bartholomew Crane proved a great solace. The girls had somewhat neglected her during the preceding busy weeks, but with Miss Blossom gone the cottagers became conscious of an aching void that new wallpaper and lace handkerchiefs and a bank account could not quite fill. So presently they resumed their former habit of trotting across the street many times a day to visit good-natured Mrs. Crane. Mrs. Crane's house was very small and looked rather gloomy from the outside because the paint had long ago peeled away and the weather-beaten boards had grown black with age. But inside it was cheerfulness personified. First there was Mrs. Crane herself, fairly radiating comfort. Then there was a bright rag carpet on the floor, a glowing red cloth on the little table, a lively yellow canary named Dixie in one window, and a gorgeous red and crimson but very bad tempered parrot in the other. There were only three rooms downstairs and two bedchambers upstairs. Mrs. Crane's own room opened up the little parlor and visitors could see the high feather bed always as smooth and rounded on top as one of Mrs. Crane's big loaves of light bread. The privileged girls were never tired of examining the good woman's patchwork quilts made many years ago of minute, quaint, old-fashioned scraps of calico. Even the gardens seemed to differ from other gardens, for every inch of it except the patch of green grass under the solitary cherry tree was given over to flowers, many of them as quaint and old-fashioned as the bits of calico in the quilt, and to vegetables that ripened a week earlier for Mrs. Crane than similar varieties did for anyone else. Yet the garden was so little and the variety so great that Mrs. Crane never had enough of any one thing to sell. She owned her little house, but very little else. The two upstairs rooms were rented to lodgers and she knitted stockings and mittens to sell because she could knit without using her eyes, which, like so many soft bright black eyes, were far from strong. But the little income so gained was barely enough to keep stout warm-hearted over generous Mrs. Crane supplied with food and fuel. The neighbors often wondered what would become of the good lonely woman if she lost her lodgers, if her eyes failed completely, or if she should fall ill. Everybody agreed that Mrs. Crane should have been a wealthy woman instead of a poor one because she would undoubtedly have done so much good with her money. Mabel had heard her father say that there was a good-sized mortgage on the place, and Dr. Bennett had instantly added. Now, don't you say anything about that, Mabel? But ever after that Mabel had kept her eyes open during her visits to Mrs. Crane, hoping to get a glimpse of the dreadful large-sized thing that was not to be mentioned. On one occasion she thought she saw light. Mrs. Crane had expressed a fear that a wandering pole-cat had made a home under her woodshed. Is mortgage another name for pole-cat? Mabel had asked a little later. No, imaginative Jean had replied.  Don't ever use the word before Mrs. Crane. She has one. Where does she keep it? demanded Mabel a gog with interest. I promised not to talk about it, said Jean, and I won't. Miss Blossom had been gone only two days when something happened to Mrs. Crane. It was none of the things that the neighbors had expected to happen, but for a little while it looked almost as serious. Betty, running across the street right after breakfast one morning, with a bunch of fresh chickweed for the yellow canary and a cracker for cross-poly, found Mrs. Crane, usually the most cheerful person imaginable, sitting in her kitchen with a swollen crimson foot in a pail of lukewarm water and groaning dismal-y. Oh, Mrs. Crane! cried surprised Betty. What in the world is the matter? Are you coming down with anything? I've already come, moaned Mrs. Crane grimly. I was out in my backyard in my thin old slippers early this morning, putting heelabore on my current bushes, and I stepped down hard on the teeth of the rake that I dropped on the grass. There's two great holes in my foot. How I'm ever going to do things I don't know, for to is all I could do to crawl into the house on my hands and knees. Is there something I can do for you? asked Betty sympathetically. Could you get a stick of wood from the shed and make me a cup of tea? Maybe I'll feel braver if I wasn't so empty. Of course I could, said Betty cheerily. I tell you what it is, confided Mrs. Crane. It's real nice and independent, living all alone, as long as you're strong and well. But just the minute anything happens, there you are like a Robinson Caruso, cast away on a desert isle. I began to think nobody would ever come. Can't I do something more for you? asked Betty, poking scraps of paper under the kettle to bring it to a boil.  Hadn't I better get him? Yes, do, said Mrs. Crane, and then come back. I can't bear to think of staying here alone. For the next four days there was a deep depression in the middle of Mrs. Crane's puffy feather bed, for the injured foot was badly swollen and Mrs. Crane was far too heavy to go hopping about on the other one.  Now don't you worry one bit, said comforting little Betty. We'll take turns staying with you. We'll feed Polly and Dixie, and I believe every friend you have is going to offer to make broth. Mother's making some this minute. But there's the lodgers, grown to Mrs. Crane, both as particular as a pair of old maids in a glass case. Mr. Barlow wants his bed-clothes tucked in all around, so tight that a body think he was afraid of rolling out a bed-knife, and Mr. Bailey won't have his tucked in at all, says he likes some floating round, loose and airy. Do you suppose you girls can make those two beds and not get those two lodgers mixed up? I declare I'm so absent-minded myself that I've had to climb those narrow stairs many a day to make sure I've done it right. Don't be afraid, said Jean, who had joined Betty. Marjorie's Auntie Jane has taught her to make beds beautifully, and I have a good memory. Between us we'll manage splendidly. But there's my garden, mourned the usually busy woman, who found it hard to lie still with folded hands in a world that seemed to be constantly kneading her. Dear me, I don't see how I'm going to spare myself for a whole week, just when everything is growing so fast. We'll tend to the garden, too, promised Betty. Yes, indeed we will, echoed Mabel, we'll water everything and weed. Oh, you won't, said Mrs. Crane quickly. You can do all the watering you'd like. But if I catch any of you weeding, there'll be trouble. The Uncottagers were even better than their promises, for they took excellent care of Mrs. Crane, the lodger, the parrot, the canary and the garden, until the injured foot was well again. But while doing all this they learned something that distressed them very much indeed. Of course they had always known in a general way that their friend was far from being wealthy, but they had not guessed how touchingly poor she really was. But now they saw that her cupboard was very scantily filled, that her clothing was very much patched and mended, her shoes distressingly worn out, and that even her dish towels were neatly darned. But we won't talk about it to people, said fine-minded Jeanne. Perhaps she wouldn't like to have everybody know. And Jeanne, however, did not guess what a comfort proud Mrs. Crane had found it to have her warm-hearted little friends stand between her poverty and the sometimes too prying eyes of a grown-up world. Unobservant though they had seemed, the girls did not forget about the mother-hubbard-like state of Mrs. Crane's cupboard. After that one of their finest castles in Spain always had Mrs. Crane, who would have made such a delightful mother and who had never had any children. Enthroned as its gracious mistress. When they had time to think about it at all, it always grieved them to think of their generous natured, no longer young friend, dreading a poverty-stricken, loveless and perhaps homeless old age. For this they had discovered was precisely what Mrs. Crane was doing. If she were a little thin, active old lady with bobbing white curls like Grandma Pike, said Jeanne, lots of people would have a corner for her. But poor Mrs. Crane takes up so much room and is so heavy and slow that she's going to be hard to take care of when she gets old. Oh, why couldn't she have had just one strong-kind son to take care of her? When I'm married, offered Mabel generously, I'll take her to live with me. I won't have any husband if he doesn't promise to take Mrs. Crane, too. You shan't have her, declared Jeanne. I want her myself. She's already promised to me, said Betty triumphantly. We're going to keep house together some place, and I'm going to be an old maid-kindergarten teacher. I don't think that's fair, Betty Tucker, said Marjorie earnestly. I don't see how my children are to have any grandmother if she doesn't live with me. Imagine the poor little things with Auntie Jane for grandmother. CHAPTER IX