"That's what you get," said Marjory, with one eye glued to the top of a very tall vase, "for being so careless. It isn't in here, anyway." "Here's one," announced Bettie, scrambling in hastily and locking the door behind her. "I skipped home for it. But there's no time to lose. All our mothers and Aunty Jane are going out of Mrs. Mapes's gate with their best hats and gloves on. There's something doing!" In another moment, the cellar door was closed, a rocking chair was placed upon it, and Mabel, with ball of yarn and crochet hook in hand, was nervously twitching in the chair. Her fingers were stiff with dust--there had been no time to wash them--so the loop that she tied in the end of the white yarn was most decidedly black; but Mabel was thankful to achieve a loop of any color, with her whole body quivering with excitement and suspense. "Goodness!" she quavered. "That soldier lady was a wonder! Think of her looking calm outside with her heart going like a Dover egg-beater. Do--do _I_ look calm?" "Here," said Bettie, extending a basin of warm water. "Soak your hands in this. Warm water is said to be soothing." "Also cleansing," giggled Marjory. "Hurry!" gasped quick-eared Jean, snatching the basin and hurling a towel in Mabel's direction. "I heard our gate click. There's somebody coming." "Don't let 'em in," breathed Mabel, defiantly. "I'm afraid," said Jean, "we'll have to." "Anyway," soothed Bettie, "we'll peek first--there's the door-bell!" CHAPTER IX A Surprise JEAN and Bettie flew to one window, Marjory to the other. Mabel wanted to fly, too, but she remained faithfully at her post, feeling quite cheered by her own heroism. "It's dark gray trousers with a crease in 'em; not skirts," announced Marjory, peering under the edge of the shade. "Probably a man from the asylum," shuddered Bettie. "Let's keep very still. He may think that this is the wrong house and go somewhere else." "But," objected Jean, "he'll only come back again." "Yes," sighed Bettie. "I s'pose we will have to open the door. You do it, Marjory." "I don't want to," returned Marjory, unexpectedly shrinking. "It seems too much like giving Rosa Marie into the hands of the enemy. After all, we're going to miss her dreadfully and Mabel'll be just about broken-hearted. She _does_ get so attached to things--Oh! He's ringing again." "We'll have to unlock the door," sighed Jean, placing her hand on the key, "but dearie me, I feel just as Marjory does about it. Knit fast, Mabel." The key turned in the lock, but the girls did not need to open the door; the visitor did that. Then there were rapturous cries of "Mr. Black! Mr. Black!"