Seizing the back of Mabel's chair, Mr. Black drew it swiftly off the trap door. In another moment, he had the door open. Rosa Marie, blinking at the sudden light, bobbed upward. Mr. Black involuntarily started back from the opening. "What under heavens is that!" he gasped. "A monkey?" And, indeed, the error was a perfectly natural one, for all he had been able to see was a tousled head of hair, beneath which gleamed small black eyes. "I should say not!" blazed Mabel. "It's my little girl--my Rosa Marie." "Does she bite? Is she dangerous? Is that why you treat her like potatoes?" "Most certainly not," returned Mabel, with dignity. "She's an Indian." "Bless me!" said Mr. Black, leaning cautiously forward. "Let's have a look at her." Now that the secret was out, everybody eagerly clutched some portion of Rosa Marie's clothing. She was drawn, with some difficulty and sundry tearings of cloth, from the "Soldier's Retreat." Mabel cuddled the blinking small person in her lap. "Did you pick her up in the woods?" asked Mr. Black, "or did you simply kidnap her? Or, dreadful thought! Did you order her by number from some catalogue? And did they charge you full price?" Then Mabel, helped by the other three, told all that they knew of the history of Rosa Marie; and of Mabel's affection for the queer brown baby. They told him everything. Mabel, with visions of the orphan asylum's doors yawning to engulf precious Rosa Marie, considered it a very sad story. She felt grieved and indignant because Mr. Black, instead of sympathizing, laughed until his sides shook. Even the pathetic diet of liver, codfish and prunes seemed to amuse him. "What would you have said if your mothers had asked you where this child was?" inquired Mr. Black presently. "I mean, when you had her down cellar?" Jean looked at Bettie, Bettie looked at Marjory, Marjory looked at Mabel. "We never thought of that," confessed Bettie. "Oh," groaned Mabel, holding Rosa Marie closer, "our plan isn't any good after all. We'd have to tell the truth if they asked; we always do." "Yes," said Jean, "they'd get it out of us at once." "Even," teased Marjory, shrewdly, "if Mabel, sitting upon that trap door, were not every bit as good as a printed sign." "Never mind," soothed Jean, slipping an arm about Mabel's shoulders, "we'd rather be honest than smart, since we can't be both." Mabel needed soothing. She sat still and made no sound; but large tears were rolling down her cheeks and splashing on Rosa Marie's black head. Mr. Black regarded them thoughtfully. He noticed too that Mabel's moderately white hand was closed tightly over Rosa Marie's brown fingers. It reminded him, some way, of his own youthful agony over parting with a puppy that he had not been allowed to keep--he had always regretted that puppy.