"There's a nursery on the second floor," said Mr. Black. "You girls must help us fix it up. And, Mabel, perhaps _you_ would like to spend this money for some toys that would just exactly suit Rosa Marie." Mabel beamed gratefully as she accepted the money and the responsibility. Never before had any one singled her out to perform a task that required discretion. It was always Jean, or Bettie, or sometimes even Marjory that was chosen. Never before had greatness been thrust upon Mabel. She lavished grateful, affectionate glances on Mr. Black and inwardly determined to save part of the cash with which to buy him a Christmas present, not realizing that that would be a misappropriation of funds. Mabel, however, felt a pang of jealousy when Rosa Marie, digging contentedly in the sand at Mrs. Crane's feet, allowed her former guardian to depart absolutely unnoticed. "I _did_ think," confided Mabel to Bettie, who walked beside her, "that she'd at least _look_ as if she cared." That night the mothers made peace with their daughters, and Aunty Jane extended a flag of truce to Marjory. "It was all for your own good," explained Mrs. Bennett, her arm about Mabel, who was missing the pleasant task of putting Rosa Marie to bed. "I couldn't let you grow up with a little Indian continually at your heels. You'd have grown tired of her, too. And by keeping silence so long, you did a great deal of harm. If we'd known about the matter at once, we might have been able to find her mother. Now it's too late." "I never thought of that," said Mabel, contritely. "I'll tell right away, next time." "Mabel! There mustn't _be_ a next time. Promise me this instant that you'll never borrow another baby unless you know that its mother really wants to keep it. Promise." "All right, I promise," said Mabel, cheerfully. "But I _can't_ think," remarked Mrs. Bennett, "what possessed Mr. Black to be so foolish as to take such a child into his own home." There were other persons that wondered, too, why Mr. Black should burden his household with the care of what Martin, his man, called an uncivilized savage; but the truth of the matter was just this. The large silent tears rolling down Mabel's forlorn countenance had suddenly proved too much for the tender heart of Mr. Black. In some ways, perhaps, impulsive Mr. Black was not a wise man; but, where children were concerned, there was no doubt of his being an exceedingly tender person. CHAPTER XI The Alarm NOW that the burden of caring for Rosa Marie was shifted to older and more competent shoulders, the Cottagers' thoughts returned to their school-work. It was time. Never had lessons been so neglected. Never before had four moderately intelligent little girls seemed so stupid. But of course with their minds filled with Rosa Marie, it had been impossible to keep the rivers of South America from lightmindedly running over into Asia, or the products of British Columbia from being exported from Calcutta.