When Mrs. Crane realized that there could be no school on Monday, she too was pleased. She stopped a moment after church on Sunday to intercept the girls on their way to Sunday School. "My!" said she. "How spruce you look!" They did look "spruce." Tall Jean was all in brown, even to her gloves and overshoes. Marjory's trim little winter suit was of dark green broadcloth with gray furs, for neat Aunty Jane, whatever her other failings, always kept Marjory very beautifully dressed. Bettie's short, kilted skirt was red under a boyish black reefer that had once belonged to Dick, and a black hat that Bob had discarded as "too floppy" had been wired and trimmed with scarlet cloth to match the skirt. This hand-me-down outfit was very becoming to dark-eyed Bettie, but then, Bettie was pretty in anything. Plump Mabel was buttoned tightly into a navy blue suit. Although she had owned it for barely six weeks it was no longer big enough either lengthwise or sidewise. "But," said Mabel, cheerfully, "by holding my breath most of the time I can stand it for one hour on Sundays." "How would you like," asked Mrs. Crane, "to spend to-morrow with me and Rosa Marie?" "We'd love to," said Jean. "We'd like it a lot," said Marjory. "Just awfully," breathed Bettie. "Oh, goody!" gurgled Mabel. "You see," said Mrs. Crane, "I'm not altogether easy about Rosa Marie. I do every living thing I can think of, but someway I can't get inside that child's shell. I declare, it seems sometimes as if she really pities me for being so stupid. And I think she's falling off in her looks." "Oh, I _hope_ not," cried Mabel, fervently. "No," agreed Marjory, "it certainly wouldn't do for Rosa Marie to fall off very _much_." "However," returned Mrs. Crane, loyally, "she might be very much worse and at any rate she is warm and well fed, even if she does seem a bit--foreign. So that Janitor put you down through the dust-chute, did he, Mabel? You must have landed with quite a jolt." "No," returned Mabel, rather sulkily, for every one was mentioning the dust-chute. "I had all September's and October's sweepings to land on. It was all mushy and springy, like mother's bed." "How," pursued kindly Mrs. Crane, "did he get you out?" "I'd--I'd rather not say," mumbled Mabel, flushing a brilliant crimson. No one else had thought to ask this dreaded question, and the papers, fortunately, had overlooked this detail. "Why!" giggled teasing Marjory, "he _must_ have dragged her out by her feet because she's so fat that she couldn't possibly have turned herself over in that narrow space. It's just like a chimney, you know. I've often looked down that place and wondered if Santa Claus could manage the trip down. Oh, Mabel! It must have been funny! Tell us about it." Mabel grinned, but it was rather a sickly grin.