"We'd like to see Rosa Marie," said Marjory. "Is she well?" "She has a bad cold," returned Mrs. Crane, shaking her head, sorrowfully. "I've just been looking through my books, and in the very first one I found more than twenty-five fatal diseases that begin with a bad cold." "Didn't you find _any_ that folks ever get over?" suggested Jean, comfortingly. "Why, yes," replied Mrs. Crane, brightening. "I've known of folks pulling through at least twenty-four of them. But there's one thing. You won't like Rosa Marie's clothes to-day. They're--they're sort of an accident." "An accident?" questioned Bettie. "What happened?" "Why, you see, I ordered her a ready-made dress out of a catalogue. It sounded very promising but--Well, it's _warm_, but I guess that's about all you can say for it. I'll take you to the nursery; I have to keep her out of drafts." Rosa Marie, well and becomingly clad, would hardly have captured a prize in a beauty show, even with very little competition. Poor little Rosa Marie, suffering with a severe cold, appeared a most unlovable object. Her eyes were dull and all but invisible, her nose and lips were red and swollen and her wide mouth seemed even larger than usual. The catalogue dress was more than an accident; it was an out and out calamity. Its gorgeous red and green plaid was marked off like a city map in regular squares with a startling stripe of yellow. Moreover, the alarming garment was a distressingly tight fit. "It looked," sighed Mrs. Crane, apologetically, "as pretty as you please in that book; but of course nobody would _think_ of buying such goods as that _outside_ a catalogue. But Rosa Marie liked it." After the first glance, however, the Cottagers did not look at Rosa Marie or the hideous plaid. They gazed instead at Henrietta's speaking countenance. Having led their new friend to expect something entirely different in the way of infantile charms, they wanted to enjoy her surprise; but strangely enough they did not. It was evident that something was wrong with their plan. The bright, expectant look faded suddenly from the sparkling black eyes. All the animation fled swiftly from the girlish countenance. Two large tears rolled down Henrietta's cheeks. "Oh," she mourned, "I was _so_ lonely for a real, dear little baby." "Dear me," sighed penitent Jean, "we thought you'd enjoy the joke. We saw at once that you supposed that Rosa Marie was an ordinary child--a nice little pink and white creature in long clothes. It seemed such a good chance to get even that we----" "It was my fault," apologized Marjory. "I _tried_ to fool you. I never thought you'd _care_." "I'm sorry," said offended Mabel, stiffly, "that you don't like Rosa Marie. She's much more interesting than a common baby, and I think, when I picked her out----"