"What's the matter with that child's complexion?" demanded Marjory. "Is she tanned?" "Coming home took long enough for us both to get tanned," returned Mabel, crossly, "but Rosa Marie's French, I guess." "French! French nothing!" exclaimed Marjory. "She's nothing but a little wild Indian. Look at her hair. Look at her small black eyes. Look at her high cheekbones. Where in the world did you get her?" Mabel explained. For once, the girls listened with the most flattering attention. Anne Halliday bobbed her pretty head to punctuate each sentence, the Tucker babies stood in silence with their mouths open, even the nicely laid-out Marcotte twins on the sofa sat up to hear the tale. "And she's all mine until six o'clock," concluded Mabel, triumphantly. "If she were mine," said Jean, "I'd give her a bath." "I'd give her two," giggled Marjory. So Mabel, assisted by Jean, Marjory, Bettie, little Anne, the two Tucker babies and the now very much alive Marcotte twins gave Rosa Marie a bath in the dish-pan. Although they changed the water as fast as they could heat more in the tea-kettle, although they used a whole bar of strong yellow soap, two teaspoonfuls of washing powder and a _very_ scratchy washcloth lathered with Sapolio, Rosa Marie, who bore it all with stolid patience, was still richly brown from head to heels, when she emerged from her bath. "Let's play Pocohontis!" cried Marjory, seizing the feather duster. "Put feathers in her hair and drape her in my brown petticoat. I'll be Captain John Smith in Bob Tucker's rubber boots." "You won't either," retorted Mabel, indignantly. "I guess, after I dragged this child all the way up here to play 'Mother' with, I'm not going to have her used for any old Pocohontises. She's my child, and I'm going to have the entire use of her while she lasts." "After all," replied Marjory, cuttingly, "I don't want her. I'm sure _I_ wouldn't care for any of _that_ colored children. The usual shade is quite good enough for me." But, while the novelty lasted and in spite of Marjory's declaration, Rosa Marie was a distinct success. Little Anne Halliday's cunningest ways and quaintest speeches went unheeded when Rosa Marie refused to wear shoes and stockings. She had never worn a shoe, and, without uttering a word, she made it plain that she had no intention of hampering her pudgy brown feet with the cast-off footgear of the young Tuckers. Neither would she wear clothes, until Jean showed her the solitary garment she had arrived in, now soaking in a pan of soapy water. After they had arrayed her in a long-sleeved apron of Anne's--it didn't go round, but had to be helped out with a cheese-cloth duster--it was evident that the unaccustomed whiteness bothered her. She was not used to being so remarkably stiff and clean.