"We'll bury Mrs. Crane with whooping cough," sputtered Dr. Bennett, writing a soothing prescription for the good lady, "if Rosa Marie ever catches it. She's a hen bringing up a solitary duckling, and she's certainly overdoing it. She ought not to have the responsibility of that child; she's not fitted for responsibilities, yet she's the sort that takes 'em." "I'll adopt Rosa Marie myself," declared Henrietta Bedford, hearing of this opinion and waylaying Dr. Bennett in Mrs. Slater's hall to make her light-hearted offer. "She'd go beautifully with the other picturesque objects in my den and I'm very sure that the responsibility won't weigh _me_ down." "So am I," laughed Dr. Bennett. "So sure of it that I shan't allow you to afflict your grandmother with any carelessly adopted babies. But that child is on my conscience, since Mabel was the principal culprit in the matter. We'll try to get Mrs. Crane to send her to an asylum; only that dear lady's conscience will have to be bombarded from all sides before it will let her consent to any such sensible plan. Perhaps you can get the girls--particularly Mabel,--to look at the matter from that point of view; we must rescue Mrs. Crane." "I'll try to," promised Henrietta. CHAPTER XXIX Anxious Days FOR the next few weeks the Cottagers led as quiet a life as almost daily association with Henrietta would permit. Jean grew a trifle taller, Marjory discovered new ways of doing her hair and Mabel remained as round and ruddy as ever. But everybody was worried about Bettie. She seemed listless and indifferent in school, she fell asleep over her books when she attempted to study at night, she grew averse to getting up mornings and day by day she grew thinner and paler, until even heedless Mabel observed that she was all eyes. "What's the trouble?" asked Jean, when Bettie said that she didn't feel like going to the Public Library corner to view the Uncle Tom's Cabin parade. "A walk would do you good, and it's only four blocks." "I'm tired," returned Bettie. "My head would like to go but my feet would rather not. And my hands don't want to do anything--or even my tongue. You can tell me about the parade--that'll be easier than looking at it." Now, this was a new Bettie. The old one, while not exactly a noisy person, had been so active physically that the others had sometimes found it difficult to follow her dancing footsteps. She had ever been quick to wait on the other members of her large family; or to do errands, in the most obliging fashion, for any of her friends. This new Bettie eyed the Tucker cat sympathetically when it mewed for milk; but she relegated the task of feeding pussy to one of her much more unwilling small brothers. "She needs a tonic," said Mrs. Tucker, giving Bettie dark-brown doses from a large bottle. "It's the spring, I guess."