her well found much in her to like, but among her schoolmates there were girls who said that Marjory was "stuck-up," affected, and
"too smart."
Mabel, the fourth in this little quartet of friends, was eleven, large for her age and young for her years, always an unfortunate combination of circumstances. She was intensely human and therefore liable to err, and, it may be said, she very seldom missed an opportunity. In school she read with a tremendous amount of expression but mispronounced half the words; when questions were asked, she waved her hand triumphantly aloft and gave anything but the right answer; she had a surprising stock of energy, but most of it was misdirected. Warm-hearted, generous, heedless, hot-tempered, and always blundering, she was something of a trial at home and abroad; yet no one could help loving her, for everybody realized that she would grow up some day into a really fine woman, and that all that was needed in the meantime was considerable patience. Rearing Mabel was not unlike the task of[6] bringing up a St. Ber-nard puppy. Mrs. Bennett was decidedly glad to note the growing friendship among the four girls, for she hoped that Mabel would in time grow dignified and sweet like Jean, thoughtful and tender like Bettie, graceful and prettily mannered like Marjory. But this happy result had yet to be achieved.
The little one-story cottage, too much out of repair to be rented, stood empty and neglected. To most persons it was an unattractive spot if not actually an eyesore. The steps sagged in a dispirited way, some of the windows were broken, and the fence, in sympathy perhaps with the house, had shed its pickets and leaned inward with a discouraged, hopeless air.
But Bettie looked at the little cottage longingly--she could gaze right down upon it from the back bedroom window--a great many times a day. It didn't seem a bit too big for a playhouse. Indeed, it seemed a great pity that such a delightful little building should go unoccupied when Bettie and her homeless dolls were simply suffering for just such a shelter.
"Wouldn't it be nice," said Bettie, one day in the early spring, "if we four girls could have Dandelion Cottage for our very own?" "Wouldn't it be sweet," mimicked Marjory, "if we could have the moon and about twenty stars to play jacks with?"
"The cottage isn't quite so far away," said Jean. "It[7] would be just lovely to have it, for we never have a place to play in comfortably."
"We're generally disturbing grown-ups, I notice," said Marjory, comically imitating her Aunty Jane's severest manner. "A little less noise, if you please. Is it really necessary to laugh so much and so often?"
"Even Mother gets tired of us sometimes," confided Jean. "There are days when no one seems to want all of us at once."
"I know it," said Bettie, pathetically, "but it's worse for me than it is for the rest of you. You have your rooms and nobody to meddle with your things. I no sooner get my dolls nicely settled in one corner than I have to move them into another, because the babies poke their eyes out. It's dreadful, too, to have to live with so many boys. I fixed up the cunningest playhouse under the clothes-reel last week, but the very minute it was finished Rob came home with a horrid porcupine and I had to move out in a hurry."
4
"Perhaps," suggested Marjory, "we could rent the cottage."
"Who'd pay the rent?" demanded Mabel. "My allowance is five cents a week and I have to pay a fine of one cent every time I'm late
to meals."
"How much do you have left?" asked Jeanie, laughing.[8]
"Not a cent. I was seven cents in debt at the end of last week."
"I get two cents a hundred for digging dandelions," said Marjory, "but it takes just forever to dig them, and ugh! I just hate it." "I never have any money at all," sighed Bettie. "You see there are so many of us."
"Let's go peek in at the windows," suggested Mabel, springing up from the grass. "That much won't cost us anything at any rate." Away scampered the four girls, taking a short cut through Bettie's back yard.
The cottage had been vacant for more than a year and had not improved in appearance. Rampant vines clambered over the windows and nowhere else in town were there such luxurious weeds as grew in the cottage yard. Nowhere else were there such mammoth dandelions or such prickly burrs. The girls waded fearlessly through them, parted the vines, and, pressing their noses against the glass, peered into the cottage parlor.
"What a nice, square little room!" said Marjory.
"I don't think the paper is very pretty," said Mabel.
"We could cover most of the spots with pictures," suggested practical Marjory.
"It looks to me sort of spidery," said Mabel, who[9] was always somewhat pessimistic. "Probably there's rats, too."
"I know how to stop up rat holes," said Bettie, who had not lived with seven brothers without acquiring a number of useful accomplishments. "I'm not afraid of spiders--that is, not so very much."
"What are you doing here?" demanded a gruff voice so suddenly that everybody jumped.
The startled girls wheeled about. There stood Bettie's most devoted friend, the senior warden. "Oh!" cried Bettie, "it's only Mr. Black."
"Were you looking for something?" asked Mr. Black.
"Yes," said Bettie. "We're looking for a house. We'd like to rent this one, only we haven't a scrap of money." "And what in the name of common sense would you do with it?"
"We want it for our dolls," said Bettie, turning a pair of big pleading brown eyes upon Mr. Black. "You see, we haven't any place to play. Marjory's Aunty Jane won't let her cut papers in the house, so she can't have any paper dolls, and I can't play any place because I have so many brothers. They tomahawk all my dolls when they play Indian, shoot them with beans when they play soldiers, and drown them all when they play shipwreck. Don't you think we[10] might be allowed to use the cottage if we'd promise to be very careful and not do any damage?"
"We'd clean it up," offered Marjory, as an inducement.
"We'd mend the rat holes," offered Jean, looking hopefully at Bettie. "Would you dig the weeds?" demanded Mr. Black.
There was a deep silence. The girls looked at the sea of dandelions and then at one another.
5
"Yes," said Marjory, finally breaking the silence. "We'd even dig the weeds."
"Yes," echoed the others. "We'd even dig the weeds--and there's just millions of 'em."
"Good!" said Mr. Black. "Now, we'll all sit down on the steps and I'll tell you what we'll do. It happens that the Village Improvement Society has just notified the vestry that the weeds on this lot must be removed before they go to seed--the neighbors have complained about them. It would cost the parish several dollars to hire a man to do the work, and we're short of funds just now. Now, if you four girls will pull up every weed in this place before the end of next week you shall have the use of the cottage for all the rest
of the summer in return for your services. How does that strike you?"
"Oh!" cried Bettie, throwing her arms about Mr.[11] Black's neck. "Do let me hug you. Oh, I'm glad--glad!"
"There, there!" cried stout Mr. Black, shaking Bettie off and dropping her where the dandelions grew thickest. "I didn't say I was to be strangled as part of the bargain. You'd better save your muscle for the dandelions. Remember, you've got to pay your rent in advance. I shan't hand over the key until the last weed is dug."
"We'll begin this minute!" cried enthusiastic Mabel. "I'm going straight home for a knife." [12]
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CHAPTER 2