"I can crochet," triumphed Mabel, "and I guess that's every bit as good."
"Where," asked Bettie, "is your crochet hook?"
But that, of course, was a question that Mabel could not answer, because Mabel never did know where any of her belongings were. Thereupon, Jean, Marjory and Mabel began a frantic search for the missing article. Mabel had used it the week previously; but could remember nothing more about it.
"Goodness!" groaned Mabel, groveling under the spare-room bed in hopes that the hook might be there. "If I'd dreamed that my child's life was going to depend on that hook, I'd have kept it locked up in father's fire-proof safe."
"That's what you get," said Marjory, with one eye glued to the top of a very tall vase, "for being so careless. It isn't in here, anyway."
"Here's one," announced Bettie, scrambling in hastily and locking the door behind her. "I skipped home for it. But there's no time to lose. All our mothers and Aunty Jane are going out of Mrs. Mapes's gate with their best hats and gloves on. There's something doing!"
In another moment, the cellar door was closed, a rocking chair was placed upon it, and Mabel, with ball of yarn and crochet hook in hand, was nervously twitching in the chair. Her fingers were stiff with dust—there had been no time to wash them—so the loop that she tied in the end of the white yarn was most decidedly black; but Mabel was thankful to achieve a loop of any color, with her whole body quivering with excitement and suspense.
"Goodness!" she quavered. "That soldier lady was a wonder! Think of her looking calm outside with her heart going like a Dover egg-beater. Do—do I look calm?"
"Here," said Bettie, extending a basin of warm water. "Soak your hands in this. Warm water is said to be soothing."
"Also cleansing," giggled Marjory.