"I did think," confided Mabel to Bettie, who walked beside her, "that she'd at least look as if she cared."
That night the mothers made peace with their daughters, and Aunty Jane extended a flag of truce to Marjory.
"It was all for your own good," explained Mrs. Bennett, her arm about Mabel, who was missing the pleasant task of putting Rosa Marie to bed. "I couldn't let you grow up with a little Indian continually at your heels. You'd have grown tired of her, too. And by keeping silence so long, you did a great deal of harm. If we'd known about the matter at once, we might have been able to find her mother. Now it's too late."
"I never thought of that," said Mabel, contritely. "I'll tell right away, next time."
"Mabel! There mustn't be a next time. Promise me this instant that you'll never borrow another baby unless you know that its mother really wants to keep it. Promise."
"All right, I promise," said Mabel, cheerfully.
"But I can't think," remarked Mrs. Bennett, "what possessed Mr. Black to be so foolish as to take such a child into his own home."
There were other persons that wondered, too, why Mr. Black should burden his household with the care of what Martin, his man, called an uncivilized savage; but the truth of the matter was just this. The large silent tears rolling down Mabel's forlorn countenance had suddenly proved too much for the tender heart of Mr. Black. In some ways, perhaps, impulsive Mr. Black was not a wise man; but, where children were concerned, there was no doubt of his being an exceedingly tender person.