"Silk!" repeated the poor little thing. "Miss Jessie! How good you are to me! I never did have a thing made of silk before, 'cepting a hair-ribbon. And I never had any too many of them."

CHAPTER XXIII

DARRY'S BIG IDEA

When Mrs. Foley and the baby arrived home there stood upon the platform at the back door of the house a most amazing figure. She knew every child in Dogtown, and none of them had ever made such an appearance. She almost dropped the baby through amazement.

"For love of John Thomas McGuire!" burst forth the "bulgy" woman, finally finding her voice. "What's happened to that child? Is it an angel she's turned into? Or is she an heiress, I dunno? Hen Haney!

what's the meaning of this parade? And have you washed the dishes like I told you?"

"You must forgive her, Mrs. Foley," Jessie said, coming down to meet the woman and taking the baby from her. "Go and see and speak to the child," she whispered. "She is so delighted that she has not been able to talk for ten minutes."

"Then," said Mrs. Foley solemnly, "the wor-r-rld has come to an end.

When Hen Haney can't talk----"

But she mounted heavily to the platform. Little Henrietta stood there like a wax figure. She dared not move for fear something would happen to her finery.

Every individual freckle on her thin, sharp face seemed to shine as though there was some radiance behind it. Absurd as that taffeta dress was for a child of her age, it seemed to her an armor against all disaster. Nothing bad (she had already acclaimed it to Amy and Jessie) could happen to her with that frock on. And those silk stockings! And the patent-toed shoes! And a hat that almost hid the child's features from view!

"Well, well, well!" muttered the amazed Mrs. Foley. "If anybody had ever told me that you'd have been dressed up like--like a millionaire's kid! When I took you away from your poor dead mother and brought you out here, Hen Haney, to be a playfellow of me little Charlie, and Billy, and--and--Well, anyway, to be a playmate to them.

Ha! You never cleaned out the stove-grate, did you?"

She had looked into the kitchen and saw the dishes in the sink and the gaping stove hearth, and shook her head. Jessie thought it time to intercede for the little girl.

"You must forgive her, Mrs. Foley, and blame me. I made her dress up in the things we brought. I was sure you would want to see her in her Sunday clothes."

A deep sigh welled up from Henrietta's chest. "Am I going to sure-enough keep 'em to wear Sundays?" she asked.

"If Mrs. Foley will let you," said the politic Jessie. "You can keep them very carefully. It is really wonderful how well they fit."

"Sure," sighed Mrs. Foley, "she's better dressed than me own children."

"But you told us your children were all boys," Amy put in quickly.

"Aw, but a time like this I wish't I had a daughter," declared the woman, gazing at Henrietta almost tenderly. "What a sweet little colleen she might be if she had some flesh on her bones and something besides freckles to color her face. Yes, yes!"

"I am awfully glad, Mrs. Foley," said Jessie quickly, "to see how much you approve of what we have tried to do for Henrietta. So I am bold enough to ask you to let us take her up to my house for over night.

Momsy wants to see her in these new clothes, and----"

"Well, if Mrs. Momsy--Or is it Mr. Momsy, I dunno?"

"Why, Momsy is my mother!"

"The like o' that now! And she lets you call her out o' name? Well, there is no understanding you rich folks. Ha! So you want to take little Hen away from me?"

"Only for over night. It would be a little vacation for her, you know."

Mrs. Foley looked back into the kitchen and shook her head. "By the looks o' things," she said, "she's been having a vacation right here.

Well, she'll be no good for a while anyway, I can see that. Why, she can't much more than speak with them glad rags on her."

"Come on," said Henrietta, and walked down the steps, heading toward the lake.

Amy burst into laughter again, and even Mrs. Foley began to grin.

"She's as ready to go as though you two young ladies was her fairy G.o.d-mothers. Sure, and maybe 'tis me own fault. I've been telling her for years about the Good Little People that me grandmother knew in Ireland--or said she knew, G.o.d rest her soul!--and she has always been looking for banshees and ha'nts and fairies to appear and whisk her away. She is a princess in disguise that's been char-r-rmed by a wicked witch. All them stories and beliefs has kept her contented.

She's a good little thing," Mrs. Foley ended, wiping her eyes. "Go along with her and tell your Mrs. Momsy to be good to her."

So they got away from Dogtown with flying colors. Henrietta sat, a little silk-clad figure, in the bottom of the canoe and shivered whenever she thought a drop of water might come inboard.

"She ought to have worn her old clothes in the canoe," Amy suggested, but with dancing eyes.

"O-o-oh!" gasped Henrietta, pleadingly.

"It is going to take dentist's forceps to ever get the child out of that dress," chuckled Jessie. "I can see that."

They got back to Roselawn in good season for dinner. Chapman had returned from town, but had not brought Mr. Norwood home. Jessie's father, it seemed, had left the courtroom early in the afternoon and had gone out of town on some matter connected with the Ellison case.

That case, as Jessie and her mother feared, was already in the court.

A jury had been decided upon, as the defendants, Mrs. Poole and Mrs.

Bothwell, had been advised by McCracken, their lawyer, to demand a jury trial.

The plaintiffs would have to get in their witnesses the next day. If Bertha Blair was ever to aid the side of right and truth in this matter, she must be found and brought to court.

"And we don't know how to find her. If she is hidden away over there at that Gandy farm, how shall we ever find it out for sure?" wailed Jessie. "I hoped Daddy would get my letter and come and take charge of the search himself."

"Your idea of taking Henrietta over there and letting her call Bertha is a good one," declared Amy stubbornly. "Aren't you going to do it?"

"Yes. We'll drive over early. But it is only a chance."

They could not interest Henrietta in her Cousin Bertha that evening, save that she said she hoped Bertha would come and see her before she had to take off the silk dress and the other articles of her gay apparel.

She scarcely had appet.i.te for dinner, although Momsy and Jessie tried their very best to interest Henrietta in several dishes that were supposed to appeal to a child's palate. Henrietta was polite and thanked them, but was not enthusiastic.

She found a tall mirror in the drawing room and every time they missed her, Jessie tip-toed into that long apartment to see Henrietta posing before the gla.s.s. The child certainly did enjoy her finery.

The suggestion of bedtime only annoyed Henrietta. But finally Jessie took her upstairs and showed her the twin beds in her own room, one of which the visitor was to occupy, and so gradually Henrietta came to the idea that some time she would have to remove the new clothes.

They listened in on the radio that evening until late, using the amplifier and horn that Mr. Norwood had bought. Henrietta could not understand how the voices could come into the room over the outside wires.

"I'll tell Charlie Foley and Montmorency Shannon about this," she confided to Jessie and Amy. "I guess you don't know them. But they are smart. They can rig one of these wireless things with wires, I bet.

And then the whole of Dogtown will listen in."

"Or, say! Maybe they won't let poor folks like those in Dogtown have radios? Will they?"

"This is for the rich and poor alike," Jessie a.s.sured her.