The Castaways of Pete's Patch (Dandelion Cottage #3)

"THIS," said Bettie Tucker, one morning, with approving glances at the offerings heaped about her, "is certainly a pretty fine world. I'm glad I stayed in it, even if I haven't feet enough for eleven pairs of pink bed socks."

For an alarming number of weeks, Bettie's friends had feared that this most lovable of little girls might not remain in it; but now that all danger was past, she was able to sit for long hours by the window that afforded the best view of the Tuckers' front gate.

Ordinarily it was not much of a gate. So many little Tuckers had climbed upon it and tumbled off that it had grown shaky as to hinges and bald as to paint; though, if one used rope enough, it was still useful as a barrier between the world and the adventuresome Tucker babies.

But now this gate—or rather this gateway—had become a most interesting spot. Through it, at delightfully frequent intervals, came baskets, boxes, and bundles. Most of them contained offerings, more or less enjoyable, for convalescent Bettie; for all the members of Doctor Tucker's church loved the gentle, kindly, absent-minded clergyman. Now that a member of his household was recovering from a serious illness, it seemed, as Doctor Bennett, the family physician said, as if the parish were bent on making her ill again by sending her more things to eat than any one small Bettie-girl could possibly hold. Everything from soup to dessert flowed in at that gate, for Lakeville was a kindly town and everybody knew that overworked Mrs. Tucker had quite enough to do without the extra work of preparing dainty food.

Moreover, to add very seriously to Bettie's danger from promiscuous donations, Doctor Bennett's own warm-hearted but decidedly inexperienced young daughter Mabel was laboriously cooking things out of a large number of cook-books to carry triumphantly or despondently, according to her degree of success, to her very dearest friend Bettie.