miVERSITY 
 
 <TH CAROL" 
 
 Science 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2012 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/understoodbetsyOfishe 
 
Uncle Henry looked at h 
 
 er eyeing her sidewise over the top of one 
 spectacle-glass. (Page 34.) 
 
UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 BY 
 DOROTHY CANFIELD 
 
 Author of "The Bent Twig," etc. 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 ADA C. WILLIAMSON 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1917 
 
Copyright, 1916, 1917, 
 
 THE CENTURY CO. 
 
 Copyright, 1917, 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND, COMPANY 
 
 Published August, 1917 
 
 PRINTED IN THE USA 
 
 
Univ. of 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PASS 
 
 I Aunt Harriet Has a Cough ... 1 
 
 II Betsy Holds the Reins .... 27 
 
 III A Short Morning 52 
 
 IV Betsy Goes to School 74 
 
 V What Grade is Betsy? .... 89 
 
 VI If You Don't Like Conversation in a 
 
 Book Skip this Chapter! . . .110 
 
 VII Elizabeth Ann Fails in an Examination 137 
 
 VIII Betsy Starts a Sewing Society . . 161 
 
 IX The New Clothes Fail . . . .186 
 
 X Betsy Has a Birthday . . . .201 
 
 XI "Understood Aunt Frances" . . .234 
 
 . 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Uncle Henry looked at her, eying her sidewise 
 over the top of one spectacle-glass . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING 
 PAGE 
 
 Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doctor . . 16 
 "Do you know," said Aunt Abigail, "I think 
 it's going to be real nice, having a little girl 
 
 in the house again" 48 
 
 She had greatly enjoyed doing he* own hair . 54 
 "Oh, he's asking for more!" cried Elizabeth 
 
 Ann 78 
 
 Betsy shut her teeth together hard, and started 
 
 across . 108 
 
 "What's the matter, Molly? What's the mat- 
 ter?" 148 
 
 Betsy and Ellen and the old doll . . .162 
 He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms 182 
 Never were dishes washed better! . . . 222 
 Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting her 
 lips and winking her eyes .... 242 
 
UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 
 
 When this story begins, Elizabeth Ann, who 
 is the heroine of it, was a little girl of nine, 
 who lived with her Great-aunt Harriet in a 
 medium-sized city in a medium-sized State in 
 the middle of this country; and that's all you 
 need to know about the place, for it's not the 
 important thing in the story; and anyhow you 
 know all about it because it was probably very 
 much like the place you live in yourself. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann's Great-aunt Harriet was a 
 widow who was not very rich or very poor, and 
 she had one daughter, Frances, who gave piano 
 lessons to little girls. They kept a "girl" 
 whose name was Grace and who had asthma 
 dreadfully and wasn't very much of a "girl" at 
 
2 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 all, being nearer fifty than forty. Aunt Har- 
 riet, who was very tender-hearted, kept her 
 chiefly because she couldn't get any other place 
 on account of her coughing so you could hear 
 her all over the house. 
 
 So now you know the names of all the house- 
 hold. And this is how they looked : Aunt Har- 
 riet was very small and thin and old, Grace 
 was very small and thin and middle-aged, 
 Aunt Frances (for Elizabeth Ann called her 
 " Aunt," although she was really, of course, a 
 first-cousin-once-removed) was small and thin 
 and if the light wasn't too strong might be 
 called young, and Elizabeth Ann was very 
 small and thin and little. And yet they all had 
 plenty to eat. I wonder what was the matter 
 with them? 
 
 It was certainly not because they were not 
 good, for no womenkind in all the world had 
 kinder hearts than they. You have heard how 
 Aunt Harriet kept Grace (in spite of the fact 
 that she was a very depressing person) on ac- 
 count of her asthma ; and when Elizabeth Ann's 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 3 
 
 father and mother both died when she was a 
 baby, although there were many other cousins 
 and uncles and aunts in the family, these two 
 women fairly rushed upon the little baby- 
 orphan, taking her home and surrounding her 
 henceforth with the most loving devotion. 
 
 They had said to themselves that it was their 
 manifest duty to save the dear little thing 
 from the other relatives, who had no idea 
 about how to bring up a sensitive, impression- 
 able child, and they were sure, from the way 
 Elizabeth Ann looked at six months, that she 
 was going to be a sensitive, impressionable 
 child. It is possible also that they were a lit- 
 tle bored with their empty life in their rather 
 forlorn, little brick house in the medium-sized 
 city, and that they welcomed the occupation 
 and new interests which a child would bring in. 
 
 But they thought that they chiefly desired to 
 save dear Edward's child from the other kin, 
 especially from the Putney cousins, who had 
 written down from their Vermont farm that 
 they would be glad to take the little girl into 
 
4 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 their family. But "anything but the Put- 
 neys!" said Aunt Harriet, a great many times. 
 They were related only by marriage to her, 
 and she had her own opinion of them as a 
 stiffnecked, cold-hearted, undemonstrative, and 
 hard set of New Englanders. "I boarded near 
 them one summer when you were a baby, 
 Frances, and I shall never forget the way they 
 were treating some children visiting there! 
 . . . Oh, no, I don't mean they abused them 
 or beat them . . . but such lack of sympathy, 
 such perfect indifference to the sacred sensi- 
 tiveness of child-life, such a starving of the 
 child-heart. . . . No, I shall never forget it! 
 They had chores to do . . .as though they 
 had been hired men!" 
 
 Aunt Harriet never meant to say any of 
 this when Elizabeth Ann could hear, but the 
 little girl's ears were as sharp as little girls' 
 ears always are, and long before she was 
 nine she knew all about the opinion Aunt Har- 
 riet had of the Putneys. She did not know, 
 to be sure, what ''chores" were, but she took 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 5 
 
 it confidently from Aunt Harriet's voice that 
 they were something very, very dreadful. 
 
 There was certainly neither coldness nor 
 hardness in the way Aunt Harriet and Aunt 
 Frances treated Elizabeth Ann. They had 
 really given themselves up to the new responsi- 
 bility, especially Aunt Frances, who was very 
 conscientious about everything. As soon as the 
 baby came there to live, Aunt Frances stopped 
 reading novels and magazines, and re-read one 
 book after another which told her how to bring 
 up children. And she joined a Mothers' Club 
 which met once a week. And she took a cor- 
 respondence course in mothercraft from a 
 school in Chicago which teaches that business 
 by mail. So you can see that by the time Eliza- 
 beth Ann was nine years old Aunt Frances 
 must have known all that anybody can know 
 about how to bring up children. And Eliza- 
 beth Ann got the benefit of it all. 
 
 She and her Aunt Frances were simply in- 
 separable. Aunt Frances shared in all Eliza- 
 beth Ann's doings and even in all her thoughts. 
 
6 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 She was especially anxious to share all the lit- 
 tle girl's thoughts, because she felt that the 
 trouble with most children is that they are not 
 understood, and she was determined that she 
 would thoroughly understand Elizabeth Ann 
 down to the bottom of her little mind. Aunt 
 Frances (down in the bottom of her own mind) 
 thought that her mother had never really un- 
 derstood her, and she meant to do better by 
 Elizabeth Ann. She also loved the little girl 
 with all her heart, and longed, above everything 
 in the world, to protect her from all harm and 
 to keep her happy and strong and well. 
 
 And yet Elizabeth Ann was neither very 
 strong nor well. And as to her being happy, 
 you can judge for yourself when you have read 
 all this story. She was very small for her age, 
 with a rather pale face and big dark eyes which 
 had in them a frightened, wistful expression 
 that went to Aunt Frances's tender heart and 
 made her ache to take care of Elizabeth Ann 
 better and better. 
 
 Aunt Frances was afraid of a great many 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 7 
 
 things herself, and she knew how to sympathize 
 with timidity. She was always quick to reas- 
 sure the little girl with all her might and main 
 whenever there was anything to fear. When 
 they were out walking (Aunt Frances took 
 her out for a walk up one block^ and down 
 another every single day, no matter how tired 
 the music lessons had made her), the aunt's 
 eyes were always on the alert to avoid any- 
 thing which might frighten Elizabeth Ann. If 
 a big dog trotted by, Aunt Frances always 
 said, hastily: "There, there, dear! That's a 
 nice doggie, I'm sure. I don't believe he ever 
 bites little girls. . . . Mercy! Elizabeth Ann, 
 don't go near him! . . . Here, darling, just 
 get on the other side of Aunt Frances if he 
 scares you so" (by that time Elizabeth Ann 
 was always pretty well scared), "and perhaps 
 we'd better just turn this corner and walk in 
 the other direction. " If by any chance the dog 
 went in that direction too, Aunt Frances be- 
 came a prodigy of valiant protection, putting 
 the shivering littl% girl behind her, threatening 
 
8 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 the animal with her umbrella, and saying in a 
 trembling voice, "Go away, sir! Go away!" 
 
 Or if it thundered and lightened, Aunt Fran- 
 ces always dropped everything she might be 
 doing and held Elizabeth Ann tightly in her 
 arms until it was all over. And at night — 
 Elizabeth Ann did not sleep very well — when 
 the little girl woke up screaming with a bad 
 dream, it was always dear Aunt Frances who 
 came to her bedside, a warm wrapper over her 
 nightgown so that she need not hurry back to 
 her own room, a candle lighting up her tired, 
 kind face. She always took the little girl into 
 her thin arms and held her close against her 
 thin breast. "Tell Aunt Frances all about 
 your naughty dream, darling," she would mur- 
 mur, "so's to get it off your mind!" 
 
 She had read in her books that you can tell a 
 great deal about children's inner lives by an- 
 alyzing their dreams, and besides, if she did not 
 urge Elizabeth Ann to tell it, she was afraid the 
 sensitive, nervous little thing would "lie awake 
 and brood over it." This was the phrase she 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 9 
 
 always used the next day to her mother when 
 Aunt Harriet exclaimed about her paleness and 
 the dark rings under her eyes. So she listened 
 patiently while the little girl told her all about 
 the fearful dreams she had, the great dogs 
 with huge red mouths that ran after her, the 
 Indians who scalped her, her schoolhouse on 
 fire so that she had to jump from a third-story 
 window and was all broken to bits — once in a 
 while Elizabeth Ann got so interested in all 
 this that she went on and made up more awful 
 things even than she had dreamed, and told 
 long stories which showed her to be a child of 
 great imagination. But all these dreams and 
 continuations of dreams Aunt Frances wrote 
 down the first thing the next morning, and, 
 with frequent references to a thick book full of 
 hard words, she tried her best to puzzle out 
 from them exactly what kind of little girl 
 Elizabeth Ann really was. 
 
 There was one dream, however, that even 
 conscientious Aunt Frances never tried to 
 analyze, because it was too sad. Elizabeth Ann 
 
o 
 
 10 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 dreamed sometimes that she was dead and lay 
 in a little white coffin with white roses over hor. 
 Oh, that made Aunt Frances cry, and so did 
 Elizabeth Ann. It was very touching. Then, 
 after a long, long time of talk and tears and 
 sobs and hugs, the little girl would begin to get 
 drowsy, and Aunt Frances would rock her to 
 sleep in her arms, and lay her down ever so 
 quietly, and slip away to try to get a little nap 
 herself before it was time to get up. 
 
 At a quarter of nine every week-day morn- 
 ing Aunt Frances dropped whatever else she 
 was doing, took Elizabeth Ann's little, thin, 
 white hand protectingly in hers, and led her 
 through the busy streets to the big brick school- 
 building where the little girl had always gone 
 to school. It was four stories high, and when 
 all the classes were in session there were six 
 hundred children under that one roof. You 
 can imagine, perhaps, the noise there was on the 
 playground just before school ! Elizabeth Ann 
 shrank from it with all her soul, and clung 
 more tightly than ever to Aunt Frances 's hand 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 11 
 
 as she was led along through the crowded, 
 shrieking masses of children. Oh, how glad 
 she was that she had Aunt Frances there to 
 take care of her, though as a matter of fact no- 
 body noticed the little thin girl at all, and her 
 very own classmates would hardly have known 
 whether she came to school or not. Aunt 
 Frances took her safely through the ordeal of 
 the playground, then up the long, broad stairs, 
 and pigeonholed her carefully in her own 
 schoolroom. She was in the third grade, — 
 3A, you understand, which is almost the 
 fourth. 
 
 Then at noon Aunt Frances was waiting 
 there, a patient, never-failing figure, to walk 
 home with her little charge; and in the after- 
 noon the same thing happened over again. On 
 the way to and from school they talked about 
 what had happened in the class. Aunt Frances 
 believed in sympathizing with a child's life, so 
 she always asked about every little thing, and 
 remembered to inquire about the continuation 
 of every episode, and sympathized with all her 
 
12 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 heart over the failure in mental arithmetic, 
 and triumphed over Elizabeth Ann's beating 
 the Schmidt girl in spelling, and was indignant 
 over the teacher's having pets. Sometimes in 
 telling over some very dreadful failure or dis- 
 appointment Elizabeth Ann would get so 
 wrought up that she would cry. This always 
 brought the ready tears to Aunt Frances's 
 kind eyes, and with many soothing words and 
 nervous, tremulous caresses she tried to make 
 life easier for poor little Elizabeth Ann. The 
 days when they had cried they could neither of 
 them eat much luncheon. 
 
 After school and on Saturdays there was al- 
 ways the daily walk, and there were lessons, all 
 kinds of lessons — piano-lessons of course, and 
 nature-study lessons out of an excellent book 
 Aunt Frances had bought, and painting les- 
 sons, and sewing lessons, and even a little 
 French, although Aunt Frances was not very 
 sure about her own pronunciation. She wanted 
 to give the little girl every possible advantage, 
 you see. They were really inseparable. Eliza- 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 13 
 
 beth Ann once said to some ladies calling on 
 her aunts that whenever anything happened in 
 school, the first thing she thought of was what 
 Aunt Frances would think of it. 
 
 "Why is that?" they asked, looking at Aunt 
 Frances, who was blushing with pleasure. 
 
 ' i Oh, she is so interested in my school work ! 
 And she understands me!" said Elizabeth Ann, 
 repeating the phrases she had heard so 
 often. 
 
 Aunt Frances's eyes filled with happy tears. 
 She called Elizabeth Ann to her and kissed her 
 and gave her as big a hug as her thin arms 
 could manage. Elizabeth Ann was growing 
 tall very fast. One of the visting ladies said 
 that before long she would be as big as her 
 auntie, and a troublesome young lady. Aunt 
 Frances said: "I have had her from the time 
 she was a little baby and there has scarcely 
 been an hour she has been out of my sight. 
 I'll always have her confidence. You'll always 
 tell Aunt Frances everything, won't you, dar- 
 ling?" Elizabeth Ann resolved to do this al- 
 
14 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ways, even if, as now, she often had to invent 
 things to tell. 
 
 Aunt Frances went on, to the callers: "But 
 I do wish she weren't so thin and pale and 
 nervous. I suppose it is the exciting modern 
 life that is so bad for children. I try to see 
 that she has plenty of fresh air. I go out with 
 her for a walk every single day. But we have 
 taken all the walks around here so often that 
 we're rather tired of them. It's often hard to 
 know how to get her out enough. I think I'll 
 have to get the doctor to come and see her and 
 perhaps give her a tonic." To Elizabeth Ann 
 she added, hastily: "Now don't go getting no- 
 tions in your head, darling. Aunt Frances 
 doesn't think there's anything very much the 
 matter with you. You'll be all right again 
 .soon if you just take the doctor's medicine 
 nicely. Aunt Frances will take care of her 
 precious little girl. She'll make the bad sick- 
 ness go away." Elizabeth Ann, who had not 
 known before that she was sick, had a pic- 
 ture of herself lying in the little white coffi^pdl 
 
 )ffiAi 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 15 
 
 covered over with white. . . . In a few min- 
 utes Aunt Frances was obliged to excuse 
 hers-elf from her callers and devote her- 
 self entirely to taking care of Elizabeth 
 Ann. 
 
 So one day, after this had happened several 
 times, Aunt Frances really did send for the 
 doctor, who came briskly in, just as Elizabeth 
 Ann had always seen him, with his little square 
 black bag smelling of leather, his sharp eyes, 
 and the air of bored impatience which he al- 
 ways wore in- that house. Elizabeth Ann was 
 terribly afraid to see him, for she felt in her 
 bones he would say she had galloping con- 
 sumption and would die before the leaves cast 
 a shadow. This was a phrase she had picked 
 up from Grace, whose conversation, perhaps on 
 account of her asthma, was full of references 
 to early graves and quick declines. 
 
 And yet — did you ever hear of such a case 
 before ? — although Elizabeth Ann when she first 
 stood up before the doctor had been quaking 
 with fear lest he discover some deadly disease 
 
16 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 in her, she was very much hurt indeed when, 
 after thumping her and looking at her lower 
 eyelid inside out, and listening to her breathing, 
 he pushed her away with a little jerk and said : 
 "There's nothing in the world the matter with 
 that child. She's as sound as a nut! What 
 she needs is . . . " — he looked for a moment 
 at Aunt Frances's thin, anxious face, with the 
 eyebrows drawn together in a knot of consci- 
 entiousness, and then he looked at Aunt Har- 
 riet's thin, anxious face with the eyebrows 
 drawn up that very same way, and then he 
 glanced at Grace's thin, anxious face peering 
 from the door waiting for his verdict — and 
 then he drew a long breath, shut his lips and 
 his little black case very tightly, and did not 
 go on to say what it was that Elizabeth Am 
 needed. 
 
 Of course Aunt Frances didn't let him off as 
 easily as that, you may be sure. She fluttered 
 around him as he tried to go, and she said all. 
 sorts of fluttery things to him, like "But, Doc- 
 tor, she hasn't gained a pound in three months^ 
 
 
Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doct( 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 17 
 . . . and her sleep . . . and her appetite 
 . . . and her nerves. ..." 
 
 The doctor said back to her, as he put on his 
 hat, all the things doctors always say under 
 such conditions: "More beefsteak . . . plenty 
 of fresh air . . . more sleep . . . she'll be 
 all right ..." but his voice did not sound 
 as though he thought what he was saying 
 amounted to much. Nor did Elizabeth Ann. 
 She had hoped for some spectacular red pills 
 to be taken every half -hour, like those Grace's 
 doctor gave her whenever she felt low in her 
 mind. 
 
 And just then something happened which 
 changed Elizabeth Ann's life forever and ever. 
 It was a very small thing, too. Aunt Harriet 
 coughed. Elizabeth Ann did not think it at all a 
 bad-sounding cough in comparison with Grace's 
 hollow whoop; Aunt Harriet had been cough- 
 ing like that ever since the cold weather set in, 
 for three or four months now, and nobody had 
 thought anything of it, because they were all 
 so much occupied in taking care of the sensi- 
 
IS UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 tive, nervous little girl who needed so much 
 
 care. 
 
 And yet, at the sound of that little discreet 
 cough behind Aunt Harriet's hand, the doc- 
 tor whirled around and fixed his sharp eyes 
 on her, with all the bored, impatient look 
 gone, the first time Elizabeth Ann had ever 
 seen him look interested. ''What's that! 
 What's that?" he said, going over quickly to 
 Aunt Harriet. He snatched out of his little 
 bag a shiny thing with two rubber tubes at- 
 tached, and he put the ends of the tubes in his 
 ears and the shiny thing up against Aunt 
 Harriet, who was saying, "It's nothing, 
 Doctor ... a little teasing cough I've had 
 this winter. And I meant to tell you, 
 too, but I forgot it, that that sore spot 
 on my lungs doesn't go away as it ought 
 to." 
 
 The doctor motioned her very impolitely to 
 stop talking, and listened very hard through his 
 little tubes. Then he turned around and looked 
 at Aunt Frances as though he were angry at 
 
 / 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 19 
 
 her. He said, "Take the child away and then 
 come back here yourself." 
 
 And that was almost all that Elizabeth Ann 
 ever knew of the forces which swept her away 
 from the life which had always gone on, re- 
 volving about her small person, exactly the 
 same ever since she could remember. 
 
 You have heard so much about tears in the 
 account of Elizabeth Ann's life so far that I 
 won't tell you much about the few days which 
 followed, as the family talked over and hur- 
 riedly prepared to obey the doctor's verdict, 
 which was that Aunt Harriet was very, very 
 sick and must go away at once to a warm cli- 
 mate, and Aunt Frances must go, too, but not 
 Elizabeth Ann, for Aunt Frances would need 
 to give all her time to taking care of Aunt 
 Harriet. And anyhow the doctor didn't think 
 it best, either for Aunt Harriet or for Eliza- 
 beth Ann, to have them in the same house. 
 
 Grace couldn't go of course, but to every- 
 
20 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 body's surprise she said she didn't mind, be- 
 cause she had a bachelor brother, who kept a 
 grocery store, who had been wanting her for 
 years to go and keep house for him. She said 
 she had stayed on just out of conscientiousness 
 because she knew Aunt Harriet couldn't get 
 along without her! And if you notice, that's 
 the way things often happen to very, very 
 conscientious people. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann, however, had no grocer 
 brother. She had, it is true, a great many rela- 
 tives, and of course it was settled she should 
 go to some of them till Aunt Frances could 
 take her back. For the time being, just now, 
 while everything was so distracted and con- 
 fused, she was to go to stay with the Lathrop 
 cousins, who lived in the same city, although 
 it was very evident that the Lathrops were 
 not perfectly crazy with delight over the pros- 
 pect. 
 
 Still, something had to be done at once, 
 and Aunt Frances was so frantic with the 
 packing up, and the moving men coming to take 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 21 
 
 the furniture to storage, and her anxiety over 
 her mother — she had switched to Aunt Har- 
 riet, you see, all the conscientiousness she had 
 lavished on Elizabeth Ann — nothing much 
 could be extracted from her about Elizabeth 
 Ann. ''Just keep her for the present, Molly!" 
 she said to Cousin Molly Lathrop. "I'll do 
 something soon. I'll write you. I'll make 
 another arrangement . . . but just now. ..." 
 
 Her voice was quavering on the edge of tears, 
 and Cousin Molly Lathrop, who hated scenes, 
 said hastily, "Yes, oh, yes, of course. For the 
 present ..." and went away, thinking that 
 she didn't see why she should have all the dis- 
 agreeable things to do. When she had her 
 husband's tyrannical old mother to take care 
 of, wasn't that enough, without adding to the 
 household such a nervous, spoiled, morbid 
 young one as Elizabeth Ann! 
 
 Elizabeth Ann did not of course for a mo- 
 ment dream that Cousin Molly was thinking any 
 such things about her, but she could not help 
 seeing that Cousin Molly was not any too en- 
 
22 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 thusiastic about taking her in ; and she was al- 
 ready feeling terribly forlorn about the sud- 
 den, unexpected change in Aunt Frances, who 
 had been so wrapped up in her and now was 
 just as much wrapped up in Aunt Harriet. 
 Do you know, I am sorry for Elizabeth Ann, 
 and, what's more, I have been ever since this 
 story began. 
 
 Well, since I promised you that I was not go- 
 ing to tell about more tears, I won't say a sin- 
 gle word about the day when the two aunts 
 went away on the train, for there is nothing 
 much but tears to tell about, except perhaps an 
 absent look in Aunt Frances's eyes which hurt 
 the little girl's feelings dreadfully. 
 
 And then Cousin Molly took the hand of the 
 sobbing little girl and led her back to the 
 Lathrop house. But if you think you are now 
 going to hear about the Lathrops, you are quite 
 mistaken, for just at this moment old Mrs. 
 Lathrop took a hand in the matter. She was 
 Cousin Molly's husband's mother, and, of 
 course, no relation at all to Elizabeth Ann, and 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 23 
 
 so was less enthusiastic than anybody else. All 
 that Elizabeth Ann ever saw of this old lady, 
 who now turned the current of her life again, 
 was her head, sticking out of a second-story win- 
 dow; and that's all that you need to know about 
 her, either. It was a very much agitated old 
 head, and it bobbed and shook with the inten- 
 sity with which the imperative old voice called 
 upon Cousin Molly and Elizabeth Ann to stop 
 right there where they were on the front walk. 
 
 "The doctor says that what's the matter 
 with Bridget is scarlet fever, and we've all got 
 to be quarantined. There's no earthly sense 
 bringing that child in to be sick and have it, 
 and be nursed, and make the quarantine twice 
 as long!" 
 
 "But, Mother!" called Cousin Molly, "I 
 can't leave the child in the middle of the 
 street!" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann was actually glad to hear 
 her say that, because she was feeling so aw- 
 fully unwanted, which is, if you think of it, not 
 a very cheerful feeling for a little girl who 
 
24 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 has been the hub round which a whole house- 
 hold was revolving. 
 
 "You don't have to!" shouted old Mrs. 
 Lathrop out of her second-story window. Al- 
 though she did not add "You gump!" aloud, 
 you could feel she was meaning just that. 
 "You don't have to! You can just send her to 
 the Putney cousins. All nonsense about her not 
 going there in the first place. They invited her 
 the minute they heard of Harriet's being so 
 bad. They're the natural ones to take her in. 
 Abigail is her mother's own aunt, and Ann is 
 her own first-cousin-once-removed . . . just 
 as close as Harriet and Frances are, and much 
 closer than you ! And on a farm and all . . . 
 just the place for her!" 
 
 "But how under the sun, Mother!" shouted 
 Cousin Molly back, "can I get her to the Put- 
 neys'? You can't send a child of nine a thou- 
 sand miles without . . . " 
 
 Old Mrs. Lathrop looked again as though 
 she were saying "You gump!" and said aloud, 
 "Why, there's James, going to New York on 
 
AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH 25 
 business in a few days anyhow. He can just 
 go now, and take her along and put her on the 
 right train at Albany. If he wires from here, 
 they'll meet her in Hillsboro." 
 
 And that was just what happened. Perhaps 
 you may have guessed by this time that when 
 old Mrs. Lathrop issued orders they were usu- 
 ally obeyed. As to who the Bridget was who 
 had the scarlet fever, I know no more than you. 
 I take it, from the name, she was the cook. Un- 
 less, indeed, old Mrs. Lathrop made her up for 
 the occasion, which I think she would have been 
 quite capable of doing, don't you? 
 
 At any rate, with no more ifs or ands, Eliza- 
 beth Ann's satchel was packed, and Cousin 
 James Lathrop 's satchel was packed, and the 
 two set off together, the big, portly, middle- 
 aged man quite as much afraid of his mother 
 as Elizabeth Ann was. But he was going to 
 New York, and it is conceivable that he thought 
 once or twice on the trip that there were good 
 times in New York as well as business engage- 
 
26 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ments, whereas poor Elizabeth Ann was being 
 sent straight to the one place in the world 
 where there were no good times at all. Aunt 
 Harriet had said so, ever so many times. Poor 
 Elizabeth Ann! 
 
CHAPTER H 
 BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 
 
 You can imagine, perhaps, the dreadful ter- 
 ror of Elizabeth Ann as the train carried her 
 along toward Vermont and the horrible Put- 
 ney Farm! It had happened so quickly — her 
 satchel packed, the telegram sent, the train 
 caught — that she had not had time to get her 
 wits together, assert herself, and say that she 
 would not go there! Besides, she had a sink- 
 ing notion that perhaps they wouldn't pay any 
 attention to her if she did. The world had 
 come to an end now that Aunt Frances wasn't 
 there to take care of her! Even in the most 
 familiar air she could only half breathe with- 
 out Aunt Frances ! And now she was not even 
 being taken to the Putney Farm ! She was be- 
 ing sent ! 
 
 She shrank together in her seat, more and 
 
 27 
 
28 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 more frightened as the end of her journey came 
 nearer, and looked out dismally at the winter 
 landscape, thinking it hideous with its brown 
 bare fields, its brown bare trees, and the quick- 
 running little streams hurrying along, swollen 
 with the January thaw which had taken all the 
 snow from the hills. She had heard her elders 
 say about her so many times that she could not 
 stand the cold, that she shivered at the very 
 thought of cold weather, and certainly nothing 
 could look colder than that bleak country into 
 which the train was now slowly making its way. 
 
 The engine puffed and puffed with great, 
 laboring breaths that shook Elizabeth Ann's 
 diaphragm up and down, but the train moved 
 more and more slowly. Elizabeth Ann could 
 feel under her feet how the floor of the car was 
 tipped up as it crept along the steep incline. 
 "Pretty stiff grade here?" said a passenger to 
 the conductor. 
 
 "You bet!" he assented. "But Hillsboro is 
 the next station and that's at the top of the 
 hill. We go down after that to Rutland. ' ' He 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 29 
 
 turned to Elizabeth Ann — "Say, little girl, 
 didn't your uncle say you were to get off at 
 Hillsboro? You'd better be getting your things 
 together. ' ' 
 
 Poor Elizabeth Ann's knees knocked against 
 each other with fear of the strange faces she 
 was to encounter, and when the conductor came 
 to help her get off, he had to carry the white, 
 trembling child as well as her satchel. But 
 there was only one strange face there, — not 
 another soul in sight at the little wooden sta- 
 tion. A grim-faced old man in a fur cap and 
 heavy coat stood by a lumber wagon. 
 
 "This is her, Mr. Putney," said the con- 
 ductor, touching his cap, and went back to the 
 train, which went away shrieking for a nearby 
 crossing and setting the echoes ringing from 
 one mountain to another. 
 
 There was Elizabeth Ann alone with her 
 much-feared Great-uncle Henry. He nodded 
 to her, and drew out from the bottom of the 
 wagon a warm, large cape, which he slipped 
 over her shoulders. ''The women folks were 
 
30 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 afraid you'd git cold drivin'," he explained. 
 He then lifted her high to the seat, tossed her 
 satchel into the wagon, climbed up himself, and 
 clucked to his horses. Elizabeth Ann had al- 
 Avays before thought it an essential part of 
 railway journeys to be much kissed at the end 
 and asked a great many times how you had 
 "stood the trip." 
 
 She sat very still on the high lumber seat, 
 feeling very forlorn and neglected. Her feet 
 dangled high above the floor of the wagon. 
 She felt herself to be in the most dangerous 
 place she had ever dreamed of in her worst 
 dreams. Oh, why wasn't Aunt Frances there 
 to take care of her ! It was just like one of her 
 bad dreams — yes, it was horrible! She would 
 fall, she would roll under the wheels and be 
 crushed to . . . She looked up at Uncle Henry 
 with the wild, strained eyes of nervous terror 
 which always brought Aunt Frances to her in 
 a rush to "hear all about it," to sympathize, to 
 reassure. 
 
 Uncle Henry looked down at her soberly, 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 31 
 
 his hard, weather-beaten old face quite un- 
 moved. "Here, you drive, will you, for a 
 piece?" he said briefly, putting the reins into 
 her hands, hooking his spectacles over his 
 ears, and drawing out a stubby pencil and a bit 
 of paper. "I've got some figgering to do. 
 You pull on the left-hand rein to make 'em go 
 to the left and t'other way for t'other way, 
 though 'tain't likely we'll meet any teams." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann had been so near one of her 
 wild screams of terror that now, in spite of her 
 instant absorbed interest in the reins, she gave 
 a queer little yelp. She was all ready with 
 the explanation, her conversations with Aunt 
 Frances having made her very fluent in ex- 
 planations of her own emotions. She would 
 tell Uncle Henry about how scared she had 
 been, and how she had just been about to scream 
 and couldn't keep back that one little . . . 
 But Uncle Henry seemed not to have heard her 
 little howl, or, if he had, didn't think it worth 
 conversation, for he . . . oh, the horses were 
 certainly going to one side! She hastily de- 
 
32 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 cided which was her right hand (she had never 
 been forced to know it so quickly before) and 
 pulled furiously on that rein. The horses 
 turned their hanging heads a little, and, miracu- 
 lously, there they were in the middle of the 
 road again. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann drew a long breath of relief 
 and pride, and looked to Uncle Henry for 
 praise. But he was busily setting down figures 
 as though he were getting his 'rithmetic lesson 
 for the next day and had not noticed . . . Oh, 
 there they were going to the left again! This 
 time, in her flurry, she made a mistake about 
 which hand was which and pulled wildly on 
 the left line! The horses docilely walked off 
 the road into a shallow ditch, the wagon tilted 
 . . . help! Why didn't Uncle Henry help! 
 Uncle Henry continued intently figuring on the 
 back of his envelope. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann, the perspiration starting out 
 on her forehead, pulled on the other line. The 
 horses turned back up the little slope, the 
 wheel grated sickeningly against the wagon- 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 33 
 
 box — she was sure they would tip over! But 
 there! somehow there they were in the road, 
 safe and sound, with Uncle Henry adding up 
 a column of figures. If he only knew, thought 
 the little girl, if he only knew the danger he 
 had been in, and how he had been saved . . . ! 
 But she must think of some way to remember, 
 for sure, which her right hand was, and avoid 
 that hideous mistake again. 
 
 And then suddenly something inside Eliza- 
 beth Ann's head stirred and moved. It came 
 to her, like a clap, that she needn't know which 
 was right or left at all. If she just pulled the 
 way she wanted them to go — the horses would 
 never know whether it was the right or the left 
 rein ! 
 
 It is possible that what stirred inside her 
 head at that moment was her brain, waking 
 up. She was nine years old, and she was 
 in the third A grade at school, but that was the 
 first time she had ever had a whole thought of 
 her very own. At home, Aunt Frances had al- 
 ways known exactly what she was doing, and 
 
34 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 had helped h^r over the hard places before 
 she even knew they were there; and at school 
 her teachers had been carefully trained to 
 think faster than the scholars. Somebody had 
 always been explaining* things to Elizabeth 
 Ann so industriously that she had never found 
 out a single thing'' for herself before. This was 
 a very small discovery, but an original one. 
 Elizabeth Ann was as excited about it as a 
 mother-bird over the first egg that hatches. 
 
 She forgot how afraid she was of Uncle 
 Henry, and poured out to him her discovery. 
 "It's not right or left that matters!" she 
 ended triumphantly; "it's which way you 
 want to go!" Uncle Henry looked at her at- 
 tentively as she talked, eyeing her sidewise 
 over the top of one spectacle-glass. When she 
 finished — "Well, now, that's so," he admitted, 
 and returned to his arithmetic. 
 
 It was a short remark, shorter than any 
 Elizabeth Ann had ever heard before. Aunt 
 Frances and her teachers always explained 
 matters at length. But it had a weighty, satis- 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 35 
 
 fying ring to it. The little girl felt the im- 
 portance of having her statement recognized. 
 She turned back to her driving. 
 
 The slow, heavy plow horses had stopped dur- 
 ing her talk with Uncle Henry. They stood as 
 still now as though their feet had grown to the 
 road. Elizabeth Ann looked up at the old man 
 for instructions. But he was deep in his figures. 
 She had been taught never to interrupt people, 
 so she sat still and waited for him to tell her 
 what to do. 
 
 But, although they were driving in the midst 
 of a winter thaw, it was a pretty cold day, 
 with an icy wind blowing down the back of 
 her neck. The early winter twilight was begin- 
 ning to fall, and she felt rather empty. She grew 
 very tired of waiting, and remembered how 
 the grocer's boy at home had started his horse. 
 Then, summoning all her courage, with an ap- 
 prehensive glance at Uncle Henry's arith- 
 metical silence, she slapped the reins up and 
 down on the horses' backs and made the best 
 imitation she could of the grocer's boy's cluck. 
 
36 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 The horses lifted their heads, they leaned for- 
 ward, they put one foot before the other .• . . 
 they were off! The color rose hot on Eliza- 
 beth Ann's happy face. If she had started a 
 big red automobile she would not have been 
 prouder. For it was the first, thing she had 
 ever done all herself . . . every bit . . . 
 every smitch! She had thought of it and she 
 had done it. And it had worked ! 
 
 Now for what seemed to her a long, long 
 time she drove, drove so hard she could think 
 of nothing else. She guided the horses around 
 stones, she cheered them through freezing mud- 
 puddles of melted snow, she kept them in the 
 anxiously exact middle of the road. She was 
 quite astonished when Uncle Henry put his 
 pencil and paper away, took the reins from her 
 hands, and drove into a yard, on one side of 
 which was a little low white house and on the 
 other a big red barn. He did not say a word, 
 but she guessed that this was Putney Farm. 
 
 Two women in gingham dresses and white 
 aprons came out of the house. One was old 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 37 
 
 and one might be called young, just like Aunt 
 Harriet and Aunt Frances. But they looked 
 very different from those aunts. The dark- 
 haired one was very tall and strong-looking, 
 and the white-haired one was very rosy and 
 fat. They both looked up at the little, thin, 
 white-faced girl on the high seat, and smiled. 
 "Well, Father, you got her, I see," said the 
 brown-haired one. She stepped up to the 
 wagon and held up her arms to the child. 
 "Come on, Betsy, and get some supper," she 
 said, as though Elizabeth Ann had lived there 
 all her life and had just driven into town and 
 back. 
 
 And that was the arrival of Elizabeth Ann 
 at Putney Farm. 
 
 The brown-haired one took a long, strong 
 step or two and swung her up on the porch. 
 "You take her in, Mother," she said. "I'll 
 help Father unhitch." 
 
 The fat, rosy, white-haired one took Eliza- 
 beth Ann's skinny, cold little hand in her soft 
 warm, fat one, and led her along to the open 
 
38 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 kitchen door. "I'm your Aunt Abigail," she 
 said. "Your mother's aunt, you know. And 
 that's your Cousin Ann that lifted you down, 
 and it was your Uncle Henry that brought you 
 out from town." She shut the door and went 
 on, "I don't know if your Aunt Harriet ever 
 happened to tell you about us, and so . . ." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann interrupted her hastily, the 
 recollection of all Aunt Harriet's remarks 
 vividly before her. ' ' Oh yes, oh yes ! ' ' she said. 
 "She always talked about you. She talked 
 about you a lot, she . . ." The little girl ■ 
 stopped short and bit her lip. 
 
 If Aunt Abigail guessed from the expression 
 on Elizabeth Ann's face what kind of talking 
 Aunt Harriet 's had been, she showed it only by 
 a deepening of the wrinkles all around her 
 eyes. She said, gravely: "Well, that's a good 
 thing. You know all about us then." She 
 turned to the stove and took out of the oven 
 a pan of hot baked beans, very brown and 
 crispy on top (Elizabeth Ann detested beans), 
 and said, over her shoulder, ' ' Take your things 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 39 
 
 off, Betsy, and hang 'em on that lowest hook 
 back of the door. That's your hook." 
 
 The little girl fumbled forlornly with the 
 fastenings of her cape and the buttons of her 
 coat. At home, Aunt Frances or Grace had al- 
 ways taken off her wraps and put them away 
 for her. When, very sorry for herself, she 
 turned away from the hook, Aunt Abigail said : 
 "Now you must be cold. Pull a chair right up 
 here by the stove." She was stepping around 
 quickly as she put supper on the table. The 
 floor shook under her. She was one of the fat- 
 test people Elizabeth Ann had ever seen. After 
 living with Aunt Frances and Aunt Harriet 
 and Grace the little girl could scarcely believe 
 her eyes. She stared and stared. 
 
 Aunt Abigail seemed not to notice this. In- 
 deed, she seemed for the moment to have for- 
 gotten all about the new-comer. Elizabeth Ann 
 sat on the wooden chair, her feet hanging (she 
 had been taught that it was not manners to put 
 her feet on the rungs), looking about her with 
 miserable, homesick eyes. What an ugly, low- 
 
40 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ceilinged room, with only a couple of horrid 
 kerosene lamps for light; and they didn't keep 
 any girl, evidently ; and they were going to eat 
 right in the kitchen like poor people; and no- 
 body spoke to her or looked at her or asked her 
 how she had "stood the trip"; and here she 
 was, millions of miles away from Aunt Fran- 
 ces, without anybody to take care of her. She 
 began to feel the tight place in her throat 
 which, by thinking about hard, she could al- 
 ways turn into tears, and presently her eyes 
 began to water. 
 
 Aunt Abigail was not looking at her at all, 
 but she now stopped short in one of her rushes 
 to the table, set down the butter-plate she 
 was carrying, and said "There!" as though 
 she had forgotten something. She stooped — 
 it was perfectly amazing how spry she was — 
 and pulled out from under the stove a half- 
 grown kitten, very sleepy, yawning and stretch- 
 ing, and blinking its eyes. "There, Betsy!" 
 said Aunt Abigail, putting the little yellow and 
 white ball into the child's lap. "There is one 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 41 
 
 of old Whitey's kittens that didn't get given 
 away last summer, and she pesters the life out 
 of me. I've got so much to do. When I heard 
 you were coming, I thought maybe you would 
 take care of her for me. If you want to, 
 enough to bother to feed her and all, you can 
 have her for your own." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann bent her thin face over the 
 warm, furry, friendly little animal. She could 
 not speak. She had always wanted a kitten, 
 but Aunt Frances and Aunt Harriet and Grace 
 had always been sure that cats brought diph- 
 theria and tonsilitis and all sorts of dread- 
 ful diseases to delicate little girls. She was 
 afraid to move for fear the little thing would 
 jump down and run away, but as she bent cau- 
 tiously toward it the necktie of her middy blouse 
 fell forward and the kitten in the middle of a 
 yawn struck swiftly at it with a soft paw. 
 Then, still too sleepy to play, it turned its 
 head and began to lick Elizabeth Ann's hand 
 with a rough little tongue. Perhaps you can 
 imagine how thrilled the little girl was at this ! 
 
42 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 She held her hand perfectly still until the kitten 
 stopped and began suddenly washing its own 
 face, and then she put her hands under it and 
 very awkwardly lifted it up, burying her face 
 in the soft fur. The kitten yawned again, and 
 from the pink-lined mouth came a fresh, milky 
 breath. "Oh!" said Elizabeth Ann under her 
 breath. "Oh, you darling!" The kitten looked 
 at her with bored, speculative eyes. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann looked up now at Aunt Abi- 
 gail and said, "What is its name, please?" 
 But the old woman was busy turning over a 
 griddle full of pancakes and did not hear. On 
 the train Elizabeth Ann had resolved not to 
 call these hateful relatives by the same name 
 she had for dear Aunt Frances, but she now 
 forgot that resolution and said, again, "Oh, 
 Aunt Abigail, what is its name?" 
 
 Aunt Abigail faced her blankly. "Name?" 
 she asked. "Whose ... oh, the kitten's? 
 Goodness, child, I stopped racking my brain 
 for kitten names sixty years ago. Name it 
 yourself. It's yours." 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 43 
 
 Elizabeth Ann had already named it in her 
 own mind, the name she had always thought 
 she would call a kitten by, if she ever had 
 one. It was Eleanor, the prettiest name she 
 knew. 
 
 Aunt Abigail pushed a pitcher toward her. 
 "There's the cat's saucer under the sink. 
 Don't you want to give it some milk?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann got down from her chair, 
 poured some milk into the saucer, and called: 
 "Here, Eleanor! Here, Eleanor!" 
 
 Aunt Abigail looked at her sharply out of 
 the corner of her eye and her lips twitched, but 
 a moment later her face was immovably grave 
 as she carried the last plate of pancakes to the 
 table. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann sat on her heels for a long 
 time, watching the kitten lap the milk, and she 
 was surprised, when she stood up, to see 
 that Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry had 
 come in, very red-cheeked from the cold 
 air. 
 
 "Well, folks," said Aunt Abigail, "don't 
 
44 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 you think we've done some lively stepping 
 around, Betsy and I, to get supper all on the 
 table for you?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann stared. What did Aunt Abi- 
 gail mean? She hadn't done a thing about get- 
 ting supper! But nobody made any comment, 
 and they all took their seats and began to eat. 
 Elizabeth Ann was astonishingly hungry, and 
 she thought she could never get enough of the 
 creamed potatoes, cold ham, hot cocoa, and 
 pancakes. She was very much relieved that 
 her refusal of beans caused no comment. Aunt 
 Frances had always tried very hard to make 
 her eat beans because they have so much 
 protein in them, and growing children need 
 protein. Elizabeth Ann had heard this said so 
 many times she could have repeated it back- 
 ward, but it had never made her hate beans 
 any the less. However, nobody here seemed to 
 know this, and Elizabeth Ann kept her knowl- 
 edge to herself. They had also evidently never 
 heard how delicate her digestion was, for she 
 never saw anything like the number of pan- 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 45 
 
 cakes they let her eat. All she wanted! She 
 had never heard of such a thing ! 
 
 They still did not ask her how she had 
 "stood the trip." They did not indeed ask 
 her much of anything or pay very much atten- 
 tion to her beyond filling her plate as fast as 
 she emptied it. In the middle of the meal 
 Eleanor came, jumped into her lap, and curled 
 down, purring. After this Elizabeth Ann kept 
 one hand on the little soft ball, handling her 
 fork with the other. 
 
 After supper — well, Elizabeth Ann never 
 knew what did happen after supper until she 
 felt somebody lifting her and carrying her up- 
 stairs. It was Cousin Ann, who carried her as 
 lightly as though she were a baby, and who 
 said, as she sat down on the floor in a slant- 
 ceilinged bedroom, "You went right to sleep 
 with your head on the table. I guess you're 
 pretty tired." 
 
 Aunt Abigail was sitting on the edge of a 
 great wide bed with four posts, and a curtain 
 around the top. She was partly undressed, 
 
40 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 and was undoing her hair and brushing it out. 
 It was very curly and all fluffed out in a shin- 
 ing white fuzz around her fat, pink face, full 
 of soft wrinkles; but in a moment she was 
 braiding it up again and putting on a tight 
 white nightcap, which she tied under her chin. 
 /rWe got the word about your coming so 
 late," said Cousin Ann, "that we didn't have 
 time to fix you up a bedroom that can be 
 warmed. So you're going to sleep in here for 
 a while. The bed's big enough for two, I guess, 
 even if they are as big as you and Mother." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann stared again. What queer 
 things they said here. She wasn't nearly as 
 big as Aunt Abigail! 
 
 "Mother, did yeu put Shep out?" asked 
 Cousin Ann ; and when Aunt Abigail said, " No ! 
 There! I forgot to!" Cousin Ann went away; 
 and that was the last of her. They certainly 
 believed in being saving of their words at 
 Putney Farm. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann began to undress. She was 
 only half-awake; and that made her feel only 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 47 
 
 about half her age, which wasn't very great, 
 the whole of it, and she felt like just crooking 
 her arm over her eyes and giving up ! She was 
 too forlorn! She had never slept with any- 
 body before, and she had heard ever so many 
 times how bad it was for children to sleep with 
 grown-ups. An icy wind rattled the windows 
 and puffed in around the loose old casings. 
 On the window-sill lay a little wreath of snow. 
 Elizabeth Ann shivered and shook on her thin 
 legs, undressed in a hurry, and slipped into 
 her night-dress. She felt just as cold inside as 
 out, and never was more utterly miserable than 
 in that strange, ugly little room, with that 
 strange, queer, fat old woman. She was even 
 too miserable to cry, and that is saying a great 
 deal for Elizabeth Ann! 
 
 She got into bed first, because Aunt Abigail 
 said she was going to keep the candle lighted 
 for a while and read. "And anyhow," she 
 said, "I'd better sleep on the outside to keep 
 you from rolling out." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann and Aunt Abigail lay very 
 
48 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 still for a long time, Aunt Abigail reading out 
 of a small, worn old book. Elizabeth Ann 
 could see its title, "Essays of Emerson." A 
 book with that name had always laid on the 
 center table in Aunt Harriet's house, but that 
 copy was all new and shiny, and Elizabeth Ann 
 had never seen anybody look inside it. It was 
 a very dull-looking book, with no pictures and 
 no conversation. The little girl lay on her 
 back, looking up at the cracks in the plaster 
 ceiling and watching the shadows sway and 
 dance as the candle flickered in the gusts of 
 cold air. She herself began to feel a soft, 
 pervasive warmth. Aunt Abigail's great body 
 was like a stove. 
 
 It was very, very quiet, quieter than any 
 place Elizabeth Ann had ever known, except 
 church, because a trolley-line ran past Aunt 
 Harriet's house and even at night there were 
 always more or less bangings and rattlings. 
 Here there was not a single sound except the 
 soft, whispery noise when Aunt Abigail turned 
 over a page as she read steadily and silently 
 
'Do jou know," said Aunt Abigail, "I think it's going to be real 
 nice, having a little girl in the house again." 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 49 
 
 forward in her book. Elizabeth Ann turned 
 her head so that she couid see the round, rosy 
 old face, full of soft wrinkles, and the calm, 
 steady old eyes which were fixed on the page. 
 And as she lay there in the warm bed, watch- 
 ing that quiet face, something very queer be- 
 gan to happen to Elizabeth Ann. She felt as 
 though a tight knot inside her were slowly 
 being untied. She felt — what was it she felt! 
 There are no words for it. From deep within 
 her something rose up softly . . . she drew 
 one or two long, half-sobbing breaths. . . . 
 
 Aunt Abigail laid down her book and looked 
 over at the child. "Do you know," she said, in 
 a conversational tone, "do you know, I think 
 it's going to be real nice, having a little girl in 
 the house again. " 
 
 Oh, then the tight knot in the little unwanted 
 girl's heart was loosened indeed! It all gave 
 way at once, and Elizabeth Ann burst suddenly 
 into hot tears — yes, I know I said I would not 
 tell you any more about her crying; but these 
 tears were very different from any she had 
 
50 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ever shed before. And they were the last, too, 
 for a long, long time. 
 
 Aunt Abigail said, ''Well, well!" and mov- 
 ing over in bed took the little weeping girl 
 into her arms. She did not say another word 
 then, but she put her soft, withered old cheek 
 close against Elizabeth Ann's, till the sobs 
 began "to grow less, and then she said: "I hear 
 your kitty crying outside the door. Shall I 
 let her in? I expect she'd like to sleep with 
 you. I guess there's room for three of us." 
 
 She got out of bed as she spoke and walked 
 across the room to the door. The floor shook 
 under her great bulk, and the peak of her night- 
 cap made a long, grotesque shadow. But as 
 she came back with the kitten in her arms 
 Elizabeth Ann saw nothing funny in her looks. 
 She gave Eleanor to the little girl and got into 
 bed again. "There, now, I guess we're ready 
 for the night," she said. "You put the kitty 
 on the other side of you so she won't fall out 
 of bed." 
 
 She blew the light out and moved over a lit- 
 
BETSY HOLDS THE REINS 51 
 
 tie closer to Elizabeth Ann, who immediately 
 was enveloped in that delicious warmth. The 
 kitten curled up under the little girl's chin. 
 Between her and the terrors of the dark room 
 loomed the rampart of Aunt Abigail's great 
 body. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann drew a long, long breath . . . 
 and when she opened her eyes the sun was 
 shining in at the window. 
 
CHAPTER m 
 
 A SHORT MORNING 
 
 Aunt Abigail was gone, Eleanor was gone. 
 The room was quite empty except for the 
 bright sunshine pouring in through the small- 
 paned windows. Elizabeth Ann stretched and 
 yawned and looked about her. What funny 
 wall-paper it was — so old-fashioned looking! 
 The picture was of a blue river and a brown 
 mill, with green willow-trees over it, and a man 
 with sacks on his horse's back stood in front 
 of the mill. This picture was repeated a great 
 many times, all over the paper; and in the 
 corner, where it hadn't come out even, they 
 had had to cut it right down the middle of 
 the horse. It was very curious-looking. She 
 stared at it a long time, waiting for somebody 
 to tell her when to get up. At home Aunt 
 Frances always told her, and helped her get 
 
 52 
 
A SHORT MORNING 53 
 
 dressed. But here nobody came. She discov- 
 ered that the heat came from a hole in the floor 
 near the bed, which opened down into the room 
 below. From it came a warm breath of bak- 
 ing bread and a muffled thump once in a 
 while. 
 
 The sun rose higher and higher, and Eliza- 
 beth Ann grew hungrier and hungrier. Finally 
 it occurred to her that it was not absolutely 
 necessary to have somebody tell her to get up. 
 She reached for her clothes and began to 
 dress. When she had finished she went out 
 into the hall, and with a return of her ag- 
 grieved, abandoned feeling (you must remem- 
 ber that her stomach was very empty) she be- 
 gan to try to find her way downstairs. She 
 soon found the steps, went down them one at 
 a time, and pushed open the door at the foot. 
 Cousin Ann, the brown-haired one, was ironing 
 near the stove. She nodded and smiled as the 
 child came into the room, and said, "Well, you 
 must feel rested!'' 
 
 "Oh, I haven't been asleep!" explained 
 
54. UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Elizabeth Ann. "I was waiting for somebody 
 
 to tell me to get up." 
 
 "Oh," said Cousin Ann, opening her black 
 eyes a little. ' ' Were you ? ' ' She said no more 
 than this, but Elizabeth Ann decided hastily 
 that she would not add, as she had been about 
 to, that she was also waiting for somebody to 
 help her dress and do her hair. As a matter 
 of fact, she had greatly enjoyed doing her own 
 hair — the first time she had ever tried it. It 
 had never occurred to Aunt Frances that her 
 little baby-girl had grown up enough to be her 
 own hairdresser, nor had it occurred to Eliza- 
 beth Ann that this might be possible. But as 
 she struggled with the snarls she had had a 
 sudden wild idea of doing it a different way 
 from the pretty fashion Aunt Frances always 
 followed. Elizabeth Ann had always secretly 
 envied a girl in her class whose hair was all 
 tied back from her face, with one big knot in 
 her ribbon at the back of her neck. It looked 
 so grown-up. And this morning she had done 
 hers that way, turning her neck till it ached, 
 
A SHORT MORNING 55 
 
 so that she could see the coveted tight effect 
 at the back. And still — aren't little girls queer? 
 —although she had enjoyed doing her own hair, 
 she was very much inclined to feel hurt be- 
 cause Cousin Ann had not come to do it for 
 her. 
 
 Cousin Ann set her iron down with the soft 
 thump which Elizabeth Ann had heard up- 
 stairs. She began folding a napkin, and said : 
 "Now reach yourself a bowl off the shelf yon- 
 der. The oatmeal's in that kettle on the stove 
 and the milk is in the blue pitcher. If you 
 want a piece of bread and butter, here 's a new 
 loaf just out of the oven, and the butter's in 
 that brown crock." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann followed these instructions 
 and sat down before this quickly assembled 
 breakfast in a very much surprised silence. At 
 home it took the girl more than half an hour 
 to get breakfast and set the table, and then 
 she had to wait on them besides. She began 
 to pour the milk out of the pitcher and 
 stopped suddenly. "Oh, I'm afraid I've taken 
 
56 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 more than my share!" she said apologeti- 
 cally. 
 
 Cousin Ann looked up from her rapidly mov- 
 ing iron, and said, in an astonished voice: 
 "Your share? What do you mean?" 
 
 "My share of the quart," explained Eliza- 
 beth Ann. At home they bought a quart of 
 milk and a cup of cream every day, and they 
 were all very conscientious about not taking 
 more than their due share. 
 
 "Good land, child, take all the milk you 
 want!" said Cousin Ann, as though she found 
 something shocking in what the little girl had 
 just said. Elizabeth Ann thought to herself 
 that she spoke as though milk ran out of a 
 faucet, like water. 
 
 She was very fond of milk, and she made a 
 very good breakfast as she sat looking about 
 the low-ceilinged room. It was unlike any 
 room she had ever seen. 
 
 It was, of course, the kitchen, and yet it 
 didn't seem possible that the same word could 
 be applied to that room and the small, dark 
 
A SHORT MORNING 57 
 
 cubby-hole which had been Grace's asthmatical 
 kingdom. This room was very long and nar- 
 row, and all along one side were windows with 
 white, ruffled curtains drawn back at the sides, 
 and with small, shining panes of glass, through 
 which the sun poured a golden flood of light on 
 a long shelf of potted plants that took the 
 place of a window-sill. The shelf was covered 
 with shining white oil-cloth, the pots were of 
 clean reddish brown, the sturdy, stocky plants 
 of bright green with clear red-and-white flow- 
 ers. Elizabeth Ann's eyes wandered all over 
 the kitchen from the low, white ceiling to the 
 clean, bare wooden floor, but they always came 
 back to those sunny windows. Once, back in 
 the big brick school-building, as she had sat 
 drooping her thin shoulders over her desk, 
 some sort of a procession had gone by with a 
 brass band playing a lively air. For some 
 queer reason, every time she now glanced at 
 that sheet of sunlight and the bright flowers 
 she had a little of the same thrill which had 
 straightened her back and gone up and down 
 
58 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 her spine while the band was playing. Possi- 
 bly Annt Frances was right, after all, and 
 Elizabeth Ann was a very impressionable child. 
 I wonder, by the way, if anybody ever saw a 
 child who wasn't. 
 
 At one end, the end where Cousin Ann was 
 ironing, stood the kitchen stove, gleaming black, 
 with a tea-kettle humming away on it, a big 
 hot-water boiler near it, and a large kitchen 
 cabinet with lots of drawers and shelves and 
 hooks and things. Beyond that, in the middle of 
 the room, was the table where they had had sup- 
 per last night, and at which the little girl now 
 sat eating her very late breakfast ; and beyond 
 that, at the other end of the room, was another 
 table with an old dark-red cashmere shawl on 
 it for a cover. A large lamp stood in the mid- 
 dle of this, a bookcase near it, two or three 
 rocking-chairs around it, and back of it, against 
 the wall, was a wide sofa covered with bright 
 cretonne, with three bright pillows. Something 
 big and black and woolly was lying on this 
 sofa, snoring loudly. As Cousin Ann saw the 
 
A SHORT MORNING 59 
 
 little girl's fearful glance alight on this she ex- 
 plained: "That's Shep, our old dog. Doesn't 
 he make an awful noise! Mother says, when 
 she happens to be alone here in the evening, 
 it's real company to hear Shep snore — as good 
 as having a man in the house." 
 
 Although this did not seem at all a sensible 
 remark to Elizabeth Ann, who thought soberly 
 to herself that she didn't see why snoring 
 made a dog as good as a man, still she was 
 acute enough (for she was really quite an in- 
 telligent little girl) to feel that it belonged in 
 the same class of remarks as one or two others 
 she had noted as "queer" in the talk at Put- 
 ney Farm last night. This variety of talk was 
 entirely new to her, nobody in Aunt Harriet's 
 conscientious household ever making anything 
 but plain statements of fact. It was one of the 
 ' ' queer Putney ways ' ' which Aunt Harriet had 
 forgotten to mention. It is possible that Aunt 
 Harriet had never noticed it. 
 
 When Elizabeth Ann finished her breakfast, 
 Cousin Ann made three suggestions, using ex- 
 
60 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 actly the same accent for them all. She said: 
 " Wouldn't you better wash your dishes up now 
 before they get sticky! And don't you want one 
 of those red apples from the dish on the side 
 table? And then maybe you'd like to look 
 around the house so's to know where you are." 
 Elizabeth Ann had never washed a dish in all 
 her life, and she had always thought that no- 
 body but poor, ignorant people, who couldn't af- 
 ford to hire girls, did such things. And yet (it 
 was odd) she did not feel like saying this to 
 Cousin Ann, who stood there so straight in her 
 gingham dress and apron, with her clear, bright 
 eyes and red cheeks. Besides this feeling, 
 Elizabeth Ann was overcome with embarrass- 
 ment at the idea of undertaking a new task 
 in that casual way. How in the world did you 
 wash dishes? She stood rooted to the spot, ir- 
 resolute, horribly shy, and looking, though she 
 did not know it, very clouded and sullen. 
 Cousin Ann said briskly, holding an iron up to 
 her cheek to see if it was hot enough: "Just 
 take them over to the sink there and hold them 
 
A SHORT MORNING 61 
 
 under the hot-water faucet. They'll be clean 
 in no time. The dish-towels are those hanging 
 on the rack over the stove." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann moved promptly over to the 
 sink, as though Cousin Ann's words had shoved 
 her there, and before she knew it, her saucer, 
 cup, and spoon were clean and she was wiping 
 them on a dry checked towel. "The spoon 
 goes in the side-table drawer with the other 
 silver, and the saucer and cup in those shelves 
 there behind the glass doors where the china 
 belongs," continued Cousin Ann, thumping 
 hard with her iron on a napkin and not look- 
 ing up at all, "and don't forget your apple as 
 you go out. Those Northern Spies are just 
 getting to be good about now. When they first 
 come off the tree in October you could shoot 
 them through an oak plank." 
 
 Now Elizabeth Ann knew that this was a 
 foolish thing to say, since of course an 
 apple never could go through a board; but 
 something that had always been sound asleep 
 in her brain woke up a little, little bit and 
 
62 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 opened one eye. For it occurred dimly to 
 Elizabeth Ann that this was a rather funny way 
 of saying that Northern Spies were very hard 
 when you first pick them in the autumn. She 
 had to figure it out for herself very slowly, be- 
 cause it was a new idea to her, and she was half- 
 way through her tour of inspection of the house 
 before there glimmered on her lips, in a faint 
 smile, the first recognition of humor in all her 
 life. She felt a momentary impulse to call 
 down to Cousin Ann that she saw the point, but 
 before she had taken a single step toward the 
 head of the stairs she had decided not to do 
 this. Cousin Ann, with her bright, dark eyes, 
 and her straight back, and her long arms, and 
 her way of speaking as though it never oc- 
 curred to her that you wouldn't do just as she 
 said — Elizabeth Ann was not very sure that 
 she liked Cousin Ann, and she was very sure 
 that she was afraid of her. 
 
 So she went on, walking from one room to 
 another, industriously eating the red apple, the 
 biggest she had ever seen. It was the best, too, 
 
A SHORT MORNING 63 
 
 with its crisp, white flesh and the delicious, 
 sour-sweet juice which made Elizabeth Ann feel 
 with each mouthful like hurrying to take 
 another. She did not think much more of the 
 other rooms in the house than she had of the 
 kitchen. There were no draped ' ' throws ' ' over 
 anything; there were no lace curtains at the 
 windows, just dotted Swiss like the kitchen; all 
 the ceilings were very low; the furniture was 
 all of dark wood and very old-looking; what 
 few rugs there were were of bright-colored 
 rags; the mirrors were queer and old, with 
 funny old pictures at the top; there wasn't a 
 brass bed in any of the bedrooms, just old 
 wooden ones with posts, and curtains round the 
 tops; and there was not a single plush por- 
 tiere in the parlor, whereas at Aunt Harriet's 
 there had been two sets for that one room. 
 She was relieved at the absence of a piano 
 and secretly rejoiced that she would not need 
 to practise. In her heart she had not liked her 
 music lessons at all, but she had never dreamed 
 of not accepting them from Aunt Frances as 
 
64 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 she accepted everything else. Also she had 
 liked to hear Aunt Frances boast about how 
 much better she could play than other children 
 of her age. 
 
 She was downstairs by this time, and, open- 
 ing a door out of the parlor, found herself 
 back in the kitchen, the long line of sunny win- 
 dows and the bright flowers giving her that 
 quick little thrill again. Cousin Ann looked up 
 from her ironing, nodded, and said: "All 
 through? You'd better come in and get warmed 
 up. Those rooms get awfully cold these Janu- 
 ary days. Winters we mostly use this room 
 so's to get the good of the kitchen stove." 
 She added after a moment, during which Eliza- 
 beth Ann stood by the stove, warming her 
 hands: "There's one place you haven't seen 
 yet — the milk-room. Mother's down there 
 now, churning. That's the door — the middle 
 one." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann had been wondering and won- 
 dering where in the world Aunt Abigail was. 
 So she stepped quickly to the door, and went 
 
A SHORT MORNING 65 
 
 down the cold dark stairs she found there. 
 At the bottom was a door, locked apparently, 
 for she could find no fastening. She heard 
 steps inside, the door was briskly cast open, 
 and she almost fell into the arms of Aunt 
 Abigail, who caught her as she stumbled for- 
 ward, saying: "Well, I've been expectin' you 
 down here for a long time. I never saw a lit- 
 tle girl yet who didn't like to watch butter- 
 making. Don't you love to run the butter- 
 worker over it? I do, myself, for all I'm sev- 
 enty-two ! ' ' 
 
 "I don't know anything about it," said 
 Elizabeth Ann. "I don't know what you make 
 butter out of. We always bought ours." 
 
 "Well, for goodness' sokes!" said Aunt Abi- 
 gail. She turned and called across the room, 
 "Henry, did you ever! Here's Betsy saying 
 she don't know what we make butter out of! 
 She actually never saw anybody making but- 
 ter!" 
 
 Uncle Henry was sitting down, near the win- 
 dow, turning the handle to a small barrel 
 
66 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 swung between two uprights. He stopped for 
 a moment and considered Aunt Abigail's re- 
 mark with the same serious attention he had 
 given to Elizabeth Ann's discovery about left 
 and right. Then he began to turn the churn 
 over and over again and said, peaceably : "Well, 
 Mother, you never saw anybody laying asphalt 
 pavement, I'll warrant you! And I suppose 
 Betsy knows all about that." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann's spirits rose. She felt very 
 superior indeed. "Oh, yes," she assured them, 
 "I know all about that! Didn't you ever see 
 anybody doing that? Why, I've seen them 
 hundreds of times! Every day as we went to 
 school they were doing over the whole pave- 
 ment for blocks along there." 
 
 Aunt Abigail and Uncle Henry looked at her 
 with interest, and Aunt Abigail said: "Well, 
 now, think of that! Tell us all about it!" 
 
 "Why, there's a big black sort of wagon," 
 began Elizabeth Ann, "and they run it up and 
 down and pour out the black stuff on the road. 
 And that's all there is to it." She stopped, 
 
A SHORT MORNING 67 
 
 rather abruptly, looking uneasy. Uncle Henry 
 inquired: "Now there's one thing I've always 
 wanted to know. How do they keep that stuff 
 from hardening on them? How do they keep 
 it hot?" 
 
 The little girl looked blank. "Why, a fire, I 
 suppose," she faltered, searching her memory 
 desperately and finding there only a dim recol- 
 lection of a red glow somewhere connected with 
 the familiar scene at which she had so often 
 looked with unseeing eyes. 
 
 "Of course a fire," agreed Uncle Henry. 
 "But what do they burn in it, coke or coal or 
 wood or charcoal? And how do they get any 
 draft to keep it going?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann shook her head. "I never 
 noticed," she said. 
 
 Aunt Abigail asked her now, "What do 
 they do to the road before they pour it 
 on?" 
 
 " Do ? " said Elizabeth Ann. < ' I didn 't know 
 they did anything." 
 
 "Well, they can't pour it right on a dirt 
 
68 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 road, can they?" asked Aunt Abigail. " Don't 
 they put down cracked stone or some- 
 thing?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann looked down at her toes. "I 
 never noticed," sh said. 
 
 "I wonder how long it takes for it to 
 harden?" said Uncle Henry. 
 
 "I never noticed," said Elizabeth Ann, in a 
 small voice. 
 
 Uncle Henry said, "Oh!" and stopped asking 
 questions. Aunt Abigail turned away and put 
 a stick of wood in the stove. Elizabeth Ann 
 did not feel very superior now, and when Aunt 
 Abigail said, "Now the butter's beginning to 
 come. Don't you want to watch and see every- 
 thing I do, so's you can answer if anybody 
 asks you how butter is made?" Elizabeth Ann 
 understood perfectly what was in Aunt's Abi- 
 gail's mind, and gave to the process of butter- 
 making a more alert and aroused attention 
 than she had ever before given to anything. It 
 was so interesting, too, that in no time she for- 
 got why she was watching, and was absorbed 
 

 What's the matter, Molly? What's the matter?" 
 
A SHORT MORNING 69 
 
 in the fascinations of the dairy for their own 
 sake. 
 
 She looked in the churn as Aunt Abigail un- 
 screwed the top, and saw the thick, sour cream 
 separating into buttermilk and tiny golden 
 particles. "It's gathering," said Aunt Abi- 
 gail, screwing the lid back on. "Father '11 
 churn it a little more till it really comes. And 
 you and I will scald the wooden butter things 
 and get everything ready. You'd better take 
 that apron there to keep your dress clean." 
 
 Wouldn't Aunt Frances have been astonished 
 if she could have looked in on Elizabeth Ann 
 that very first morning of her stay at the hate- 
 ful Putney Farm and have seen her wrapped 
 in a gingham apron, her face bright with in- 
 terest, trotting here and there in the stone- 
 floored milk-room! She was allowed the ex- 
 citement of pulling out the plug from the bot- 
 tom of the churn, and dodged back hastily to 
 escape the gush of buttermilk spouting into 
 the pail held by Aunt Abigail. And she poured 
 the water in to wash the butter, and screwed 
 
70 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 on the top herself, and, again all herself (for 
 Uncle Henry had gone oft" as soon as the but- 
 ter had "come"), swung the barrel back and 
 forth six or seven times to swish the water all 
 through the particles of butter. She even 
 helped Aunt Abigail scoop out the great yel- 
 low lumps — her imagination had never con- 
 ceived of so much butter in all the world! 
 Then Aunt Abigail let her run the curiously 
 shaped wooden butter-worker back and forth 
 over the butter, squeezing out the water, and 
 then pile it up again with her wooden paddle 
 into a mound of gold. She weighed out the 
 salt needed on the scales, and was very much 
 surprised to find that there really is such a 
 thing as an ounce. She had never met it be- 
 fore outside the pages of her arithmetic book 
 and she didn't know it lived anywhere else. 
 
 After the salt was worked in she watched 
 Aunt Abigail's deft, wrinkled old hands make 
 pats and rolls. It looked like the greatest fun, 
 and too easy for anything; and when Aunt 
 Abigail asked her if she wouldn't like to make 
 
A SHORT MORNING 71 
 
 up the last half-pound into a pat for dinner, 
 she took up the wooden paddle confidently. 
 And then she got one of the surprises that Put- 
 ney Farm seemed to have for her. She discov- 
 ered that her hands didn't seem to belong to 
 her at all, that her fingers were all thumbs, that 
 she didn't seem to know in the least before- 
 hand how hard a stroke she was going to give 
 nor which way her fingers were going to go. It 
 was, as a matter of fact, the first time Eliza- 
 beth Ann had tried to do anything with her 
 hands except to write and figure and play on 
 the piano, and naturally she wasn't very well 
 acquainted with them. She stopped in dismay, 
 looking at the shapeless, battered heap of but- 
 ter before her and holding out her hands as 
 though they were not part of her. 
 
 Aunt Abigail laughed, took up the paddle, 
 and after three or four passes the butter was 
 a smooth, yellow ball. "Well, that brings it 
 all back to me!" she said — "when I was a 
 little girl, when my grandmother first let me 
 try to make a pat. I was about five years old — 
 
72 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 my ! what a mess I made of it ! And I remem- 
 ber — doesn't it seem funny — that she laughed 
 and said her Great-aunt Elmira had taught 
 her how to handle butter right here in this very 
 milk-room. Let's see, Grandmother was born 
 the year the Declaration of Independence was 
 signed. That's quite a while ago, isn't it? 
 But butter hasn't changed much, I guess, nor 
 little girls either." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann listened to this statement with 
 a very queer, startled expression on her face, 
 as though she hadn't understood the words. 
 Now for a moment she stood staring up in 
 Aunt Abigail's face, and yet not seeing her at 
 all, because she was thinking so hard. She 
 was thinking! "Why! There were real peo- 
 ple living when the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence was signed — real people, not just history 
 people — old women teaching little girls how to 
 do things — right in this very room, on this 
 very floor — and the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence just signed!" 
 
 To tell the honest truth, although she had 
 
A SHORT MORNING ? 
 
 passed a very good examination in the little 
 book on American history they had studied in 
 school, Elizabeth Ann had never to that mo- 
 ment had any notion that there ever had been 
 really and truly any Declaration of Independ- 
 ence at all. It had been like the ounce, living 
 exclusively inside her schoolbooks for little 
 girls to be examined about. And now here 
 Aunt Abigail, talking about a butter-pat, had 
 brought it to life ! 
 
 Of course all this only lasted a moment, be- 
 cause it was such a new idea! She soon lost 
 track of what she was thinking of; she rubbed 
 her eyes as though she were coming out of a 
 dream, she thought, confusedly: "What did 
 butter have to do with the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence? Nothing, of course! It couldn't!" 
 and the whole impression seemed to pass out 
 of her mind. But it was an impression which 
 was to come again and again during the neyt 
 few months. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 
 
 Elizabeth Ann was very much surprised to 
 hear Cousin Ann's voice calling, "Dinner!" 
 down the stairs. It did not seem possible that 
 the whole morning had gone by. "Here," said 
 Aunt Abigail, "just put that pat on a plate, 
 will you, and take it upstairs as you go. I've 
 got all I can do to haul my own two hundred 
 pounds up, without any half-pound of butter 
 into the bargain." The little girl smiled at 
 this, though she did not exactly know why, and 
 skipped up the stairs proudly with her butter. 
 
 Dinner was smoking on the table, which was 
 set in the midst of the great pool of sunlight. 
 A very large black-and-white dog, with a great 
 bushy tail, was walking around and around the 
 table, suiffing the air. He looked as big as a 
 bear to Elizabeth Ann; and as he walked his 
 
 74 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 75 
 
 great red tongue hung out of his mouth and his 
 white teeth gleamed horribly. Elizabeth Ann 
 shrank back in terror, clutching her plate of 
 butter to her breast with tense fingers. Cousin 
 Ann said, over her shoulder: "Oh, bother! 
 There's old Shep, got up to pester us begging 
 for scraps! Shep! You go and lie down this 
 minute ! ' ' 
 
 To Elizabeth Ann's astonishment and im- 
 mense relief, the great animal turned, droop- 
 ing his head sadly, walked back across the 
 floor, got upon the couch again, and laid his 
 head down on one paw very forlornly, turning 
 up the whites of his eyes meekly at Cousin 
 Ann. 
 
 Aunt Abigail, who had just pulled herself up 
 the stairs, panting, said, between laughing and 
 puffing: "I'm glad I'm not an animal on this 
 farm. Ann does boss them around so. " " Well, 
 somebody has to!" said Cousin Ann, advanc- 
 ing on the table with a platter. This proved 
 to have chicken fricassee on it, and Elizabeth 
 Ann's heart melted in her at the smell. She 
 
76 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 loved chicken gravy on hot biscuits beyond 
 anything in the world, but chickens are so ex- 
 pensive when you buy them in the market that 
 Aunt Harriet hadn't had them very often for 
 dinner. And there was a plate of biscuits, 
 golden brown, just coming out of the' oven! 
 She sat down very quickly, her mouth water- 
 ing, and attacked with extreme haste the big 
 plateful of food which Cousin Ann passed 
 her. 
 
 At Aunt Harriet's she had always been 
 aware that everybody watched her anxiously as 
 she ate, and she had heard so much about her 
 light appetite that she felt she must live up to 
 her reputation, and had a very natural and 
 human hesitation about eating all she wanted 
 when there happened to be something she 
 liked very much. But nobody here knew that 
 she "only ate enough to keep a bird alive," 
 and that her "appetite was so capricious!" 
 Nor did anybody notice her while she stowed 
 away the chicken and gravy and hot biscuits 
 and currant jelly and baked potatoes and ap- 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 77 
 
 pie pie— when did Elizabeth Ann ever eat such 
 a meal before ! She actually felt her belt grow 
 tight. 
 
 In the middle of the meal Cousin Ann got 
 up to answer the telephone, which was in the 
 next room. The instant the door had closed 
 behind her Uncle Henry leaned forward, 
 tapped Elizabeth Ann on the shoulder, and 
 nodded toward the sofa. His eyes were twin- 
 kling, and as for Aunt Abigail she began to 
 laugh silently, shaking all over, her napkin at 
 her mouth to stifle the sound. Elizabeth Ann 
 turned wonderingly and saw the old dog cau- 
 tiously and noiselessly letting himself down 
 from the sofa, one ear cocked rigidly in the 
 direction of Cousin Ann's voice in the next 
 room. "The old tyke!" said Uncle Henry. 
 "He always sneaks up to the table to be fed 
 if Ann goes out for a minute. Here, Betsy, 
 you're nearest, give him this piece of skin 
 from the chicken neck." The big dog padded 
 forward across the room, evidently in such a 
 state of terror about Cousin Ann that Eliza- 
 
78 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 beth Ann felt for him. She had a fellow-feel- 
 ing about that relative of hers. Also it was im- 
 possible to be afraid of so abjectly meek and 
 guilty an animal. As old Shep came up to her, 
 poking his nose inquiringly on her lap, she 
 shrinkingly held out the big piece of skin, and 
 though she jumped back at the sudden snap 
 and gobbling gulp with which the old dog 
 greeted the tidbit, she could not but sympathize 
 with his evident enjoyment of it. He waved 
 his bushy tail gratefully, cocked his head on 
 one side, and, his ears standing up at attention, 
 his eyes glistening greedily, he gave a little, 
 begging whine. "Oh, he's asking for more!" 
 cried Elizabeth Ann, surprised to see how 
 plainly she could understand dog-talk. ' ' Quick, 
 Uncle Henry, give me another piece!" 
 
 Uncle Henry rapidly transferred to her plate 
 a wing-bone from his own, and Aunt Abigail, 
 with one deft swoop, contributed the neck from 
 the platter. As fast as she could, Elizabeth 
 Ann fed these to Shep, who woofed them down 
 at top speed, the bones crunching loudly under 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 79 
 
 his strong, white teeth. How he did enjoy it! 
 It did your heart good to see his gusto ! 
 
 There was the sound of the telephone re- 
 ceiver being hung up in the next room — and 
 everybody acted at once. Aunt Abigail began 
 drinking innocently out of her coffee-cup, only 
 her laughing old eyes showing over the rim; 
 Uncle Henry buttered a slice of bread with a 
 grave face, as though he were deep in conjec- 
 tures about who would be the next President; 
 and as for old Shep, he made one plunge across 
 the room, his toe-nails clicking rapidly on the 
 bare floor, sprang up on the couch, and when 
 Cousin Ann opened the door and came in he 
 was lying in exactly the position in which she 
 had left him, his paw stretched out, his head 
 laid on it, his brown eyes turned up meekly so 
 that the whites showed. 
 
 I've told you what these three did, but I 
 haven't told you yet what Elizabeth Ann did. 
 And it is worth telling. As Cousin Ann stepped 
 in, glancing suspiciously from her sober-faced 
 and abstracted parents to the lamb-like inno- 
 
80 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 cence of old Shep, little Elizabeth Ann burst into 
 a shout of laughter. It's worth telling about, 
 because, so far as I know, that was the first time 
 she had ever laughed out heartily in all her life. 
 For my part, I'm half surprised to know that 
 she knew how. 
 
 Of course, when she laughed, Aunt Abigail 
 had to laugh too, setting down her coffee-cup 
 and showing all the funny wrinkles in her face 
 screwed up hard with fun ; and that made Un- 
 cle Henry laugh, and then Cousin Ann laughed 
 and said, as she sat down, "You are bad chil- 
 dren, the whole four of you!" And old Shep, 
 seeing the state of things, stopped pretending 
 to be meek, jumped down, and came lumbering- 
 over to the table, wagging his tail and laugh- 
 ing too; you know that good, wide dog-smile! 
 He put his head on Elizabeth Ann's lap again 
 and she patted it and lifted up one of his big 
 black ears. She had quite forgotten that she 
 was terribly afraid of big dogs. 
 
 After dinner Cousin Ann looked up at the 
 clock and said: "My goodness! Betsy '11 be late 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 81 
 
 for school if she doesn't start right off." She 
 explained to the child, aghast at this sudden 
 thunderclap, "I let you sleep this morning as 
 long as you wanted to, because you were so 
 tired from your journey. But of course there's 
 no reason for missing the afternoon session." 
 
 As Elizabeth Ann continued sitting perfectly 
 still, frozen with alarm, Cousin Ann jumped up 
 briskly, got the little coat and cap, helped her 
 up, and began inserting the child's arms into 
 the sleeves. She pulled the cap well down over 
 Elizabeth Ann's ears, felt in the pocket and 
 pulled out the mittens. " There," she said, 
 holding them out, "you'd better put them on 
 before you go out, for it's a real cold day. As 
 she led the stupefied little girl along toward the 
 door Aunt Abigail came after them and put a 
 big sugar-cookie into the child 's hand. ' - Maybe 
 you'll like to eat that for your recess time," 
 she said. "I always did when I went to 
 school. ' ' 
 
 Elizabeth Ann's hand closed automatically 
 about the cookie, but she scarcely heard what 
 
82 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 was said. She felt herself to be in a bad dream. 
 Aunt Frances had never, no never, let her go 
 to school alone, and on the first day of the year 
 always took her to the new teacher and intro- 
 duced her and told the teacher how sensitive 
 she was and how hard to understand ; and then 
 she stayed there for an hour or two till Elizabeth 
 Ann got used to things ! She could not face a 
 whole new school all alone — oh, she couldn't, 
 she wouldn't! She couldn't! Horrors! Here 
 she was in the front hall — she was on the porch ! 
 Cousin Ann was saying: "Now run along, child. 
 Straight down the road till the first turn to the 
 left, and there in the cross-roads, there you 
 are." And now the front door closed behind 
 her, the path stretched before her to the road, 
 and the road led down the hill the way Cousin 
 Ann had pointed. Elizabeth Ann's feet began 
 to move forward and carried her down the 
 path, although she was still crying out to her- 
 self, "I can't! I won't! I can't!" 
 
 Are you wondering why Elizabeth Ann 
 didn't turn right around, open the front door, 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 83 
 
 walk in, and say, " I can 't ! I won 't ! I can 't ! " 
 to Cousin Ann? 
 
 The answer to that question is that she didn't 
 do it because Cousin Ann was Cousin Ann. 
 And there's more in that than you think! In 
 fact, there is a mystery in it that nobody has 
 ever solved, not even the greatest scientists 
 and philosophers, although, like all scientists 
 and philosophers, they think they have gone a 
 long way toward explaining something they 
 don't understand by calling it a long name. 
 The long name is "personality," and what it 
 means nobody knows, but it is perhaps the very 
 most important thing in the world for all that. 
 And yet we know only one or two things about 
 it. We know that anybody's personality is 
 made up of the sum total of all the actions and 
 thoughts and desires of his life. And we know 
 that though there aren't any words or any fig- 
 ures in any language to set down that sum 
 total accurately, still it is one of the first things 
 that everybody knows about anybody else. And 
 that is really all we know! 
 
84 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 So I can't tell you why Elizabeth Ann did 
 not go back and cry and sob and say she 
 couldn't and she wouldn't and she couldn't, as 
 she would certainly have done at Aunt Har- 
 riet's. You remember that I could not even 
 tell you why it was that, as the little fatherless 
 and motherless girl lay in bed looking at Aunt 
 Abigail's old face, she should feel so comforted 
 and protected that she must needs break out 
 crying. No, all I can say is that it was because 
 Aunt Abigail was Aunt Abigail. But perhaps 
 it may occur to you that it's rather a good 
 idea to keep a sharp eye on your "personal- 
 ity, ' ' whatever that is ! It might be very handy, 
 you know, to have a personality like Cousin 
 Ann's which sent Elizabeth Ann's feet down 
 the path; or perhaps you would prefer one 
 like Aunt Abigail's. Well, take your choice. 
 
 You must not, of course, think for a moment 
 that Elizabeth Ann had the slightest intention 
 of obeying Cousin Ann. No indeed! Nothing 
 was farther from her mind as her feet carried 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 85 
 
 her along the path and into the road. In her 
 mind was nothing but rebellion and fear and 
 anger and oh, snch hurt feelings ! She turned 
 sick at the very thought of facing all the star- 
 ing, curious faces in the playground turned on 
 the new scholar as she had seen them at home ! 
 She would never, never do it ! She would walk 
 around all the afternoon, and then go back and 
 tell Cousin Ann that she couldn't! She would 
 explain to her how Aunt Frances never let her 
 go out of doors without a loving hand to cling 
 to. She would explain to her how Aunt Fran- 
 ces always took care of her! ... it was 
 easier to think about what she would say and 
 do and explain, away from Cousin Ann, than it 
 was to say and do it before those black eyes. 
 Aunt Frances's eyes were soft, light blue. 
 
 Oh, how she wanted Aunt Frances to take 
 care of her ! Nobody cared a thing about her ! 
 Nobody understood her but Aunt Frances! 
 She wouldn't go back at all to Putney Farm. 
 She would just walk on and on till she was lost, 
 and the night would come and she would lie 
 
86 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 down and freeze to death, and then wouldn't 
 Cousin Ann feel . . . Someone called to her, 
 ''Isn't this Betsy!" 
 
 She looked up astonished. A young girl in 
 a gingham dress and a white apron like those 
 at Putney Farm stood in front of a tmy, square 
 building, like a toy house. "Isn't this Betsy?" 
 asked the young girl again. "Your Cousin 
 Ann said you were coming to school today 
 and I've been looking out for you. But I saw 
 you going right by, and I ran out to stop 
 you." 
 
 "Why, where is the school?" asked Betsy, 
 staring around for a big brick, four-story build- 
 ing. 
 
 The young girl laughed and held out her 
 hand. "This is the school," she said "and I 
 am the teacher, and you'd better come right in, 
 for it's time to begin." 
 
 She led Betsy into a low-ceilinged room with 
 geraniums at the windows, where about a 
 dozen children of different ages sat behind 
 their desks. At the first sight of them Betsy 
 
BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL 87 
 
 blushed crimson with fright and shyness, and 
 hung down her head; but, looking out the cor- 
 ners of her eyes, she saw that they, too, were 
 all very red-faced and scared-looking and hung 
 down their heads, looking at her shyly out of 
 the corners of their eyes. She was so sur- 
 prised by this that she forgot all about herself 
 and looked inquiringly at the teacher. 
 
 ' ' They don 't see many strangers, ' ' the teacher 
 explained, "and they feel very shy and scared 
 when a new scholar comes, especially one from 
 the city." 
 
 "Is this my grade? " asked Elizabeth, think- 
 ing it the very smallest grade she had ever 
 seen. 
 
 "This is the whole school," said the teacher. 
 "There are only two or three in each class. 
 You'll probably have three in yours. Miss Ann 
 said you were in the third grade. There, that's 
 your seat." 
 
 Elizabeth sat down before a very old desk, 
 much battered and hacked up with knife marks. 
 There was a big H. P. carved just over the ink- 
 
88 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 well, and many other initials scattered all over 
 the top. 
 
 The teacher stepped back to her desk and 
 took up a violin that lay there. "Now, chil- 
 dren, we'll begin the afternoon session by sing- 
 ing * America,' " she said. She played the air 
 over a little very sweetly and stirringly, and 
 then as the children stood up she came down 
 close to them, standing just in front of Betsy. 
 She drew the bow across the strings in a big 
 chord, and said, "Now," and Betsy burst into 
 song with the others. The sun came in the win- 
 dows brightly, the teacher, too, sang as she 
 played, and all the children, even the littlest 
 ones, opened their mouths wide and sang 
 lustily. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 
 
 After the singing the teacher gave Elizabeth 
 Ann a pile of schoolbooks, some paper, some 
 pencils, and a pen, and told her to set her desk 
 in order. There were more initials carved in- 
 side, another big H. P. with a little A. P. 
 under it. What a lot of children must have 
 sat there, thought the little girl as she ar- 
 ranged her books and papers. As she shut 
 down the lid the teacher finished giving some 
 instructions to three or four little ones and 
 said, "Betsy and Ralph and Ellen, bring your 
 reading books up here." 
 
 Betsy sighed, took out her third-grade reader, 
 and went with the other two up to the battered 
 old bench near the teacher's desk. She knew 
 all about reading lessons and she hated them, 
 although she loved to read. But reading les- 
 sons . . . ! You sat with your book open at 
 
90 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 some reading that you could do with your eyes 
 shut, it was so easy, and you waited and waited 
 and waited while your classmates slowly stum- 
 bled along, reading aloud a sentence or two 
 apiece, until your turn came to stand up and 
 read your sentence or two, which by that time 
 sounded just like nonsense because you'd read 
 it over and over so many times to yourself be- 
 fore your chance came. And often you didn't 
 even have a chance to do that, because the 
 teacher didn't have time to get around to you 
 at all, and you closed your book and put it 
 back in your desk without having opened your 
 mouth. Beading was one thing Elizabeth Ann 
 had learned to do very well indeed, but she had 
 learned it all by herself at home from much 
 reading to herself. Aunt Frances had kept 
 her well supplied with children's books from 
 the nearest public library. She often read 
 three a week — very different, that, from a 
 sentence or two once or twice a week. 
 
 When she sat down on the battered old bench 
 she almost laughed aloud, it seemed so funny 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 91 
 
 to be in a class of only three. There had been 
 forty in her grade in the big brick building. 
 She sat in the middle, the little girl whom the 
 teacher had called Ellen on one side, and Ralph 
 on the other. Ellen was very pretty, with fair 
 hair smoothly braided in two little pig-tails, 
 sweet, blue eyes, and a clean blue-and-white 
 gingham dress. Ealph had very black eyes, 
 dark hair, a big bruise on his forehead, a cut 
 on his chin, and a tear in the knee of his short 
 trousers. He was much bigger than Ellen, and 
 Elizabeth Ann thought he looked rather fierce. 
 She decided that she would be afraid of him, 
 and would not like him at all. 
 
 ' ' Page thirty-two, ' ' said the teacher. ' ' Ralph 
 first." 
 
 Ralph stood up and began to read. It 
 sounded very familiar to Elizabeth Ann, for he 
 did not read at all well. What was not fa- 
 miliar was that the teacher did not stop him 
 after the first sentence. He read on and on till 
 he had read a page, the teacher only helping 
 him with the hardest words. 
 
92 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 "Now Betsy," said the teacher. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann stood up, read the first sen- 
 tence, and paused, like a caged lion pausing 
 when he comes to the end of his cage. 
 
 "Go on," said the teacher. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann read the next sentence and 
 stopped again, automatically. 
 
 "Go on," said the teacher, looking at her 
 sharply. 
 
 The next time the little girl paused the 
 teacher laughed out good-naturedly. "What 
 is the matter with you, Betsy?" she said. "Go 
 on till I tell you to stop." 
 
 So Elizabeth Ann, very much surprised but 
 very much interested, read on, sentence after 
 sentence, till she forgot they were sentences 
 and just thought of what they meant. She read 
 a whole page and then another page, and that 
 was the end of the selection. She had never 
 read aloud so much in her life. She was aware 
 that everybody in the room had stopped work- 
 ing to listen to her. She felt very proud and 
 less afraid than she had ever thought she 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 93 
 
 could be in a schoolroom. When she finished, 
 "You read very well!" said the teacher. "Is 
 this very easy for you?" 
 
 "Oh, yes!" said Elizabeth Ann. 
 
 "I guess, then, that you'd better not stay in 
 this class," said the teacher. She took a book 
 out of her desk. "See if you can read that." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann began in her usual school- 
 reading style, very slow and monotonous, but 
 this didn't seem like a "reader" at all. It 
 was poetry, full of hard words that were fun to 
 try to pronounce, and it was all about an old 
 woman who would hang out an American flag, 
 even though the town was full of rebel sol- 
 diers. She read faster and faster, getting 
 more and more excited, till she broke out with 
 "Halt!" in such a loud, spirited voice that the 
 sound of it startled her and made her stop, 
 fearing that she would be laughed at. But 
 nobody laughed. They were all listening, very 
 eagerly, even the little ones, with their eyes 
 turned toward her. 
 
 "You might as well go on and let us see how 
 
94 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 it came out," said the teacher, and Betsy fin- 
 ished triumphantly. 
 
 "Well," said the teacher, "there's no sense 
 in your reading along in the third reader. 
 After this you'll recite out of the seventh 
 reader with Frank and Harry and Stashie." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann could not believe her ears. 
 To be " jumped" four grades in that casual 
 way! It wasn't possible! She at once thought, 
 however, of something that would prevent 
 it entirely, and while Ellen was reading her 
 page in a slow, careful little voice, Elizabeth 
 Ann was feeling miserably that she must ex- 
 plain to the teacher why she couldn't read with 
 the seventh-grade children. Oh, how she 
 wished she could! When they stood up to go 
 back to their seats she hesitated, hung her 
 head, and looked very unhappy. "Did you 
 want to say something to me?" asked the 
 teacher, pausing with a bit of chalk in her 
 hand. 
 
 The little girl went up to her desk and said, 
 what she knew it was her duty to confess: "I 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 95 
 
 can't be allowed to read in the seventh reader. 
 I don't write a bit well, and I never get the 
 mental number- work right. I couldn't do any- 
 thing with seventh-grade arithmetic!" 
 
 The teacher looked a little blank and said:*'/ 
 didn't say anything about your number-work! 
 I don't know anything about it! You haven't 
 recited yet." She turned away and began to 
 write a list of words on the board. " Betsy, 
 Ralph, and Ellen study their spelling," she 
 said. "You little ones come up for your read- 
 ing." 
 
 Two little boys and two little girls came for- 
 ward as Elizabeth Ann began to con over the 
 words on the board. At first she found she 
 was listening to the little, chirping voices, as the 
 children struggled with their reading, instead 
 of studying "doubt, travel, cheese," and the 
 other words in her lesson. But she put her 
 hands over her ears, and her mind on her spell- 
 ing. She wanted to make a good impression 
 with that lesson. After a while, when she was 
 sure she could spell them all correctly, she be- 
 
96 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 gan to listen and look around her. She always 
 "got" her spelling in less time than was al- 
 lowed the class, and usually sat idle, looking 
 out of the window until that study period was 
 over. But now the moment she stopped star- 
 ing at the board and moving her lips as she 
 spelled to herself the teacher said, just as 
 though she had been watching her every min- 
 ute instead of conducting a class, "Betsy, have 
 you learned your spelling ?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am, I think so," said Elizabeth 
 Ann, wondering very much why she was asked. 
 
 "That's fine," said the teacher. "I wish 
 you'd take little Molly over in that corner and 
 help her with her reading. She's getting on 
 so much better than the rest of the class that I 
 hate to have her lose her time. Just hear her 
 read the rest of her little story, will you, and 
 don't help her unless she's really stuck." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann was startled by this request, 
 which was unheard-of in her experience. She 
 was very uncertain of herself as she sat down 
 on a low chair in the corner of the schoolroom 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 97 
 
 away from the desks, with the little child lean- 
 ing on her knee. And yet she was not exactly 
 afraid, either, because Molly was such a shy 
 little roly-poly thing, with her crop of yellow 
 curls, and her bright blue eyes very serious 
 as she looked hard at the book and began: 
 "Once there was a rat. It was a fat rat." 
 No, it was impossible to be frightened of such 
 a funny little girl, who peered so earnestly into 
 the older child's face to make sure she was do- 
 ing her lesson right. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann had never had anything to 
 do with children younger than herself, and she 
 felt very pleased and important to have any- 
 body look up to her! She put her arm around 
 Molly's square, warm, fat little body and gave 
 her a squeeze. Molly snuggled up closer, and 
 the two children put their heads together over 
 the printed page, Elizabeth Ann correcting 
 Molly very gently indeed when she made a 
 mistake, and waiting patiently when she hesi- 
 tated. She had so fresh in her mind her own 
 suffering from quick, nervous corrections that 
 
98 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 she took the greatest pleasure in speaking 
 quietly and not interrupting the little girl 
 more than was necessary. It was fun to teach, 
 lots of fun! She was surprised when the 
 teacher said, "Well, Betsy, how did Molly do?" 
 
 "Oh, is the time up?" said Elizabeth Ann. 
 "Why, she does beautifully, I think, for such 
 a little thing." 
 
 "Do you suppose," said the teacher thought- 
 fully, just as though Betsy were a grown-up 
 person, "do you suppose she could go into the 
 second reader, with Eliza? There's no use 
 keeping her in the first if she's ready to go 
 on." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann's head whirled with this sec- 
 ond light-handed juggling with the sacred dis- 
 tinction between the grades. In the big brick 
 schoolhouse nobody ever went into another 
 grade except at the beginning of a new year, 
 after you'd passed a lot of examinations. She 
 had not known that anybody could do anything 
 else. The idea that everybody took a year to 
 a grade, no matter what! was so fixed in her 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 99 
 
 mind that she felt as though the teacher had 
 said: "How would you like to stop being nine 
 years old and be twelve instead? And don't 
 you think Molly would better be eight instead 
 of six?" 
 
 However, just then her class in arithmetic 
 was called, so that she had no more time to be 
 puzzled. She came forward with Ralph and 
 Ellen again, very low in her mind. She hated 
 arithmetic with all her might, and she really 
 didn't understand a thing about it! By long 
 experience she had learned to read her teach- 
 ers' faces very accurately, and she guessed by 
 their expression whether the answer she gave 
 was the right one. And that was the only way 
 she could tell. You never heard of any other 
 child who did that, did you? 
 
 They had mental arithmetic, of course (Eliza- 
 beth Ann thought it just her luck!), and of 
 course it was those hateful eights and sevens, 
 and of course right away poor Betsy got the 
 one she hated most, 7x8. She never knew that 
 one! She said dispiritedly that it was 54, re- 
 
100 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 membering vaguely that it was somewhere in 
 the fifties. Ealph burst out scornfully, "56!" 
 and the teacher, as if she wanted to take him 
 down for showing off, pounced on him with 
 9x8. He answered, without drawing breath, 
 72. Elizabeth Ann shuddered at his accuracy. 
 Ellen, too, rose to the occasion when she got 
 6x7, which Elizabeth Ann could sometimes re- 
 member and sometimes not. And then, oh hor- 
 rors! It was her turn again! Her turn had 
 never before come more than twice during a 
 mental arithmetic lesson. She was so startled 
 by the swiftness with which the question went 
 around that she balked on 6x6, which she 
 knew perfectly. And before she could recover 
 Ralph had answered and had rattled out a 
 108 in answer to 9 x 12 ; and then Ellen slapped 
 down an 84 on top of 7x12. Good gracious! 
 "Who could have guessed, from the way they 
 read, they could do their tables like this ! She 
 herself missed on 7 x 7 and was ready to cry. 
 After this the teacher didn't call on her at all, 
 but showered questions down on the other two, 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 101 
 
 who sent the answers back with sickening 
 speed. 
 
 After the lesson the teacher said, smiling, 
 "Well, Betsy, you were right about your arith- 
 metic. I guess you'd better recite with Eliza 
 for a while. She's doing second-grade work. 
 I shouldn't be surprised if, after a good review 
 with her, you'd be able to go on with the third- 
 grade work." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann fell back on the bench with 
 her mouth open. She felt really dizzy. What 
 crazy things the teacher said! She felt as 
 though she was being pulled limb from limb. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked the teacher, see- 
 ing her bewildered fact. 
 
 "Why— why," said Elizabeth Ann, "I don't 
 know what I am at all. If I'm second-grade 
 arithmetic and seventh-grade reading and 
 third-grade spelling, what grade am I?" 
 
 The teacher laughed at the turn of her 
 phrase. "You aren't any grade at all, no mat- 
 ter where you are in school. You're just your- 
 self, aren't you? What difference does it 
 
102 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 make what grade you're in? And what's the 
 use of your reading little baby things too easy 
 for you just because you don't know your 
 multiplication table?" 
 
 "Well, for goodness' sakes!" ejaculated 
 Elizabeth Ann, feeling very much as though 
 somebody had stood her suddenly on her head. 
 
 "Why, what's the matter?" asked the teacher 
 again. 
 
 This time Elizabeth Ann didn't answer, be- 
 cause she herself didn't know what the matter 
 was. But I do, and I'll tell you. The matter 
 was that never before had she known what she 
 was doing in school. She had always thought 
 she was there to pass from one grade to 
 another, and she was ever so startled to get a 
 little glimpse of the fact that she was there to 
 learn how to read and write and cipher and 
 generally use her mind, so she could take care 
 of herself when she came to be grown up. Of 
 course, she didn't really know that till she did 
 come to be grown up, but she had her first dim 
 notion of it in that moment, and it made her 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 103 
 
 feel the way you do when you're learning to 
 skate and somebody pulls away the chair 
 you've been leaning on and says, "Now, go it 
 alone ! ' ' 
 
 The teacher waited a minute, and then, wTien 
 Elizabeth Ann didn't say anything more, she 
 rang a little bell. "Kecess time," she said, 
 and as the children marched out and began put- 
 ting on their wraps she followed them into the 
 cloak-room, pulled on a warm, red cap and a 
 red sweater, and ran outdoors herself. "Who's 
 on my side ! ' ' she called, and the children came 
 darting out after her. Elizabeth Ann had 
 dreaded the first recess time with the strange 
 children, but she had no time to feel shy, for 
 in a twinkling she was on one end of a long 
 rope with a lot of her schoolmates, pulling with 
 all her might against the teacher and two of 
 the big boys. Nobody had looked at her curi- 
 ously, nobody had said anything to her beyond 
 a loud, "Come on, Betsy!" from Ealph, who 
 was at the head on their side. 
 
 They pulled and they pulled, digging their 
 
104 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 feet into the ground and bracing themselves 
 against the rocks which stuck up out of the play- 
 ground. Sometimes the teacher's side yanked 
 them along by quick jerks, and then they'd 
 all set their feet hard when Ralph shouted out, 
 "Now, all together!" and they'd slowly drag 
 the other side back. And all the time every- 
 body was shouting and yelling together with 
 the excitement. Betsy was screaming too, and 
 when a wagon passing by stopped and a big, 
 broad-shouldered farmer jumped down laugh- 
 ing, put the end of the rope over his shoulder, 
 and just walked off with the w T hole lot of them 
 till he had pulled them clear off their feet, 
 Elizabeth Ann found herself rolling over and 
 over with a breathless, squirming mass of chil- 
 dren, her shrill laughter rising even above the 
 shouts of merriment of the others. She laughed 
 so she could hardly get up on her feet again, 
 it was such an unexpected ending to the con- 
 test. 
 
 The big farmer was laughing too. "You 
 ain't so smart as you think you are, are you!" 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 105 
 
 he jeered at them good-naturedly. Then he 
 started, yelling ''WHOA there!" to his horses, 
 which had begun to walk on. He had to run 
 after them with all his might, and just climbed 
 into the back of the wagon and grabbed the 
 reins the very moment they broke into a trot. 
 The children laughed, and Ealph shouted after 
 him, "Hi, there, Uncle Nate! Who's not so 
 smart as he thinks he is, now!" He turned to 
 the little girls near him. "They 'most got 
 away from him that time!" he said. "He's 
 awful foolish about leaving them standing 
 while he's funning or something. He thinks 
 he's awful funny, anyhow. Some day they'll 
 run away on him and then where '11 he be?" 
 Elizabeth Ann was thinking to herself that 
 this was one of the queerest things that had 
 happened to her even in this queer place. 
 Never, why never once, had any grown-up, pass- 
 ing the playground of the big brick building, 
 dreamed of such a thing as stopping for a min- 
 ute to play. They never even looked at the 
 children, any more than if they were in another 
 
106 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 world. In fact she had felt the school was in 
 another world. 
 
 " Ralph, it's your turn to get the water," 
 said the teacher, handing him a pail. ''Want 
 to go along?" said Ralph gruffly to Ellen and 
 Betsy. He led the way and the little girls 
 walked after him. Now that she was out of a 
 crowd Elizabeth Ann felt all her shyness come 
 down on her like a black cloud, drying up her 
 mouth and turning her hands and feet cold as 
 ice. Into one of these cold hands she felt 
 small, warm fingers slide. She looked down 
 and there was little Molly trotting by her side, 
 turning her blue eyes up trustfully. "Teacher 
 says I can go with you if you'll take care 
 of me," she said. "She never lets us first- 
 graders go without somebody bigger to help 
 us over the log." 
 
 As she spoke they came to a small, clear, 
 swift brook, crossed by a big white-birch log. 
 Elizabeth Ann was horribly afraid to set foot 
 on it, but with little Molly's hand holding 
 tightly to hers she was ashamed to say she was 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 107 
 
 afraid. Ralph skipped across, swinging the 
 pail to show how easy it was for him. Ellen 
 followed more slowly, and then — oh, don't you 
 wish Aunt Frances could have been there! — 
 Betsy shut her teeth together hard, put Molly 
 ahead of her, took her hand, and started across. 
 As a matter of fact Molly went along as sure- 
 footed as a little goat, having done it a hun- 
 dred times, and it was she who steadied Eliza- 
 beth Ann. But nobody knew this, Molly least 
 of all. 
 
 Ralph took a drink out of a tin cup standing 
 on a stump near by, dipped the pail into a 
 deep, clear pool, and started back to the school. 
 Ellen took a drink and offered the cup to Betsy, 
 very shyly, without looking up. After they 
 had all three had a drink they stood there for 
 a moment, much embarrassed. Then Ellen said, 
 in a very small voice, "Do you like dolls with 
 yellow hair the best?" 
 
 Now it happened that Elizabeth Ann had 
 very positive convictions on this point which 
 she had never spoken of, because Aunt Fran- 
 
108 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ces didn't really care about dolls. She only 
 pretended to, to be company for her little 
 niece. 
 
 "No, I don't!" answered the little girl em- 
 phatically. "I get just sick and tired of al- 
 ways seeing them with that old, bright-yellow 
 hair ! I like them to have brown hair, just the 
 way most little girls really do!" 
 
 Ellen lifted her eyes and smiled radiantly. 
 "Oh, so do I!" she said. "And that lovely old 
 doll your folks have has got brown hair. Will 
 you let me play with her some time?" 
 
 "My folks?" said Elizabeth Ann blankly. 
 
 "Why yes, your Aunt Abigail and your 
 Uncle Henry." 
 
 "Have they got a doll?" said Betsy, think- 
 ing this was the very climax of Putney queer- 
 ness. 
 
 ' ' Oh my, yes ! ' ' said Molly, eagerly. ' ' She 's 
 the one Mrs. Putney had when she was a little 
 girl. And she 's got the loveliest clothes ! She 's 
 in the hair- trunk under the eaves in the attic. 
 They let me take her down once when I was 
 
Betsy shut her teeth together hard, and started across. 
 
WHAT GRADE IS BETSY? 109 
 
 there with Mother. And Mother said she 
 guessed, now a little girl had come there to 
 live, they'd let her have her down all the time. 
 I'll bring mine over next Saturday, if you want 
 me to. Mine's got yellow hair, but she's real 
 pretty anyhow. If Father's going to mill that 
 day, he can leave me there for the morning. ' ' 
 
 Elizabeth Ann had not understood more than 
 one word in five of this, but just then the 
 school-bell rang and they went back, little 
 Molly helping Elizabeth Ann over the log and 
 thinking she was being helped, as before. 
 
 They ran along to the little building, and 
 there I'm going to leave them, because I think 
 I've told enough about their school for one 
 while. It was only a poor, rough, little district 
 school anyway, that no Superintendent of 
 Schools would have looked at for a minute, ex- 
 cept to sniff. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 IF YOU DON'T LIKE CONVERSATION IN A 
 BOOK SKIP THIS CHAPTER! 
 
 Betsy opened the door and was greeted by 
 her kitten, who ran to her, purring and arching 
 her back to be stroked. 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Abigail, looking up from 
 the pan of apples in her lap, "I suppose you're 
 starved, aren't you? Get yourself a piece of 
 bread and butter, why don't you? and have one 
 of these apples." 
 
 As the little girl sat down by her, munch- 
 ing fast on this provender, she asked: "What 
 desk did you get?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann thought for a moment, cud- 
 dling Eleanor up to her face. "I think it is the 
 third from the front in the second row." She 
 wondered why Aunt Abigail cared. "Oh, I 
 guess that's your Uncle Henry's desk. It's 
 no 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 111 
 
 the one his father had, too. Are there a cou- 
 ple of H. P.'s carved on it?" 
 
 Betsy nodded. 
 
 ''His father carved the H. P. on the lid, so 
 Henry had to put his inside. I remember the 
 winter he put it there. It was the first season 
 Mother let me wear real hoop skirts. I sat in 
 the first seat on the third row." 
 
 Betsy ate her apple more and more slowly, 
 trying to take in what Aunt Abigail had said. 
 Uncle Henry and his father — why Moses or 
 Alexander the Great didn't seem any further 
 back in the mists of time to Elizabeth Ann 
 than did Uncle Henry's father! And to 
 think he had been a little boy, right there at 
 that desk ! She stopped chewing altogether for 
 a moment and stared into space. Although she 
 was only nine years old, she was feeling a lit- 
 tle of the same rapt wonder, the same aston- 
 ished sense of the reality of the people who 
 have gone before, which make a first visit to 
 the Eoman Forum such a thrilling event for 
 grown-ups. That very desk! 
 
112 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 After a moment she came to herself, and 
 finding some apple still in her mouth, went on 
 chewing meditatively. "Aunt Abigail," she 
 said, "how long ago was that?" 
 
 " Let's see," said the old woman, peeling 
 apples with wonderful rapidity. "I was born 
 in 18-4-4. And I was six when I first went to 
 school. That's sixty-six years ago." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann, like all little girls of nine, had 
 very little notion how long sixty-six years might 
 be. ' ' Was George "Washington alive then 1 ' ' she 
 asked. 
 
 The wrinkles around Aunt Abigail's eyes 
 deepened mirthfully, but she did not laugh as 
 she answered, "No, that was long after he 
 died, but the schoolhouse was there when he 
 was alive." 
 
 "It was!" said Betsy, staring, with her 
 teeth set deep in an apple. 
 
 "Yes, indeed. It was the first house in the 
 valley built of sawed lumber. You know, when 
 our folks came up here, they had to build all 
 their houses of logs to begin with." 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 113 
 
 " They did!" cried Betsy, with her mouth 
 full of apple. 
 
 "Why yes, child, what else did you suppose 
 they had to make houses out of? They had to 
 have something to live in, right off. The saw- 
 mills came later." 
 
 "I didn't know anything about it," said 
 Betsy. "Tell me about it." 
 
 "Why you knew, didn't you — your Aunt 
 Harriet must have told you — about how our 
 folks came up here from Connecticut in 1763, 
 on horseback! Connecticut was an old settled 
 place then, compared to Vermont. There 
 wasn't 'anything here but trees and bears and 
 wood-pigeons. I've heard 'em say that the 
 wood-pigeons were so thick you could go out 
 after dark and club 'em out of the trees, just 
 like hens roosting in a hen-house. There al- 
 ways was cold pigeon-pie in the pantry, just 
 the way we have doughnuts. And they used 
 bear-grease to grease their boots and their 
 hair, bears were so plenty. It sounds like 
 good eating, don't it! But of course that was 
 
114 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 just at first. It got quite settled up before 
 long, and by the time of the Revolution, bears 
 were getting pretty scarce, and soon the wood- 
 pigeons were all gone." 
 
 "And the schoolhouse — that schoolhouse 
 where I went today — was that built then?" 
 Elizabeth Ann found it hard to believe. 
 
 "Yes, it used to have a great big chimney 
 and fireplace in it. It was built long before 
 stoves were invented, you know." 
 
 "Why, I thought stoves were always in- 
 vented!" cried Elizabeth Ann. This was the 
 most startling and interesting conversation she 
 had ever taken part in. 
 
 Aunt Abigail laughed. "Mercy, no, child! 
 Why, I can remember when only folks that 
 were pretty well off had stoves^ and real poor 
 people still cooked over a hearth fire. I al- 
 ways thought it a pity they tore down the big 
 chimney and fireplace out of the schoolhouse 
 and put in that big, ugly stove. But folks are 
 so daft over new-fangled things. Well, any- 
 how, they couldn't take away the sun-dial on 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 115 
 
 the window-sill. You want to be sure to look 
 at that. It's on the sill of the middle window 
 on the right hand as you face the teacher's 
 desk." 
 
 ' ' Sun-dial, ' ' repeated Betsy. ' ' What 's that \ ' ' 
 
 "Why to tell the time by, when " 
 
 "Why didn't they have a clock?" asked the 
 child. 
 
 Aunt Abigail laughed. "Good gracious, 
 there was only one clock in the valley for years 
 and years, and that belonged to the Wardons, 
 the rich people in the village. Everybody had 
 sun-dials cut in their window-sills. There's 
 one on the window-sill of our pantry this min- 
 ute. Come on, I'll show it to you." She got 
 up heavily with her pan of apples, and trotted 
 briskly, shaking the floor as she went, over to 
 the stove. "But first just watch me put these 
 on to cook so you'll know how." She set the 
 pan on the stove, poured some water from the 
 tea-kettle over the apples, and put on a cover. 
 "Now come on into the pantry." 
 They entered a sweet-smelling, spicy little 
 
116 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 room, all white paint, and shelves which were 
 loaded with dishes and boxes and bags and 
 pans of milk and jars of preserves. 
 
 "There!" said Aunt Abigail, opening the 
 window. "That's not so good as the one at 
 school. This only tells when noon is." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann stared stupidly at the deep 
 scratch on the window-sill. 
 
 ' ' Don 't you see ? " said Aunt Abigail. ' ' When 
 the shadow got to that mark it was noon. And 
 the rest of the time you guessed by how far 
 it was from the mark. Let's see if I can come 
 anywhere near it now. She looked at it hard 
 and said: "I guess it's half -past four." She 
 glanced back into the kitchen at the clock and 
 said: "Oh pshaw! It's ten minutes past five! 
 Now my grandmother could have told that 
 within five minutes, just by the place of the 
 shadow. I declare ! Sometimes it seems to me 
 that every time a new piece of machinery 
 comes into the door some of our wits fly out 
 at the window! Now I couldn't any more live 
 without matches than I could fly! And yet 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 117 
 
 they all used to get along all right before they 
 had matches. Makes me feel foolish to think 
 I'm not smart enough to get along, if I wanted 
 to, without those little snips of pine and brim- 
 stone. Here, Betsy, take a cooky. It's against 
 my principles to let a child leave the pantry 
 without having a cooky. My! it does seem 
 like living again to have a young one around 
 to stuff!" 
 
 Betsy took the cooky, but went on with the 
 conversation by exclaiming, "How could any- 
 body get along without matches? You have 
 to have matches." 
 
 Aunt Abigail didn't answer at first. They 
 were back in the kitchen now. She was look- 
 ing at the clock again. "See here," she said; 
 "it's time I began getting supper ready. We 
 divide up on the work. Ann gets the dinner 
 and I get the supper. And everybody gets his 
 own breakfast. Which would you rather do, 
 help Ann with the dinner, or me with the sup- 
 per?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann had not had the slightest idea 
 
118 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 of helping anybody with any meal, but, con- 
 fronted unexpectedly with the alternative of- 
 fered, she made up her mind so quickly that she 
 didn't want to help Cousin Ann, and declared 
 so loudly, ''Oh, help you with the supper!" 
 that her promptness made her sound quite 
 hearty and willing. "Well, that's fine," said 
 Aunt Abigail. "We'll set the table now. But 
 first you would better look at that apple sauce. 
 I hear it walloping away as though it was boil- 
 ing too fast. Maybe you'd better push it back 
 where it won't cook so fast. There are the 
 holders, on that hook." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann approached the stove with 
 the holder in her hand and horror in her heart. 
 Nobody had ever dreamed of asking her to 
 handle hot things. She looked around dismally 
 at Aunt Abigail, but the old woman was stand- 
 ing with her back turned, doing something at 
 the kitchen table. Very gingerly the little girl 
 took hold of the handle of the saucepan, and 
 very gingerly she shoved it to the back of the 
 stove. And then she stood still a moment to 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 119 
 
 admire herself. She could do that as well as 
 anybody ! 
 
 "Why," said Aunt Abigail, as if remember- 
 ing that Betsy had asked her a question. "Any 
 man could strike a spark from his flint and 
 steel that he had for his gun. And he'd keep 
 striking it till it happened to fly out in the 
 right direction, and you'd catch it in some 
 fluff where it would start a smoulder, and 
 you'd blow on it till you got a little flame, and 
 drop tiny bits of shaved-up dry pine in it, and 
 so, little by little, you'd build your fire up." 
 
 "But it must have taken forever to do 
 that!" 
 
 "Oh, you didn't have to do that more than 
 once in ever so long," said Aunt Abigail, 
 briskly. She interrupted her story to say: 
 "Now you put the silver around, while I cream 
 the potatoes. It's in that drawer — a knife, a 
 fork, and two spoons for each place — and the 
 plates and cups are up there behind the glass 
 doors. We're going to have hot cocoa again to- 
 night. ' ' And as the little girl, hypnotized by the 
 
120 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 other's casual, offhand way of issuing instruc- 
 tions, began to fumble with the knives and 
 forks she went on: "Why, you'd start your fire 
 that way, and then you'd never let it go out. 
 Everybody that amounted to anything knew 
 how to bank the hearth fire with ashes at night 
 so it would be sure to last. And the first 
 thing in the morning, you got down on your 
 knees and poked the ashes away very carefully 
 till you got to the hot coals. Then you'd blow 
 with the bellows and drop in pieces of dry pine 
 — don't forget the water-glasses — and you'd 
 blow gently till they flared up and the shavings 
 caught, and there your fire would be kindled 
 again. The napkins are in the second drawer." 
 
 Betsy went on setting the table, deep in 
 thought, reconstructing the old life. As she 
 put the napkins around she said, "But some- 
 times it must have gone out . . ." 
 
 "Yes," said Aunt Abigail, "sometimes it 
 went out, and then one of the children was 
 sent over to the nearest neighbor to borrow 
 some fire. He'd take a covered iron pan 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 121 
 
 fastened on to a long hickory stick, and go 
 through the woods — everything was woods 
 then — to the next house and wait till they had 
 their fire going and could spare him a pan full 
 of coals; and then — don't forget the salt and 
 pepper — he would leg it home as fast as he 
 could streak it, to get there before the coals 
 went out. Say, Betsy, I think that apple 
 sauce is ready to be sweetened. You do it, will 
 you? I've got my hands in the biscuit dough. 
 The sugar's in the left-hand drawer in the 
 kitchen cabinet." 
 
 "Oh, my!" cried Betsy, dismayed. "I don't 
 know how to cook!" 
 
 Aunt Abigail laughed and put back a strand 
 of curly white hair with the back of her floury 
 hand. "You know how to stir sugar into your 
 cup of cocoa, don't you!" 
 
 "But how much shall I put in?" asked Eliza- 
 beth Ann, clamoring for exact instruction so 
 she wouldn't need to do any thinking for her- 
 self. 
 
 "Oh, till it tastes right," said Aunt Abigail, 
 
122 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 carelessly. "Fix it to suit yourself, and I 
 guess the rest of us will like it. Take that big 
 spoon to stir it with." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann took off the lid and began 
 stirring in sugar, a teaspoonful at a time, but 
 she soon saw that that made no impression. 
 She poured in a cupful, stirred it vigorously, 
 and tasted it. Better, but not quite enough. 
 She put in a tablespoonful more and tasted 
 it, staring off into space under bended brows 
 as she concentrated her attention on the taste. 
 It was quite a responsibility to prepare the 
 apple sauce for a family. It was ever so good, 
 too. But maybe a little more sugar. She put 
 in a teaspoonful and decided it was just exactly 
 right ! 
 
 1 ' Done ! ' ' asked Aunt Abigail. ' ' Take it off, 
 then, and pour it out in that big yellow bowl, 
 and put it on the table in front of your 
 place. You've made it; you ought to serve 
 it." 
 
 "It isn't done, is it?" asked Betsy. "That 
 isn't all you do to make apple sauce!" 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 123 
 
 "What else could you do?" asked Aunt Abi- 
 gail. 
 
 "Well . . . !" said Elizabeth Ann, very 
 much surprised. "I didn't know it was so 
 easy to cook!" 
 
 "Easiest thing in the world," said Aunt 
 Abigail gravely, with the merry wrinkles 
 around her merry old eyes all creased up with 
 silent fun. 
 
 When Uncle Henry came in from the barn, 
 with old Shep at his heels, and Cousin Ann 
 came down from upstairs, where her sewing- 
 machine had been humming like a big bee, they 
 were both duly impressed when told that Betsy 
 had set the table and made the apple sauce. 
 They pronounced it very good apple sauce in- 
 deed, and each sent his saucer back to the lit- 
 tle girl for a second helping. She herself ate 
 three saucerfuls. Her own private opinion 
 was that it was the very best apple sauce ever 
 made. 
 
124 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 After supper was over and the dishes washed 
 and wiped, Betsy helping with the putting- 
 away, the four gathered around the big lamp 
 on the table with the red cover. Cousin Ann 
 was making some buttonholes in the shirt- 
 waist she had constructed that afternoon, Aunt 
 Abigail was darning socks, and Uncle Henry 
 was mending a piece of harness. Shep lay on 
 the couch and snored until he got so noisy 
 they couldn't stand it, and Cousin Ann poked 
 him in the ribs and he woke up snorting and 
 gurgling and looking around very sheepishly. 
 Every time this happened it made Betsy laugh. 
 She held Eleanor, who didn't snore at all, but 
 made the prettiest little tea-kettle-singing 
 purr deep in her throat, and opened and 
 sheathed her needle-like claws in Betsy's 
 dress. 
 
 "Well, how'd you get on at school V 9 asked 
 Uncle Henry. 
 
 "I've got your desk," said Elizabeth Ann, 
 looking at him curiously, at his gray hair and 
 wrinkled, weather-beaten face, and trying to 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 125 
 
 think what he must have looked like when he 
 was a little boy like Ralph. 
 
 "So?" said Uncle Henry. "Well, let me 
 tell you that's a mighty good desk! Did you 
 notice the deep groove in the top of it?" 
 
 Betsy nodded. She had wondered what that 
 was used for. 
 
 "Well, that was the lead-pencil desk in the 
 old days. When they couldn't run down to the 
 store to buy things, because there wasn't any 
 store to run to, how do you suppose they got 
 their lead-pencils?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann shook her head, incapable 
 even of a guess. She had never thought before 
 but that lead-pencils grew in glass show-cases 
 in stores. 
 
 "Well, sir," said Uncle Henry, "I'll tell 
 you. They took a piece off the lump of lead 
 they made their bullets of, melted it over the 
 fire in the hearth down at the schoolhouse till 
 it would run like water, and poured it in that 
 groove. When it cooled off, there was a long 
 streak of solid lead, about as big as one of our 
 
126 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 lead-pencils nowadays. They'd break that up 
 in shorter lengths, and there you'd have your 
 lead-pencils, made while you wait. Oh, I tell 
 you in the old days folks knew how to take 
 care of themselves more than now." 
 
 "Why, weren't there any stores?" asked 
 Elizabeth Ann. She could not imagine living 
 without buying things at stores. 
 
 " Where 'd they get the things to put in a 
 store in those days?" asked Uncle Henry, 
 argumentatively. "Every single thing had to 
 be lugged clear from Albany or from Con- 
 necticut on horseback." 
 
 "Why didn't they use wagons?" asked Eliza- 
 beth Ann. 
 
 "You can't run a wagon unless you've got 
 a road to run it on, can you?" asked Uncle 
 Henry. ' ' It was a long, long time before they 
 had any roads. It's an awful chore to make 
 roads in a new country all woods and hills and 
 swamps and rocks. You were lucky if there 
 was a good path from your house to the next 
 settlement. ' ' 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 127 
 
 "Now, Henry," said Aunt Abigail, "do stop 
 going on about old times long enough to let 
 Betsy answer the question you asked her. You 
 haven't given her a chance to say how she got 
 on at 8011001." 
 
 "Well, I'm awfully mixed up!" said Betsy, 
 complainingly. ' ' I don 't know what I am ! I 'm 
 second-grade arithmetic and third-grade spell- 
 ing and seventh-grade reading and I don't 
 know what in writing or composition. We 
 didn't have those." 
 
 Nobody seemed to think this very remark- 
 able, or even very interesting. Uncle Henry, 
 indeed, noted it only to say, "Seventh-grade 
 reading!" He turned to Aunt Abigail. "Oh, 
 Mother, don't you suppose she could read 
 aloud to us evenings?" 
 
 Aunt Abigail and Cousin Ann both laid 
 down their sewing to laugh ! ' ' Yes, yes, Father, 
 and play checkers with you too, like as not!" 
 They explained to Betsy: "Your Uncle Henry 
 is just daft on being read aloud to when he's 
 got something to do in the evening, and when 
 
128 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 he hasn't he's as fidgety as a broody hen if he 
 can't play checkers. Ann hates checkers and 
 I haven't got the time, often." 
 
 "Oh, I love to play checkers!" said Betsy. 
 
 "Well, now ..." said Uncle Henry, rising 
 instantly and dropping his half-mended har- 
 ness on the table. "Let's have a game." 
 
 "Oh, Father!" said Cousin Ann, in the tone 
 she used for Shep. "How about that piece of 
 breeching! You know that's not safe. Why 
 don't you finish that up first?" 
 
 Uncle Henry sat down again, looking as 
 Shep did when Cousin Ann told him to get up 
 on the couch, and took up his needle and awl. 
 
 "But I could read something aloud," said 
 Betsy, feeling very sorry for him. "At least 
 I think I could. I never did, except at school." 
 
 "What shall we have, Mother?" asked Uncle 
 Henry eagerly. 
 
 "Oh, I don't know. What have we got in 
 this bookcase?" said Aunt Abigail. "It's 
 pretty cold to go into the parlor to the other 
 one." She leaned forward, ran her fat fore- 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 129 
 
 finger over the worn old volumes, and took 
 out a battered, blue-covered book. " Scott?" 
 
 "Gosh, yes!" said Uncle Henry, his eyes 
 shining. "The staggit eve!" 
 
 At least that was the way it sounded to 
 Betsy, but when she took the book and looked 
 where Aunt Abigail pointed she read it cor- 
 rectly, though in a timid, uncertain voice. She 
 was very proud to think she could please a 
 grown-up so much as she was evidently pleas- 
 ing Uncle Henry, but the idea of reading aloud 
 for people to hear, not for a teacher to correct, 
 was unheard-of. 
 
 The Stag at eve had drunk his fill 
 Where danced the moon on Monan's rill, 
 
 she began, and it was as though she had 
 stepped into a boat and was swept off by a 
 strong current. She did not know what all the 
 words meant, and she could not pronounce a 
 good many of the names, but nobody inter- 
 rupted to correct her, and she read on and on, 
 steadied by the strongly-marked rhythm, drawn 
 
130 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 forward swiftly from one clanging, sonorous 
 rhyme to another. Uncle Henry nodded his 
 head in time to the rise and fall of her voice 
 and now and then stopped his work to look 
 at her with bright, eager, old eyes. He knew 
 some of the places by heart evidently, for 
 once in a while his voice wouldyjoin the little 
 girl's for a couplet or two. They chanted to- 
 gether thus: 
 
 A moment listened to the cry 
 That thickened as the chase drew nigh, 
 Then, as the headmost foes appeared, 
 With one brave bound, the copse he cleared. 
 
 At the last line Uncle Henry flung his arm 
 out wide, and the child felt as though the deer 
 had made his great leap there, before her eyes. 
 
 "I've seen 'em jump just like that," broke in 
 Uncle Henry. "A two-three-hundred-pound 
 stag go up over a four-foot fence just like a 
 piece of thistledown in the wind." 
 
 "Uncle Henry," asked Elizabeth Ann, "what 
 is a copse?" 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 131 
 
 "I don't know," said Uncle Henry indiffer- 
 ently. ' ' Something in the woods, must be. Un- 
 derbrush most likely. You can always tell 
 words you don't know by the sense of the whole 
 thing. Go on." 
 
 And stretching forward, free and far, 
 
 The child's voice took up the chant again. She 
 read faster and faster as it got more exciting. 
 Uncle Henry joined in on 
 
 For, jaded now and spent with toil, 
 Embossed with foam and dark with soil, 
 While every gasp with sobs he drew, 
 The laboring stag strained full in view. 
 
 The little girl's heart beat fast. She fled 
 along through the next lines, stumbling des- 
 perately over the hard words but seeing the 
 headlong chase through them clearly as through 
 tree-trunks in a forest. Uncle Henry broke in 
 in a triumphant shout: 
 
 The wily quarry shunned the shock 
 And turned him from the opposing rock ; 
 
132 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Then dashing down a darksome glen, 
 Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken, 
 In the deep Trossach 's wildest nook 
 His solitary refuge took. 
 
 "Oh my!" cried Elizabeth Ann, laying down 
 the book. "He got away, didn't he? I was 
 so afraid he wouldn't!" 
 
 "I can just hear those dogs yelping, can't 
 you!" said Uncle Henry. 
 
 Yelled on the view the opening pack. 
 
 "Sometimes you hear 'em that way up on 
 the slope of Hemlock Mountain back of us, 
 when they get to running a deer." 
 
 "What say we have some pop-corn!" sug- 
 gested Aunt Abigail. "Betsy, don't you want 
 to pop us some?" 
 
 "I never did," said the little girl, but in a 
 less doubtful tone than she had ever used with 
 that phrase so familiar to her. A dim notion 
 was growing up in her mind that the fact that 
 she had never done a thing was no proof that 
 she couldn't. 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 133 
 
 "111 show you," said Uncle Henry. He 
 reached down a couple of ears from a big yel- 
 low cluster hanging on the wall, and he and 
 Betsy shelled them into the popper, popped it 
 full of snowy kernels, buttered it, salted it, 
 and took it back to the table. 
 
 It was just as she was eating her first am- 
 brosial mouthful that the door opened and a 
 fur-capped head was thrust in. A man's voice 
 said: "Evenin', folks. No, I can't stay. I 
 was down at the village just now, and thought 
 I 'd ask for any mail down our way. ' ' He tossed 
 a newspaper and a letter on the table and was 
 gone. 
 
 The letter was addressed to Elizabeth Ann 
 and it was from Aunt Frances. She read it to 
 herself while Uncle Henry read the newspaper. 
 Aunt Frances wrote that she had been per- 
 fectly horrified to learn that Cousin Molly had 
 not kept Elizabeth Ann with her, and that she 
 would never forgive her for that cruelty. And 
 when she thought that her darling was at Put- 
 ney Farm . . . ! Her blood ran cold. It 
 
134 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 positively did! It was too dreadful. But it 
 couldn't be helped, for a time anyhow, because 
 Aunt Harriet was really very sick. Elizabeth 
 Ann would have to be a dear, brave child and 
 endure it as best she could. And as soon . . . 
 oh, as soon as ever she could, Aunt Frances 
 would come and take her away from them. 
 "Don't cry too much, darling ... it breaks 
 my heart to think of you there! Try to 
 be cheerful, dearest! Try to bear it for 
 the sake of your distracted, loving Aunt 
 Frances." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann looked up from this letter 
 and across the table at Aunt Abigail's rosy, 
 wrinkled old face, bent over her darning. 
 Uncle Henry laid the paper down, took a big 
 mouthful of pop-corn, and beat time silently 
 with his hand. When he could speak he mur- 
 mured : 
 
 An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong, 
 Clattered an hundred steeds along. 
 
 Old Shep woke up with a snort and Aunt 
 
CONVERSATION IN A BOOK 135 
 
 Abigail fed him a handful of pop-corn. Little 
 Eleanor stirred in her sleep, stretched, yawned, 
 and nestled down into a ball again on the little 
 girl's lap. Betsy could feel in her own body 
 the rhythmic vibration of the kitten's contented 
 purr. 
 
 Aunt Abigail looked up: "Finished your 
 letter? I hope Harriet is no worse. What 
 does Frances say?" 
 
 Elizabeth Ann blushed a deep red and 
 crushed the letter together in her hand. She 
 felt ashamed and she did not know why. "Aunt 
 Frances says, . . . Aunt Frances says, ..." 
 she began, hesitating. "She says Aunt Har- 
 riet is still pretty sick." She stopped, drew a 
 long breath, and went on, "And she sends her 
 love to you." 
 
 Now Aunt Frances hadn't done anything of 
 the kind, so this was a really whopping fib. 
 But Elizabeth Ann didn't care if it was. It 
 made her feel less ashamed, though she did not 
 know why. She took another mouthful of 
 pop-corn and stroked Eleanor's back. 
 
136 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Uncle Henry got up and stretched. "It's 
 time to go to bed, folks," he said. As he 
 wound the clock Betsy heard him murmuring: 
 
 But when the sun his beacon red. . . . 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 ELIZABETH ANN FAILS IN AN 
 EXAMINATION 
 
 I wonder if you can guess the name of a 
 little girl who, about a month after this, was 
 walking along through the melting snow in the 
 woods with a big black dog running circles 
 around her. Yes, all alone in the woods with a 
 terrible great dog beside her, and yet not a bit 
 afraid. You don't suppose it could be Eliza- 
 beth Ann? v Well, whoever she was, she had 
 something on her mind, for she walked more 
 and more slowly and had only a very absent- 
 minded pat for the dog's head when he thrust 
 it up for a caress. When the wood road led 
 into a clearing in which there was a rough lit- 
 tle house of slabs, the child stopped altogether, 
 and, looking down, began nervously to draw 
 lines in the snow with her overshoe. 
 
 137 
 
138 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 You see, something perfectly dreadful had 
 happened in school that day. The Superin- 
 tendent, the all-important, seldom-seen Superin- 
 tendent, came to visit the school and the chil- 
 dren were given some examinations so he 
 could see how they were getting on. 
 
 Now, you know what an examination did to 
 Elizabeth Ann. Or haven't I told you yet? 
 
 Well, if I haven't, it's because words fail 
 me. If there is anything horrid that an ex- 
 amination didn't do to Elizabeth Ann, I have 
 yet to hear of it. It began years ago, before 
 ever she went to school, when she heard Aunt 
 Frances talking about how she had dreaded ex- 
 aminations when she was a child, and how they 
 dried up her mouth and made her ears ring 
 and her head ache and her knees get all weak 
 and her mind a perfect blank, so that she 
 didn't know what two and two made. Of 
 course Elizabeth Ann didn't feel all those 
 things right off at her first examination, but by 
 the time she had had several and had rushed 
 to tell Aunt Frances about how awful they 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 139 
 
 were and the two of them had sympathized 
 with one another and compared symptoms and 
 then wept about her resulting low marks, why, 
 she not only had all the symptoms Aunt Fran- 
 ces had ever had, but a good many more of her 
 own invention. 
 
 Well, she had had them all and had them 
 hard this afternoon, when the Superintendent 
 was there. Her mouth had gone dry and her 
 knees had shaken and her elbows had felt as 
 though they had no more bones in them than 
 so much jelly, and her eyes had smarted, and 
 oh, what answers she had made ! That dread- 
 ful tight panic had clutched at her throat when- 
 ever the Superintendent had looked at her, and 
 she had disgraced herself ten times over. She 
 went hot and cold to think of it, and felt quite 
 sick with hurt vanity. She who did so well 
 every day and was so much looked up to by 
 her classmates, what must they be thinking of 
 her ! To tell the truth, she had been crying as 
 she walked along through the woods, because 
 she was so sorry for herself. Her eyes were 
 
140 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 all red still, and her throat sore from the big 
 lump in it. 
 
 And now she would live it all over again as 
 she told the Putney cousins. For of course 
 they must be told. She had always told Aunt 
 Frances everything that happened in school. 
 It happened that Aunt Abigail had been taking 
 a nap when she got home from school, and so 
 she had come out to the sap-house, where 
 Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry were making 
 syrup, to have it over with as soon as possible. 
 She went up to the little slab house now, drag- 
 ging her feet and hanging her head, and opened 
 the door. 
 
 Cousin Ann, in a very short old skirt and a 
 man's coat and high rubber boots, was just 
 poking some more wood into the big fire which 
 blazed furiously under the broad, flat pan 
 where the sap was boiling. The rough, brown 
 hut was filled with white steam and that sweet- 
 est of all odors, hot maple syrup. Cousin Ann 
 turned her head, her face very red with the 
 heat of the fire, and nodded at the child. 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 141 
 
 " Hello, Betsy, you're just in time. I've 
 saved out a cupful of hot syrup for you, all 
 ready to wax." 
 
 Betsy hardly heard this, although she had 
 been wild about waxed sugar on snow ever 
 since her very first taste of it. "Cousin Ann," 
 she said unhappily, ' ' the Superintendent visited 
 our school this afternoon." 
 
 "Did he?" said Cousin Ann, dipping a ther- 
 mometer into the boiling syrup. 
 
 "Yes, and we had examinations!" said Betsy. 
 
 "Did you!" said Cousin Ann, holding the 
 thermometer up to the light and looking at it. 
 
 "And you know how perfectly awful exami- 
 nations make you feel," said Betsy, very near 
 to tears again. 
 
 "Why, no," said Cousin Ann, sorting over 
 syrup tins. "They never made me feel awful. 
 I thought they were sort of fun." 
 
 "Fun!" cried Betsy, indignantly, staring 
 through the beginnings of her tears. 
 
 "Why, yes. Like taking a dare, don't you 
 know. Somebody stumps you to jump off the 
 
142 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 hitching-post, and you do it to show 'em. I al- 
 ways used to think examinations were like that. 
 Somebody stumps you to spell 'pneumonia,' 
 and you do it to show 'em. Here's your cup of 
 syrup. You'd better go right out and wax it 
 while it's hot." 
 
 Elizabeth Ann automatically took the cup 
 in her hand, but she did not look at it. ' ' But sup- 
 posing you get so scared you can't spell 'pneu- 
 monia' or anything else!" she said feelingly. 
 "That's what happened to me. You know how 
 your mouth gets all dry and your knees ..." 
 She stopped. Cousin Ann had said she did not 
 know all about those things. "Well, anyhow, I 
 got so scared I could hardly stand up! And I 
 made the most awful mistakes — things I know 
 just as well! I spelled 'doubt' without any b 
 and 'separate' with an e, and I said Iowa 
 was bounded on the north by Wisconsin, and 
 I . . ." 
 
 "Oh, well," said Cousin Ann, "it doesn't 
 matter if you really know the right answers, 
 does it? That's the important thing." 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 143 
 
 This was an idea which had never in all her 
 life entered Betsy's brain and she did not take 
 it in at all now. She only shook her head mis- 
 erably and went on in a doleful tone. "And I 
 said 13 and 8 are 22 1 and I wrote March without 
 any capital M, and I . . . " 
 
 "Look here, Betsy, do you want to tell me 
 all this f ' ' Cousin Ann spoke in the quick, ring- 
 ing voice she had once in a while which made 
 everybody, from old Shep up, open his eyes and 
 get his wits about him. Betsy gathered hers 
 and thought hard; and she came to an unex- 
 pected conclusion. No, she didn't really want 
 to tell Cousin Ann all about it. "Why was she 
 doing it? Because she thought that was the 
 thing to do. "Because if you don't really want 
 to," went on Cousin Ann, "I don't see that it's 
 doing anybody any good. I guess Hemlock 
 Mountain will stand right there just the 
 same even if you did forget to put a b in 
 'doubt.' And your syrup will be too cool to 
 wax right if you don't take it out pretty 
 soon." 
 
144 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 She turned back to stoke the fire, and Eliza- 
 beth Ann, in a daze, found herself walking out 
 of the door. It fell shut after her, and there 
 she was under the clear, pale-blue sky, with the 
 sun just hovering over the rim of Hemlock 
 Mountain. She looked up at the big mountains, 
 all blue and silver with shadows and snow, and 
 wondered what in the world Cousin Ann had 
 meant. Of course Hemlock Mountain would 
 stand there just the same. But what of it? 
 What did that have to do with her arithmetic, 
 wjth anything? She had failed in her examina- 
 tion, hadn't she? 
 
 She found a clean white snow-bank under a 
 pine-tree, and, setting her cup of syrup down in 
 a safe place, began to pat the snow down hard 
 to make the right bed for the waxing of the 
 syrup. The sun, very hot for that late March 
 day, brought out strongly the tarry perfume of 
 the big pine-tree. Near her the sap dripped 
 musically into a bucket, already half full, hung 
 on a maple-tree. A blue- jay rushed suddenly 
 through the upper branches of the wood, his 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 145 
 
 screaming and chattering voice sounding like 
 noisy children at play. 
 
 Elizabeth Ann took up her cup and poured 
 some of the thick, hot syrup out on the hard 
 snow, making loops and curves as she poured. 
 It stiffened and hardened at once, and she lifted 
 up a great coil of it, threw her head back, and 
 let it drop into her mouth. Concentrated sweet- 
 ness of summer days was in that mouthful, part 
 of it still hot and aromatic, part of it icy and 
 wet with melting snow. She crunched it all 
 together with her strong, child's teeth into a 
 delicious, big lump and sucked on it dreamily, 
 her eyes on the rim of Hemlock Mountain, high 
 above her there, the snow on it bright golden 
 in the sunlight. Uncle Henry had promised to 
 take her up to the top as soon as the snow 
 went off. She wondered what the top of a 
 mountain would be like. Uncle Henry had said 
 the main thing was that you could see so much 
 of the world at once. He said it was too queer 
 the way your own house and big barn and great 
 fields looked like little toy things that weren't 
 
146 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 of any account. It was because you could see 
 so much more than* just the . . . 
 
 She heard an imploring whine, and a cold 
 nose was thrust into her hand! Why, there 
 was old Shep begging for his share of waxed 
 sugar. He loved it, though it did stick to his 
 teeth so ! She poured out another lot and gave 
 half of it to Shep. It immediately stuck his 
 jaws together tight, and he began pawing at his 
 mouth and shaking his head till Betsy had to 
 laugh. Then he managed to pull his jaws apart 
 and chewed loudly and visibly, tossing his head, 
 opening his mouth wide till Betsy could see the 
 sticky, brown candy draped in melting festoons 
 all over his big white teeth and red gullet. Then 
 with a gulp he had swallowed it all down and 
 was whining for more, striking softly at the lit- 
 tle girl's skirt with his forepaw. "Oh, you eat 
 it too fast!" cried Betsy, but she shared her 
 next lot with him too. The sun had gone down 
 over Hemlock Mountain by this time, and the 
 big slope above her was all deep blue shadow. 
 The mountain looked much higher now as the 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 147 
 
 dusk began to fall, and loomed up bigger and 
 bigger as though it reached to the sky. It was 
 no wonder houses looked small from its top. 
 Betsy ate the last of her sugar, looking up at the 
 quiet giant there, towering grandly above her. 
 There was no lump in her throat now. And, 
 although she still thought she did not know 
 what in the world Cousin Ann meant by saying 
 that about Hemlock Mountain and her exami- 
 nation, it's my opinion that she had made a 
 very good beginning of an understanding. 
 
 She was just picking up her cup to take it 
 back to the sap-house when Shep growled a 
 little and stood with his ears and tail up, look- 
 ing down the road. Something was coming 
 down that road in the blue, clear twilight, some- 
 thing that was making a very queer noise. It 
 sounded almost like somebody crying. It was 
 somebody crying! It was a child crying. It 
 was a little, little girl. . . . Betsy could see her 
 now . . . stumbling along and crying as though 
 her heart would break. Why, it was little Molly, 
 her own particular charge at school, whose 
 
148 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 reading lesson she heard every day. Betsy and 
 Shep ran to meet her. "What's the matter, 
 Molly? What's the matter?" Betsy knelt 
 down and put her arms around the weeping 
 child. "Did you fall down? Did you hurt 
 you ? What are you doing 'way off here ? Did 
 you lose your way?" 
 
 "I don't want to go away! I don't want to 
 go away!" said Molly over and over, clinging 
 tightly to Betsy. It was a long time before 
 Betsy could quiet her enough to find out what 
 had happened. Then she made out between 
 Molly's sobs that her mother had been taken 
 suddenly sick and had to go away to a hos- 
 pital, and that left nobody at home to take care 
 of Molly, and she was to be sent away to some 
 strange relatives in the city who didn't want 
 her at all and who said so right out. . . . 
 
 Oh, Elizabeth Ann knew all about that ! and 
 her heart swelled big with sympathy. For a 
 moment she stood again out on the sidewalk in 
 front of the Lathrop house with old Mrs. Lath- 
 rop's ungracious white head bobbing from a 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 149 
 
 window, and knew again that ghastly feeling of 
 being unwanted. Oh, she knew why little Molly 
 was crying! And she shut her hands together 
 hard and made up her mind that she would 
 help her out! 
 
 Do you know what she did, right off, without 
 thinking about it? She didn't go and look up 
 Aunt Abigail. She didn't wait till Uncle Henry 
 came back from his round of emptying sap 
 buckets into the big tub on his sled. As fast 
 as her feet could carry her she flew back to 
 Cousin Ann in the sap-house. I can't tell you 
 (except again that Cousin Ann was Cousin 
 Ann) why it was that Betsy ran so fast to her 
 and was so sure that everything would be all 
 right as soon as Cousin Ann knew about it; 
 but whatever the reason was it was a good one, 
 for, though Cousin Ann did not stop to kiss 
 Molly or even to look at her more than one 
 sharp first glance, she said after a moment's 
 pause, during which she filled a syrup can and 
 screwed the cover down very tight: "Well, if 
 her folks will let her stay, how would you like 
 
150 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 to have Molly come and stay with us till her 
 mother gets back from the hospital? Now 
 you've got a room of your own, I guess if you 
 wanted to you could have her sleep with you." 
 
 "Oh, Molly, Molly, Molly!" shouted Betsy, 
 jumping up and down, and then hugging the 
 little girl with all her might. "Oh, it will be 
 like having a little sister!" 
 
 Cousin Ann sounded a dry, warning note: 
 "Don't be too sure her folks will let her. We 
 don't know about them yet." 
 
 Betsy ran to her, and caught her hand, look- 
 ing up at her with shining eyes. "Cousin Ann, 
 if you go to see them and ask them, they will ! ' ' 
 
 This made even Cousin Ann give a little 
 abashed smile of pleasure, although she made 
 her face grave again at once and said : ' ' You 'd 
 better go along back to the house now, Betsy. 
 It's time for you to help Mother with the sup- 
 per." 
 
 The two children trotted back along the dark- 
 ening wood road, Shep running before them, 
 little Molly clinging fast to the older child's 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 151 
 
 hand. "Aren't you ever afraid, Betsy, in the 
 woods this way?" she asked admiringly, look- 
 ing about her with timid eyes. 
 
 "Oh, no!" said Betsy, protectingly ; "there's 
 nothing to be afraid of, except getting off on 
 the wrong fork of the road, near the Wolf Pit. ' ' 
 
 "Oh, owl" said Molly, scringing. "What's 
 the Wolf Pit? What an awful name!" 
 
 Betsy laughed. She tried to make her laugh 
 sound brave like Cousin Ann's, which always 
 seemed so scornful of being afraid. As a mat- 
 ter of fact, she was beginning to fear that they 
 had made the wrong turn, and she was not quite 
 sure that she could find the way home. But she 
 put this out of her mind and walked along very 
 fast, peering ahead into the dusk. "Oh, it 
 hasn't anything to do with wolves," she said 
 in answer to Molly's question; "anyhow, not 
 now. It's just a big, deep hole in the ground 
 where a brook had dug out a cave. . . . Uncle 
 Henry told me all about it when he showed it to 
 me . . . and then part of the roof caved in; 
 sometimes there's ice in the corner of the cov- 
 
152 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ered part all the summer, Aunt Abigail 
 says." 
 
 "Why do you call it the Wolf Pit?" asked 
 Molly, walking very close to Betsy and holding 
 very tightly to her hand. 
 
 "Oh, long, ever so long ago, when the first 
 settlers came up here, they heard a wolf howl- 
 ing all night, and when it didn't stop in the 
 morning, they came up here on the mountain 
 and found a wolf had fallen in and couldn't get 
 out." 
 
 "My! I hope they killed him!" said Molly. 
 
 "Oh, gracious! that was more than a hun- 
 dred years ago," said Betsy. She was not 
 thinking of what she was saying. She was 
 thinking that if they were on the right road 
 they ought to be home by this time. She was 
 thinking that the right road ran down hill to 
 the house all the way, and that this certainly 
 seemed to be going up a little. She was won- 
 dering what had become of Shep. "Stand here 
 just a minute, Molly," she said. "I want . . . 
 I just want to go ahead a little bit and see . . . 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 153 
 
 and see ..." She darted on around a curve of 
 the road and stood still, her heart sinking. The 
 road turned there and led straight up the moun- 
 tain! 
 
 For just a moment the little girl felt a wild 
 impulse to burst out in a shriek for Aunt 
 Frances, and to run crazily away, anywhere so 
 long as she was running. But the thought of 
 Molly standing back there, trustfully waiting 
 to be taken care of, shut Betsy's lips together 
 hard before her scream of fright got out. She 
 stood still, thinking. Now she mustn't get 
 frightened. All they had to do was to walk 
 back along the road till they came to the fork 
 and then make the right turn. But what if 
 they didn't get back to the turn till it was so 
 dark they couldn't see it . . A Well, she 
 mustn't think of that. She ran back, calling, 
 1 ' Come on, Molly," in a tone she tried to make 
 as firm as Cousin Ann's. "I guess we have 
 made the wrong turn after all. We'd bet- 
 ter ..." 
 
 But there was no Molly there. In the 
 
154 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 brief moment Betsy had stood thinking, Molly- 
 had disappeared. The long, shadowy wood 
 road held not a trace of her. 
 
 Then Betsy was frightened and then she did 
 begin to scream, at the top of her voice, "Molly ! 
 Molly!" She was beside herself with terror, 
 and started back hastily to hear Molly's voice, 
 very faint, apparently coming from the ground 
 under her feet. 
 
 "Ow! Ow! Betsy! Get me out! Get me 
 out!" 
 
 "Where are you?" shrieked Betsy. 
 
 "I don't know!" came Molly's sobbing voice. 
 "I just moved the least little bit out of the 
 road, and slipped on the ice and began to slide 
 and I couldn't stop myself and I fell down into 
 a deep hole!" 
 
 Betsy's head felt as though her hair were 
 standing up straight on end with horror. 
 Molly must have fallen down into the Wolf Pit ! 
 Yes, they were quite near it. She remembered 
 now that big white-birch tree stood right at 
 the place where the brook tumbled over the 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 155 
 
 edge and fell into it. Although she was dread- 
 fully afraid of falling in herself, she went cau- 
 tiously over to this tree, feeling her way with 
 her foot to make sure she did not slip, and 
 peered down into the cavernous gloom below. 
 Yes, there was Molly's little face, just a white 
 speck. The child was crying, sobbing, and hold- 
 ing up her arms to Betsy. 
 
 "Are you hurt, Molly?" 
 
 "No. I fell into a big snow-bank, but I'm 
 all wet and frozen and I want to get out! I 
 want to get out ! ' ' 
 
 Betsy held on to the birch-tree. Her head 
 whirled. What should she do! "Look here, 
 Molly," she called down, "I'm going to run 
 back along to the right road and back to 
 the house and get Uncle Henry. He'll come 
 with a rope and get you out!" 
 
 At this Molly's crying rose to a frantic 
 scream. "Oh, Betsy, don't leave me here 
 alone! Don't! Don't! The wolves will get me! 
 Betsy, don't leave me alone!" The child was 
 wild with terror. 
 
156 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 "But I can't get you out myself!" screamed 
 back Betsy, crying herself. Her teeth were 
 chattering with the cold. 
 
 "Don't go! Don't go!" came up from the 
 darkness of the pit in a piteous howl. Betsy 
 made a great effort and stopped crying. She 
 sat down on a stone and tried to think. And 
 this is what came into her mind as a guide: 
 "What would Cousin Ann do if she were here? 
 She wouldn't cry. She would think of some- 
 thing." 
 
 Betsy looked around her desperately. The 
 first thing she saw was the big limb of a pine- 
 tree, broken off by the wind, which half lay and 
 half slantingly stood up against a tree a little 
 distance above the mouth of the pit. It had 
 been there so long that the needles had all dried 
 and fallen off, and the skeleton of the branch 
 with the broken stubs looked like . . . yes, it 
 looked like a ladder! That was what Cousin 
 Ann would have done ! 
 
 "Wait a minute! Wait a minute, Molly!" 
 she called wildly down the pit, warm all over in 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 157 
 
 excitement. "Now listen. You go off there in 
 a corner, where the ground makes a sort of 
 roof. I'm going to throw down something you 
 can climb up on, maybe." 
 
 "Ow! Ow, it'll hit me!" cried poor little 
 Molly, more and more frightened. But she 
 scrambled off under her shelter obediently, 
 while Betsy struggled with the branch. It was 
 so firmly imbedded in the snow that at first she 
 could not budge it at all. But after she cleared 
 that away and pried hard with the stick she was 
 using as a lever she felt it give a little. She 
 bore down with all her might, throwing her 
 weight again and again on her lever, and finally 
 felt the big branch perceptibly move. After that 
 it was easier, as its course was down hill over 
 the snow to the mouth of the pit. Glowing, and 
 pushing, wet with perspiration, she slowly 
 maneuvered it along to the edge, turned it 
 squarely, gave it a great shove, and leaned over 
 anxiously. Then she gave a great sigh of re- 
 lief! Just as she had hoped, it went down 
 sharp end first and stuck fast in the snow 
 
158 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 which had saved Molly from broken bones. She 
 was so out of breath with her work that for a 
 moment she could not speak. Then, "Molly, 
 there ! Now I guess you can climb up to where 
 I can reach you." 
 
 Molly made a rush for any way out of her 
 prison, and climbed, like the little practised 
 squirrel that she was, up from one stub to an- 
 other to the top of the branch. She was still 
 below the edge of the pit there, but Betsy lay 
 flat down on the snow and held out her hands. 
 Molly took hold hard, and, digging her toes into 
 the snow, slowly wormed her way up to the 
 surface of the ground. 
 
 It was then, at that very moment, that Shep 
 came bounding up to them, barking loudly, and 
 after him Cousin Ann striding along in her 
 rubber boots, with a lantern in her hand and a 
 rather anxious look on her face. 
 
 She stopped short and looked at the two little 
 girls, covered with snow, their faces flaming 
 with excitement, and at the black hole gaping 
 behind them. "I always told Father we ought 
 
ELIZABETH ANN FAILS 159 
 
 to put a fence around that pit," she said in a 
 matter-of-fact voice. "Some day a sheep's 
 going to fall down there. Shep came along to 
 the house without you, and we thought most 
 likely you'd taken the wrong turn." 
 
 Betsy felt terribly aggrieved. She wanted 
 to be petted and praised for her heroism. She 
 wanted Cousin Ann to realise ... oh, if Aunt 
 Frances were only there, she would realize . . . ! 
 
 "I fell down in the hole, and Betsy wanted to 
 go and get Mr. Putney, but I wouldn't let her, 
 and so she threw down a big branch and I 
 climbed out," explained Molly, who, now that 
 her danger was past, took Betsy's action quite 
 as a matter of course. 
 
 "Oh, that was how it happened," said Cousin 
 Ann. She looked down the hole and saw the big 
 branch, and looked back and saw the long trail 
 of crushed snow where Betsy had dragged it. 
 "Well, now, that was quite a good idea for a 
 little girl to have," she said briefly. "I guess 
 you'll do to take care of Molly all right!" 
 
 She spoke in her usual voice and immediately 
 
160 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 drew the children after her, but Betsy's heart 
 was singing joyfully as she trotted along clasp- 
 ing Cousin Ann's strong hand. Now she knew 
 that Cousin Ann realized. . . . She trotted 
 fast, smiling to herself in the darkness. 
 
 "What made you think of doing that?" asked 
 Cousin Ann presently, as they approached the 
 house. 
 
 "Why, I tried to think what you would have 
 done if you'd been there," said Betsy. 
 
 "Oh!" said Cousin Ann. "Well. . ." 
 
 She didn't say another word, but Betsy, 
 glancing up into her face as they stepped into 
 the lighted room, saw an expression that made 
 her give a little skip and hop of joy. She had 
 pleased Cousin Ann. 
 
 That night, as she lay in her bed, her arm 
 over Molly cuddled up warm beside her, she 
 remembered, oh, ever so faintly, as something 
 of no importance, that she had failed in an 
 examination that afternoon. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 BETSY STARTS A SEWING SOCIETY 
 
 Betsy and Molly had taken Deborah to school 
 with them. Deborah was the old wooden doll 
 with brown, painted curls. She had lain in a 
 trunk almost ever since Aunt Abigail's child- 
 hood, because Cousin Ann had never cared for 
 dolls when she was a little girl. At first Betsy 
 had not dared to ask to see her, much less to 
 play with her, but when Ellen, as she had prom- 
 ised, came over to Putney Farm that first 
 Saturday she had said right out, as soon as she 
 landed in the house, "Oh, Mrs. Putney, can't we 
 play with Deborah?" And Aunt Abigail had 
 answered: "Why yes, of course! I knew there 
 was something I've kept forgetting!" She 
 went up with them herself to the cold attic and 
 opened the little hair-trunk under the eaves. 
 
 161 
 
162 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 There lay a doll, flat on her back, looking up 
 at them brightly out of her blue eyes. 
 
 "Well, Debby dear," said Aunt Abigail, tak- 
 ing her up gently. "It's a good long time since 
 you and I played under the lilac bushes, isn't 
 it? I expect you've been pretty lonesome up 
 here all these years. Never you mind, you'll 
 have some good times again, now." She pulled 
 down the doll's full, ruffled skirt, straightened 
 the lace at the neck of her dress, and held her 
 for a moment, looking down at her silently. 
 You could tell by the way she spoke, by the way 
 she touched Deborah, by the way she looked at 
 her, that she had loved the doll very dearly, 
 and maybe still did, a little. 
 
 When she put Deborah into Betsy's arms, the 
 child felt that she was receiving something very 
 precious, almost something alive. She and 
 Ellen looked with delight at the yards and yards 
 of picot-edged ribbon, sewed on by hand to the 
 ruffles of the skirt, and lifted up the silk folds 
 to admire the carefully made, full petticoats 
 and frilly drawers, the pretty, soft old kid 
 
Betsy and Ellen and the old do 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 163 
 
 shoes and white stockings. Aunt Abigail looked 
 at them with an absent smile on her lips, as 
 though she were living over old scenes. 
 
 Finally, "It's too cold to play up here," she 
 said, coming to herself with a long breath. 
 "You'd better bring Deborah and the trunk 
 down into the south room." She carried the 
 doll, and Betsy and Ellen each took an end of 
 the old trunk, no larger than a modern suit- 
 case. They settled themselves on the big couch, 
 back of the table with the lamp. Old Shep was 
 on it, but Betsy coaxed him off by putting down 
 some bones Cousin Ann had been saving for 
 him. When he finished those and came back for 
 the rest of his snooze, he found his place occu- 
 pied by the little girls, sitting cross-legged, ex- 
 amining the contents of the trunk, all spread 
 out around them. Shep sighed deeply and sat 
 down with his nose resting on the couch near 
 Betsy's knee, following all their movements 
 with his kind, dark eyes. Once in a while Betsy 
 stopped hugging Deborah or exclaiming over a 
 new dress long enough to pat Shep's head and 
 
164 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 fondle his ears. This was what he was waiting 
 for, and every time she did it he wagged his 
 tail thumpingly against the floor. 
 
 After that Deborah and her trunk were kept 
 downstairs where Betsy could play with her. 
 And often she was taken to school. You never 
 heard of such a thing as taking a doll to school, 
 did you f Well, I told you this was a queer, old- 
 fashioned school that any modern School Su- 
 perintendent would sniff at. As a matter of 
 fact, it was not only Betsy who took her doll to 
 school; all "the little girls did, whenever they 
 felt like it. Miss Benton, the teacher, had a 
 shelf for them in the entry-way where the wraps 
 were hung, and the dolls sat on it and waited 
 patiently all through lessons. At recess time 
 or nooning each little mother snatched her own 
 child and began to play. As soon as it grew 
 warm enough to play outdoors without just 
 racing around every minute to keep from freez- 
 ing to death, the dolls and their mothers went 
 out to a great pile of rocks at one end of the 
 bare, stony field which was the playground. 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 165 
 
 There they sat and played in the spring sun- 
 shine, warmer from day to day. There were 
 a great many holes and shelves and pockets and 
 little caves in the rocks which made lovely places 
 for playing keep-house. Each little girl had 
 her own particular cubby-holes and "rooms," 
 and they "visited" their dolls back and forth 
 all around the pile. And as they played they 
 talked very fast about all sorts of things, being 
 little girls and not boys who just yelled and 
 howled inarticulately as they played ball or 
 duck-on-a-rock or prisoner's goal, racing and 
 running and wrestling noisily all around the 
 rocks. 
 
 There was one child who neither played with 
 the girls nor ran and whooped with the boys. 
 This was little six-year-old 'Lias, one of the 
 two boys in Molly's first grade. At recess time 
 he generally hung about the school door by 
 himself, looking moodily down and knocking 
 the toe of his ragged, muddy shoe against a 
 stone. The little girls were talking about him 
 one day as they played. "My! Isn't that 'Lias 
 
166 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Brewster the horridest-looking child!" said 
 Eliza, who had the second grade all to herself, 
 although Molly now read out of the second 
 reader with her. 
 
 " Mercy, yes! So ragged!" said Anastasia 
 Monahan, called Stashie for short. She was a 
 big girl, fourteen years old, who was in the 
 seventh grade. 
 
 "He doesn't look as if he ever combed his 
 hair ! ' ' said Betsy. ' ' It looks just like a wisp of 
 old hay." 
 
 "And sometimes," little Molly proudly added 
 her bit to the talk of the older girls, "he for- 
 gets to put on any stockings and just has his 
 dreadful old shoes on over his dirty, bare 
 feet." 
 
 "I guess he hasn't got any stockings half the 
 time," said big Stashie scornfully. "I guess 
 his stepfather drinks 'em up." 
 
 "How can he drink up stockings?" asked 
 Molly, opening her round eyes very wide. 
 
 "Sh! You mustn't ask. Little girls shouldn't 
 know about such things, should they, Betsy?" 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 167 
 
 "No indeed," said Betsy, looking mysterious. 
 As a matter of fact, she herself had no idea 
 what Stashie meant, but she looked wise and 
 said nothing. 
 
 Some of the boys had squatted down near 
 the rocks for a game of marbles now. 
 
 "Well, anyhow," said Molly resentfully, "I 
 don't care what his stepfather does to his stock- 
 ings. I wish 'Lias would wear 'em to school. 
 And lots of times he hasn't anything on under 
 those horrid old overalls either ! I can see his 
 bare skin through the torn places." 
 
 "I wish he didn't have to sit so near 
 me," said Betsy complainingly. "He's so 
 dirty." 
 
 "Well, I don't want him near me, either!" 
 cried all the other little girls at once. Ealph 
 glanced up at them frowning, from where he 
 knelt with his middle finger crooked behind 
 a marble ready for a shot. He looked as he 
 always did, very rough and half-threatening. 
 "Oh, you girls make me sick!" he said. He 
 sent his marble straight to the mark, pocketed 
 
168 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 his opponent's, and stood up, scowling at the 
 little mothers. "I guess if you had to live 
 the way he does you'd be dirty! Half the 
 time he don't get anything to eat before he 
 comes to school, and if my mother didn't put 
 up some extra for him in my box he wouldn't 
 get any lunch either. And then you go and 
 jump on him!" 
 
 "Why doesn't his own mother put up his 
 lunch?" Betsy challenged their critic. 
 
 "He hasn't got any mother. She's dead," 
 said Ralph, turning away with his hands in his 
 pockets. He yelled to the boys, "Come on, fel- 
 lers, beat-che to the bridge and back ! ' ' and was 
 off, with the others racing at his heels. 
 
 "Well, anyhow, I don't care; he is dirty and 
 horrid!" said Stashie emphatically, looking 
 over at the drooping, battered little figure, lean- 
 ing against the school door, listlessly kicking at 
 a stone. 
 
 But Betsy did not say anything more just 
 then. 
 
 The teacher, who "boarded 'round," was 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 169 
 
 staying at Putney Farm at that time, and that 
 evening, as they all sat around the lamp in the 
 south room, Betsy looked up from her game of 
 checkers with Uncle Henry and asked, "How 
 can anybody drink up stockings ?" 
 
 "Mercy, child! what are you talking about?" 
 asked Aunt Abigail. 
 
 Betsy repeated what Anastasia Monahan had 
 said, and was flattered by the instant, rather 
 startled attention given her by the grown-ups. 
 "Why, I didn't know that Bud Walker had 
 taken to drinking again!" said Uncle Henry. 
 "My! That's too bad!" 
 
 "WTio takes care of that child anyhow, now 
 that poor Susie is dead?" Aunt Abigail asked 
 of everybody in general. 
 
 "Is he just living there alone, with that good- 
 for-nothing stepfather? How do they get 
 enough to eat?" said Cousin Ann, looking 
 troubled. 
 
 Apparently Betsy's question had brought 
 something half forgotten and altogether neg- 
 lected into their minds. They talked for some 
 
170 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 time after that about 'Lias, the teacher confirm- 
 ing what Betsy and Stashie had said. 
 
 "And we sitting right here with plenty to 
 eat and never raising a hand ! ' ' cried Aunt Abi- 
 gail. 
 
 "How you vAll let things slip out of your 
 mind!" said Cousin Ann remorsefully. 
 
 It struck Betsy vividly that 'Lias was not 
 at all the one they blamed for his objectionable 
 appearance. She felt quite ashamed to go on 
 with the other things she and the little girls 
 had said, and fell silent, pretending to be very 
 much absorbed in her game of checkers. 
 
 "Do you know," said Aunt Abigail sud- 
 denly, as though an inspiration had just struck 
 her, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that El- 
 more Pond might adopt 'Lias if he was gone at 
 the right way." 
 
 "Who's Elmore Pond?" asked the school- 
 teacher. 
 
 "Why, you must have seen him— that great, 
 big, red-faced, good-natured-looking man that 
 comes through here twice a year, buying stock. 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 171 
 
 He lives over Digby way, but his wife was a 
 Hillsboro girl, Matey Pelham — an awfully nice 
 girl she was, too. They never had any children, 
 and Matey told me the last time she was back 
 for a visit that she and her husband talked quite 
 often about adopting a little boy. Seems that 
 Mr. Pond has always wanted a little boy. He's 
 such a nice man ! 'Twould be a lovely home for 
 a child." 
 
 i l But goodness ! ' ' said the teacher. ' ' Nobody 
 would want to adopt such an awful-looking lit- 
 tle ragamuffin as that 'Lias. He looks so 
 meeching, too. I guess his stepfather is real 
 mean to him, when he's been drinking, and it's 
 got 'Lias so he hardly dares hold his head up." 
 
 The clock struck loudly. ' < Well, hear that ! ' ' 
 said Cousin Ann. "Nine o'clock and the chil- 
 ' dren not in bed! Molly's most asleep this 
 minute. Trot along with you, Betsy! Trot 
 along, Molly. And, Betsy, be sure Molly's night- 
 gown is buttoned up all the way." 
 
 So it happened that, although the grown-ups 
 were evidently going on to talk about 'Lias 
 
172 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Brewster, Betsy heard no more of what they 
 said. 
 
 She herself went on thinking about 'Lias 
 while she was undressing and answering ab- 
 sently little Molly's chatter. She was thinking 
 about him even after they had gone to bed, 
 had put the light out, and were lying snuggled 
 up to each other, back to front, their four legs, 
 crooked at the same angle, fitting in together 
 neatly like two spoons in a drawer. She was 
 thinking about him when she woke up, and as 
 soon as she could get hold of Cousin Ann she 
 poured out a new plan. She had never been 
 afraid of Cousin Ann since the evening Molly 
 had fallen into the Wolf Pit and Betsy had seen 
 that pleased smile on Cousin Ann's firm lips. 
 "Cousin Ann, couldn't we girls at school get 
 together and sew — you'd have to help us some — 
 and make some nice, new clothes for little 'Lias 
 Brewster, and fix him up so he'll look better, and 
 maybe that Mr. Pond will like him and adopt 
 him?" 
 
 Cousin Ann listened attentively and nodded 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 173 
 
 her head. "Yes, I think that would be a good 
 idea," she said. "We were thinking last night 
 we ought to do something for him. If you'll 
 make the clothes, Mother '11 knit him some stock- 
 ings and Father will get him some shoes. Mr. 
 Pond never makes his spring trip till late May, 
 so we'll have plenty of time." 
 
 Betsy was full of importance that day at 
 school and at recess time got the girls together 
 on the rocks and told them all about the plan. 
 "Cousin Ann says she'll help us, and we can 
 meet at our house every Saturday afternoon till 
 we get them done. It'll be fun! Aunt Abigail 
 telephoned down to the store right away, and 
 Mr. Wilkins says he'll give the cloth if we'll 
 make it up." 
 
 Betsy spoke very grandly of "making it up," 
 although she had hardly held a needle in her 
 life, and when the Saturday afternoon meet- 
 ings began she was ashamed to see how much 
 better Ellen and even Eliza could sew than she. 
 To keep her end up, she was driven to practis- 
 ing her stitches around the lamp in the eve- 
 
174 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 nings, with Aunt Abigail 'keeping an eye on 
 her. 
 
 Cousin Ann supervised the sewing on Satur- 
 day afternoons and taught those of the little 
 girls whose legs were long enough how to use 
 the sewing machine. First they made a little 
 pair of trousers out of an old gray woolen skirt 
 of Aunt Abigail's. This was for practice, be- 
 fore they cut into the piece of new blue serge 
 that the storekeeper had sent up. Cousin Ann 
 showed them how to pin the pattern on the 
 goods and they each cut out one piece. Those 
 flat, queer-shaped pieces of cloth certainly did 
 look less like a pair of trousers to Betsy than 
 anything she had ever seen. Then one of the 
 girls read aloud very slowly the mysterious- 
 sounding directions from the wrapper of the 
 pattern about how to put the pieces together. 
 Cousin Ann helped here a little, particularly 
 just as they were about to put the sections to- 
 gether wrong-side-up. Stashie, as the oldest, 
 did the first basting, putting the notches to- 
 gether carefully, just as they read the instruc- 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 175 
 
 tions aloud, and there, all of a sudden, was a 
 rough little sketch of a pair of knee trousers, 
 without any hem or any waist-band, of course, 
 but just the two-legged, complicated shape they 
 ought to be! It was like a miracle to Betsy! 
 Then Cousin Ann helped them sew the seams 
 on the machine, and they all turned to for the 
 basting of the facings and the finishing. They 
 each made one buttonhole. It was the first one 
 Betsy had ever made, and when she got through 
 she was as tired as though she had run all the 
 way to school and back. Tired, but very proud ; 
 although when Cousin Ann inspected that but- 
 tonhole, she covered her face with her handker- 
 chief for a minute, as though she were going to 
 sneeze, although she didn't sneeze at all. 
 
 It took them two Saturdays to finish up that 
 trial pair of trousers, and when they showed 
 the result to Aunt Abigail she was delighted. 
 "Well, to think of that being my old skirt!" 
 she said, putting on her spectacles to examine 
 the work. She did not laugh, either, when she 
 saw those buttonholes, but she got up hastily 
 
176 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 and went into the next room, where they soon 
 heard her coughing. 
 
 Then they made a little blouse out of some 
 new blue gingham. Cousin Ann happened to 
 have enough left over from a dress she was 
 making. This thin material was ever so much 
 easier to manage than the gray flannel, and they 
 had the little garment done in no time, even to 
 the buttons and buttonholes. When it came to 
 making the buttonholes, Cousin Ann sat right 
 down with each one and supervised every stitch. 
 You may not be surprised to know that they 
 were a great improvement over the first batch. 
 
 Then, making a great ceremony of it, they 
 began on the store material, working twice a 
 week now, because May was slipping along very 
 fast, and Mr. Pond might be there at any time. 
 They knew pretty well how to go ahead on this 
 one, after the experience of their first pair, and 
 Cousin Ann was not much needed, except as ad- 
 viser in hard places. She sat there in the room 
 with them, doing some sewing of her own, so 
 quiet that half the time they forgot she was 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 177 
 
 there. It was great fun, sewing all together 
 and chattering as they sewed. 
 
 A good deal of the time they talked about 
 how splendid it was of them to be so kind to 
 little 'Lias. "My! I don't believe most girls 
 would put themselves out this way for a dirty 
 little boy!" said Stashie, complacently. 
 
 "No indeed!" chimed in Betsy. "It's just 
 like a story, isn't it? — working and sacrificing 
 for the poor!" 
 
 "I guess he'll thank us all right for sure!" 
 said Ellen. "He'll never forget us as long as 
 he lives, I don't suppose." 
 
 Betsy, her imagination fired by this sugges- 
 tion, said, "I guess when he's grown up he'll 
 be telling everybody about how, when he was so 
 poor and ragged, Stashie Monahan and Ellen 
 Peters and Elizabeth Ann ..." 
 
 "And Eliza!" put in that little girl hastily, 
 very much afraid she would not be given her 
 due share of the glory. 
 
 Cousin Ann sewed, and listened, and said 
 nothing. 
 
178 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Toward the end of May two little blouses, 
 two pairs of trousers, two pairs of stockings, 
 two sets of underwear (contributed by the 
 teacher), and the pair of shoes Uncle Henry 
 gave were ready. The little girls handled the 
 pile of new garments with inexpressible pride, 
 and debated just which way of bestowing them 
 was sufficiently grand to be worthy the occa- 
 sion. Betsy was for taking them to school and 
 giving them to 'Lias one by one, so that each 
 child could have her thanks separately. But 
 Stashie wanted to take them to the house when 
 'Lias's stepfather would be there, and shame 
 him by showing that little girls had had to do 
 what he ought to have done. 
 
 Cousin Ann broke into the discussion by ask- 
 ing, in her quiet, firm voice, "Why do you want 
 'Lias to know where the clothes come from?" 
 
 They had forgotten again that she was there, 
 and turned around quickly to stare at her. No- 
 body could think of any answer to her very 
 queer question. It had not occurred to any one 
 that there could be such a question. 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 179 
 
 Cousin Ann shifted her ground and asked 
 another: "Why did you make these clothes, 
 anyhow?" 
 
 They stared again, speechless. Why did she 
 ask that? She knew why. 
 
 Finally little Molly said, in her honest, baby 
 way, "Why, you know why, Miss Ann ! So 'Lias 
 Brewster will look nice, and Mr. Pond will 
 maybe adopt him." 
 
 "Well," said Cousin Ann, "what has that 
 got to do with 'Lias knowing who did it?" 
 
 "Why, he wouldn't know who to be grate- 
 ful to," cried Betsy. 
 
 "Oh," said Cousin Ann. "Oh, I see. You 
 didn't do it to help 'Lias. You did it to have 
 him grateful to you. I see. Molly is such a 
 little girl, it's no wonder she didn't really take 
 in what you girls were up to." She nodded 
 her head wisely, as though now she under- 
 stood. 
 
 But if she did, little Molly certainly did not. 
 She had not the least idea what everybody was 
 talking about. She looked from one sober, 
 
180 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 downcast face to another rather anxiously. 
 What was the matter? 
 
 Apparently nothing was really the matter, 
 she decided, for after a minute's silence Miss 
 Ann got up with entirely her usual face of 
 cheerful gravity, and said: " Don't you think 
 you little girls ought to top off this last after- 
 noon with a tea-party? There's a new batch of 
 cookies, and you can make yourselves some 
 lemonade if you want to." 
 
 They had these refreshments out on the 
 porch, in the sunshine, with their dolls for 
 guests and a great deal of chatter for sauce. 
 Nobody said another word about how to give 
 the clothes to 'Lias, till, just as the girls were 
 going away, Betsy said, walking along with the 
 two older ones, "Say, don't you think it'd be 
 fun to go some evening after dark and leave 
 the clothes on 'Lias's doorstep, and knock and 
 run away quick before anybody comes to the 
 door?" She spoke in an uncertain voice and 
 smoothed Deborah's carved wooden curls. • 
 
 "Yes, I do!" said Ellen, not looking at Betsy 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 181 
 
 but down at the weeds by the road. "I think it 
 
 would be lots of fun ! ' ' 
 
 Little Molly, playing with Annie and Eliza, 
 
 did not hear this ; but she was allowed to go with 
 
 the older girls on the great expedition. 
 I 
 
 It was a warm, dark evening in late May, with 
 the frogs piping their sweet, high note, and 
 the first of the fireflies wheeling over the wet 
 meadows near the tumble-down house where 
 'Lias lived. The girls took turns in carrying 
 the big paper-wrapped bundle, and stole along 
 in the shadow of the trees, full of excitement, 
 looking over their shoulders at nothing and 
 pressing their hands over their mouths to keep 
 back the giggles. There was, of course, no rea- 
 son on earth why they should giggle, which is, 
 of course, the very reason why they did. If 
 you've ever been a little girl you know about 
 that. 
 
 One window of the small house was dimly 
 lighted, they found, when they came in sight of 
 it, and they thrilled with excitement and joyful 
 
182 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 alarm. Suppose 'Lias's dreadful stepfather 
 should -come out and yell at them ! They came 
 forward on tiptoe, making a great deal of noise 
 by stepping on twigs, rustling bushes, crackling 
 gravel under their feet and doing all the other 
 things that make such a noise at night and 
 never do in the daytime. But nobody stirred 
 inside the room with /the lighted window. They 
 crept forward and peeped cautiously inside 
 . . . and stopped giggling. The dim light com- 
 ing from a little kerosene lamp with a smoky 
 chimney fell on a dismal, cluttered room, a bare, 
 greasy wooden table, and two broken-backed 
 chairs, with little 'Lias in one of them. He had 
 fallen asleep with his head on his arms, his 
 pinched, dirty, sad little figure showing in the 
 light from the lamp. His feet dangled high 
 above the floor in their broken, muddy shoes. 
 One sleeve was torn to the shoulder. A piece of 
 dry bread had slipped from his bony little hand 
 and a tin dipper stood beside him on the bare 
 table. Nobody else was in the room, nor evi- 
 dently in the darkened, empty, tireless house. 
 
He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms. 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 183 
 
 As long as she lives Betsy will never forget 
 what she saw that night through that 
 window. Her eyes grew very hot and her hands 
 very cold. Her heart thumped hard. She 
 reached for little Molly and gave her a great 
 hug in the darkness. Suppose it were little 
 Molly asleep there, all alone in the dirty, dismal 
 house, with no supper and nobody to put her 
 to bed. She found that Ellen, next her, was 
 crying quietly into the corner of her apron. 
 
 Nobody said a word. Stashie, who had the 
 bundle, walked around soberly to the front 
 door, put it down, and knocked loudly. They 
 all darted away noiselessly to the road, to the 
 shadow of the trees, and waited until the door 
 opened. A square of yellow light appeared, 
 with 'Lias 's figure, very small, at the bottom of 
 it. They saw him stoop and pick up the bun- 
 dle and go back into the house. Then they 
 went quickly and silently back, separating at 
 the cross-roads with no good-night greetings. 
 
 Molly and Betsy began to climb the hill to 
 Putney Farm. It was a very warm night for 
 
184 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 May, and little Molly began to puff for breath. 
 "Let's sit down on this rock awhile and rest," 
 she said. 
 
 They were half-way up the hill now. From 
 the rock they could see the lights in the farm- 
 houses scattered along the valley road and on 
 the side of the mountain opposite them, like big 
 stars fallen from the multitude above. Betsy 
 lay down on the rock and looked up at the stars. 
 After a silence little Molly's chirping voice said, 
 "Oh, I thought you said we were going to march 
 up to 'Lias in school and give him his clothes. 
 Did you forget about that?" 
 
 Betsy gave a wriggle of shame as she remem- 
 bered that plan. "No, we didn't forget it," she 
 said. "We thought this would be a better 
 way. ' ' 
 
 "But how '11 'Lias know who to thank?" asked 
 Molly. 
 
 "That's no matter," said Betsy. Yes, it was 
 Elizabeth-Ann-that-was who said that. And 
 meant it, too. She was not even thinking of 
 what she was saying. Between her and the 
 
A SEWING SOCIETY 185 
 
 stars, thick over her in the black, soft sky, she 
 saw again that dirty, disordered room and the 
 little boy, all alone, asleep with a piece of dry 
 bread in his bony little fingers. 
 
 She looked hard and long at that picture, all 
 the time seeing the quiet stars through it. And 
 then she turned over and hid her face on the 
 rock. She had said her "Now I lay me" every 
 night since she could remember, but she had 
 never prayed till she lay there with her face 
 on the rock, saying over and over, "Oh, God, 
 please, please, please make Mr. Pond adopt 
 'Lias." 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 
 
 All the little girls went early to school the 
 next day, eager for the first glimpse of 'Lias in 
 his new clothes. They now quite enjoyed the 
 mystery about who had made them, and were 
 full of agreeable excitement as the little figure 
 was seen approaching down the road. He wore 
 the gray trousers and the little blue shirt; the 
 trousers were a little too long, the shirt a per- 
 fect fit. The girls gazed at him with pride as 
 he came on the playground, walking briskly 
 along in the new shoes, which were just the 
 right size. He had been wearing all winter a 
 pair of cast-off women's shoes. 
 
 From a distance he looked like another child. 
 But as he came closer . . .oh! his face! his 
 hair! his hands! his finger-nails! The little 
 
 186 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 187 
 
 fellow had evidently tried to live up to his 
 beautiful new raiment, for his hair had been 
 roughly put back from his face, and around his 
 mouth and nose was a small area of almost clean 
 skin, where he had made an attempt at washing 
 his face. But he had made practically no im- 
 pression on the layers of encrusted dirt, and 
 the little girls looked at him ruefully. Mr. 
 Pond would certainly never take a fancy to 
 such a dreadfully grimy child ! His new, clean 
 clothes made him look all the worse, as though 
 dirty on purpose! 
 
 The little girls retired to their rock-pile and 
 talked over their bitter disappointment, Ralph 
 and the other boys absorbed in a game of mar- 
 bles near them. 'Lias had gone proudly into 
 the schoolroom to show himself to Miss Benton. 
 
 It was the day before Decoration Day and a 
 good deal of time was taken up with practising 
 on the recitations they were going to give at the 
 Decoration Day exercises in the village. Sev- 
 eral of the children from each school in the 
 township were to speak pieces in the Town Hall. 
 
188 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Betsy was to recite Barbara Frietchie, her first 
 love in that school, but she droned it over with 
 none of her usual pleasure, her eyes on little 
 'Lias's smiling- face, so unconscious of its 
 dinginess. 
 
 At noon time the boys disappeared down 
 toward the swimming-hole. They often took a 
 swim at noon and nobody thought anything 
 about it on that day. The little girls ate their 
 lunch on their rock, mourning over the failure of 
 their plans, and scheming ways to meet the new 
 obstacle. Stashie suggested, "Couldn't your 
 Aunt Abigail invite him up to your house for 
 supper and then give him a bath afterward?" 
 But Betsy, although she had never heard of 
 treating a supper-guest in this way, was sure 
 that it was not possible. She shook her head 
 sadly, her eyes on the far-off gleam of white 
 where the boys jumped up and down in their 
 swimming-hole. That was not a good name for 
 it, because there was only one part of it deep 
 enough to swim in. Mostly it was a shallow bay 
 in an arm of the river, where the water was 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 189 
 
 only up to a little boy's knees and where there 
 was almost no current. The sun beating down 
 on it made it quite warm, and even the first- 
 graders ' mothers allowed them to go in. They 
 only jumped up and down and squealed and 
 splashed each other, but they enjoyed that quite 
 as much as Frank and Harry, the two seventh- 
 graders, enjoyed their swooping dives from the 
 spring-board over the pool. They were late in 
 getting back from the river that day and Miss 
 Benton had to ring her bell hard in that direc- 
 tion before they came trooping up and clattered 
 into the schoolroom, where the girls already 
 sat, their eyes lowered virtuously to their books, 
 with a prim air of self-righteousness. They 
 were never late ! 
 
 Betsy was reciting her arithmetic. She was 
 getting on famously with that. Weeks ago, as 
 soon as Miss Benton had seen the confusion of 
 the little girl's mind, the two had settled down 
 to a serious struggle with that subject. Miss 
 Benton had had Betsy recite all by herself, so 
 she wouldn't be flurried by the others; and to 
 
190 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 begin with had gone back, back, back to bed- 
 rock, to things Betsy absolutely knew, to the 
 2x2's and the 3x3's. And then, very cau- 
 tiously, a step at a time, they had advanced, 
 stopping short whenever Betsy felt a beginning 
 of that bewildered "guessing" impulse which 
 made her answer wildly at random. 
 
 After a while, in the dark night which arith- 
 metic had always been to her, Betsy began to 
 make out a few definite outlines, which were 
 always there, facts which she knew to be so with- 
 out guessing from the expression of her teach- 
 er's face. From that moment her progress 
 had been rapid, one sure fact hooking itself 
 on to another, and another one on to that. She 
 attacked a page of problems now with a zest 
 and self-confidence which made her arithmetic 
 lessons among the most interesting hours at 
 school. On that day she was standing up at 
 the board, a piece of chalk in her hand, chew- 
 ing her tongue and thinking hard how to find 
 out the amount of wall-paper needed for a 
 room 12 feet square with two doors and two 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 191 
 
 windows in it, when her eye fell on little 
 'Lias, bent over his reading book. She for- 
 got her arithmetic, she forgot where she 
 was. She stared and stared, till Ellen, catch- 
 ing the direction of her eyes, looked and 
 stared too. Little 'Lias was clean, preter- 
 naturally, almost wetly clean. His face was 
 clean and shining, his ears shone pink and fair, 
 his hands were absolutely spotless, even his 
 hay-colored hair was clean and, still damp, 
 brushed flatly back till it shone in the sun. 
 Betsy blinked her eyes a great many times, 
 thinking she must be dreaming, but every time 
 she opened them there was 'Lias, looking white 
 and polished like a new willow whistle. 
 
 Somebody poked her hard in the ribs. She 
 started and, turning, saw Ealph, who was doing 
 a sum beside her on the board, scowling at her 
 under his black brows. "Quit gawking at 
 'Lias," he said under his breath. "You make 
 me tired!" Something conscious and shame- 
 faced in his manner made Betsy understand at 
 once what had happened. Ralph had taken 
 
192 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 'Lias down to the little boys ' wading-place and 
 had washed him all over. She remembered 
 now that they had a piece of yellow soap there. 
 
 Her face broke into a radiant smile and she 
 began to say something to Ralph about how 
 nice that was of him, but he frowned again and 
 said, crossly, "Aw, cut it out! Look at what 
 you've done there! If I couldn't 9x8 and get 
 it right!" 
 
 "How queer boys are!" thought Betsy, eras- 
 ing her mistake and putting down the right 
 answer. But she did not try to speak to Ralph 
 again about 'Lias, not even after school, when 
 she saw 'Lias going home with a new cap on 
 his head which she recognized as Ralph's. She 
 just looked at Ralph's bare head, and smiled 
 her eyes at him, keeping the rest of her face 
 sober, the way Cousin Ann did. For just a 
 minute Ralph almost smiled back. At least he 
 looked quite friendly. They stepped along 
 toward home together, the first time Ralph had 
 ever condescended to walk beside a girl. 
 
 "We got a new colt," he said. 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 193 
 
 * ' Have you I ' ' she said. ' ' What color ? ' ' 
 
 "Black, with a white star, and they're going 
 to let me ride him when he 's old enough. ' ' 
 
 " My ! Won 't that be nice ! " said Betsy. 
 
 And all the time they were both thinking of 
 little 'Lias with his new clothes and his sweet, 
 thin face shining with cleanliness. 
 
 "Do you like spruce gum?" asked Ralph. 
 
 "Oh, I love gum!" said Betsy. 
 
 "Well, I'll bring you down a chunk tomor- 
 row, if I don't forget it," said Ralph, turning 
 off at the cross-roads. 
 
 They had not mentioned 'Lias at all. 
 
 The next day they were to have school only 
 in the morning. In the afternoon they were to 
 go in a big hay-wagon down to the village to 
 the "exercises." 'Lias came to school in his 
 new blue-serge trousers and his white blouse. 
 The little girls gloated over his appearance, 
 and hung around him, for who was to "visit 
 school" that morning but Mr. Pond himself! 
 Cousin Ann had arranged it somehow. It 
 took Cousin Ann to fix things ! During recess, 
 
194 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 as they were playing still-pond-no-more-mov- 
 ing on the playground, Mr. Pond and Uncle 
 Henry drew up to the edge of the playground, 
 stopped their horse, and, talking and laugh- 
 ing together, watched the children at play. 
 Betsy looked hard at the big, burly, kind-faced 
 man with the smiling eyes and the hearty laugh, 
 and decided that he would "do" perfectly for 
 'Lias. But what she decided was to have little 
 importance, apparently, for after all he would 
 not get out of the wagon, but said he'd have 
 to drive right on to the village. Just like that, 
 with no excuse other than a careless glance at 
 his watch. No, he guessed he wouldn't have 
 time, this morning, he said. Betsy cast an im- 
 ploring look up into Uncle Henry's face, but 
 evidently he felt himself quite helpless, too. Oh, 
 if only Cousin Ann had come ! She would have 
 marched him into the schoolhouse double-quick. 
 But Uncle Henry was not Cousin Ann, and 
 though Betsy saw him, as they drove away, 
 conscientiously point out little 'Lias, resplend- 
 ent and shining, Mr. Pond only nodded absently, 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 195 
 
 as though he were thinking of something 
 else. 
 
 Betsy could have cried with disappointment ; 
 but she and the other girls, putting their heads 
 together for comfort, told each other that there 
 was time enough yet. Mr. Pond would not 
 leave town till tomorrow. Perhaps . . . there 
 was still some hope. 
 
 But that afternoon even this last hope was 
 dashed. As they gathered at the schoolhouse, 
 the girls fresh and crisp in their newly starched 
 dresses, with red or blue hair-ribbons, the boys 
 very self-conscious in their dark suits, clean 
 collars, new caps (all but Ralph), and blacked 
 shoes, there was no little 'Lias. They waited 
 and waited, but there was no sign of him. Fi- 
 nally Uncle Henry, who was to drive the straw- 
 ride down to town, looked at his watch, gath- 
 ered up the reins, and said they would be late 
 if they didn't start right away. Maybe 'Lias 
 had had a chance to ride in with somebody else. 
 
 They all piled in, the horses stepped off, 
 the wheels grated on the stones. And just at 
 
196 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 that moment a dismal sound of sobbing wails 
 reached them from the woodshed back of the 
 schoolhouse. The children tumbled out as fast 
 as they had tumbled in, and ran back, Betsy 
 and Ralph at their head. There in the wood- 
 shed was little 'Lias, huddled in the corner 
 behind some wood, crying and crying and cry- 
 ing, digging his fists into his eyes, his face all 
 smeared with tears and dirt. And he was 
 dressed again in his filthy, torn old overalls and 
 ragged shirt. His poor little bare feet shone 
 with a piteous cleanliness in that dark place. 
 
 "What's the matter? What's the matter?" 
 the children asked him all at once. He flung 
 himself on Ralph, burying his face in the other 
 boy's coat, and sobbed out some disjointed 
 story which only Ralph could hear . . . and 
 then as last and final climax of the disaster, who 
 should come looking over the shoulders of the 
 children but Uncle Henry and Mr. Pond! And 
 'Lias all ragged and dirty again! Betsy sat 
 down weakly on a pile of wood, utterly dis- 
 heartened. What was the use of anything! 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 197 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked the two men to- 
 gether. 
 
 Ralph turned, with an angry toss of his dark 
 head, and told them bitterly, over the heads of 
 the children: "He just had some decent clothes. 
 . . . First ones he's ever had! And he was 
 lotting on going to the exercises in the Town 
 Hall. And that darned old skunk of a step- 
 father has gone and taken 'em and sold 'em to 
 get whiskey. I'd like to kill him!" 
 
 Betsy could have flung her arms around Ralph, 
 he looked so exactly the way she felt. "Yes, 
 he is a darned old skunk!" she said to herself, 
 rejoicing in the bad words she did not know be- 
 fore. It took bad words to qualify what had 
 happened. 
 
 She saw an electric spark pass from Ralph's 
 blazing eyes to Mr. Pond's broad face, now 
 grim and fierce. She saw Mr. Pond step for- 
 ward, brushing the children out of his way, 
 like a giant among dwarfs. She saw him stoop 
 and pick little 'Lias up in his great, strong 
 arms, and, holding him close, stride furiously 
 
198 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 out of the woodshed, across the playground to 
 the buggy which was waiting for him. 
 
 "He'll go to the exercises all right!" he 
 called back over his shoulder in a great roar. 
 "He'll go, if I have to buy out the whole town 
 to get him an outfit ! And that whelp won't get 
 these clothes, either; you hear me say so!" 
 
 He sprang into the buggy and, holding 'Lias 
 on his lap, took up the reins and drove rapidly 
 forward. 
 
 They saw little 'Lias again, entering the 
 Town Hall, holding fast to Mr. Pond's hand. 
 He was magnificent in a whole suit of store 
 clothes, coat and all, and he wore white stock- 
 ings and neat, low shoes, like a city child ! 
 
 They saw him later, up on the platform, 
 squeaking out his little patriotic poem, his eyes, 
 shining like stars, fixed on one broad, smiling 
 face in the audience. When he finished he was 
 overcome with shyness by the applause, and for 
 a moment forgot to turn and leave the plat- 
 form. He hung his head, and, looking out 
 from under his eyebrows, gave a quaint, shy 
 
THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL 199 
 
 little smile at the audience. Betsy saw Mr. 
 Pond's great smile waver and grow dim. His 
 eyes filled so full that he had to take out his 
 handkerchief and blow his nose loudly. 
 
 And they saw little 'Lias once more, for the 
 last time. Mr. Pond's buggy drove rapidly past 
 their slow-moving hay- wagon, Mr. Pond holding 
 the reins masterfully in one hand. Beside him, 
 very close, sat 'Lias with his lap full of toys, oh, 
 full — like Christmas ! In that fleeting glimpse 
 they saw a toy train, a stuffed dog, a candy- 
 box, a pile of picture-books, tops, paper-bags, 
 and even the swinging crane of the big mechan- 
 ical toy dredge that everybody said the store- 
 keeper could never sell to anybody because it 
 cost so much! 
 
 As they passed swiftly, 'Lias looked out at 
 them and waved his little hand flutteringly. His 
 other hand was tightly clasped in Mr. Pond's 
 big one. He was smiling at them all. His eyes 
 looked dazed and radiant. He turned his head 
 as the buggy flashed by to call out, in a shrill, 
 exulting little shout, "Good-bye! Good-bye! 
 
200 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 I'm going to live with ..." They could hear 
 no more. He was gone, only his little hand still 
 waving at them over the back of the buggy seat. 
 
 Betsy drew a long, long breath. She found 
 that Ralph was looking at her. For a moment 
 she couldn't think what made him look so dif- 
 ferent. Then she saw that he was smiling. 
 She had never seen him smile before. He 
 smiled at her as though he were sure she would 
 understand, and never said a word. Betsy 
 looked forward again and saw the gleaming 
 buggy vanishing over the hill in front of them. 
 She smiled back at Ralph silently. 
 
 Not a thing had happened the way she had 
 planned ; no, not a single thing ! But it seemed 
 to her she had never been so happy in her 
 life. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 
 
 Betsy's birthday was the ninth day of Sep- 
 tember, and the Necronsett Valley Fair is al- 
 ways held from the eighth to the twelfth. So it 
 was decided that Betsy should celebrate her 
 birthday by going np to Woodford, where the 
 Fair was held. The Putneys weren't going that 
 year, but the people on the next farm, the 
 Wendells, said they could make room in their 
 surrey for the two little girls; for, of course, 
 Molly was going, too. In fact, she said the 
 Fair was held partly to celebrate her being six 
 years old. This would happen on the seven- 
 teenth of October. Molly insisted that that was 
 plenty close enough to the ninth of September 
 to be celebrated then. This made Betsy feel 
 like laughing out, but observing that the Put- 
 
 201 
 
202 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 neys only looked at each other with the faintest 
 possible quirk in the corners of their serious 
 mouths, she understood that they were afraid 
 that Molly's feelings might be hurt if they 
 laughed out loud. So Betsy tried to curve her 
 young lips to the same kind and secret mirth. 
 
 And, I can't tell you why, this effort not to 
 hurt Molly's feelings made her have a perfect 
 spasm of love for Molly. She threw herself on 
 her and gave her a great hug that tipped them 
 both over on the couch on top of Shep, who 
 stopped snoring with his great gurgling snort, 
 wriggled out from under them, and stood with 
 laughing eyes and wagging tail, looking at them 
 as they rolled and giggled among the pillows. 
 
 "What dress are you going to wear to the 
 Fair, Betsy?" asked Cousin Ann. "And we 
 must decide about Molly's, too." 
 
 This stopped their rough-and-tumble fun in 
 short order, and they applied themselves to the 
 serious question of a toilet. 
 
 When the great day arrived and the surrey 
 drove away from the Wendells' gate, Betsy was 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 203 
 
 in a fresh pink-and-white gingham which she 
 had helped Cousin Ann make, and plump Molly 
 looked like something good to eat in a crisp 
 white little dimity, one of Betsy's old dresses, 
 with a deep hem taken in to make it short 
 enough for the little butter-ball. Because it 
 was Betsy's birthday, she sat on the front seat 
 with Mr. Wendell, and part of the time, when 
 there were not too many teams on the road, she 
 drove, herself. Mrs. Wendell and her sister 
 filled the back seat solidly full from side to 
 side and made one continuous soft lap on which 
 Molly happily perched, her eyes shining, her 
 round cheeks red with joyful excitement. Betsy 
 looked back at her several times and thought 
 how very nice Molly looked. She had, of course, 
 little idea how she herself looked, because the 
 mirrors at Putney Farm were all small and 
 high up, and anyhow they were so old and 
 greenish that they made everybody look very 
 queer-colored. You looked in them to see if 
 your hair was smooth, and that was about all 
 you could stand. 
 
204 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 So it was a great surprise to Betsy later in 
 the morning, as she and Molly wandered 
 hand in hand through the wonders of Industrial 
 Hall, to catch sight of Molly in a full-length 
 mirror as clear as water. She was almost 
 startled to see how faithfully reflected were the 
 yellow of the little girl's curls, the clear pink 
 and white of her face, and the blue of her soft 
 eyes. An older girl was reflected there also, 
 near Molly, a dark-eyed, red-cheeked, sturdy lit- 
 tle girl, standing very straight on two strong 
 legs, holding her head high and free, her dark 
 eyes looking out brightly from her tanned face. 
 For an instant Betsy gazed into those clear eyes 
 and then . . . why, gracious goodness ! That 
 was herself she was looking at ! How changed 
 she was ! How very, very different she looked 
 from the last time she had seen herself in a 
 big mirror ! She remembered it well — out shop- 
 ping with Aunt Frances in a department store, 
 she had caught sight of a pale little girl, with 
 a thin neck, and spindling legs half-hidden in 
 the folds of Aunt Frances's skirts. But she 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 205 
 
 didn't look even like the sister of this browned, 
 muscular, upstanding child who held Molly's 
 hand so firmly. 
 
 All this came into her mind and went out 
 again in a moment, for Molly caught sight of 
 a big doll in the next aisle and they hurried 
 over to inspect her clothing. The mirror was 
 forgotten in the many exciting sights and 
 sounds and smells of their first county 
 fair. 
 
 The two little girls were to wander about as 
 they pleased until noon, when they were to meet 
 the Wendells in the shadow of Industrial Hall 
 and eat their picnic lunch together. The two 
 parties arrived together from different direc- 
 tions, having seen very different sides of the 
 Fair. The children were full of the merry-go- 
 rounds, the balloon-seller, the toy-venders, and 
 the pop-corn stands, while the Wendells ex- 
 changed views on the shortness of a hog's legs, 
 the dip in a cow's back, and the thickness of a 
 sheep's wool. The Wendells, it seemed, had 
 met some cousins they didn't expect to see, 
 
206 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 who, not knowing about Betsy and Molly, 
 had hoped that they might ride home with the 
 Wendells. 
 
 " Don't you suppose," Mrs. Wendell asked 
 Betsy, "that you and Molly could go home with 
 the Vaughans? They're here in their big 
 wagon. You could sit on the floor with the 
 Vaughan children." 
 
 Betsy and Molly thought this would be great 
 fun, and agreed enthusiastically. 
 
 "All right then," said Mrs. Wendell. She 
 called to a young man who stood inside the 
 building, near an open window: "Oh, Frank, 
 Will Vaughan is going to be in your booth this 
 afternoon, isn't he?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said the young man. "His 
 turn is from two to four." 
 
 "Well, you tell him, will you, that the two 
 little girls who live at Putney Farm are going 
 to go home with them. They can sit on the bot- 
 tom of the wagon with the Vaughan young 
 ones." 
 
 "Yes, ma'am," said the young man, with a 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 207 
 
 noticeable lack of interest in how Betsy and 
 Molly got home. 
 
 "Now, Betsy," said Mrs. Wendell, "you go 
 round to that booth at two and ask Will 
 Vaughan what time they're going to start and 
 where their wagon is, and then you be sure not 
 to keep them waiting a minute." 
 
 "No, I won't," said Betsy. "I'll be sure to 
 be there on time." 
 
 She and Molly still had twenty cents to spend 
 out of the forty they had brought with them, 
 twenty-five earned by berry-picking and fifteen 
 a present from Uncle Henry. They now put 
 their heads together to see how they could 
 make the best possible use of their four nickels. 
 Cousin Ann had put no restrictions whatever 
 on them, saying they could buy any sort of 
 truck or rubbish they could find, except the 
 pink lemonade. She said she had been told the 
 venders washed their glasses in that, and their 
 hands, and for all she knew their faces. Betsy 
 was for merry-go-rounds, but Molly yearned 
 for a big red balloon ; and while they were buy- 
 
208 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ing that a man came by with toy dogs, little 
 brown dogs with curled-wire tails. He called 
 out that they would bark when you pulled their 
 tails, and seeing the little girls looking at him 
 he pulled the tail of the one he held. It gave 
 forth a fine loud yelp, just like Shep when his 
 tail got stepped on. Betsy bought one, all done 
 up neatly in a box tied with blue string. She 
 thought it a great bargain to get a dog who 
 would bark for five cents. (Later on, when they 
 undid the string and opened the box, they found 
 the dog had one leg broken off and wouldn't 
 make the faintest squeak when his tail was 
 pulled; but that is the sort of thing you must 
 expect to have happen to you at a county 
 fair.) 
 
 Now they had ten cents left and they decided 
 to have a ride apiece on the merry-go-round. 
 But, glancing up at the clock-face in the tower 
 over Agricultural Hall, Betsy noticed it was 
 half-past two and she decided to go first to the 
 booth where Will Vaughan was to be and find 
 out what time they would start for home. She 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 209 
 
 found the booth with no difficulty, but William 
 Vaughan was not in it. Nor was the young 
 man she had seen before. There was a new 
 one, a strange one, a careless, whistling young- 
 man, with very bright socks, very yellow shoes, 
 and very striped cuffs. He said, in answer to 
 Betsy's inquiry: " Vaughan? Will Vaughan? 
 Never heard the name," and immediately went 
 on whistling and looking up and down the aisle 
 over the heads of the little girls, who stood gaz- 
 ing up at him with very wide, startled eyes. 
 An older man leaned over from the next booth 
 and said : ' ' Will Vaughan ? He from Hillsboro ? 
 Well, I heard somebody say those Hillsboro 
 Vaughans had word one of their cows was awful 
 sick, and they had to start right home that 
 minute." 
 
 Betsy came to herself out of her momentary 
 daze and snatched Molly's hand. "Hurry! 
 quick ! We must find the Wendells before they 
 get away!" 
 
 In her agitation (for she was really very 
 much frightened) she forgot how easily terri- 
 
210 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 fied little Molly was. Her alarm instantly sent 
 the child into a panic. "Oh, Betsy! Betsy! 
 What will we do!" she gasped, as Betsy pulled 
 her along the aisle and out of the door. 
 
 "Oh, the Wendells can't be gone yet," said 
 Betsy reassuringly, though she was not at all 
 sure she was telling the truth. She ran as fast 
 as she could drag Molly's fat legs, to the horse- 
 shed where Mr. Wendell had tied his horses and 
 left the surrey. The horse-shed was empty, 
 quite empty. 
 
 Betsy stopped short and stood still, her heart 
 seeming to be up in her throat so that she could 
 hardly breathe. After all, she was only ten that 
 day, you must remember. Molly began to cry 
 loudly, hiding her weeping face in Betsy's 
 dress. "What will we do, Betsy! What can 
 we do!" she wailed. 
 
 Betsy did not answer. She did not know 
 what they would do! They were eight miles 
 from Putney Farm, far too much for Molly to 
 walk, and anyhow neither of them knew the 
 way. They had only ten cents left, and nothing 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 211 
 
 to eat. And the only people they knew in all 
 that throng of strangers had gone back to Hills- 
 boro. 
 
 "What will we do, Betsy?" Molly kept on 
 crying out, horrified by Betsy's silence and evi- 
 dent consternation. 
 
 The other child's head swam. She tried again 
 the formula which had helped her when Molly 
 fell into the Wolf Pit, and asked herself, des- 
 perately, "What would Cousin Ann do if she 
 were here?" But that did not help her much 
 now, because she could not possibly imagine 
 what Cousin Ann would do under such appall- 
 ing circumstances. Yes, one thing Cousin Ann 
 would be sure to do, of course ; she would quiet 
 Molly first of all. 
 
 At this thought Betsy sat down on the 
 ground and took the panic-stricken little girl 
 into her lap, wiping away the tears and saying, 
 stoutly, "Now, Molly, stop crying this minute. 
 I'll take care of you, of course. I'll get you 
 home all right." 
 
 "How '11 you ever do it?" sobbed Molly. 
 
212 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 1 'Everybody's gone and left us. "We can't 
 walk!" 
 
 "Never you mind how," said Betsy, trying 
 to be facetious and mock-mysterious, though 
 her own under lip was quivering a little. 
 "That's my surprise party for you. Just you 
 wait. Now come on back to that booth. Maybe 
 Will Vaughan didn't go home with his folks." 
 
 She had very little hope of this, and only 
 went back there because it seemed to her a 
 little less dauntingly strange than every other 
 spot in the howling wilderness about her ; for all 
 at once the Fair, which had seemed so lively and 
 cheerful and gay before, seemed now a horrible, 
 frightening, noisy place, full of hurried stran- 
 gers who came and went their own ways, with 
 not a glance out of their hard eyes for two 
 little girls stranded far from home. 
 
 The bright-colored young man was no better 
 when they found him again. He stopped his 
 whistling only long enough to say, "Nope, no 
 Will Vaughan anywhere around these diggings 
 yet." 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 213 
 
 "We were going home with the Vaughans," 
 murmured Betsy, in a low tone, hoping for 
 some help from him. 
 
 "Looks as though you'd better go home on 
 the cars," advised the young man casually. 
 He smoothed his black hair back straighter than 
 ever from his forehead and looked over their 
 heads. 
 
 "How much does it cost to go to Hillsboro 
 on the cars?" asked Betsy with a sinking 
 heart. 
 
 "You'll have to ask somebody else about 
 that," said the young man. "What I don't 
 know about this Rube state ! I never was in it 
 before." He spoke as though he were very 
 proud of the fact. 
 
 Betsy turned and went over to the older man 
 who had told them about the Vaughans. 
 
 Molly trotted at her heels, quite comforted, 
 now that Betsy was talking so competently to 
 grown-ups. She did not hear what they said, 
 nor try to. Now that Betsy's voice sounded 
 all right she had no more fears. Betsy would 
 
214 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 manage somehow. She heard Betsy's voice 
 again talking to the other man, but she was busy 
 looking at an exhibit of beautiful jelly glasses, 
 and paid no attention. Then Betsy led her away 
 again out of doors, where everybody was walk- 
 ing back and forth under the bright September 
 sky, blowing on horns, waving plumes of bril- 
 liant tissue-paper, tickling each other with 
 peacock feathers, and eating pop-corn and 
 candy out of paper bags. 
 
 That reminded Molly that they had ten cents 
 yet. "Oh, Betsy," she proposed, "let's take a 
 nickel of our money for some pop-corn." 
 
 She was startled by Betsy's fierce sudden 
 clutch at their little purse and by the quaver in 
 her voice as she answered: "No, no, Molly. 
 We've got to save every cent of that. I've 
 found out it costs thirty cents for us both to 
 go home to Hillsboro on the train. The last one 
 goes at six o'clock." 
 
 "We haven't got but ten," said Molly. 
 
 Betsy looked at her silently for a moment and 
 then burst out, "I'll earn the rest! I'll earn it 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 215 
 
 somehow! I'll have to! There isn't any other 
 way ! ' ' 
 
 "All right," said Molly quaintly, not seeing 
 anything unusual in this. "You can, if you 
 want to. I'll wait for you here." 
 
 "No, you won't!" cried Betsy, who had quite 
 enough of trying to meet people in a crowd. 
 "No, you won't! You just follow me every 
 minute! I don't want you out of my sight!" 
 
 They began to move forward now, Betsy's 
 eyes wildly roving from one place to another. 
 How could a little girl earn money at a coun- 
 ty fair! She was horribly afraid to go up 
 and speak to a stranger, and yet how else could 
 she begin? 
 
 "Here, Molly, you wait here," she said. 
 "Don't you budge till I come back." . 
 
 But alas ! Molly had only a moment to wait 
 that time, for the man who was selling lemon- 
 ade answered Betsy's shy question with a stare 
 and a curt, "Lord, no! What could a young- 
 one like you do for me ? " 
 
 The little girls wandered on, Molly calm and 
 
216 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 expectant, confident in Betsy; Betsy with a very 
 dry mouth and a very gone feeling. They were 
 passing by a big shed-like building now, where 
 a large sign proclaimed that the Woodford 
 Ladies' Aid Society would serve a hot chicken 
 dinner for thirty-five cents. Of course the sign 
 was not accurate, for at half -past three, almost 
 four, the chicken dinner had long ago been all 
 eaten and in place of the diners was a group 
 of weary women moving languidly about or 
 standing saggingly by a great table piled with 
 dirty dishes. Betsy paused here, meditated 
 a moment, and went in rapidly so that her cour- 
 age would not evaporate. 
 
 The woman with gray hair looked down at 
 her a little impatiently and said, "Dinner's all 
 over. ' ' 
 
 "I didn't come for dinner," said Betsy, swal- 
 lowing hard. "I came to see if you wouldn't 
 hire me to wash your dishes. I'll do them for 
 twenty-five cents." 
 
 The woman laughed, looked from little Betsy 
 to the great pile of dishes, and said, turning 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 217 
 
 away, " Mercy, child, if you washed from now 
 till morning, you wouldn't make a hole in what 
 we've got to do." 
 
 Betsy heard her say to the other women, 
 ' ' Some young one wanting more money for the 
 side-shows." 
 
 Now, now was the moment to remember 
 what Cousin Ann would have done. She would 
 certainly not have shaken all over with hurt 
 feelings nor have allowed the tears to come 
 stingingly to her eyes. So Betsy sternly made 
 herself stop doing these things. And Cousin 
 Ann wouldn't have given way to the dreadful 
 sinking feeling of utter discouragement, but 
 would have gone right on to the next place. 
 So, although Betsy felt like nothing so much 
 as crooking her elbow over her face and crying 
 as hard as she could cry, she stiffened her back, 
 took Molly's hand again, and stepped out, heart- 
 sick within but very steady (although rather 
 pale) without. 
 
 She and Molly walked along in the crowd 
 again, Molly laughing and pointing out the 
 
218 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 pranks and antics of the young people, who 
 were feeling livelier than ever as the afternoon 
 wore on. Betsy looked at them grimly with 
 unseeing eyes. It was four o'clock. The last 
 train for Hillsboro left in two hours and she 
 was no nearer having the price of the tickets. 
 She stopped for a moment to get her breath; 
 for, although they were walking slowly, she 
 kept feeling breathless and choked. It occurred 
 to her that if ever a little girl had had a more 
 horrible birthday she never heard of one! 
 
 "Oh, I wish I could, Dan!" said a young 
 voice near her. "But honest! Momma 'd just 
 eat me up alive if I left the booth for a minute ! ' ' 
 
 Betsy turned quickly. A very pretty girl 
 with yellow hair and blue eyes (she looked as 
 Molly might when she was grown up) was lean- 
 ing over the edge of a little canvas-covered 
 booth, the sign of which announced that home- 
 made doughnuts and soft drinks were for sale 
 there. A young man, very flushed and gay, was 
 pulling at the girl's blue gingham sleeve. "Oh, 
 come on, Annie. Just one turn! The floor's 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 219 
 
 elegant. You can keep an eye on the booth from 
 the hall! Nobody's going to run away with the 
 old thing anyhow!" 
 
 "Honest, I'd love to! But I got a great lot 
 of dishes to wash, too! You know Momma!" 
 She looked longingly toward the open-air danc- 
 ing floor, out from which just then floated a 
 burst of brazen music. 
 
 "Oh, please!" said a small voice. "I'll do it 
 for twenty cents." 
 
 Betsy stood by the girl's elbow, all quivering 
 earnestness. 
 
 "Do what, kiddie?" asked the girl in a good- 
 natured surprise. 
 
 "Everything!" said Betsy, compendiously. 
 "Everything! Wash the dishes, tend the booth; 
 you can go dance ! I'll do it for twenty cents." 
 
 The eyes of the girl and the man met in high 
 amusement. "My! Aren't we up and com- 
 ing!" said the man. "Y'ou're most as big as 
 a pint-cup, aren't you?" he said to Betsy. 
 
 The little girl flushed — she detested being 
 laughed at — but she looked straight into the 
 
220 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 laughing eyes. "I'm ten years old today," she 
 said, "and I can wash dishes as well as any- 
 body. ' ' She spoke with dignity. 
 
 The young man burst out into a great laugh. 
 
 "Great kid, what?" he said to the girl, and 
 then, "Say, Annie, why not? Your mother 
 won't be here for an hour. The kid can keep 
 folks from walking off with the dope and ..." 
 
 "I'll do the dishes, too," repeated Betsy, try- 
 ing hard not to mind being laughed at, and 
 keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the tickets to 
 Hillsboro. 
 
 "Well, by gosh," said the young man, laugh- 
 ing. "Here's our chance, Annie, for fair ! Come 
 along!" 
 
 The girl laughed, too, out of high spirits. 
 "Wouldn't Momma be crazy!" she said hilari- 
 ously. "But she'll never know. Here, you cute 
 kid, here's my apron." She took off her 
 long apron and tied it around Betsy's neck. 
 "There's the soap, there's the table. You stack 
 the dishes up on that counter." 
 
 She was out of the little gate in the counter in 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 221 
 
 a twinkling, just as Molly, in answer to a beckon- 
 ing gesture from Betsy, came in. ''Hello, 
 there's another one!" said the gay young man, 
 gayer and gayer. "Hello, button! What you 
 going to do? I suppose when they try to crack 
 the safe you'll run at them and bark and drive 
 them away!" 
 
 Molly opened her sweet, blue eyes very wide, 
 not understanding a single word. The girl 
 laughed, swooped back, gave Molly a kiss, and 
 disappeared, running side by side with the 
 young man toward the dance hall. 
 
 Betsy mounted on a soap box and began joy- 
 fully to wash the dishes. She had never thought 
 that ever in her life would she simply love to 
 wash dishes beyond anything else ! But it was 
 so. Her relief was so great that she could have 
 kissed the coarse, thick plates and glasses as 
 she washed them. 
 
 "It's all right, Molly; it's all right!" she 
 quavered exultantly to Molly over her shoulder. 
 But as Molly had not (from the moment Betsy 
 took command) suspected that it was not all 
 
222 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 right, she only nodded and asked if she might 
 sit up on a barrel where she could watch the 
 crowd go by. 
 
 "I guess you could. I don't know why not," 
 said Betsy doubtfully. She lifted her up and 
 went back to her dishes. Never were dishes 
 washed better! 
 
 "Two doughnuts, please," said a man's voice 
 behind her. 
 
 Oh, mercy, there was somebody come to 
 buy ! Whatever should she do ? She came for- 
 ward intending to say that the owner of the 
 booth was away and she didn't know anything 
 about . . . but the man laid down a nickel, took 
 two doughnuts, and turned away. Betsy gasped 
 and looked at the home-made sign stuck into the 
 big pan of doughnuts. Sure enough, it read "2 
 for 5." She put the nickel up on a shelf and 
 went back to her dishwashing. Selling things 
 wasn't so hard, she reflected. 
 
 As her hunted feeling of desperation relaxed 
 she began to find some fun in her new situation, 
 and when a woman with two little boys ap- 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 223 
 
 proached she came forward to wait on her, 
 elated, important. "Two for five," she said in 
 a businesslike tone. The woman put down a 
 dime, took up four doughnuts, divided them be- 
 tween her sons, and departed. 
 
 "My!" said Molly, looking admiringly at 
 Betsy's coolness over this transaction. Betsy 
 went back to her dishes, stepping high. 
 
 "Oh, Betsy, see! The pig! The big ox!" 
 cried Molly now, looking from her coign of van- 
 tage down the wide, grass-grown lane between 
 the booths. 
 
 Betsy craned her head around over her 
 shoulder, continuing conscientiously to wash 
 and wipe the dishes. The prize stock was being 
 paraded around the Fair; the great prize ox, 
 his shining horns tipped with blue rosettes ; the 
 prize cows, with wreaths around their necks; 
 the prize horses, four or five of them as glossy 
 as satin, curving their bright, strong necks and 
 stepping as though on eggs, their manes and 
 tails braided with bright ribbon ; and then, ' ' Oh, 
 Betsy, look at the pig!" screamed Molly again — 
 
224 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 the smaller animals, the sheep, the calves, the 
 colts, and the pig, which waddled along with 
 portly dignity. 
 
 Betsy looked as well as she could over her 
 shoulder . . . and in years to come she can 
 shut her eyes and see again in every detail that 
 rustic procession under the golden, September 
 light. 
 
 But she looked anxiously at the clock. It was 
 nearing five. Oh, suppose the girl forgot and 
 danced too long! 
 
 "Two bottles of ginger ale and half a dozen 
 doughnuts," said a man with a woman and 
 three children. 
 
 Betsy looked feverishly among the bottles 
 ranged on the counter, selected two marked 
 ginger ale, and glared at their corrugated tin 
 stoppers. How did you get them open? 
 
 "Here's your opener," said the man, "if 
 that's what you're looking for. Here, you get 
 the glasses and I'll open the bottles. We're in 
 kind of a hurry. Got to catch a train." 
 
 Well, they were not the only people who had 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 225 
 
 to catch a train, Betsy thought sadly. The/ 
 drank in gulps and departed, cramming dough- 
 nuts into their mouths. Betsy wished ardently 
 that the girl would come back. She was now 
 almost sure that she had forgotten and would 
 dance there till nightfall. But there, there she 
 came, running along, as light-footed after an 
 hour's dancing as when she had left the booth. 
 
 "Here you are, kid," said the young man, 
 producing a quarter. "We've had the time of 
 our young lives, thanks to you. ' ' 
 
 Betsy gave him back one of the nickels that 
 remained to her, but he refused it. 
 
 "No, keep the change," he said royally. "It 
 was worth it." 
 
 "Then I'll buy two doughnuts with my extra 
 nickel," said Betsy. 
 
 "No, you won't," said the girl. "You'll 
 take all you want for nothing . . . Momma '11 
 never miss 'em. And what you sell here has 
 got to be fresh every day. Here, hold out your 
 hands, both of you. ' ' 
 
 "Some people came and bought things," said 
 
226 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Betsy, happening to remember as she and Molly 
 turned away. "The money is on that shelf." 
 
 "Well, now!" said the girl, "if she didn't 
 take hold and sell things ! Say . . . ' ' — she ran 
 after Betsy and gave her a hug — "you smart 
 young one, I wish't I had a little sister just 
 like you!" 
 
 Molly and Betsy hurried along out of the 
 gate into the main street of the town and down 
 to the station. Molly was eating doughnuts as 
 she went. They were both quite hungry by this 
 time, but Betsy could not think of eating till 
 she had those tickets in her hand. 
 
 She pushed her quarter and a nickel into the 
 ticket-seller's window and said "Hillsboro" in 
 as confident a tone as she could; but when the 
 precious bits of paper were pushed out at her 
 and she actually held them, her knees shook 
 under her and she had to go and sit down on 
 the bench. 
 
 "My! Aren't these doughnuts good?" said 
 Molly. ' i I never in my life had enough dough- 
 nuts before!" 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 227 
 
 Betsy drew a long breath and began rather 
 languidly to eat one herself; she felt, all of a 
 sudden, very, very tired. 
 
 She was tireder still when they got out of 
 the train at Hillsboro Station and started 
 wearily up the road toward Putney Farm. Two 
 miles lay before them, two miles which they had 
 often walked before, but never after such a day 
 as now lay back of them. Molly dragged her 
 feet as she walked and hung heavily on Betsy's 
 hand. Betsy plodded along, her head hanging, 
 her eyes all gritty with fatigue and sleepiness. 
 A light buggy spun round the turn of the road 
 behind them, the single horse trotting fast as 
 though the driver were in a hurry, the wheels 
 rattling smartly on the hard road. The little 
 girls drew out to one side and stood waiting 
 till the road should be free again. When he 
 saw them the driver pulled the horse back so 
 quickly it stood almost straight up. He peered 
 at them through the twilight and then with a 
 loud shout sprang over the side of the buggy. 
 
 It was Uncle Henry — oh, goody, it was Uncle 
 
228 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Henry come to meet them ! They wouldn't have 
 
 to walk any further ! 
 
 But what was the matter with Uncle Henry? 
 He ran up to them, exclaiming, "Are ye all 
 right? Are ye all right?" He stooped over 
 and felt of them desperately as though he 
 expected them to be broken somewhere. And 
 Betsy could feel that his old hands were shak- 
 ing, that he was trembling all over. When she 
 said, "Why, yes, Uncle Henry, we're all right. 
 We came home on the cars," Uncle Henry 
 leaned up against the fence as though he 
 couldn't stand up. He took off his hat and 
 wiped his forehead and he said — it didn't seem 
 as though it could be Uncle Henry talking, he 
 sounded so excited — "Well, well — well, by gosh ! 
 My! Well, by thunder! Now! And so here 
 ye are! And you're all right! Well!" 
 
 He couldn't seem to stop exclaiming, and 
 you can't imagine anything stranger than an 
 Uncle Henry who couldn't stop exclaiming. 
 
 After they all got into the buggy he quieted 
 down a little and said, " Thunderation ! But 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 2297 
 
 we've had a scare! When the Wendells come 
 back with their cousins early this afternoon, 
 they said you were coming with the Vaughans. 
 And then when you didn't come and didn't 
 come, we telephoned to the Vaughans, and they 
 said they hadn't seen hide nor hair of ye, and 
 didn't even know you were to the Fair at all! 
 I tell you, your Aunt Abigail and I had an 
 awful turn! Ann and I hitched up quicker 'n 
 scat and she put right out with Prince up 
 toward Woodford and I took Jessie down this 
 way; thought maybe I'd get trace of ye some- 
 where here. Well, land!" He wiped his fore- 
 head again. ' ' Wa 'n 't I glad to see you standin ' 
 there . . . get along, Jess ! I want to get the 
 news to Abigail soon as I can!" 
 
 "Now tell me what in thunder did happen to 
 you!" 
 
 Betsy began at the beginning and told 
 straight through, interrupted at first by indig- 
 nant comments from Uncle Henry, who was out- 
 raged by the Wendells' loose wearing of their 
 responsibility for the children. But as she 
 
230 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 went on he quieted down to a closely attentive 
 silence, interrupting only to keep Jess at her 
 top speed. 
 
 Now that it was all safely over, Betsy thought 
 her story quite an interesting one, and she 
 omitted no detail, although she wondered once 
 or twice if perhaps Uncle Henry were listening 
 to her, he kept so still. "And so I bought the 
 tickets and we got home," she ended, adding, 
 "Oh, Uncle Henry, you ought to have seen the 
 prize pig ! He was too funny ! ' ' 
 
 They turned into the Putney yard now and 
 saw Aunt Abigail's bulky form on the porch. 
 
 ' ' Got 'em, Abby ! All right ! No harm done ! ' ' 
 shouted Uncle Henry. 
 
 Aunt Abigail turned without a word and 
 went back into the house. When the little girls 
 dragged their weary legs in they found her 
 quietly setting out some supper for them on 
 the table, but she was wiping away with her 
 apron the joyful tears which ran down her 
 cheeks, such white cheeks ! It seemed so strange 
 to see rosy Aunt Abigail with a face like paper. 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 231 
 
 "Well, I'm glad to see ye," she told them 
 soberly. "Sit right down and have some hot 
 milk. I had some all ready." 
 
 The telephone rang, she went into the next 
 room, and they heard her saying, in an un- 
 steady voice: "All right, Ann. They're here. 
 Your father just brought them in. I haven't 
 had time to hear about what happened yet. But 
 they're all right. You'd better come home." 
 
 "That's your Cousin Ann telephoning from 
 the Marshalls'." 
 
 She herself went and sat down heavily, and 
 when Uncle Henry came in a few minutes later 
 she asked him in a rather weak voice for the 
 ammonia bottle. He rushed for it, got her a 
 fan and a drink of cold water, and hung over 
 her anxiously till the color began to come back 
 into her pale face. "I know just how you feel, 
 Mother," he said sympathetically. "When I 
 saw 'em standin' there by the roadside I felt as 
 though somebody had hit me a clip right in 
 the pit of the stomach." 
 
 The little girls ate their supper in a tired 
 
232 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 daze, not paying any attention to what the 
 grown-ups were saying, until rapid hoofs 
 clicked on the stones outside and Cousin Ann 
 came in quickly, her black eyes snapping. 
 
 "Now, for mercy's sake, tell me what hap- 
 pened," she said, adding hotly, "and if I don't 
 give that Maria Wendell a piece of my mind ! ' ' 
 
 Uncle Henry broke in: "I'm going to tell 
 what happened. I want to do it. You and 
 Mother just listen, just sit right down and 
 listen." His voice was shaking with feeling, 
 and as he went on and told of Betsy's after- 
 noon, her fright, her confusion, her forming the 
 plan of coming home on the train and of earn- 
 ing the money for the tickets, he made, for once, 
 no Putney pretense of casual coolness. His old 
 eyes flashed fire as he talked. 
 
 Betsy, watching him, felt her heart swell and 
 beat fast in incredulous joy. Why, he was 
 proud of her ! She had done something to make 
 the Putney cousins proud of her! 
 
 When Uncle Henry came to the part where 
 she went on asking for employment after one 
 
BETSY HAS A BIRTHDAY 233 
 
 and then another refusal, Cousin Ann reached 
 out her long arms and quickly, almost roughly, 
 gathered Betsy up on her lap, holding her close 
 as she listened. Betsy had never before sat on 
 Cousin Ann's lap. 
 
 And when Uncle Henry finished — he had not 
 forgotten a single thing Betsy had told him — 
 and asked, ''What do you think of that for a 
 little girl ten years old today?" Cousin Ann 
 opened the flood-gates wide and burst out, "I 
 think I never heard of a child's doing a smarter, 
 grittier thing . . . and I don't care if she does 
 hear me say so!" 
 
 It was a great, a momentous, an historic 
 moment ! 
 
 Betsy, enthroned on those strong knees, won- 
 dered if any little girl had ever had such a beau- 
 tiful birthday. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 " UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 
 
 About a month after Betsy's birthday, one 
 October day when the leaves were all red and 
 yellow, two very momentous events occurred, 
 and, in a manner of speaking, at the very same 
 time. Betsy had noticed that her kitten Eleanor 
 (she still thought of her as a kitten, although 
 she was now a big, grown-up cat) spent very 
 little time around the house. She came into 
 the kitchen two or three times a day, mewing 
 loudly for milk and food, but after eating very 
 fast she always disappeared at once. Betsy 
 missed the purring, contented ball of fur on 
 her lap in the long evenings as she played 
 checkers, or read aloud, or sewed, or played 
 guessing games. She felt rather hurt, too, that 
 Eleanor paid her so little attention, and several 
 times she tried hard to make her stay, trailing 
 
 234 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 235 
 
 in front of her a spool tied to a string or rolling 
 a worsted ball across the floor. But Eleanor 
 seemed to have lost all her taste for the things 
 she had liked so much. Invariably, the moment 
 the door was opened, she darted out and van- 
 ished. 
 
 One afternoon Betsy ran out after her, de- 
 termined to catch her and bring her back. 
 "When the cat found she was being followed, she 
 bounded along in great leaps, constantly escap- 
 ing from Betsy's outstretched hand. They 
 came thus to the horse-barn, into the open door 
 of which Eleanor whisked like a little gray 
 shadow, Betsy close behind. The cat flashed 
 up the steep, ladder-like stairs that led to the 
 hay-loft. Betsy scrambled rapidly up, too. It 
 was dark up there, compared to the gorgeous- 
 colored October day outside, and for a moment 
 she could not see Eleanor. Then she made her 
 out, a dim little shape, picking her way over 
 the hay, and she heard her talking. Yes, it was 
 real talk, quite, quite different from the loud, 
 imperious "miauw!" with which Eleanor asked 
 
236 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 for her milk. This was the softest, prettiest 
 kind of conversation, all little murmurs and 
 chirps and sing-songs. "Why, Betsy could al- 
 most understand it! She could understand it 
 enough to know that it was love-talk, and then, 
 breaking into this, came a sudden series of 
 shrill, little, needle-like cries that fairly filled 
 the hay-loft. Eleanor gave a bound forward 
 and disappeared. Betsy, very much excited, 
 scrambled and climbed up over the hay as fast 
 as she could go. 
 
 It was all silent now — the piercing, funny lit- 
 tle squalls had stopped as suddenly as they be- 
 gan. On the top in a little nest lay Eleanor,, 
 purring so loudly you could hear her all over 
 the big mow, and so proud and happy she could 
 lhardly contain herself. Her eyes glistened, 
 she arched her back, rolled over and spread out 
 her paws, disclosing to Betsy's astounded, de- 
 lighted eyes — no, she wasn't dreaming — two 
 dear little kittens, one all gray, just like its 
 mother; one gray with a big bib on his chest. 
 
 Oh! How dear they were! How darling, 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 237 
 
 and cuddly, and fuzzy! Betsy put her fingers 
 very softly on the gray one's head and thrilled 
 to feel the warmth of the little living creature. 
 ''Oh, Eleanor!" she asked eagerly. "Can I 
 pick one up?" She lifted the gray one gently 
 and held it up to her cheek. The little thing 
 nestled down in the warm hollow of her hand. 
 She could feel its tiny, tiny little claws pricking 
 softly into her palm. "Oh, you sweetness! 
 You little, little baby-thing ! ' ' she said over and 
 over in a whisper. 
 
 Eleanor did not stop purring, and she looked 
 up with friendly, trusting eyes as her little 
 mistress made the acquaintance of her children, 
 but Betsy could feel somehow that Eleanor was 
 anxious about her kitten, was afraid that, al- 
 though the little girl meant everything that was 
 kind, her great, clumsy, awkward human hands 
 weren't clever enough to hold a baby-cat the 
 proper way. "I don't blame you a bit, Elea- 
 nor," said Betsy. "I should feel just so in 
 your place. There! I won't touch it again!" 
 She laid the kitten down carefully by its mother. 
 
238 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Eleanor at once began to wash its face very 
 vigorously, knocking it over and over with her 
 strong tongue. "My!" said Betsy, laughing. 
 "You'd scratch my eyes out, if I were as rough 
 as that!" 
 
 Eleanor didn't seem to hear. Or rather she 
 seemed to hear something else. For she stopped 
 short, her head lifted, her ears pricked up, 
 listening very hard to some distant sound. 
 Then Betsy heard it, too, somebody coming 
 into the barn below, little, quick, uneven foot- 
 steps. It must be little Molly, tagging along, as 
 she always did. What fun to show Molly the 
 kittens ! 
 
 "Betsy!" called Molly from below. 
 
 "Molly!" called Betsy from above. "Come 
 up here quick! I've got something up here." 
 
 There was a sound of scrambling, rapid feet 
 on the rough stairs, and Molly's yellow curls 
 appeared, shining in the dusk. "I've got 
 a . . . " she began, but Betsy did not let her 
 finish. 
 
 "Come here, Molly, quick! quick V she called, 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 239 
 
 beckoning eagerly, as though the kittens might 
 evaporate into thin air if Molly didn't get there 
 at once. 
 
 Molly forgot what she was going to say, 
 climbed madly up the steep pile of hay, and in 
 a moment was lying flat on her stomach beside 
 the little family in a spasm of delight that satis- 
 fied even Betsy and Eleanor, both of them con- 
 vinced that these were the finest kittens the 
 world had ever seen. 
 
 "See, there are two," said Betsy. "You can 
 have one for your very own. And I'll let you 
 choose. Which one do you like best?" 
 
 She was hoping that Molly would not take the 
 little all-gray one, because she had fallen in love 
 with that the minute she saw it. 
 
 "Oh, this one with the white on his breast," 
 said Molly, without a moment's hesitation. 
 "It's lots the prettiest! Oh, Betsy! For my 
 very own?" 
 
 Something white fell out of the folds of her 
 skirt on the hay. "Oh, yes," she said indiffer- 
 ently. "A letter for you. Miss Ann told me 
 
240 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 to bring it out here. She said she saw you 
 streaking it for the barn." 
 
 It was a letter from Aunt Frances. Betsy 
 opened it, one eye on Molly to see that she did 
 not hug her new darling too tightly, and began 
 to read it in the ray of dusty sunlight slanting 
 in through a crack in the side of the barn. She 
 could do this easily, because Aunt Frances al- 
 ways made her handwriting very large and 
 round and clear, so that a little girl could read 
 it without half trying. 
 
 And as she read, everything faded away 
 from before her . . . the barn, Molly, the 
 kittens . . . she saw nothing but the words on 
 the page. 
 
 When she had read the letter through she got 
 up quickly, oh ever so quickly! and went away 
 down the stairs. Molly hardly noticed she had 
 gone, so absorbing and delightful were the 
 kittens. 
 
 Betsy went out of the dusky barn into the 
 rich, October splendor and saw none of it. She 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 241 
 
 went straight away from the house and the 
 barn, straight up into the hill-pasture toward 
 her favorite place beside the brook, the shady- 
 pool under the big maple-tree. At first she 
 walked, but after a while she ran, faster and 
 faster, as though she could not get there soon 
 enough. Her head was down, and one arm was 
 crooked over her face. . . . 
 
 And do you know, I'm not going to follow her 
 up there, nor let you go. I'm afraid we would 
 all cry if we saw what Betsy did under the big 
 maple-tree. And the very reason she ran away 
 so fast was so that she could be all by herself 
 for a very hard hour, and fight it out, alone. 
 
 So let us go back soberly to the orchard where 
 the Putneys are, and wait till Betsy comes 
 walking listlessly in, her eyes red and her 
 cheeks pale. Cousin Ann was up in the top of 
 a tree, a basket hung over her shoulder half full 
 of striped red Northern Spies; Uncle Henry 
 was on a ladder against another tree, filling a 
 bag with the beautiful, shining, yellow-green 
 Pound Sweets, and Aunt Abigail was moving 
 
242 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 around, picking up the parti-colored windfalls 
 and putting them into barrels ready to go to 
 the cider-mill. 
 
 Something about the way Betsy walked, and 
 as she drew closer something about the expres- 
 sion of her face, and oh ! as she began to speak, 
 something about the tone of her voice, stopped 
 all this cheerful activity as though a bomb had 
 gone off in their midst. 
 
 "I've had a letter from Aunt Frances," said 
 Betsy, biting her lips, "and she says she's com- 
 ing to take me away, back to them, tomorrow. ' ' 
 
 There was a big silence; Cousin Ann stood, 
 perfectly motionless up in her tree, staring 
 down through the leaves at Betsy. Uncle Henry 
 was turned around on his ladder, one hand on 
 an apple as though it had frozen there, staring 
 down at Betsy. Aunt Abigail leaned with both 
 fat hands on her barrel, staring hard at Betsy. 
 Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting 
 her lips and winking her eyes. The yellow, 
 hazy October sun sank slowly down toward the 
 rim of Hemlock Mountain, and sent long, golden 
 
Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting her lips and winking 
 her eyes. 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 243 
 
 shafts of light through the branches of the trees 
 upon this group of people, all so silent, so mo- 
 tionless. 
 
 Betsy was the first to speak, and I'm very 
 proud of her for what she said. She said, 
 loyally, "Dear Aunt Frances ! She was always 
 so sweet to me! She always tried so hard to 
 take care of me!" 
 
 For that was what Betsy had found up by 
 the brook under the big red maple-tree. She 
 had found there a certainty that, whatever else 
 she did, she must not hurt Aunt Frances's feel- 
 ings — dear, gentle, sweet Aunt Frances, whose 
 feelings were so easily hurt and who had given 
 her so many years of such anxious care. Some- 
 thing up there had told her — perhaps the quiet 
 blue shadow of Windward Mountain creeping 
 slowly over the pasture toward her, perhaps the 
 silent glory of the great red-and-gold tree, per- 
 haps the singing murmur of the little brook — 
 perhaps all of them together had told her that 
 now had come a time when she must do more 
 than what Cousin Ann would do — when she 
 
244 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 must do what she herself knew was right. And 
 
 that was to protect Aunt Frances from hurt. 
 
 When she spoke, out there in the orchard, 
 she broke the spell of silence. Cousin Ann 
 climbed hastily down from her tree, with her 
 basket only partly filled. Uncle Henry got stiffly 
 off his ladder, and Aunt Abigail advanced 
 through the grass. And they all said the same 
 thing — "Let me see that letter." 
 
 They read it there, looking over each other's 
 shoulders, with grave faces. Then, still silently, 
 they all turned and went back into the house, 
 leaving their forgotten bags and barrels and 
 baskets out under the trees. When they found 
 themselves in the kitchen — "Well, it's supper- 
 time, anyhow," said Cousin Ann hastily, as if 
 ashamed of losing her composure, "or almost 
 time. We might as well get it now." 
 
 "I'm a-going out to milk," said Uncle Henry 
 gruffly, although it was not nearly his usual 
 time. He took up the milk pails and marched 
 out toward the barn, stepping heavily, his head 
 hanging. 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 245 
 
 Shep woke up with a snort and, getting off 
 the couch, gamboled clumsily up to Betsy, wag- 
 ging his tail and jumping up on her, ready for 
 a frolic. That was almost too much for Betsy ! 
 To think that after tomorrow she would 
 never see Shep again — nor Eleanor! Nor the 
 kittens ! She choked as she bent over Shep and 
 put her arms around his neck for a great hug. 
 But she mustn't cry, she mustn't hurt Aunt 
 Frances's feelings, or show that she wasn't 
 glad to go back to her. That wouldn't be fair, 
 after all Aunt Frances had done for her ! 
 
 That night she lay awake after she and Molly 
 had gone to bed and Molly was asleep. They 
 had decided not to tell Molly until the last 
 minute, so she had dropped off peacefully, 
 as usual. But poor Betsy's eyes were wide 
 open. She saw a gleam of light under the door. 
 It widened; the door opened. Aunt Abigail 
 stood there, in her night cap, mountainous in 
 her long white gown, a candle shining up into 
 her serious old face. 
 
 "You awake, Betsy?" she whispered, seeing 
 
246 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 the child's dark eyes gleaming at her over the 
 covers. "I just — I just thought I'd look in to 
 see if you were all right." She came to the 
 edge of the bed and set the candle down on the 
 little stand. Betsy reached her arms up long- 
 ingly and the old woman stooped over her. 
 Neither of them said a single word during the 
 long embrace which followed. Then Aunt Abi- 
 gail straightened up hastily, took her candle 
 very quickly and softly, and heavily padded 
 out of the room. 
 
 Betsy turned over and flung one arm over 
 Molly — no Molly, either, after tomorrow! 
 
 She gulped hard and stared up at the ceiling, 
 dimly white in the starlight. A gleam of light 
 shone under the door. It widened, and Uncle 
 Henry stood there, a candle in his hand, peer- 
 ing into the room. "You awake, Betsy V* he 
 said cautiously. 
 
 "Yes. I'm awake, Uncle Henry." 
 
 The old man shuffled into the room. "I just 
 got to thinking," he said, hesitating, "that 
 maybe you'd like to take my watch with you. 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 247 
 It's kind of handy to have a watch on the train. 
 And I'd like real well for you to have it." 
 
 He laid it down on the stand, his own cher- 
 ished gold watch, that had been given him when 
 he was twenty-one. 
 
 Betsy reached out and took his hard, gnarled 
 old fist in a tight grip. "Oh, Uncle Henry!" 
 she began, and could not go on. 
 
 "We'll miss you, Betsy," he said in an un- 
 certain voice. "It's been . . .it's been real 
 nice to have you here. ..." 
 
 And then he too snatched up his candle very 
 quickly and almost ran out of the room. 
 
 Betsy turned over on her back. "No crying, 
 now!" she told herself fiercely. "No crying, 
 now ! ' ' She clenched her hands together tightly 
 and set her teeth. 
 
 Something moved in the room. Somebody 
 leaned over her. It was Cousin Ann, who didn't 
 make a sound, not one, but who took Betsy in 
 her strong arms and held her close and closer, 
 till Betsy could feel the quick pulse of the 
 other 's heart beating all through her own body. 
 
248 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Then she was gone — as silently as she came. 
 
 But somehow that great embrace had taken 
 away all the burning tightness from Betsy's 
 eyes and heart. She was very, very tired, and 
 soon after this she fell sound asleep, snug- 
 gled up close to Molly. 
 
 In the morning, nobody spoke of last night 
 at all. Breakfast was prepared and eaten, and 
 the team hitched up directly afterward. Betsy 
 and Uncle Henry were to drive to the station 
 together to meet Aunt Frances's train. Betsy 
 put on her new wine-colored cashmere that 
 Cousin Ann had made her, with the soft white 
 collar of delicate old embroidery that Aunt Abi- 
 gail had given her out of one of the trunks in 
 the attic. 
 
 She and Uncle Henry said very little as they 
 drove to the village, and even less as they stood 
 waiting together on the platform. Betsy slipped 
 her hand into his and he held it tight as the 
 train whistled in the distance and came slowly 
 and laboriously puffing up to the station. 
 
 Just one person got off at the little station, 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 249 
 
 and that was Aunt Frances, looking ever so 
 dressed up and citified, with a fluffy ostrich- 
 feather boa and kid gloves and a white veil 
 over her face and a big blue one floating from 
 her gay-flowered velvet hat. How pretty she 
 was! And how young — under the veil which 
 hid so kindly all the little lines in her sweet, 
 thin face. And how excited and fluttery ! Betsy 
 had forgotten how fluttery Aunt Frances was ! 
 She clasped Betsy to her, and then started back 
 crying — she must see to her suit-case — and then 
 she clasped Betsy to her again and shook hands 
 with Uncle Henry, whose grim old face looked 
 about as cordial and welcoming as the sourest 
 kind of sour pickle, and she fluttered back and 
 said she must have left her umbrella on the 
 train. "Oh, Conductor! Conductor! My um- 
 brella — right in my seat — a blue one with a 
 crooked-over — oh, here it is in my hand ! What 
 am I thinking of!" 
 
 The conductor evidently thought he'd better 
 get the train away as soon as possible, for he 
 now shouted, "All aboard!" to nobody at all, 
 
250 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 and sprang back on the steps. The train went 
 off, groaning over the steep grade, and scream- 
 ing out its usual echoing warning about the 
 next road crossing. 
 
 Uncle Henry took Aunt Frances's suit-case 
 and plodded back to the surrey. He got into 
 the front seat and Aunt Frances and Betsy in 
 the back; and they started off. 
 
 And now I want you to listen to every single 
 word that was said on the back seat, for it was 
 a very, very important conversation, when 
 Betsy's fate hung on the curl of an eyelash and 
 the flicker of a voice, as fates often do. 
 
 Aunt Frances hugged Betsy again and again 
 and exclaimed about her having grown so big 
 and tall and fat — she didn't say brown too, al- 
 though you could see that she was thinking that, 
 as she looked through her veil at Betsy's tanned 
 face and down at the contrast between her own 
 pretty, white fingers and Betsy's leather- 
 colored, muscular little hands. She exclaimed 
 and exclaimed and kept on exclaiming ! Betsy 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 251 
 
 wondered if she really always had been as flut- 
 tery as this. And then, all of a sudden it came 
 out, the great news, the reason for the extra 
 flutteriness. 
 
 Aunt Frances was going to be married! 
 
 Yes! Think of it! Betsy fell back open- 
 mouthed with astonishment. 
 
 "Did Betsy think her Aunt Frances a silly 
 old thing?" 
 
 "Oh, Aunt Frances, no!" cried Betsy fer- 
 vently. "You look just as young, and pretty! 
 Lots younger than I remembered you ! ' ' 
 
 Aunt Frances flushed with pleasure and went 
 on, "You'll love your old Aunt Frances just 
 as much, won't you, when she's Mrs. Plimp- 
 ton?" 
 
 Betsy put her arms around her and gave her 
 a great hug. "I'll always love you, Aunt Fran- 
 ces!" she said. 
 
 "You'll love Mr. Plimpton, too. He's so big 
 and strong, and he just loves to take care of 
 people. He says that's why he's marrying me. 
 Don't you wonder where we are going to live?" 
 
252 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 she asked, answering her own question quickly. 
 "We're not going to live anywhere. Isn't that 
 a joke? Mr. Plimpton's business keeps him al- 
 ways moving around from one place to another, 
 never more than a month anywhere." 
 
 "What '11 Aunt Harriet do?" asked Betsy 
 wonderingly. 
 
 "Why, she's ever and ever so much better," 
 said Aunt Frances happily. "And her own 
 sister, my Aunt Rachel, has come back from 
 China, where she's been a missionary for ever 
 so long, and the two old ladies are going to 
 keep house together out in California, in the 
 dearest little bungalow, all roses and honey- 
 suckle. But you're going to be with me. Won't 
 it be jolly fun, darling, to go traveling all about 
 everywhere, and see new places all the 
 time!" 
 
 Now those are the words Aunt Frances said, 
 but something in her voice and her face sug- 
 gested a faint possibility to Betsy that maybe 
 Aunt Frances didn't really think it would be 
 such awfully jolly fun as her words said. 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 253 
 
 Her heart gave a big jump up, and she had 
 to hold tight to the arm of the surrey before 
 she could ask, in a quiet voice, "But, Aunt 
 Frances, won't I be awfully in your way, travel- 
 ing around so?" 
 
 Now, Aunt Frances had ears of her own, and 
 though that was what Betsy's words said, what 
 Aunt Frances heard was a suggestion that pos- 
 sibly Betsy wasn't as crazy to leave Putney 
 Farm as she had supposed of course she would 
 be. 
 
 They both stopped talking for a moment and 
 peered at each other through the thicket of 
 words that held them apart. I told you this 
 was a very momentous conversation. One sure 
 thing is that the people on the back seat saw 
 the inside of the surrey as they traveled along, 
 and nothing else. Red sumac and bronzed 
 beech-trees waved their flags at them in vain. 
 They kept their eyes fixed on each other in- 
 tently, each in an agony of fear lest she hurt 
 the other's feelings. 
 
 After a pause Aunt Frances came to herself 
 
254 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 with a start, and said, affectionately putting her 
 arm around Betsy, "Why, you darling, what 
 does Aunt Frances care about trouble if her 
 own dear baby-girl is happy?" 
 
 And Betsy said, resolutely, "Oh, you know, 
 Aunt Frances, I'd love to be with you!" She 
 ventured one more step through the thicket. 
 "But honestly, Aunt Frances, won't it be a 
 bother . . .?" 
 
 Aunt Frances ventured another step to meet 
 her, "But dear little girls must be some- 
 where ..." 
 
 And Betsy almost forgot her caution and 
 burst out, "But I could stay here ! I know they 
 would keep me!" 
 
 Even Aunt Frances's two veils could not hide 
 the gleam of relief and hope that came into her 
 pretty, thin, sweet face. She summoned all her 
 courage and stepped out into the clearing in 
 the middle of the thicket, asking right out, 
 boldly, "Why, do you like it here, Betsy? 
 Would you like to stay?" 
 
 And Betsy — she never could remember after- 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 255 
 ward if she had been careful enough not to 
 shout too loudly and joyfully — Betsy cried out, 
 ' ' Oh, I love it here ! ' ' There they stood, face to 
 face, looking at each other with honest and very 
 happy eyes. 
 
 Aunt Frances threw her arm around Betsy 
 and asked again, "Are you sure, dear?" and 
 didn't try to hide her relief. And neither did 
 Betsy. 
 
 "I could visit you once in a while, when you 
 are somewhere near here," suggested Betsy, 
 beaming. 
 
 ' ' Oh, yes, I must have some of the time with 
 my darling!" said Aunt Frances. And this 
 time there was nothing in their hearts that con- 
 tradicted their lips. ^ 
 
 They clung to each other in speechless satis- 
 faction as Uncle Henry guided the surrey up 
 to the marble stepping-stone. Betsy jumped 
 out first, and while Uncle Henry was helping 
 Aunt Frances out, she was dashing up the walk 
 like a crazy thing. She flung open the front 
 door and catapulted into Aunt Abigail just com- 
 
256 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 ing out. It was like flinging herself into a 
 feather-bed. . . . 
 
 "Oh! Oh!" she gasped out. "Aunt Frances 
 is going to be married. And travel around all 
 the time! And she doesn't really want 
 me at all! Can't I stay here? Can't I stay- 
 here?" 
 
 Cousin Ann was right behind Aunt Abigail, 
 and she heard this. She looked over their shoul- 
 ders toward Aunt Frances, who was approach- 
 ing from behind, and said, in her usual calm 
 and collected voice: "How do you do, Frances? 
 Glad to see you, Frances. How well you're 
 looking ! I hear you are in for congratulations. 
 "Who's the happy man?" 
 
 Betsy was overcome with admiration for her 
 coolness in being able to talk so in such an ex- 
 citing moment. She knew Aunt Abigail couldn't 
 have done it, for she had sat down in a rocking- 
 chair, and was holding Betsy on her lap. The 
 little girl could see her wrinkled old hand 
 trembling on the arm of the chair. 
 
 "I hope that means," continued Cousin Ann, 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 257 
 
 going as usual straight to the point, "that we 
 can keep Betsy here with us." 
 
 "Oh, would you like to?" asked Aunt Fran- 
 ces, fluttering, as though the idea had never 
 occurred to her before that minute. "Would 
 Elizabeth Ann really like to stay?" 
 
 "Oh, I'd like to, all right!" said Betsy, look- 
 ing confidently up into Aunt Abigail's face. 
 
 Aunt Abigail spoke now. She cleared her 
 throat twice before she could bring out a word. 
 Then she said, "Why, yes, we'd kind of like to 
 keep her. We've sort of got used to having her 
 around. ' ' 
 
 That's what she said, but, as you have no- 
 ticed before on this exciting day, what people 
 said didn't matter as much as what they looked ; 
 and as her old lips pronounced these words so 
 quietly the corners of Aunt Abigail's mouth 
 were twitching, and she was swallowing hard. 
 She said, impatiently, to Cousin Ann, "Hand 
 me that handkerchief, Ann ! ' ' And as she blew 
 her nose, she said, ' ' Oh, what an old fool lam!" 
 
 Then, all of a sudden, it was as though a 
 
258 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 great, fresh breeze had blown through the 
 house. They all drew a long breath and began 
 to talk loudly and cheerfully about the weather 
 and Aunt Frances's trip and how Aunt Har- 
 riet was and which room Aunt Frances was to 
 have and would she leave her wraps down in the 
 hall or take them upstairs — and, in the midst 
 of this, Betsy, her heart ready to burst, dashed 
 out of doors, followed by Shep. She ran madly 
 toward the barn. She did not know where she 
 was going. She only knew that she must run 
 and jump and shout, or she would explode. 
 
 Shep ran and jumped because Betsy did. 
 
 To these two wild creatures, careering 
 through the air like bright-blown autumn leaves, 
 appeared little Molly in the barn door. 
 
 ' ' Oh, I 'm going to stay ! I 'm going to stay ! I ' 
 screamed Betsy. 
 
 But as Molly had not had any notion of the 
 contrary, she only said, "Of course, why not?" 
 and went on to something really important, say- 
 ing, in a very much capitalized statement, "My 
 kitten can walk! It took three steps just now." 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 259 
 After Aunt Frances got her wraps off, Betsy 
 took her for a tour of inspection. They went 
 all over the house first, with special emphasis 
 laid on the living-room. " Isn't this the loveli- 
 est place?'' said Betsy, fervently, looking about 
 her at the white curtains, the bright flowers, 
 the southern sunshine, the bookcases, and the 
 bright cooking utensils. It was all full to the 
 brim to her eyes with happiness, and she for- 
 got entirely that she had thought it a very poor, 
 common kind of room when she had first seen 
 it. Nor did she notice that Aunt Frances 
 showed no enthusiasm over it now. 
 
 She stopped for a few moments to wash some 
 potatoes and put them into the oven for din- 
 ner. Aunt Frances opened her eyes at this. 
 "I always see to the potatoes and the apples, 
 the cooking of them, I mean," explained Betsy 
 proudly. "I've just learned to make apple-pie 
 and brown betty." 
 
 Then down into the stone-floored milk-room, 
 where Aunt Abigail was working over butter, 
 and where Betsy, swelling with pride, showed 
 
260 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 Aunt Frances how deftly and smoothly she 
 could manipulate the wooden paddle and make 
 rolls of butter that weighed within an ounce 
 or two of a pound. 
 
 " Mercy, child! Think of your being able to 
 do such things ! ' ' said Aunt Frances, more and 
 more astonished. 
 
 They went out of doors now, Shep bounding 
 by their side. Betsy was amazed to see that 
 Aunt Frances drew back, quite nervously, when- 
 ever the big dog frisked near her. Out in the 
 barn Betsy had a disappointment. Aunt Fran- 
 ces just balked absolutely at those ladder-like 
 stairs — "Oh, I couldn't! I couldn't, dear. Do 
 you go up there? Is it quite safe?" 
 
 "Why, Aunt Abigail went up there to see the 
 kittens!" cried Betsy, on the edge of exaspera- 
 tion. But her heart softened at the sight of 
 Aunt Frances's evident distress of mind at the 
 very idea of climbing into the loft, and she 
 brought the kittens down for inspection, Elea- 
 nor mewing anxiously at the top of the stairs. 
 
 On the way back to the house they had an 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 261 
 
 adventure, a sort of adventure, and it brought 
 home to Betsy once for all how much she loved 
 dear, sweet Aunt Frances, and just what kind 
 of love it was. 
 
 As they crossed the barnyard the calf ap- 
 proached them playfully, leaping stiff-legged 
 into the air, and making a pretense of butting 
 at them with its hornless young head. 
 
 Betsy and Shep often played with the calf 
 in this way by the half -hour, and she thought 
 nothing of it now ; hardly noticed it, in fact. 
 
 But Aunt Frances gave a loud, piercing 
 shriek, as though she were being cut into pieces. 
 "Help! Help!" she screamed. "Betsy! Oh, 
 Betsy!" 
 
 She had turned as white as a sheet and could 
 not take a single step forward. "It's nothing! 
 It's nothing!" said Betsy, rather impatiently. 
 "He's just playing. We often play with him, 
 Shep and I." 
 
 The calf came a little nearer, with lowered 
 head. "Get away!" said Betsy indifferently, 
 kicking at him. 
 
262 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 At this hint of masterfulness on Betsy's part, 
 Aunt Frances cried out, "Oh, yes, Betsy, do 
 make him go away! Do make him go away!" 
 
 It came over Betsy that Aunt Frances was 
 really frightened, yes, really; and all at once 
 her impatience disappeared, never to come back 
 again. She felt toward Aunt Frances just as 
 she did toward little Molly, and she acted ac- 
 cordingly. She stepped in front of Aunt Fran- 
 ces, picked up a stick, and hit the calf a blow 
 on the neck with it. He moved away, startled 
 and injured, looking at his playfellow with re- 
 proachful eyes. But Betsy was relentless. 
 Aunt Frances must not be frightened! 
 
 "Here, Shep! Here, Shep!" she called 
 loudly, and when the big dog came bounding to 
 her she pointed to the calf and said sternly, 
 "Take him into the barn! Drive him into the 
 barn, sir!" 
 
 Shep asked nothing better than this com- 
 mand, and charged forward, barking furiously 
 and leaping into the air as though he intended 
 to eat the calf up alive. The two swept across 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 263 
 
 the barnyard and into the lower regions of the 
 barn. In a moment Shep reappeared, his 
 tongue hanging out, his tail wagging, his eyes 
 glistening, very proud of himself, and mounted 
 guard at the door. 
 
 Aunt Frances hurried along desperately 
 through the gate of the barnyard. As it fell to 
 behind her she sank down on a rock, breathless, 
 still pale and agitated. Betsy threw her arms 
 around her in a transport of affection. She felt 
 that she understood Aunt Frances as nobody 
 else could, the dear, sweet, gentle, timid aunt! 
 She took the thin, nervous white ringers in her 
 strong brown hands. "Oh, Aunt Frances, dear, 
 darling Aunt Frances!" she cried, "how I wish 
 I could always take care of you." 
 
 The last of the red and gold leaves were 
 slowly drifting to the ground as Betsy and 
 Uncle Henry drove back from the station 
 after seeing Aunt Frances off. They were not 
 silent this time, as when they had gone to meet 
 her. They were talking cheerfully together, 
 
264 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 laying their plans for the winter which was so 
 near. "I must begin to bank the house to- 
 morrow,' ' mused Uncle Henry. "And those 
 apples have got to go to the cider-mill, right 
 off. Don't you want to ride over on top of 
 them, Betsy, and see 'em made into cider?" 
 
 "Oh, my, yes!" said Betsy, "that will be 
 fine! And I must put away Deborah's summer 
 clothes and get Cousin Ann to help me make 
 some warm ones, if I'm going to take her to 
 school in cold weather." 
 
 As they drove into the yard, they saw Eleanor 
 coming from the direction of the barn with 
 something big and heavy in her mouth. She 
 held her head as high as she could, but even so, 
 her burden dragged on the ground, bumping 
 softly against the rough places on the path. 
 "Look!" said Betsy. "Just see that great rat 
 Eleanor has caught!" 
 
 Uncle Henry squinted his old eyes toward the 
 cat for a moment and laughed. "We're not the 
 only ones that are getting ready for winter," 
 he remarked. 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 265 
 
 Betsy did not know what he meant and 
 climbed hastily over the wheel and ran to see. 
 As she approached Eleanor, the cat laid her 
 burden down with an air of relief and looked 
 trustfully into her little mistress's face. "Why, 
 it was one of the kittens ! Eleanor was bringing 
 it to the house. Oh, of course! they mustn't 
 stay out there in that cold hayloft now the cold 
 weather was drawing near. Betsy picked up 
 the little sprawling thing, trying with weak legs 
 to get around over the rough ground. She car- 
 ried it carefully toward the house, Eleanor 
 walking sinuously by her side and " talking" in 
 little singing, purring miauws to explain her 
 ideas of kitten-comfort. Betsy felt that she 
 quite understood her. "Yes, Eleanor, a nice 
 little basket behind the stove with a warm piece 
 of an old blanket in it. Yes, I'll fix it for you. 
 It'll be lovely to have the whole family there. 
 And I'll bring the other one in for you." 
 
 But evidently Eleanor did not understand 
 little-girl talk as well as Betsy understood cat- 
 talk, for a little later, as Betsy turned from the 
 
266 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 nest she was making in the corner behind the 
 stove, Eleanor was missing; and when she ran 
 out toward the barn she met her again, her 
 head strained painfully back, dragging another 
 fat, heavy kitten, who curled his pink feet up 
 as high as he could in a vain effort not to have 
 them knock against the stones. "Now, Elea- 
 nor," said Betsy, a little put out, "you don't 
 trust me enough! I was going to get it all 
 right!" 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Abigail, as they came into 
 the kitchen, "now you must begin to teach them 
 to drink." 
 
 "Goodness!" said Betsy, "don't they know 
 how to drink already?" 
 
 "You try them and see," said Aunt Abigail 
 with a mysterious smile. 
 
 So when Uncle Henry brought the pails full of 
 fragrant, warm milk into the house, Betsy poured 
 out some in a saucer and put the kittens up to 
 it. She and Molly squatted down on their heels 
 to watch, and before long they were laughing 
 so that they were rolling on the kitchen floor. 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 267 
 
 At first the kittens looked every way but at the 
 milk, seeming to see everything but what was 
 under their noses. Then Graykin (that was 
 Betsy's) absent-mindedly walked right through 
 the saucer, emerging with very wet feet and a 
 very much aggrieved and astonished expres- 
 sion. Molly screamed with laughter to see him 
 shake his little pink toes and finally sit down 
 seriously to lick them clean. Then White-bib 
 (Molly's) put his head down to the saucer. 
 
 1 ' There ! Mine is smarter than yours ! ' ' said 
 Molly. But White-bib went on putting his head 
 down, down, down, clear into the milk nearly 
 up to his eyes, although he looked very fright- 
 ened and miserable. Then he jerked it up 
 quickly and sneezed and sneezed and sneezed, 
 such deliciously funny little baby sneezes ! He 
 pawed and pawed at his little pink nose with his 
 little pink paw until Eleanor took pity on him 
 and came to wash him off. In the midst of this 
 process she saw the milk, and left off to lap it 
 up eagerly ; and in a jiffy she had drunk every 
 drop and was licking the saucer loudly with her 
 
268 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 raspy tongue. And that was the end of the 
 kittens' first lesson. 
 
 That evening, as they sat around the lamp, 
 Eleanor came and got up in Betsy's lap just 
 like old times. Betsy was playing checkers 
 with Uncle Henry and interrupted the game to 
 welcome the cat back delightedly. But Eleanor 
 was uneasy, and kept stopping her toilet to 
 prick up her ears and look restlessly toward the 
 basket, where the kittens lay curled so closely 
 together that they looked like one soft ball of 
 gray fur. By and by Eleanor jumped down 
 heavily and went back to the basket. She 
 stayed there only a moment, standing over the 
 kittens and licking them convulsively, and then 
 she came back and got up in Betsy's lap again. 
 
 "What ails that cat?" said Cousin Ann, not- 
 ing this pacing and restlessness. 
 
 "Maybe she wants Betsy to hold her kittens, 
 too," suggested Aunt Abigail. 
 
 "Oh, I'd love to!" said Betsy, spreading out 
 her knees to make her lap bigger. 
 
 "But I want my own White-bib myself !' ' said 
 
" UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 269 
 
 Molly, looking up from the beads she was 
 stringing. 
 
 "Well, maybe Eleanor would let you settle 
 it that way," said Cousin Ann. 
 
 The little girls ran over to the basket and 
 brought back each her own kitten. Eleanor 
 watched them anxiously, but as soon as they 
 sat down she jumped up happily into Betsy's 
 lap and curled down close to little Graykin. 
 This time she was completely satisfied, and her 
 loud purring filled the room with a peaceable 
 murmur. 
 
 "There, now you're fixed for the winter," 
 said Aunt Abigail. 
 
 By and by, after Cousin Ann had popped 
 some corn, old Shep got off the couch and came 
 to stand by Betsy's knee to get an occasional 
 handful. Eleanor opened one eye, recognized a 
 friend, and shut it sleepily. But the little kit- 
 ten woke up in terrible alarm to see that hideous 
 monster so near him, and prepared to sell his 
 life dearly. He bristled up his ridiculous little 
 tail, opened his absurd, little pink mouth in a 
 
270 UNDERSTOOD BETSY 
 
 soft, baby s — s — s — , and struck savagely at 
 old Shep's good-natured face with a soft little 
 paw. Betsy felt her heart overflow with amuse- 
 ment and pride in the intrepid little morsel. 
 She burst into laughter, but she picked it up and 
 held it lovingly close to her cheek. "What fun 
 it was going to be to see those kittens grow up ! 
 
 Old Shep padded back softly to the couch, his 
 toe-nails clicking on the floor, hoisted himself 
 heavily up, and went to sleep. The kitten sub- 
 sided into a ball again. Eleanor stirred and 
 stretched in her sleep and laid her head in utter 
 trust on her little mistress's hand. After that 
 Betsy moved the checkers only with her other 
 hand. 
 
 In the intervals of the game, while Uncle 
 Henry was pondering over his moves, the little 
 girl looked down at her pets and listened ab- 
 sently to the keen autumnal wind that swept 
 around the old house, shaking the shutters and 
 rattling the windows. A stick of wood in the 
 stove burned in two and fell together with a 
 soft, whispering sound. The lamp cast a steady 
 
« UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES " 271 
 
 radiance on Uncle Henry bent seriously over 
 the checker-board, on Molly's blooming, round 
 cheeks and bright hair, on Aunt Abigail's 
 rosy, cheerful, wrinkled old face, and on Cousin 
 Ann's quiet, clear, dark eyes. . . . 
 
 That room was full to the brim of something 
 beautiful, and Betsy knew what it was. Its 
 name was Happiness. 
 
 
 THE END. 
 

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