UNDERSTOOD BETSY

BY

DOROTHY CANFIELDAuthor of "The Bent Twig, " etc. 

ILLUSTRATIONS BYADA C. WILLIAMSON

[Illustration: Uncle Henry looked at her, eyeing her sidewise over thetop of one spectacle glass. (Page 34)]

CONTENTS

I Aunt Harriet Has a CoughII Betsy Holds the ReinsIII A Short MorningIV Betsy Goes to SchoolV What Grade is Betsy?VI If You Don't Like Conversation in a Book Skip this Chapter!VII Elizabeth Ann Fails in an ExaminationVIII Betsy Starts a Sewing SocietyIX The New Clothes FailX Betsy Has a BirthdayXI "Understood Aunt Frances"

ILLUSTRATIONS

Uncle Henry looked at her, eying her sidewiseover the top of one spectacle-glass Frontispiece

Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doctor. "Do you know, " said Aunt Abigail, "I thinkit's going to be real nice, having a little girlin the house again"

She had greatly enjoyed doing her own hair. 

"Oh, he's asking for more!" cried Elizabeth Ann

Betsy shut her teeth together hard, and started across"What's the matter, Molly? What's the matter?"

Betsy and Ellen and the old doll

He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms

Never were dishes washed better!

Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting herlips and winking her eyes

CHAPTER I

AUNT HARRIET HAS A COUGH

When this story begins, Elizabeth Ann, who is the heroine of it, was alittle 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; andthat's all you need to know about the place, for it's not the importantthing in the story; and anyhow you know all about it because it wasprobably very much like the place you live in yourself. 

Elizabeth Ann's Great-aunt Harriet was a widow who was not very rich orvery poor, and she had one daughter, Frances, who gave piano lessons tolittle girls. They kept a "girl" whose name was Grace and who had asthmadreadfully and wasn't very much of a "girl" at all, being nearer fiftythan forty. Aunt Harriet, who was very tender-hearted, kept her chieflybecause she couldn't get any other place on account of her coughing soyou could hear her all over the house. 

So now you know the names of all the household. And this is how theylooked: Aunt Harriet was very small and thin and old, Grace was verysmall and thin and middle-aged, Aunt Frances (for Elizabeth Ann calledher "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 becalled young, and Elizabeth Ann was very small and thin and little. Andyet 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 allthe world had kinder hearts than they. You have heard how Aunt Harrietkept Grace (in spite of the fact that she was a very depressing person)on account of her asthma; and when Elizabeth Ann's father and motherboth died when she was a baby, although there were many other cousinsand uncles and aunts in the family, these two women fairly rushed uponthe little baby-orphan, taking her home and surrounding her henceforthwith the most loving devotion. 

They had said to themselves that it was their manifest duty to save thedear little thing from the other relatives, who had no idea about how tobring up a sensitive, impressionable child, and they were sure, from theway Elizabeth Ann looked at six months, that she was going to be asensitive, impressionable child. It is possible also that they were alittle bored with their empty life in their rather forlorn, little brickhouse in the medium-sized city, and that they welcomed the occupationand new interests which a child would bring in. 

But they thought that they chiefly desired to save dear Edward's childfrom the other kin, especially from the Putney cousins, who had writtendown from their Vermont farm that they would be glad to take the littlegirl into their family. But "ANYTHING but the Putneys!" said AuntHarriet, 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 themone summer when you were a baby, Frances, and I shall never forget theway they were treating some children visiting there! . . . Oh, no, I don'tmean they abused them or beat them . . . But such lack of sympathy, suchperfect indifference to the sacred sensitiveness of child-life, such astarving of the child-heart . . . No, I shall never forget it! They hadchores to do . . . As though they had been hired men!"

Aunt Harriet never meant to say any of this when Elizabeth Ann couldhear, but the little girl's ears were as sharp as little girls' earsalways are, and long before she was nine she knew all about the opinionAunt Harriet had of the Putneys. She did not know, to be sure, what"chores" were, but she took it confidently from Aunt Harriet's voicethat they were something very, very dreadful. 

There was certainly neither coldness nor hardness in the way AuntHarriet and Aunt Frances treated Elizabeth Ann. They had really giventhemselves up to the new responsibility, especially Aunt Frances, whowas very conscientious about everything. As soon as the baby came thereto live, Aunt Frances stopped reading novels and magazines, and re-readone book after another which told her how to bring up children. And shejoined a Mothers' Club which met once a week. And she took acorrespondence course in mothercraft from a school in Chicago whichteaches that business by mail. So you can see that by the time ElizabethAnn was nine years old Aunt Frances must have known all that anybody canknow about how to bring up children. And Elizabeth Ann got the benefitof it all. 

She and her Aunt Frances were simply inseparable. Aunt Frances shared inall Elizabeth Ann's doings and even in all her thoughts. She wasespecially anxious to share all the little girl's thoughts, because shefelt that the trouble with most children is that they are notunderstood, and she was determined that she would thoroughly understandElizabeth Ann down to the bottom of her little mind. Aunt Frances (downin the bottom of her own mind) thought that her mother had never REALLYunderstood her, and she meant to do better by Elizabeth Ann. She alsoloved the little girl with all her heart, and longed, above everythingin the world, to protect her from all harm and to keep her happy andstrong and well. 

And yet Elizabeth Ann was neither very strong nor well. And as to herbeing happy, you can judge for yourself when you have read all thisstory. She was very small for her age, with a rather pale face and bigdark eyes which had in them a frightened, wistful expression that wentto Aunt Frances's tender heart and made her ache to take care ofElizabeth Ann better and better. 

Aunt Frances was afraid of a great many things herself, and she knew howto sympathize with timidity. She was always quick to reassure the littlegirl 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 oneblock and down another every single day, no matter how tired the musiclessons had made her), the aunt's eyes were always on the alert to avoidanything which might frighten Elizabeth Ann. If a big dog trotted by, Aunt Frances always said, hastily: "There, there, dear! That's a NICEdoggie, 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 theother side of Aunt Frances if he scares you so" (by that time ElizabethAnn was always pretty well scared), "and perhaps we'd better just turnthis corner and walk in the other direction. " If by any chance the dogwent in that direction too, Aunt Frances became a prodigy of valiantprotection, putting the shivering little girl behind her, threateningthe animal with her umbrella, and saying in a trembling voice, "Go away, sir! Go AWAY!"

Or if it thundered and lightened, Aunt Frances always dropped everythingshe might be doing and held Elizabeth Ann tightly in her arms until itwas all over. And at night--Elizabeth Ann did not sleep very well--whenthe little girl woke up screaming with a bad dream, it was always dearAunt Frances who came to her bedside, a warm wrapper over her nightgownso that she need not hurry back to her own room, a candle lighting upher tired, kind face. She always took the little girl into her thin armsand held her close against her thin breast. "TELL Aunt Frances all aboutyour naughty dream, darling, " she would murmur, "so's to get it off yourmind!"

She had read in her books that you can tell a great deal aboutchildren's inner lives by analyzing their dreams, and besides, if shedid not urge Elizabeth Ann to tell it, she was afraid the sensitive, nervous little thing would "lie awake and brood over it. " This was thephrase she always used the next day to her mother when Aunt Harrietexclaimed about her paleness and the dark rings under her eyes. So shelistened patiently while the little girl told her all about the fearfuldreams 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 tojump from a third-story window and was all broken to bits--once in awhile Elizabeth Ann got so interested in all this that she went on andmade up more awful things even than she had dreamed, and told longstories which showed her to be a child of great imagination. But allthese dreams and continuations of dreams Aunt Frances wrote down thefirst thing the next morning, and, with frequent references to a thickbook full of hard words, she tried her best to puzzle out from themexactly what kind of little girl Elizabeth Ann really was. 

There was one dream, however, that even conscientious Aunt Frances nevertried to analyze, because it was too sad. Elizabeth Ann dreamedsometimes that she was dead and lay in a little white coffin with whiteroses over her. Oh, that made Aunt Frances cry, and so did ElizabethAnn. It was very touching. Then, after a long, long time of talk andtears and sobs and hugs, the little girl would begin to get drowsy, andAunt Frances would rock her to sleep in her arms, and lay her down everso quietly, and slip away to try to get a little nap herself before itwas time to get up. 

At a quarter of nine every weekday morning Aunt Frances dropped whateverelse she was doing, took Elizabeth Ann's little, thin, white handprotectingly in hers, and led her through the busy streets to the bigbrick school-building where the little girl had always gone to school. It was four stories high, and when all the classes were in session therewere six hundred children under that one roof. You can imagine, perhaps, the noise there was on the playground just before school! Elizabeth Annshrank from it with all her soul, and clung more tightly than ever toAunt Frances's hand as she was led along through the crowded, shriekingmasses of children. Oh, how glad she was that she had Aunt Frances thereto take care of her, though as a matter of fact nobody noticed thelittle thin girl at all, and her very own classmates would hardly haveknown whether she came to school or not. Aunt Frances took her safelythrough the ordeal of the playground, then up the long, broad stairs, and pigeonholed her carefully in her own schoolroom. She was in thethird grade, --3A, you understand, which is almost the fourth. 

Then at noon Aunt Frances was waiting there, a patient, never-failingfigure, to walk home with her little charge; and in the afternoon thesame thing happened over again. On the way to and from school theytalked about what had happened in the class. Aunt Frances believed insympathizing with a child's life, so she always asked about every littlething, and remembered to inquire about the continuation of everyepisode, and sympathized with all her heart over the failure in mentalarithmetic, and triumphed over Elizabeth Ann's beating the Schmidt girlin spelling, and was indignant over the teacher's having pets. Sometimesin telling over some very dreadful failure or disappointment ElizabethAnn would get so wrought up that she would cry. This always brought theready tears to Aunt Frances's kind eyes, and with many soothing wordsand nervous, tremulous caresses she tried to make life easier for poorlittle Elizabeth Ann. The days when they had cried they could neither ofthem eat much luncheon. 

After school and on Saturdays there was always the daily walk, and therewere lessons, all kinds of lessons--piano-lessons of course, and nature-study lessons out of an excellent book Aunt Frances had bought, andpainting lessons, and sewing lessons, and even a little French, althoughAunt Frances was not very sure about her own pronunciation. She wantedto give the little girl every possible advantage, you see. They werereally inseparable. Elizabeth Ann once said to some ladies calling onher aunts that whenever anything happened in school, the first thing shethought of was what Aunt Frances would think of it. 

"Why is that?" they asked, looking at Aunt Frances, who was blushingwith pleasure. 

"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 toher and kissed her and gave her as big a hug as her thin arms couldmanage. Elizabeth Ann was growing tall very fast. One of the visitingladies said that before long she would be as big as her auntie, and atroublesome young lady. Aunt Frances said: "I have had her from the timeshe was a little baby and there has scarcely been an hour she has beenout of my sight. I'll always have her confidence. You'll always tellAunt Frances EVERYTHING, won't you, darling?" Elizabeth Ann resolved todo this always, 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 thinand pale and nervous. I suppose it is the exciting modern life that isso bad for children. I try to see that she has plenty of fresh air. I goout with her for a walk every single day. But we have taken all thewalks around here so often that we're rather tired of them. It's oftenhard to know how to get her out enough. I think I'll have to get thedoctor to come and see her and perhaps give her a tonic. " To ElizabethAnn she added, hastily: "Now don't go getting notions in your head, darling. Aunt Frances doesn't think there's anything VERY much thematter with you. You'll be all right again soon if you just take thedoctor's medicine nicely. Aunt Frances will take care of her preciouslittle girl. SHE'll make the bad sickness go away. " Elizabeth Ann, whohad not known before that she was sick, had a picture of herself lyingin the little white coffin, all covered over with white. . . . In a fewminutes Aunt Frances was obliged to excuse herself from her callers anddevote herself entirely to taking care of Elizabeth Ann. 

So one day, after this had happened several times, Aunt Frances reallydid send for the doctor, who came briskly in, just as Elizabeth Ann hadalways seen him, with his little square black bag smelling of leather, his sharp eyes, and the air of bored impatience which he always wore inthat house. Elizabeth Ann was terribly afraid to see him, for she feltin her bones he would say she had galloping consumption and would diebefore the leaves cast a shadow. This was a phrase she had picked upfrom Grace, whose conversation, perhaps on account of her asthma, wasfull of references to early graves and quick declines. 

And yet--did you ever hear of such a case before?--although ElizabethAnn when she first stood up before the doctor had been quaking with fearlest he discover some deadly disease in her, she was very much hurtindeed when, after thumping her and looking at her lower eyelid insideout, and listening to her breathing, he pushed her away with a littlejerk 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 momentat Aunt Frances's thin, anxious face, with the eyebrows drawn togetherin a knot of conscientiousness, and then he looked at Aunt Harriet'sthin, anxious face with the eyebrows drawn up that very same way, andthen he glanced at Grace's thin, anxious face peering from the doorwaiting for his verdict--and then he drew a long breath, shut his lipsand his little black case very tightly, and did not go on to say what itwas that Elizabeth Ann needed. 

Of course Aunt Frances didn't let him off as easily as that, you may besure. She fluttered around him as he tried to go, and she said all sortsof fluttery things to him, like "But, Doctor, she hasn't gained a poundin three months . . . And her sleep . . . And her appetite . . . And hernerves . . . "

[Illustration: Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doctor. ]

The doctor said back to her, as he put on his hat, all the thingsdoctors always say under such conditions: "More beefsteak . . . Plenty offresh air . . . More sleep . . . SHE'll be all right . . . " but his voice did notsound as though he thought what he was saying amounted to much. Nor didElizabeth Ann. She had hoped for some spectacular red pills to be takenevery half-hour, like those Grace's doctor gave her whenever she feltlow in her mind. 

And just then something happened which changed Elizabeth Ann's lifeforever 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 comparisonwith Grace's hollow whoop; Aunt Harriet had been coughing like that eversince the cold weather set in, for three or four months now, and nobodyhad thought anything of it, because they were all so much occupied intaking care of the sensitive, nervous little girl who needed so muchcare. 

And yet, at the sound of that little discreet cough behind AuntHarriet's hand, the doctor whirled around and fixed his sharp eyes onher, with all the bored, impatient look gone, the first time ElizabethAnn had ever seen him look interested. "What's that? What's that?" hesaid, going over quickly to Aunt Harriet. He snatched out of his littlebag a shiny thing with two rubber tubes attached, and he put the ends ofthe tubes in his ears and the shiny thing up against Aunt Harriet, whowas saying, "It's nothing, Doctor . . . A little teasing cough I've had thiswinter. And I meant to tell you, too, but I forgot it, that that sorespot on my lungs doesn't go away as it ought to. "

The doctor motioned her very impolitely to stop talking, and listenedvery hard through his little tubes. Then he turned around and looked atAunt Frances as though he were angry at her. He said, "Take the childaway and then come back here yourself. "

And that was almost all that Elizabeth Ann ever knew of the forces whichswept her away from the life which had always gone on, revolving abouther small person, exactly the same ever since she could remember. 

You have heard so much about tears in the account of Elizabeth Ann'slife so far that I won't tell you much about the few days whichfollowed, as the family talked over and hurriedly prepared to obey thedoctor's verdict, which was that Aunt Harriet was very, very sick andmust go away at once to a warm climate, and Aunt Frances must go, too, but not Elizabeth Ann, for Aunt Frances would need to give all her timeto taking care of Aunt Harriet. And anyhow the doctor didn't think itbest, either for Aunt Harriet or for Elizabeth Ann, to have them in thesame house. 

Grace couldn't go of course, but to everybody's surprise she said shedidn't mind, because she had a bachelor brother, who kept a grocerystore, 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 sheknew 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, agreat many relatives, and of course it was settled she should go to someof them till Aunt Frances could take her back. For the time being, justnow, while everything was so distracted and confused, she was to go tostay with the Lathrop cousins, who lived in the same city, although itwas very evident that the Lathrops were not perfectly crazy with delightover the prospect. 

Still, something had to be done at once, and Aunt Frances was so franticwith the packing up, and the moving men coming to take the furniture tostorage, and her anxiety over her mother--she had switched to AuntHarriet, you see, all the conscientiousness she had lavished onElizabeth Ann--nothing much could be extracted from her about ElizabethAnn. "Just keep her for the present, Molly!" she said to Cousin MollyLathrop. "I'll do something soon. I'll write you. I'll make anotherarrangement . . . 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 thepresent . . . " and went away, thinking that she didn't see why she shouldhave ALL the disagreeable things to do. When she had her husband'styrannical old mother to take care of, wasn't that enough, withoutadding to the household such a nervous, spoiled, morbid young one asElizabeth Ann!

Elizabeth Ann did not of course for a moment dream that Cousin Molly wasthinking any such things about her, but she could not help seeing thatCousin Molly was not any too enthusiastic about taking her in; and shewas already feeling terribly forlorn about the sudden, unexpected changein Aunt Frances, who had been SO wrapped up in her and now was just asmuch wrapped up in Aunt Harriet. Do you know, I am sorry for ElizabethAnn, and, what's more, I have been ever since this story began. 

Well, since I promised you that I was not going to tell about moretears, I won't say a single word about the day when the two aunts wentaway 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 thelittle girl's feelings dreadfully. 

And then Cousin Molly took the hand of the sobbing little girl and ledher back to the Lathrop house. But if you think you are now going tohear about the Lathrops, you are quite mistaken, for just at this momentold Mrs. Lathrop took a hand in the matter. She was Cousin Molly'shusband's mother, and, of course, no relation at all to Elizabeth Ann, and so was less enthusiastic than anybody else. All that Elizabeth Annever saw of this old lady, who now turned the current of her life again, was her head, sticking out of a second-story window; and that's all thatyou need to know about her, either. It was a very much agitated oldhead, and it bobbed and shook with the intensity with which theimperative old voice called upon Cousin Molly and Elizabeth Ann to stopright 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 bringingthat child in to be sick and have it, and be nursed, and make thequarantine twice as long!"

"But, Mother!" called Cousin Molly, "I can't leave the child in themiddle of the street!"

Elizabeth Ann was actually glad to hear her say that, because she wasfeeling so awfully unwanted, which is, if you think of it, not a verycheerful feeling for a little girl who has been the hub round which awhole household was revolving. 

"You don't HAVE to!" shouted old Mrs. Lathrop out of her second-storywindow. Although she did not add "You gump!" aloud, you could feel shewas meaning just that. "You don't have to! You can just send her to thePutney cousins. All nonsense about her not going there in the firstplace. 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 ownaunt, and Ann is her own first-cousin-once-removed . . . Just as close asHarriet and Frances are, and MUCH closer than you! And on a farm andall . . . Just the place for her!"

"But how under the sun, Mother!" shouted Cousin Molly back, "can I GETher to the Putneys'? You can't send a child of nine a thousand mileswithout . . . "

Old Mrs. Lathrop looked again as though she were saying "You gump!" andsaid aloud, "Why, there's James, going to New York on business in a fewdays anyhow. He can just go now, and take her along and put her on theright train at Albany. If he wires from here, they'll meet her inHillsboro. "

And that was just what happened. Perhaps you may have guessed by thistime that when old Mrs. Lathrop issued orders they were usually obeyed. As to who the Bridget was who had the scarlet fever, I know no more thanyou. I take it, from the name, she was the cook. Unless, indeed, oldMrs. Lathrop made her up for the occasion, which I think she would havebeen quite capable of doing, don't you?

At any rate, with no more ifs or ands, Elizabeth Ann's satchel waspacked, and Cousin James Lathrop's satchel was packed, and the two setoff together, the big, portly, middle-aged man quite as much afraid ofhis mother as Elizabeth Ann was. But he was going to New York, and it isconceivable that he thought once or twice on the trip that there weregood times in New York as well as business engagements, whereas poorElizabeth Ann was being sent straight to the one place in the worldwhere there were no good times at all. Aunt Harriet had said so, ever somany times. Poor Elizabeth Ann!

CHAPTER II

BETSY HOLDS THE REINS

You can imagine, perhaps, the dreadful terror of Elizabeth Ann as thetrain carried her along toward Vermont and the horrible Putney Farm! Ithad happened so quickly--her satchel packed, the telegram sent, thetrain caught--that she had not had time to get her wits together, assertherself, and say that she would NOT go there! Besides, she had a sinkingnotion 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 takecare of her! Even in the most familiar air she could only half breathewithout Aunt Frances! And now she was not even being taken to the PutneyFarm! She was being sent!

She shrank together in her seat, more and more frightened as the end ofher journey came nearer, and looked out dismally at the winterlandscape, thinking it hideous with its brown bare fields, its brownbare trees, and the quick-running little streams hurrying along, swollenwith the January thaw which had taken all the snow from the hills. Shehad heard her elders say about her so many times that she could notstand the cold, that she shivered at the very thought of cold weather, and certainly nothing could look colder than that bleak country intowhich the train was now slowly making its way. 

The engine puffed and puffed with great laboring breaths that shookElizabeth Ann's diaphragm up and down, but the train moved more and moreslowly. Elizabeth Ann could feel under her feet how the floor of the carwas tipped up as it crept along the steep incline. "Pretty stiff gradehere?" said a passenger to the conductor. 

"You bet!" he assented. "But Hillsboro is the next station and that's atthe top of the hill. We go down after that to Rutland. " He turned toElizabeth Ann--"Say, little girl, didn't your uncle say you were to getoff at Hillsboro? You'd better be getting your things together. "

Poor Elizabeth Ann's knees knocked against each other with fear of thestrange faces she was to encounter, and when the conductor came to helpher get off, he had to carry the white, trembling child as well as hersatchel. But there was only one strange face there, --not another soul insight at the little wooden station. A grim-faced old man in a fur capand heavy coat stood by a lumber wagon. 

"This is her, Mr. Putney, " said the conductor, touching his cap, andwent back to the train, which went away shrieking for a nearby crossingand setting the echoes ringing from one mountain to another. 

There was Elizabeth Ann alone with her much-feared Great-uncle Henry. Henodded to her, and drew out from the bottom of the wagon a warm, largecape, which he slipped over her shoulders. "The women folks were afraidyou'd git cold drivin', " he explained. He then lifted her high to theseat, tossed her satchel into the wagon, climbed up himself, and cluckedto his horses. Elizabeth Ann had always before thought it an essentialpart of railway journeys to be much kissed at the end and asked a greatmany times how you had "stood the trip. "

She sat very still on the high lumber seat, feeling very forlorn andneglected. Her feet dangled high above the floor of the wagon. She feltherself to be in the most dangerous place she had ever dreamed of in herworst dreams. Oh, why wasn't Aunt Frances there to take care of her! Itwas just like one of her bad dreams--yes, it was horrible! She wouldfall, she would roll under the wheels and be crushed to . . . She looked upat Uncle Henry with the wild, strained eyes of nervous terror whichalways brought Aunt Frances to her in a rush to "hear all about it, " tosympathize, to reassure. 

Uncle Henry looked down at her soberly, his hard, weather-beaten oldface quite unmoved. "Here, you drive, will you, for a piece?" he saidbriefly, putting the reins into her hands, hooking his spectacles overhis ears, and drawing out a stubby pencil and a bit of paper. "I've gotsome figgering to do. You pull on the left-hand rein to make 'em go tothe left and t'other way for t'other way, though 'tain't likely we'llmeet any teams. "

Elizabeth Ann had been so near one of her wild screams of terror thatnow, in spite of her instant absorbed interest in the reins, she gave aqueer little yelp. She was all ready with the explanation, herconversations with Aunt Frances having made her very fluent inexplanations of her own emotions. She would tell Uncle Henry about howscared she had been, and how she had just been about to scream andcouldn't keep back that one little . . . But Uncle Henry seemed not to haveheard her little howl, or, if he had, didn't think it worthconversation, for he . . . Oh, the horses were CERTAINLY going to one side!She hastily decided which was her right hand (she had never been forcedto know it so quickly before) and pulled furiously on that rein. Thehorses turned their hanging heads a little, and, miraculously, therethey were in the middle of the road again. 

Elizabeth Ann drew a long breath of relief and pride, and looked toUncle Henry for praise. But he was busily setting down figures as thoughhe were getting his 'rithmetic lesson for the next day and had notnoticed . . . Oh, there they were going to the left again! This time, in herflurry, she made a mistake about which hand was which and pulled wildlyon the left line! The horses docilely walked off the road into a shallowditch, the wagon tilted . . . Help! Why didn't Uncle Henry help! Uncle Henrycontinued intently figuring on the back of his envelope. 

Elizabeth Ann, the perspiration starting out on her forehead, pulled onthe other line. The horses turned back up the little slope, the wheelgrated sickeningly against the wagonbox--she was SURE they would tipover! 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, thoughtthe little girl, if he only KNEW the danger he had been in, and how hehad 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 Elizabeth Ann's head stirred andmoved. It came to her, like a clap, that she needn't know which wasright 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 herbrain, waking up. She was nine years old, and she was in the third Agrade at school, but that was the first time she had ever had a wholethought of her very own. At home, Aunt Frances had always known exactlywhat she was doing, and had helped her over the hard places before sheeven knew they were there; and at school her teachers had been carefullytrained to think faster than the scholars. Somebody had always beenexplaining things to Elizabeth Ann so industriously that she had neverfound out a single thing for herself before. This was a very smalldiscovery, but an original one. Elizabeth Ann was as excited about it asa mother-bird over the first egg that hatches. 

She forgot how afraid she was of Uncle Henry, and poured out to him herdiscovery. "It's not right or left that matters!" she endedtriumphantly; "it's which way you want to go!" Uncle Henry looked at herattentively as she talked, eyeing her sidewise over the top of onespectacle-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 heardbefore. Aunt Frances and her teachers always explained matters atlength. But it had a weighty, satisfying ring to it. The little girlfelt the importance of having her statement recognized. She turned backto her driving. 

The slow, heavy plow horses had stopped during her talk with UncleHenry. They stood as still now as though their feet had grown to theroad. Elizabeth Ann looked up at the old man for instructions. But hewas 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 apretty cold day, with an icy wind blowing down the back of her neck. Theearly winter twilight was beginning to fall, and she felt rather empty. She grew very tired of waiting, and remembered how the grocer's boy athome had started his horse. Then, summoning all her courage, with anapprehensive glance at Uncle Henry's arithmetical silence, she slappedthe reins up and down on the horses' backs and made the best imitationshe could of the grocer's boy's cluck. The horses lifted their heads, they leaned forward, they put one foot before the other . . . They were off!The color rose hot on Elizabeth Ann's happy face. If she had started abig red automobile she would not have been prouder. For it was the firstthing she had ever done all herself . . . Every bit . . . Every smitch! She hadthought 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 hardshe could think of nothing else. She guided the horses around stones, she cheered them through freezing mud-puddles of melted snow, she keptthem in the anxiously exact middle of the road. She was quite astonishedwhen Uncle Henry put his pencil and paper away, took the reins from herhands, and drove into a yard, on one side of which was a little lowwhite house and on the other a big red barn. He did not say a word, butshe guessed that this was Putney Farm. 

Two women in gingham dresses and white aprons came out of the house. Onewas old and one might be called young, just like Aunt Harriet and AuntFrances. But they looked very different from those aunts. The dark-haired one was very tall and strong-looking, and the white-haired onewas 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, Isee, " said the brown-haired one. She stepped up to the wagon and held upher 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 driveninto 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 onthe porch. "You take her in, Mother, " she said. "I'll help Fatherunhitch. "

The fat, rosy, white-haired one took Elizabeth Ann's skinny, cold littlehand in her soft warm fat one, and led her along to the open kitchendoor. "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 UncleHenry that brought you out from town. " She shut the door and went on, "Idon't know if your Aunt Harriet ever happened to tell you about us, andso . . . "

Elizabeth Ann interrupted her hastily, the recollection of all AuntHarriet's remarks vividly before her. "Oh yes, oh yes!" she said. "Shealways talked about you. She talked about you a lot, she . . . " The littlegirl stopped short and bit her lip. 

If Aunt Abigail guessed from the expression on Elizabeth Ann's face whatkind of talking Aunt Harriet's had been, she showed it only by adeepening 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 thestove and took out of the oven a pan of hot baked beans, very brown andcrispy on top (Elizabeth Ann detested beans), and said, over hershoulder, "Take your things off, Betsy, and hang 'em on that lowest hookback of the door. That's YOUR hook. "

The little girl fumbled forlornly with the fastenings of her cape andthe buttons of her coat. At home, Aunt Frances or Grace had always takenoff 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 aroundquickly as she put supper on the table. The floor shook under her. Shewas one of the fattest people Elizabeth Ann had ever seen. After livingwith Aunt Frances and Aunt Harriet and Grace the little girl couldscarcely believe her eyes. She stared and stared. 

Aunt Abigail seemed not to notice this. Indeed, she seemed for themoment to have forgotten all about the newcomer. Elizabeth Ann sat onthe wooden chair, her feet hanging (she had been taught that it was notmanners to put her feet on the rungs), looking about her with miserable, homesick eyes. What an ugly, low-ceilinged room, with only a couple ofhorrid kerosene lamps for light; and they didn't keep any girl, evidently; and they were going to eat right in the kitchen like poorpeople; and nobody spoke to her or looked at her or asked her how shehad "stood the trip"; and here she was, millions of miles away from AuntFrances, without anybody to take care of her. She began to feel thetight place in her throat which, by thinking about hard, she couldalways turn into tears, and presently her eyes began to water. 

Aunt Abigail was not looking at her at all, but she now stopped short inone of her rushes to the table, set down the butter-plate she wascarrying, and said "There!" as though she had forgotten something. Shestooped--it was perfectly amazing how spry she was--and pulled out fromunder the stove a half-grown kitten, very sleepy, yawning andstretching, and blinking its eyes. "There, Betsy!" said Aunt Abigail, putting the little yellow and white ball into the child's lap. "There isone of old Whitey's kittens that didn't get given away last summer, andshe pesters the life out of me. I've got so much to do. When I heard youwere coming, I thought maybe you would take care of her for me. If youwant to, enough to bother to feed her and all, you can have her for yourown. "

Elizabeth Ann bent her thin face over the warm, furry, friendly littleanimal. She could not speak. She had always wanted a kitten, but AuntFrances and Aunt Harriet and Grace had always been sure that catsbrought diphtheria and tonsilitis and all sorts of dreadful diseases todelicate little girls. She was afraid to move for fear the little thingwould jump down and run away, but as she bent cautiously toward it thenecktie of her middy blouse fell forward and the kitten in the middle ofa yawn struck swiftly at it with a soft paw. Then, still too sleepy toplay, it turned its head and began to lick Elizabeth Ann's hand with arough little tongue. Perhaps you can imagine how thrilled the littlegirl was at this!

She held her hand perfectly still until the kitten stopped and begansuddenly washing its own face, and then she put her hands under it andvery awkwardly lifted it up, burying her face in the soft fur. Thekitten yawned again, and from the pink-lined mouth came a fresh, milkybreath. "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 Abigail and said, "What is its name, please?" But the old woman was busy turning over a griddle full ofpancakes and did not hear. On the train Elizabeth Ann had resolved notto call these hateful relatives by the same name she had for dear AuntFrances, but she now forgot that resolution and said, again, "Oh, AuntAbigail, what is its name?"

Aunt Abigail faced her blankly. "Name?" she asked. "Whose . . . Oh, thekitten's? Goodness, child, I stopped racking my brain for kitten namessixty years ago. Name it yourself. It's yours. "

Elizabeth Ann had already named it in her own mind, the name she hadalways thought she WOULD call a kitten by, if she ever had one. It wasEleanor, the prettiest name she knew. 

Aunt Abigail pushed a pitcher toward her. "There's the cat's saucerunder 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 herlips twitched, but a moment later her face was immovably grave as shecarried the last plate of pancakes to the table. 

Elizabeth Ann sat on her heels for a long time, watching the kitten lapthe milk, and she was surprised, when she stood up, to see that CousinAnn and Uncle Henry had come in, very red-cheeked from the cold air. 

"Well, folks, " said Aunt Abigail, "don't you think we've done somelively stepping around, Betsy and I, to get supper all on the table foryou?"

Elizabeth Ann stared. What did Aunt Abigail mean? She hadn't done athing about getting supper! But nobody made any comment, and they alltook their seats and began to eat. Elizabeth Ann was astonishinglyhungry, and she thought she could never get enough of the creamedpotatoes, cold ham, hot cocoa, and pancakes. She was very much relievedthat her refusal of beans caused no comment. Aunt Frances had alwaystried very hard to make her eat beans because they have so much proteinin them, and growing children need protein. Elizabeth Ann had heard thissaid so many times she could have repeated it backward, but it had nevermade her hate beans any the less. However, nobody here seemed to knowthis, and Elizabeth Ann kept her knowledge to herself. They had alsoevidently never heard how delicate her digestion was, for she never sawanything like the number of pancakes 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 notindeed ask her much of anything or pay very much attention to her beyondfilling her plate as fast as she emptied it. In the middle of the mealEleanor came, jumped into her lap, and curled down, purring. After thisElizabeth Ann kept one hand on the little soft ball, handling her forkwith the other. 

After supper--well, Elizabeth Ann never knew what did happen aftersupper until she felt somebody lifting her and carrying her upstairs. Itwas 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'repretty tired. "

Aunt Abigail was sitting on the edge of a great wide bed with fourposts, and a curtain around the top. She was partly undressed, and wasundoing her hair and brushing it out. It was very curly and all fluffedout in a shining white fuzz around her fat, pink face, full of softwrinkles; but in a moment she was braiding it up again and putting on atight white nightcap, which she tied under her chin. 

"We got the word about your coming so late, " said Cousin Ann, "that wedidn't have time to fix you up a bedroom that can be warmed. So you'regoing to sleep in here for a while. The bed's big enough for two, Iguess, even if they are as big as you and Mother. "

Elizabeth Ann stared again. What queer things they said here. She wasn'tNEARLY as big as Aunt Abigail!

"Mother, did you put Shep out?" asked Cousin Ann; and when Aunt Abigailsaid, "No! There! I forgot to!" Cousin Ann went away; and that was thelast of HER. They certainly believed in being saving of their words atPutney Farm. 

Elizabeth Ann began to undress. She was only half-awake; and that madeher feel only about half her age, which wasn't very great, the whole ofit, and she felt like just crooking her arm over her eyes and giving up!She was too forlorn! She had never slept with anybody before, and shehad heard ever so many times how bad it was for children to sleep withgrown-ups. An icy wind rattled the windows and puffed in around theloose 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 littleroom, with that strange, queer, fat old woman. She was even toomiserable 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 keepthe candle lighted for a while and read. "And anyhow, " she said, "I'dbetter sleep on the outside to keep you from rolling out. "

Elizabeth Ann and Aunt Abigail lay very still for a long time, AuntAbigail reading out of a small, worn old book. Elizabeth Ann could seeits title, "Essays of Emerson. " A book with, that name had always laidon the center table in Aunt Harriet's house, but that copy was all newand shiny, and Elizabeth Ann had never seen anybody look inside it. Itwas a very dull-looking book, with no pictures and no conversation. Thelittle girl lay on her back, looking up at the cracks in the plasterceiling and watching the shadows sway and dance as the candle flickeredin the gusts of cold air. She herself began to feel a soft, pervasivewarmth. Aunt Abigail's great body was like a stove. 

It was very, very quiet, quieter than any place Elizabeth Ann had everknown, except church, because a trolley-line ran past Aunt Harriet'shouse and even at night there were always more or less hangings andrattlings. Here there was not a single sound except the soft, whisperynoise when Aunt Abigail turned over a page as she read steadily andsilently forward in her book. Elizabeth Ann turned her head so that shecould 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 inthe warm bed, watching that quiet face, something very queer began tohappen to Elizabeth Ann. She felt as though a tight knot inside her wereslowly being untied. She felt--what was it she felt? There are no wordsfor it. From deep within her something rose up softly . . . She drew one ortwo long, half-sobbing breaths . . . . 

[Illustration: "Do you know, " said Aunt Abigail, "I think it's going tobe real nice, having a little girl in the house again. "]

Aunt Abigail laid down her book and looked over at the child. "Do youknow, " she said, in a conversational tone, "do you know, I think it'sgoing 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 loosenedindeed! It all gave way at once, and Elizabeth Ann burst suddenly intohot tears--yes, I know I said I would not tell you any more about hercrying; but these tears were very different from any she had ever shedbefore. And they were the last, too, for a long, long time. 

Aunt Abigail said, "Well, well!" and moving over in bed took the littleweeping girl into her arms. She did not say another word then, but sheput her soft, withered old cheek close against Elizabeth Ann's, till thesobs began to grow less, and then she said: "I hear your kitty cryingoutside the door. Shall I let her in? I expect she'd like to sleep withyou. 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 nightcap madea long, grotesque shadow. But as she came back with the kitten in herarms Elizabeth Ann saw nothing funny in her looks. She gave Eleanor tothe little girl and got into bed again. "There, now, I guess we're readyfor the night, " she said. "You put the kitty on the other side of you soshe won't fall out of bed. "

She blew the light out and moved over a little closer to Elizabeth. Ann, who immediately was enveloped in that delicious warmth. The kittencurled up under the little girl's chin. Between her and the terrors ofthe dark room loomed the rampart of Aunt Abigail's great body. 

Elizabeth Ann drew a long, long breath . . . And when she opened her eyesthe sun was shining in at the window. 

CHAPTER III

A SHORT MORNING

Aunt Abigail was gone, Eleanor was gone. The room was quite empty exceptfor the bright sunshine pouring in through the small-paned windows. Elizabeth Ann stretched and yawned and looked about her. What funnywall-paper it was--so old-fashioned looking! The picture was of a blueriver and a brown mill, with green willow-trees over it, and a man withsacks on his horse's back stood in front of the mill. This picture wasrepeated 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 themiddle of the horse. It was very curious-looking. She stared at it along time, waiting for somebody to tell her when to get up. At home AuntFrances always told her, and helped her get dressed. But here nobodycame. She discovered that the heat came from a hole in the floor nearthe bed, which opened down into the room below. From it came a warmbreath of baking bread and a muffled thump once in a while. 

The sun rose higher and higher, and Elizabeth Ann grew hungrier andhungrier. Finally it occurred to her that it was not absolutelynecessary to have somebody tell her to get up. She reached for herclothes and began to dress. When she had finished she went out into thehall, and with a return of her aggrieved, abandoned feeling (you mustremember that her stomach was very empty) she began to try to find herway 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 intothe room, and said, "Well, you must feel rested!"

"Oh, I haven't been asleep!" explained Elizabeth Ann. "I was waiting forsomebody to tell me to get up. "

"Oh, " said Cousin Ann, opening her black eyes a little. "WERE you?" Shesaid no more than this, but Elizabeth Ann decided hastily that she wouldnot add, as she had been about to, that she was also waiting forsomebody to help her dress and do her hair. As a matter of fact, she hadgreatly enjoyed doing her own hair--the first time she had ever triedit. It had never occurred to Aunt Frances that her little baby-girl hadgrown up enough to be her own hairdresser, nor had it occurred toElizabeth Ann that this might be possible. But as she struggled with thesnarls she had had a sudden wild idea of doing it a different way fromthe pretty fashion Aunt Frances always followed. Elizabeth Ann hadalways secretly envied a girl in her class whose hair was all tied backfrom 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, so that she could see the coveted tighteffect at the back. And still--aren't little girls queer?--although shehad enjoyed doing her own hair, she was very much inclined to feel hurtbecause Cousin Ann had not come to do it for her. 

[Illustration: She had greatly enjoyed doing her own hair. ]

Cousin Ann set her iron down with the soft thump which Elizabeth Ann hadheard upstairs. She began folding a napkin, and said: "Now reachyourself a bowl off the shelf yonder. The oatmeal's in that kettle onthe stove and the milk is in the blue pitcher. If you want a piece ofbread and butter, here's a new loaf just out of the oven, and thebutter's in that brown crock. "

Elizabeth Ann followed these instructions and sat down before thisquickly assembled breakfast in a very much surprised silence. At home ittook 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 outof the pitcher and stopped suddenly. "Oh, I'm afraid I've taken morethan my share!" she said apologetically. 

Cousin Ann looked up from her rapidly moving iron, and said, in anastonished voice: "Your share? What do you mean?"

"My share of the quart, " explained Elizabeth Ann. At home they bought aquart of milk and a cup of cream every day, and they were all veryconscientious about not taking more than their due share. 

"Good land, child, take all the MILK you want!" said Cousin Ann, asthough she found something shocking in what the little girl had justsaid. Elizabeth Ann thought to herself that she spoke as though milk ranout of a faucet, like water. 

She was very fond of milk, and she made a very good breakfast as she satlooking about the low-ceilinged room. It was unlike any room she hadever seen. 

It was, of course, the kitchen, and yet it didn't seem possible that thesame word could be applied to that room and the small, dark cubby-holewhich had been Grace's asthmatical kingdom. This room was very long andnarrow, and all along one side were windows with white, ruffled curtainsdrawn back at the sides, and with small, shining panes of glass, throughwhich the sun poured a golden flood of light on a long shelf of pottedplants that took the place of a window-sill. The shelf was covered withshining white oil-cloth, the pots were of clean reddish brown, thesturdy, stocky plants of bright green with clear red-and-white flowers. Elizabeth Ann's eyes wandered all over the kitchen from the low, whiteceiling to the clean, bare wooden floor, but they always came back tothose sunny windows. Once, back in the big brick school-building, as shehad sat drooping her thin shoulders over her desk, some sort of aprocession had gone by with a brass band playing a lively air. For somequeer reason, every time she now glanced at that sheet of sunlight andthe bright flowers she had a little of the same thrill which hadstraightened her back and gone up and down her spine while the band wasplaying. Possibly Aunt Frances was right, after all, and Elizabeth AnnWAS a very impressionable child. I wonder, by the way, if anybody eversaw a child who wasn't. 

At one end, the end where Cousin Ann was ironing, stood the kitchenstove, 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 drawersand shelves and hooks and things. Beyond that, in the middle of theroom, was the table where they had had supper last night, and at whichthe 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-redcashmere shawl on it for a cover. A large lamp stood in the middle ofthis, a bookcase near it, two or three rocking-chairs around it, andback of it, against the wall, was a wide sofa covered with brightcretonne, with three bright pillows. Something big and black and woollywas lying on this sofa, snoring loudly. As Cousin Ann saw the littlegirl's fearful glance alight on this she explained: "That's Step, ourold dog. Doesn't he make an awful noise! Mother says, when she happensto 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 adog as good as a man, still she was acute enough (for she was reallyquite an intelligent little girl) to feel that it belonged in the sameclass of remarks as one or two others she had noted as "queer" in thetalk at Putney Farm last night. This variety of talk was entirely new toher, nobody in Aunt Harriet's conscientious household ever makinganything but plain statements of fact. It was one of the "queer Putneyways" which Aunt Harriet had forgotten to mention. It is possible thatAunt Harriet had never noticed it. 

When Elizabeth Ann finished her breakfast, Cousin Ann made threesuggestions, using exactly the same accent for them all. She said:"Wouldn't you better wash your dishes up now before they get sticky? Anddon'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 whereyou are. " Elizabeth Ann had never washed a dish in all her life, and shehad always thought that nobody but poor, ignorant people, who couldn'tafford to hire girls, did such things. And yet (it was odd) she did notfeel like saying this to Cousin Ann, who stood there so straight in hergingham dress and apron, with her clear, bright eyes and red cheeks. Besides this feeling, Elizabeth Ann was overcome with embarrassment atthe idea of undertaking a new task in that casual way. How in the worldDID you wash dishes? She stood rooted to the spot, irresolute, horriblyshy, 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 itwas hot enough: "Just take them over to the sink there and hold themunder the hot-water faucet. They'll be clean in no time. The dish-towelsare those hanging on the rack over the stove. "

Elizabeth Ann moved promptly over to the sink, as though Cousin Ann'swords had shoved her there, and before she knew it, her saucer, cup, andspoon were clean and she was wiping them on a dry checked towel. "Thespoon goes in the side-table drawer with the other silver, and thesaucer and cup in those shelves there behind the glass doors where thechina belongs, " continued Cousin Ann, thumping hard with her iron on anapkin and not looking up at all, "and don't forget your apple as you goout. Those Northern Spies are just getting to be good about now. Whenthey first come off the tree in October you could shoot them through anoak plank. "

Now Elizabeth Ann knew that this was a foolish thing to say, since ofcourse an apple never could go through a board; but something that hadalways been sound asleep in her brain woke up a little, little bit andopened one eye. For it occurred dimly to Elizabeth Ann that this was arather funny way of saying that Northern Spies were very hard when youfirst pick them in the autumn. She had to figure it out for herself veryslowly, because it was a new idea to her, and she was halfway throughher 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. Shefelt a momentary impulse to call down to Cousin Ann that she saw thepoint, but before she had taken a single step toward the head of thestairs she had decided not to do this. Cousin Ann, with her bright, darkeyes, and her straight back, and her long arms, and her way of speakingas though it never occurred to her that you wouldn't do just as shesaid--Elizabeth Ann was not very sure that she liked Cousin Ann, and shewas very sure that she was afraid of her. 

So she went on, walking from one room to another, industriously eatingthe red apple, the biggest she had ever seen. It was the best, too, withits crisp, white flesh and the delicious, sour-sweet juice which madeElizabeth Ann feel with each mouthful like hurrying to take another. Shedid not think much more of the other rooms in the house than she had ofthe kitchen. There were no draped "throws" over anything; there were nolace curtains at the windows, just dotted Swiss like the kitchen; allthe ceilings were very low; the furniture was all of dark wood and veryold-looking; what few rugs there were were of bright-colored rags; themirrors were queer and old, with funny old pictures at the top; therewasn't a brass bed in any of the bedrooms, just old wooden ones withposts, and curtains round the tops; and there was not a single plushportiere in the parlor, whereas at Aunt Harriet's there had been twosets for that one room. 

She was relieved at the absence of a piano and secretly rejoiced thatshe would not need to practice. In her heart she had not liked her musiclessons at all, but she had never dreamed of not accepting them fromAunt Frances as she accepted everything else. Also she had liked to hearAunt Frances boast about how much better she could play than otherchildren of her age. 

She was downstairs by this time, and, opening a door out of the parlor, found herself back in the kitchen, the long line of sunny windows andthe bright flowers giving her that quick little thrill again. Cousin Annlooked up from her ironing, nodded, and said: "All through? You'd bettercome in and get warmed up. Those rooms get awfully cold these Januarydays. Winters we mostly use this room so's to get the good of thekitchen stove. " She added after a moment, during which Elizabeth Annstood by the stove, warming her hands: "There's one place you haven'tseen yet--the milk-room. Mother's down there now, churning. That's thedoor--the middle one. "

Elizabeth Ann had been wondering and wondering where in the world AuntAbigail was. So she stepped quickly to the door, and went dawn the colddark stairs she found there. At the bottom was a door, lockedapparently, for she could find no fastening. She heard steps inside, thedoor was briskly cast open, and she almost fell into the arms of AuntAbigail, who caught her as she stumbled forward, saying: "Well, I'vebeen expectin' you down here for a long time. I never saw a little girlyet who didn't like to watch butter-making. Don't you love to run thebutter-worker over it? I do, myself, for all I'm seventy-two!"

"I don't know anything about it, " said Elizabeth Ann. "I don't know whatyou make butter out of. We always bought ours. "

"Well, FOR GOODNESS' SAKES!" said Aunt Abigail. She turned and calledacross the room, "Henry, did you ever! Here's Betsy saying she don'tknow what we make butter out of! She actually never saw anybody makingbutter!"

Uncle Henry was sitting down, near the window, turning the handle to asmall barrel swung between two uprights. He stopped for a moment andconsidered Aunt Abigail's remark with the same serious attention he hadgiven to Elizabeth Ann's discovery about left and right. Then he beganto 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 anybodydoing that? Why, I've seen them HUNDREDS of times! Every day as we wentto school they were doing over the whole pavement for blocks alongthere. "

Aunt Abigail and Uncle Henry looked at her with interest, and AuntAbigail said: "Well, now, think of that! Tell us all about it!"

"Why, there's a big black sort of wagon, " began Elizabeth Ann, "and theyrun it up and down and pour out the black stuff on the road. And that'sall there is to it. " She stopped, rather abruptly, looking uneasy. UncleHenry inquired: "Now there's one thing I've always wanted to know. Howdo they keep that stuff from hardening on them? How do they keep ithot?"

The little girl looked blank. "Why, a fire, I suppose, " she faltered, searching her memory desperately and finding there only a dimrecollection of a red glow somewhere connected with the familiar sceneat 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 keepit going?"

Elizabeth Ann shook her head. "I never noticed, " she said. 

Aunt Abigail asked her now, "What do they do to the road before theypour it on?"

"Do?" said Elizabeth Ann. "I didn't know they did anything. "

"Well, they can't pour it right on a dirt road, can they?" asked AuntAbigail. "Don't they put down cracked stone or something?"

Elizabeth Ann looked down at her toes. "I never noticed, " she 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 Abigailturned away and put a stick of wood in the stove. Elizabeth Ann did notfeel very superior now, and when Aunt Abigail said, "Now the butter'sbeginning to come. Don't you want to watch and see everything I do, so'syou can answer if anybody asks you how butter is made?" Elizabeth Annunderstood perfectly what was in Aunt's Abigail's mind, and gave to theprocess of butter-making a more alert and aroused attention than she hadever before given to anything. It was so interesting, too, that in notime she forgot why she was watching, and was absorbed in thefascinations of the dairy for their own sake. 

She looked in the churn as Aunt Abigail unscrewed the top, and saw thethick, sour cream separating into buttermilk and tiny golden particles. "It's gathering, " said Aunt Abigail, screwing the lid back on. "Father'll churn it a little more till it really comes. And you and Iwill scald the wooden butter things and get everything ready. You'dbetter take that apron there to keep your dress clean. "

Wouldn't Aunt Frances have been astonished if she could have looked inon Elizabeth Ann that very first morning of her stay at the hatefulPutney Farm and have seen her wrapped in a gingham apron, her facebright with interest, trotting here and there in the stone-floored milk-room! She was allowed the excitement of pulling out the plug from thebottom of the churn, and dodged back hastily to escape the gush ofbuttermilk spouting into the pail held by Aunt Abigail. And she pouredthe water in to wash the butter, and screwed on the top herself, and, again all herself (for Uncle Henry had gone off as soon as the butterhad "come"), swung the barrel back and forth six or seven times to swishthe water all through the particles of butter. She even helped AuntAbigail scoop out the great yellow lumps--her imagination had neverconceived of so much butter in all the world! Then Aunt Abigail let herrun the curiously shaped wooden butter-worker back and forth over thebutter, squeezing out the water, and then pile it up again with herwooden paddle into a mound of gold. She weighed out the salt needed onthe scales, and was very much surprised to find that there really issuch a thing as an ounce. She had never met it before outside the pagesof her arithmetic book and she didn't know it lived anywhere else. 

After the salt was worked in she watched Aunt Abigail's deft, wrinkledold hands make pats and rolls. It looked like the greatest fun, and tooeasy for anything; and when Aunt Abigail asked her if she wouldn't liketo make up the last half-pound into a pat for dinner, she took up thewooden paddle confidently. And then she got one of the surprises thatPutney Farm seemed to have for her. She discovered that her hands didn'tseem to belong to her at all, that her fingers were all thumbs, that shedidn't seem to know in the least beforehand how hard a stroke she wasgoing to give nor which way her fingers were going to go. It was, as amatter of fact, the first time Elizabeth Ann had tried to do anythingwith her hands except to write and figure and play on the piano, andnaturally she wasn't very well acquainted with them. She stopped indismay, looking at the shapeless, battered heap of butter before her andholding out her hands as though they were not part of her. 

Aunt Abigail laughed, took up the paddle, and after three or four passesthe butter was a smooth, yellow ball. "Well, that brings it all back tome!" she said? "when _I_ was a little girl, when my grandmother firstlet me try to make a pat. I was about five years old--my! what a mess Imade of it! And I remember? doesn't it seem funny--that SHE laughed andsaid her Great-aunt Elmira had taught her how to handle butter righthere in this very milk-room. Let's see, Grandmother was born the yearthe Declaration of Independence was signed. That's quite a while ago, isn't it? But butter hasn't changed much, I guess, nor little girlseither. "

Elizabeth Ann listened to this statement with a very queer, startledexpression on her face, as though she hadn't understood the words. Nowfor a moment she stood staring up in Aunt Abigail's face, and yet notseeing her at all, because she was thinking so hard. She was thinking!"Why! There were real people living when the Declaration of Independencewas signed--real people, not just history people--old women teachinglittle girls how to do things--right in this very room, on this veryfloor--and the Declaration of Independence just signed!"

To tell the honest truth, although she had passed a very goodexamination in the little book on American history they had studied inschool, Elizabeth Ann had never to that moment had any notion that thereever had been really and truly any Declaration of Independence at all. It had been like the ounce, living exclusively inside her schoolbooksfor 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, because it was such a new idea!She soon lost track of what she was thinking of; she rubbed her eyes asthough she were coming out of a dream, she thought, confusedly: "Whatdid butter have to do with the Declaration of Independence? Nothing, ofcourse! It couldn't!" and the whole impression seemed to pass out of hermind. But it was an impression which was to come again and again duringthe next few months. 

CHAPTER IV

BETSY GOES TO SCHOOL

Elizabeth Ann was very much surprised to hear Cousin Ann's voicecalling, "Dinner!" down the stairs. It did not seem possible that thewhole morning had gone by. "Here, " said Aunt Abigail, "just put that paton a plate, will you, and take it upstairs as you go. I've got all I cando to haul my own two hundred pounds up, without any half-pound ofbutter into the bargain. " The little girl smiled at this, though she didnot 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 greatpool of sunlight. A very large black-and-white dog, with a great bushytail, was walking around and around the table, sniffing the air. Helooked as big as a bear to Elizabeth Ann; and as he walked his great redtongue hung out of his mouth and his white teeth gleamed horribly. Elizabeth Ann shrank back in terror, clutching her plate of butter toher 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 andimmense relief, the great animal turned, drooping his head sadly, walkedback across the floor, got upon the couch again, and laid his head downon one paw very forlornly, turning up the whites of his eyes meekly atCousin 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, advancing on the table with a platter. This proved to have chickenfricassee on it, and Elizabeth Ann's heart melted in her at the smell. She loved chicken gravy on hot biscuits beyond anything in the world, but chickens are so expensive when you buy them in the market that AuntHarriet hadn't had them very often for dinner. And there was a plate ofbiscuits, golden brown, just coming out of the oven! She sat down veryquickly, her mouth watering, and attacked with extreme haste the bigplateful of food which Cousin Ann passed her. 

At Aunt Harriet's she had always been aware that everybody watched heranxiously as she ate, and she had heard so much about her light appetitethat she felt she must live up to her reputation, and had a very naturaland human hesitation about eating all she wanted when there happened tobe something she liked very much. But nobody here knew that she "onlyate enough to keep a bird alive, " and that her "appetite was SOcapricious!" Nor did anybody notice her while she stowed away thechicken and gravy and hot biscuits and currant jelly and baked potatoesand apple pie--when did Elizabeth Ann ever eat such a meal before! Sheactually 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 herUncle Henry leaned forward, tapped Elizabeth Ann on the shoulder, andnodded toward the sofa. His eyes were twinkling, and as for Aunt Abigailshe began to laugh silently, shaking all over, her napkin at her mouthto stifle the sound. Elizabeth Ann turned wonderingly and saw the olddog cautiously and noiselessly letting himself down from the sofa, oneear cocked rigidly in the direction of Cousin Ann's voice in the nextroom. "The old tyke!" said Uncle Henry. "He always sneaks up to thetable to be fed if Ann goes out for a minute. Here, Betsy, you'renearest, give him this piece of skin from the chicken neck. " The big dogpadded forward across the room, evidently in such a state of terrorabout Cousin Ann that Elizabeth Ann felt for him. She had a fellow-feeling about that relative of hers. Also it was impossible to be afraidof 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 bigpiece of skin, and though she jumped back at the sudden snap andgobbling gulp with which the old dog greeted the tidbit, she could notbut sympathize with his evident enjoyment of it. He waved his bushy tailgratefully, cocked his head on one side, and, his ears standing up atattention, his eyes glistening greedily, he gave a little, beggingwhine. "Oh, he's asking for more!" cried Elizabeth Ann, surprised to seehow plainly she could understand dog-talk. "Quick, Uncle Henry, give meanother 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 theplatter. As fast as she could, Elizabeth Ann fed these to Shep, whowoofed them down at top speed, the bones crunching loudly under hisstrong, white teeth. How he did enjoy it! It did your heart good to seehis gusto!

[Illustration: "Oh, he's asking for more'" cried Elizabeth Ann]

There was the sound of the telephone receiver being hung up in the nextroom--and everybody acted at once. Aunt Abigail began drinkinginnocently out of her coffee-cup, only her laughing old eyes showingover the rim; Uncle Henry buttered a slice of bread with a grave face, as though he were deep in conjectures about who would be the nextPresident; and as for old Shep, he made one plunge across the room, histoe-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 exactlythe position in which she had left him, his paw stretched out, his headlaid 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 whatElizabeth Ann did. And it is worth telling. As Cousin Ann stepped in, glancing suspiciously from her sober-faced and abstracted parents to thelamb-like innocence of old Shep, little Elizabeth Ann burst into a shoutof laughter. It's worth telling about, because, so far as I know, thatwas 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 downher coffee-cup and showing all the funny wrinkles in her face screwed uphard with fun; and that made Uncle Henry laugh, and then Cousin Annlaughed and said, as she sat down, "You are bad children, the whole fourof you!" And old Shep, seeing the state of things, stopped pretending tobe meek, jumped down, and came lumbering over to the table, wagging histail and laughing too; you know that good, wide dog-smile! He put hishead on Elizabeth Ann's lap again and she patted it and lifted up one ofhis big black ears. She had quite forgotten that she was terribly afraidof big dogs. 

After dinner Cousin Ann looked up at the clock and said: "My goodness!Betsy'll be late for school if she doesn't start right off. " Sheexplained to the child, aghast at this sudden thunderclap, "I let yousleep this morning as long as you wanted to, because you were so tiredfrom your journey. But of course there's no reason for missing theafternoon session. "

As Elizabeth Ann continued sitting perfectly still, frozen with alarm, Cousin Ann jumped up briskly, got the little coat and cap, helped herup, and began inserting the child's arms into the sleeves. She pulledthe cap well down over Elizabeth Ann's ears, felt in the pocket andpulled out the mittens. "There, " she said, holding them out, "you'dbetter put them on before you go out, for it's a real cold day. " As sheled the stupefied little girl along toward the door Aunt Abigail cameafter them and put a big sugar-cookie into the child's hand. "Maybeyou'll like to eat that for your recess time, " she said. "I always didwhen I went to school. "

Elizabeth Ann's hand closed automatically about the cookie, but shescarcely heard what 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 thefirst day of the year always took her to the new teacher and introducedher and told the teacher how sensitive she was and how hard tounderstand; and then she stayed there for an hour or two till ElizabethAnn 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 inthe front hall--she was on the porch! Cousin Ann was saying: "Now runalong, 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 doorclosed behind her, the path stretched before her to the road, and theroad led down the hill the way Cousin Ann had pointed. Elizabeth Ann'sfeet began to move forward and carried her down the path, although shewas still crying out to herself, "I can't! I won't! I can't!"

Are you wondering why Elizabeth Ann didn't turn right around, open thefront door, walk in, and say, "I can't! I won't! I can't!" to CousinAnn?

The answer to that question is that she didn't do it because Cousin Annwas Cousin Ann. And there's more in that than you think! In fact, thereis a mystery in it that nobody has ever solved, not even the greatestscientists and philosophers, although, like all scientists andphilosophers, they think they have gone a long way toward explainingsomething they don't understand by calling it a long name. The long nameis "personality, " and what it means nobody knows, but it is perhaps thevery most important thing in the world for all that. And yet we knowonly one or two things about it. We know that anybody's personality ismade up of the sum total of all the actions and thoughts and desires ofhis life. And we know that though there aren't any words or any figuresin any language to set down that sum total accurately, still it is oneof the first things that everybody knows about anybody else. And that isreally all we know!

So I can't tell you why Elizabeth Ann did not go back and cry and soband say she couldn't and she wouldn't and she couldn't, as she wouldcertainly have done at Aunt Harriet's. You remember that I could noteven tell you why it was that, as the little fatherless and motherlessgirl lay in bed looking at Aunt Abigail's old face, she should feel socomforted and protected that she must needs break out crying. No, all Ican say is that it was because Aunt Abigail was Aunt Abigail. Butperhaps it may occur to you that it's rather a good idea to keep a sharpeye on your "personality, " whatever that is! It might be very handy, youknow, to have a personality like Cousin Ann's which sent Elizabeth Ann'sfeet 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 theslightest INTENTION of obeying Cousin Ann. No indeed! Nothing wasfarther from her mind as her feet carried her along the path and intothe road. In her mind was nothing but rebellion and fear and anger andoh, such hurt feelings! She turned sick at the very thought of facingall the staring, curious faces in the playground turned on the newscholar as she had seen them at home! She would never, never do it! Shewould walk around all the afternoon, and then go back and tell CousinAnn that she couldn't! She would EXPLAIN to her how Aunt Frances neverlet her go out of doors without a loving hand to cling to. She wouldEXPLAIN to her how Aunt Frances always took care of her! . . . It was easierto think about what she would say and do and explain, away from CousinAnn, than it was to say and do it before those black eyes. AuntFrances's eyes were soft, light blue. 

Oh, how she wanted Aunt Frances to take care of her! Nobody cared athing about her! Nobody UNDERSTOOD her but Aunt Frances! She wouldn't goback at all to Putney Farm. She would just walk on and on till she waslost, and the night would come and she would lie down and freeze todeath, 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 whiteapron like those at Putney Farm stood in front of a tiny, squarebuilding, like a toy house. "Isn't this Betsy?" asked the young girlagain. "Your Cousin Ann said you were coming to school today and I'vebeen looking out for you. But I saw you going right by, and I ran out tostop you. "

"Why, where IS the school?" asked Betsy, staring around for a big brick, four-story building. 

The young girl laughed and held out her hand. "This is the school, " shesaid, "and I am the teacher, and you'd better come right in, for it'stime 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 blushed crimson with fright andshyness, and hung down her head; but, looking out the corners of hereyes, she saw that they, too, were all very red-faced and scared-lookingand hung down their heads, looking at her shyly out of the corners oftheir eyes. She was so surprised by this that she forgot all aboutherself and looked inquiringly at the teacher. 

"They don't see many strangers, " the teacher explained, "and they feelvery shy and scared when a new scholar comes, especially one from thecity. "

"Is this my grade?" asked Elizabeth, thinking it the very smallest gradeshe had ever seen. 

"This is the whole school, " said the teacher. "There are only two orthree in each class. You'll probably have three in yours. Miss Ann saidyou were in the third grade. There, that's your seat. "

Elizabeth sat down before a very old desk, much battered and hacked upwith knife marks. There was a big H. P. Carved just over the inkwell, and many other initials scattered all over the top. 

The teacher stepped back to her desk and took up a violin that laythere. "Now, children, we'll begin the afternoon session by singing'America, '" she said. She played the air over a little very sweetly andstirringly, and then as the children stood up she came down close tothem, standing just in front of Betsy. She drew the bow across thestrings in a big chord, and said, "NOW, " and Betsy burst into song withthe others. The sun came in the windows brightly, the teacher, too, sangas she played, and all the children, even the littlest ones, openedtheir 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 inorder. There were more initials carved inside, another big H. P. With alittle A. P. Under it. What a lot of children must have sat there, thought the little girl as she arranged her books and papers. As sheshut down the lid the teacher finished giving some instructions to threeor four little ones and said, "Betsy and Ralph and Ellen, bring yourreading books up here. "

Betsy sighed, took out her third-grade reader, and went with the othertwo up to the battered old bench near the teacher's desk. She knew allabout reading lessons and she hated them, although she loved to read. But reading lessons . . . ! You sat with your book open at some reading thatyou could do with your eyes shut, it was so easy, and you waited andwaited and waited while your classmates slowly stumbled along, readingaloud a sentence or two apiece, until your turn came to stand up andread your sentence or two, which by that time sounded just like nonsensebecause you'd read it over and over so many times to yourself beforeyour 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, andyou closed your book and put it back in your desk without having openedyour mouth. Reading was one thing Elizabeth Ann had learned to do verywell indeed, but she had learned it all by herself at home from muchreading to herself. Aunt Frances had kept her well supplied withchildren's books from the nearest public library. She often read three aweek--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, itseemed so funny to be in a class of only three. There had been forty inher grade in the big brick building. She sat in the middle, the littlegirl whom the teacher had called Ellen on one side, and Ralph on theother. Ellen was very pretty, with fair hair smoothly braided in twolittle pig-tails, sweet, blue eyes, and a clean blue-and-white ginghamdress. Ralph had very black eyes, dark hair, a big bruise on hisforehead, a cut on his chin, and a tear in the knee of his shorttrousers. He was much bigger than Ellen, and Elizabeth Ann thought helooked rather fierce. She decided that she would be afraid of him, andwould 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 ElizabethAnn, for he did not read at all well. What was not familiar was that theteacher did not stop him after the first sentence. He read on and ontill he had read a page, the teacher only helping him with the hardestwords. 

"Now Betsy, " said the teacher. 

Elizabeth Ann stood up, read the first sentence, and paused, like acaged 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 Itell 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 justthought 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 muchin her life. She was aware that everybody in the room had stoppedworking to listen to her. She felt very proud and less afraid than shehad ever thought she 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 theteacher. 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 andmonotonous, 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 allabout an old woman who would hang out an American flag, even though thetown was full of rebel soldiers. She read faster and faster, gettingmore 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 alllistening, very eagerly, even the little ones, with their eyes turnedtoward her. 

"You might as well go on and let us see how it came out, " said theteacher, and Betsy finished triumphantly. 

"WELL, " said the teacher, "there's no sense in your reading along in thethird reader. After this you'll recite out of the seventh reader withFrank and Harry and Stashie. "

Elizabeth Ann could not believe her ears. To be "jumped" four grades inthat casual way! It wasn't possible! She at once thought, however, ofsomething that would prevent it entirely, and while Ellen was readingher page in a slow, careful little voice, Elizabeth Ann was feelingmiserably that she must explain to the teacher why she couldn't readwith the seventh-grade children. Oh, how she wished she could! When theystood up to go back to their seats she hesitated, hung her head, andlooked very unhappy. "Did you want to say something to me?" asked theteacher, pausing with a bit of chalk in her hand. 

The little girl went up to her desk and said, what she knew it was herduty to confess: "I can't be allowed to read in the seventh reader. Idon't write a bit well, and I never get the mental number-work right. Icouldn't do ANYthing with seventh-grade arithmetic!"

The teacher looked a little blank and said: "_I_ didn't say anythingabout your number-work! I don't KNOW anything about it! You haven'trecited yet. " She turned away and began to write a list of words on theboard. "Betsy, Ralph, and Ellen study their spelling, " she said. "Youlittle ones come up for your reading. "

Two little boys and two little girls came forward as Elizabeth Ann beganto con over the words on the board. At first she found she was listeningto the little, chirping voices, as the children straggled with theirreading, instead of studying "doubt, travel, cheese, " and the otherwords in her lesson. But she put her hands over her ears, and her mindon her spelling. She wanted to make a good impression with that lesson. After a while, when she was sure she could spell them all correctly, shebegan to listen and look around her. She always "got" her spelling inless time than was allowed the class, and usually sat idle, looking outof the window until that study period was over. But now the moment shestopped staring at the board and moving her lips as she spelled toherself the teacher said, just as though she had been watching her everyminute instead of conducting a class, "Betsy, have you learned yourspelling?"

"Yes, ma'am, I think so, " said Elizabeth Ann, wondering very much whyshe was asked. 

"That's fine, " said the teacher. "I wish you'd take little Molly over inthat corner and help her with her reading. She's getting on so muchbetter 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'thelp her unless she's really stuck. "

Elizabeth Ann was startled by this request, which was unheard of in herexperience. She was very uncertain of herself as she sat down on a lowchair in the corner of the schoolroom away from the desks, with thelittle child leaning on her knee. And yet she was not exactly afraid, either, because Molly was such a shy little roly-poly thing, with hercrop of yellow curls, and her bright blue eyes very serious as shelooked hard at the book and began: "Once there was a rat. It was a fatrat. " No, it was impossible to be frightened of such a funny littlegirl, who peered so earnestly into the older child's face to make sureshe was doing her lesson right. 

Elizabeth Ann had never had anything to do with children younger thanherself, and she felt very pleased and important to have anybody look upto HER! She put her arm around Molly's square, warm, fat little body andgave her a squeeze. Molly snuggled up closer; and the two children puttheir heads together over the printed page, Elizabeth Ann correctingMolly very gently indeed when she made a mistake, and waiting patientlywhen she hesitated. She had so fresh in her mind her own suffering fromquick, nervous corrections that she took the greatest pleasure inspeaking quietly and not interrupting the little girl more than wasnecessary. It was fun to teach, LOTS of fun! She was surprised when theteacher said, "Well, Betsy, how did Molly do?"

"Oh, is the time up?" said Elizabeth Ann. "Why, she does beautifully, Ithink, for such a little thing. "

"Do you suppose, " said the teacher thoughtfully, just as though Betsywere a grown-up person, "do you suppose she could go into the secondreader, with Eliza? There's no use keeping her in the first if she'sready to go on. "

Elizabeth Ann's head whirled with this second light-handed juggling withthe sacred distinction between the grades. In the big brick schoolhousenobody EVER went into another grade except at the beginning of a newyear, after you'd passed a lot of examinations. She had not known thatanybody could do anything else. The idea that everybody took a year to agrade, no MATTER what! was so fixed in her mind that she felt as thoughthe teacher had said: "How would you like to stop being nine years oldand be twelve instead! And don't you think Molly would better be eightinstead of six?"

However, just then her class in arithmetic was called, so that she hadno 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 shereally didn't understand a thing about it! By long experience she hadlearned to read her teachers' faces very accurately, and she guessed bytheir expression whether the answer she gave was the right one. And thatwas the only way she could tell. You never heard of any other child whodid that, did you?

They had mental arithmetic, of course (Elizabeth Ann thought it just herluck!), and of course it was those hateful eights and sevens, and ofcourse right away poor Betsy got the one she hated most, 7x8. She neverknew that one! She said dispiritedly that it was 54, remembering vaguelythat it was somewhere in the fifties. Ralph burst out scornfully, "56!"and the teacher, as if she wanted to take him down for showing off, pounced on him with 9 x 8. He answered, without drawing breath, 72. Elizabeth Ann shuddered at his accuracy. Ellen, too, rose to theoccasion when she got 6 x 7, which Elizabeth Ann could sometimesremember and sometimes not. And then, oh horrors! It was her turn again!Her turn had never before come more than twice during a mentalarithmetic lesson. She was so startled by the swiftness with which thequestion went around that she balked on 6 x 6, which she knew perfectly. And before she could recover Ralph had answered and had rattled out a108 in answer to 9 x 12; and then Ellen slapped down an 84 on top of 7 x12. Good gracious! Who could have guessed, from the way they read, theycould do their tables like this! She herself missed on 7 x 7 and wasready to cry. After this the teacher didn't call on her at all, butshowered questions down on the other two, who sent the answers back withsickening speed. 

After the lesson the teacher said, smiling, "Well, Betsy, you were rightabout your arithmetic. I guess you'd better recite with Eliza for awhile. She's doing second-grade work. I shouldn't be surprised if, aftera good review with her, you'd be able to go on with the third-gradework. "

Elizabeth Ann fell back on the bench with her mouth open. She feltreally dizzy. What crazy things the teacher said! She felt as though shewas being pulled limb from limb. 

"What's the matter?" asked the teacher, seeing her bewildered fact. 

"Why--why, " said Elizabeth Ann, "I don't know what I am at all. If I'msecond-grade arithmetic and seventh-grade reading and third-gradespelling, what grade AM I?"

The teacher laughed at the turn of her phrase. "YOU aren't any grade atall, no matter where you are in school. You're just yourself, aren'tyou? What difference does it make what grade you're in! And what's theuse of your reading little baby things too easy for you just because youdon't know your multiplication table?"

"Well, for goodness' SAKES!" ejaculated Elizabeth Ann, feeling very muchas 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, because she herself didn't knowwhat the matter was. But I do, and I'll tell you. The matter was thatnever before had she known what she was doing in school. She had alwaysthought she was there to pass from one grade to another, and she wasever so startled to get a little glimpse of the fact that she was thereto learn how to read and write and cipher and generally use her mind, soshe 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 shehad her first dim notion of it in that moment, and it made her feel theway you do when you're learning to skate and somebody pulls away thechair you've been leaning on and says, "Now, go it alone!"

The teacher waited a minute, and then, when Elizabeth Ann didn't sayanything more, she rang a little bell. "Recess time, " she said, and asthe children marched out and began putting on their wraps she followedthem 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 thechildren came darting out after her. Elizabeth Ann had dreaded the firstrecess 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 herschoolmates, pulling with all her might against the teacher and two ofthe big boys. Nobody had looked at her curiously, nobody had saidanything to her beyond a loud, "Come on, Betsy!" from Ralph, who was atthe head on their side. 

They pulled and they pulled, digging their feet into the ground andbracing themselves against the rocks which stuck up out of theplayground. Sometimes the teacher's side yanked them along by quickjerks, 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 allthe time everybody was shouting and yelling together with theexcitement. Betsy was screaming too, and when a wagon passing by stoppedand a big, broad-shouldered farmer jumped down laughing, put the end ofthe rope over his shoulder, and just walked off with the whole lot ofthem till he had pulled them clear off their feet, Elizabeth Ann foundherself rolling over and over with a breathless, squirming mass ofchildren, her shrill laughter rising even above the shouts of merrimentof 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 youare, are you!" he jeered at them good-naturedly. Then he started, yelling "WHOA there!" to his horses, which had begun to walk on. He hadto run after them with all his might, and just climbed into the back ofthe wagon and grabbed the reins the very moment they broke into a trot. The children laughed, and Ralph shouted after him, "Hi, there, UncleNate! Who's not so smart as he thinks he is, NOW!" He turned to thelittle girls near him. "They 'most got away from him THAT time!" hesaid. "He's awful foolish about leaving them standing while he's funningor something. He thinks he's awful funny, anyhow. Some day they'll runaway on him and THEN where'll he be?"

Elizabeth Ann was thinking to herself that this was one of the queerestthings that had happened to her even in this queer place. Never, whynever once, had any grown-up, passing the playground of the big brickbuilding, DREAMED of such a thing as stopping for a minute to play. Theynever even looked at the children, any more than if they were in anotherworld. In fact she had felt the school was in another world. 

"Ralph, it's your turn to get the water, " said the teacher, handing hima pail. "Want to go along?" said Ralph gruffly to Ellen and Betsy. Heled the way and the little girls walked after him. Now that she was outof a crowd Elizabeth Ann felt all her shyness come down on her like ablack cloud, drying up her mouth and turning her hands and feet cold asice. Into one of these cold hands she felt small, warm fingers slide. She looked down and there was little Molly trotting by her side, turningher blue eyes up trustfully. "Teacher says I can go with you if you'lltake care of me, " she said. "She never lets us first-graders go withoutsomebody bigger to help us over the log. "

As she spoke they came to a small, clear, swift brook, crossed by a bigwhite-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 tosay she was afraid. Ralph skipped across, swinging the pail to show howeasy it was for him. Ellen followed more slowly, and then--oh, don't youwish Aunt Frances could have been there!--Betsy shut her teeth togetherhard, put Molly ahead of her, took her hand, and started across. As amatter of fact Molly went along as sure-footed as a little goat, havingdone it a hundred times, and it was she who steadied Elizabeth Ann. Butnobody knew this, Molly least of all. 

Ralph took a drink out of a tin cup standing on a stump near by, dippedthe pail into a deep, clear pool, and started back to the school. Ellentook a drink and offered the cup to Betsy, very shyly, without lookingup. 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 likedolls with yellow hair the best?"

Now it happened that Elizabeth Ann had very positive convictions on thispoint which she had never spoken of, because Aunt Frances didn't REALLYcare about dolls. She only pretended to, to be company for her littleniece. 

"No, I DON'T!" answered the little girl emphatically. "I get just sickand tired of always seeing them with that old, bright-yellow hair! Ilike 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 youlet 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, thinking this was the very climax ofPutney queerness. 

"Oh my, yes!" said Molly, eagerly. "She's the one Mrs. Putney had whenshe was a little girl. And she's got the loveliest clothes! She's in thehair-trunk under the eaves in the attic. They let me take her down oncewhen I was there with Mother. And Mother said she guessed, now a littlegirl 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 yellowhair, but she's real pretty anyhow. If Father's going to mill that day, he can leave me there for the morning. "

[Illustration with caption: Betsy shut her teeth together hard, andstarted across. ]

Elizabeth Ann had not understood more than one word in five of this, butjust then the school-bell rang and they went back, little Molly helpingElizabeth 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 leavethem, because I think I've told enough about their school for ONE while. It was only a poor, rough, little district school anyway, that noSuperintendent of Schools would have looked at for a minute, except tosniff. 

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 andbutter, why don't you? and have one of these apples. "

As the little girl sat down by her, munching fast on this provender, sheasked: "What desk did you get?"

Elizabeth Ann thought for a moment, cuddling Eleanor up to her face. "Ithink it is the third from the front in the second row. " She wonderedwhy Aunt Abigail cared. "Oh, I guess that's your Uncle Henry's desk. It's the one his father had, too. Are there a couple of H. P. 's carvedon 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 Motherlet 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 AuntAbigail had said. Uncle Henry and HIS FATHER--why Moses or Alexander theGreat didn't seem any further back in the mists of time to Elizabeth Annthan 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 momentand stared into space. Although she was only nine years old, she wasfeeling a little of the same rapt wonder, the same astonished sense ofthe reality of the people who have gone before, which make a first visitto the Roman Forum such a thrilling event for grown-ups. That very desk!

After a moment she came to herself, and finding some apple still in hermouth, went on chewing meditatively. "Aunt Abigail, " she said, "how longago was that?"

"Let's see, " said the old woman, peeling apples with wonderful rapidity. "I was born in 1844. And I was six when I first went to school. That'ssixty-six years ago. "

Elizabeth Ann, like all little girls of nine, had very little notion howlong sixty-six years might be. "Was George Washington alive then?" sheasked. 

The wrinkles around Aunt Abigail's eyes deepened mirthfully, but she didnot laugh as she answered, "No, that was long after he died, but theschoolhouse 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 sawedlumber. You know, when our folks came up here, they had to build alltheir houses of logs to begin with. "

"They DID!" cried Betsy, with her mouth full of apple. 

"Why yes, child, what else did you suppose they had to make houses outof? They had to have something to live in, right off. The sawmills camelater. "

"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--abouthow our folks came up here from Connecticut in 1763, on horseback!Connecticut was an old settled place then, compared to Vermont. Therewasn'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 darkand club 'em out of the trees, just like hens roosting in a hen-house. There always was cold pigeon-pie in the pantry, just the way we havedoughnuts. And they used bear-grease to grease their boots and theirhair, bears were so plenty. It sounds like good eating, don't it! But ofcourse that was just at first. It got quite settled up before long, andby the time of the Revolution, bears were getting pretty scarce, andsoon the wood-pigeons were all gone. "

"And the schoolhouse--that schoolhouse where I went today--was thatbuilt THEN?" Elizabeth Ann found it hard to believe. 

"Yes, it used to have a great big chimney and fireplace in it. It wasbuilt long before stoves were invented, you know. "

"Why, I thought stoves were ALWAYS invented!" cried Elizabeth Ann. Thiswas the most startling and interesting conversation she had ever takenpart in. 

Aunt Abigail laughed. "Mercy, no, child! Why, _I_ can remember when onlyfolks that were pretty well off had stoves and real poor people stillcooked over a hearth fire. I always thought it a pity they tore down thebig chimney and fireplace out of the schoolhouse and put in that big, ugly stove. But folks are so daft over new-fangled things. Well, anyhow, they couldn't take away the sun-dial on the window-sill. You want to besure to look at that. It's on the sill of the middle window on the righthand 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 thevalley for years and years, and that belonged to the Wardons, the richpeople in the village. Everybody had sun-dials cut in their window-sills. There's one on the window-sill of our pantry this minute. Comeon, I'll show it to you. " She got up heavily with her pan of apples, andtrotted briskly, shaking the floor as she went, over to the stove. "Butfirst just watch me put these on to cook so you'll know how. " She setthe pan on the stove, poured some water from the tea-kettle over theapples, and put on a cover. "Now come on into the pantry. "

They entered a sweet-smelling, spicy little room, all white paint, andshelves which were loaded with dishes and boxes and bags and pans ofmilk and jars of preserves. 

"There!" said Aunt Abigail, opening the window. "That's not so good asthe 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 itwas noon. And the rest of the time you guessed by how far it was fromthe mark. Let's see if I can come anywhere near it now. " She looked at ithard and said: "I guess it's half-past four. " She glanced back into thekitchen 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 theplace of the shadow. I declare! Sometimes it seems to me that every timea new piece of machinery comes into the door some of our wits fly out atthe window! Now I couldn't any more live without matches than I couldfly! And yet they all used to get along all right before they hadmatches. Makes me feel foolish to think I'm not smart enough to getalong, if I WANTED to, without those little snips of pine and brimstone. Here, Betsy, take a cooky. It's against my principles to let a childleave the pantry without having a cooky. My! it does seem like livingagain 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 havematches. "

Aunt Abigail didn't answer at first. They were back in the kitchen now. She was looking at the clock again. "See here, " she said; "it's time Ibegan getting supper ready. We divide up on the work. Ann gets thedinner and I get the supper. And everybody gets his own breakfast. Whichwould you rather do, help Ann with the dinner, or me with the supper?"

Elizabeth Ann had not had the slightest idea of helping anybody with anymeal, but, confronted unexpectedly with the alternative offered, shemade up her mind so quickly that she didn't want to help Cousin Ann, anddeclared so loudly, "Oh, help YOU with the supper!" that her promptnessmade her sound quite hearty and willing. "Well, that's fine, " said AuntAbigail. "We'll set the table now. But first you would better look atthat apple sauce. I hear it walloping away as though it was boiling toofast. Maybe you'd better push it back where it won't cook so fast. Thereare the holders, on that hook. "

Elizabeth Ann approached the stove with the holder in her hand andhorror in her heart. Nobody had ever dreamed of asking her to handle hotthings. She looked around dismally at Aunt Abigail, but the old womanwas standing 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 shestood still a moment to admire herself. She could do that as well asanybody!

"Why, " said Aunt Abigail, as if remembering that Betsy had asked her aquestion. "Any man could strike a spark from his flint and steel that hehad for his gun. And he'd keep striking it till it happened to fly outin the right direction, and you'd catch it in some fluff where it wouldstart a smoulder, and you'd blow on it till you got a little flame, anddrop 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, " saidAunt Abigail, briskly. She interrupted her story to say: "Now you putthe silver around, while I cream the potatoes. It's in that drawer--aknife, a fork, and two spoons for each place--and the plates and cupsare up there behind the glass doors. We're going to have hot cocoa againtonight. " And as the little girl, hypnotized by the other's casual, offhand way of issuing instructions, began to fumble with the knives andforks she went on: "Why, you'd start your fire that way, and then you'dnever let it go out. Everybody that amounted to anything knew how tobank 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 pokedthe ashes away very carefully till you got to the hot coals. Then you'dblow with the bellows and drop in pieces of dry pine--don't forget thewater-glasses--and you'd blow gently till they flared up and theshavings caught, and there your fire would be kindled again. The napkinsare in the second drawer. "

Betsy went on setting the table, deep in thought, reconstructing the oldlife. As she put the napkins around she said, "But SOMETIMES it musthave gone out . . . "

"Yes, " said Aunt Abigail, "sometimes it went out, and then one of thechildren was sent over to the nearest neighbor to borrow some fire. He'dtake a covered iron pan fastened on to a long hickory stick, and gothrough the woods--everything was woods then--to the next house and waittill 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 fastas 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 theleft-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 theback of her floury hand. "You know how to stir sugar into your cup ofcocoa, don't you?"

"But how MUCH shall I put in?" asked Elizabeth Ann, clamoring for exactinstruction so she wouldn't need to do any thinking for herself. 

"Oh, till it tastes right, " said Aunt Abigail, carelessly. "Fix it tosuit yourself, and I guess the rest of us will like it. Take that bigspoon to stir it with. "

Elizabeth Ann took off the lid and began stirring in sugar, ateaspoonful 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 herattention on the taste. It was quite a responsibility to prepare theapple sauce for a family. It was ever so good, too. But maybe a LITTLEmore sugar. She put in a teaspoonful and decided it was just exactlyright!

"Done?" asked Aunt Abigail. "Take it off, then, and pour it out in thatbig yellow bowl, and put it on the table in front of your place. You'vemade it; you ought to serve it. "

"It isn't done, is it?" asked Betsy. "That isn't all you do to makeapple sauce!"

"What else could you do?" asked Aunt Abigail. 

"Well . . . !" said Elizabeth Ann, very much surprised. "I didn't know itwas so easy to cook!"

"Easiest thing in the world, " said Aunt Abigail gravely, with the merrywrinkles 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, andCousin Ann came down from upstairs, where her sewing-machine had beenhumming like a big bee, they were both duly impressed when told thatBetsy had set the table and made the apple sauce. They pronounced itvery good apple sauce indeed, and each sent his saucer back to thelittle girl for a second helping. She herself ate three saucerfuls. Herown private opinion was that it was the very best apple sauce ever made. 

After supper was over and the dishes washed and wiped, Betsy helpingwith the putting-away, the four gathered around the big lamp on thetable with the red cover. Cousin Ann was making some buttonholes in theshirt-waist she had constructed that afternoon, Aunt Abigail was darningsocks, and Uncle Henry was mending a piece of harness. Shep lay on thecouch and snored until he got so noisy they couldn't stand it, andCousin Ann poked him in the ribs and he woke up snorting and gurglingand looking around very sheepishly. Every time this happened it madeBetsy laugh. She held Eleanor, who didn't snore at all, but made theprettiest little tea-kettle-singing purr deep in her throat, and openedand sheathed her needle-like claws in Betsy's dress. 

"Well, how'd you get on at school?" asked Uncle Henry. 

"I've got your desk, " said Elizabeth Ann, looking at him curiously, athis gray hair and wrinkled, weather-beaten face, and trying to thinkwhat 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 gooddesk! 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'trun down to the store to buy things, because there wasn't any store torun to, how do you suppose they got their lead-pencils!" Elizabeth Annshook her head, incapable even of a guess. She had never thought beforebut that lead-pencils grew in glass show-cases in stores. 

"Well, sir, " said Uncle Henry, "I'll tell you. They took a piece off thelump of lead they made their bullets of, melted it over the fire in thehearth down at the schoolhouse till it would run like water, and pouredit in that groove. When it cooled off, there was a long streak of solidlead, about as big as one of our lead-pencils nowadays. They'd breakthat up in shorter lengths, and there you'd have your lead-pencils, madewhile you wait. Oh, I tell you in the old days folks knew how to takecare of themselves more than now. "

"Why, weren't there any stores?" asked Elizabeth Ann. She could notimagine living without buying things at stores. 

"Where'd they get the things to put in a store in those days?" askedUncle Henry, argumentatively. "Every single thing had to be lugged clearfrom Albany or from Connecticut on horseback. "

"Why didn't they use wagons?" asked Elizabeth 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 hillsand swamps and rocks. You were lucky if there was a good path from yourhouse to the next settlement. "

"Now, Henry, " said Aunt Abigail, "do stop going on about old times longenough to let Betsy answer the question you asked her. You haven't givenher a chance to say how she got on at school. "

"Well, I'm AWFULLY mixed up!" said Betsy, complainingly. "I don't knowwhat I am! I'm second-grade arithmetic and third-grade spelling andseventh-grade reading and I don't know what in writing or composition. We didn't have those. "

Nobody seemed to think this very remarkable, or even very interesting. Uncle Henry, indeed, noted it only to say, "Seventh-grade reading!" Heturned to Aunt Abigail. "Oh, Mother, don't you suppose she could readaloud 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!" Theyexplained to Betsy: "Your Uncle Henry is just daft on being read aloudto when he's got something to do in the evening, and when he hasn't he'sas fidgety as a broody hen if he can't play checkers. Ann hates checkersand 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 harness on the table. "Let's have a game. "

"Oh, Father!" said Cousin Ann, in the tone she used for Shep. "How aboutthat piece of breeching! You know that's not safe. Why don't you finishthat up first?"

Uncle Henry sat down again, looking as Shep did when Cousin Ann told himto get up on the couch, and took up his needle and awl. 

"But I could read something aloud, " said Betsy, feeling very sorry forhim. "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 AuntAbigail. "It's pretty cold to go into the parlor to the other one. " Sheleaned forward, ran her fat fore-finger over the worn old volumes, andtook 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 thebook and looked where Aunt Abigail pointed she read it correctly, thoughin a timid, uncertain voice. She was very proud to think she couldplease a grown-up so much as she was evidently pleasing Uncle Henry, butthe idea of reading aloud for people to hear, not for a teacher tocorrect, 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 wasswept off by a strong current. She did not know what all the wordsmeant, and she could not pronounce a good many of the names, but nobodyinterrupted to correct her, and she read on and on, steadied by thestrongly-marked rhythm, drawn forward swiftly from one clanging, sonorous rhyme to another. Uncle Henry nodded his head in time to therise and fall of her voice and now and then stopped his work to look ather with bright, eager, old eyes. He knew some of the places by heartevidently, for once in a while his voice would join the little girl'sfor a couplet or two. They chanted together 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 feltas 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 ofthistledown in the wind. "

"Uncle Henry, " asked Elizabeth Ann, "what is a copse?"

"I don't know, " said Uncle Henry indifferently. "Something in the woods, must be. Underbrush most likely. You can always tell words you don'tknow 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 asit 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 nextlines, stumbling desperately over the hard words but seeing the headlongchase through them clearly as through tree-trunks in a forest. UncleHenry broke in in a triumphant shout:

 The wily quarry shunned the shock And TURNED him from the opposing rock; 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'the? 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 Mountainback of us, when they get to running a deer. "

"What say we have some pop-corn!" suggested Aunt Abigail. "Betsy, don'tyou want to pop us some?"

"I never DID, " said the little girl, but in a less doubtful tone thanshe had ever used with that phrase so familiar to her. A dim notion wasgrowing up in her mind that the fact that she had never done a thing wasno proof that she couldn't. 

"I'll show you, " said Uncle Henry. He reached down a couple of ears froma big yellow cluster hanging on the wall, and he and Betsy shelled theminto the popper, popped it full of snowy kernels, buttered it, saltedit, and took it back to the table. 

It was just as she was eating her first ambrosial mouthful that the dooropened 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 newspaperand 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. AuntFrances wrote that she had been perfectly horrified to learn that CousinMolly had not kept Elizabeth Ann with her, and that she would neverforgive her for that cruelty. And when she thought that her darling wasat Putney Farm . . . ! Her blood ran cold. It positively did! It was toodreadful. But it couldn't be helped, for a time anyhow, because AuntHarriet 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 soonas 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 yourdistracted, loving Aunt Frances. "

Elizabeth Ann looked up from this letter and across the table at AuntAbigail's rosy, wrinkled old face, bent over her darning. Uncle Henrylaid the paper down, took a big mouthful of pop-corn, and beat timesilently with his hand. When he could speak he murmured: An hundred dogsbayed deep and strong, Clattered an hundred steeds along. 

Old Shep woke up with a snort and Aunt Abigail fed him a handful of pop-corn. Little Eleanor stirred in her sleep, stretched, yawned, andnestled down into a ball again on the little girl's lap. Betsy couldfeel in her own body the rhythmic vibration of the kitten's contentedpurr. 

Aunt Abigail looked up: "Finished your letter? I hope Harriet is noworse. What does Frances say?"

Elizabeth Ann blushed a deep red and crushed the letter together in herhand. She felt ashamed and she did not know why. "Aunt Francessays, . . . Aunt Frances says, . . . " she began, hesitating. "She says AuntHarriet is still pretty sick. " She stopped, drew a long breath, and wenton, "And she sends her love to you. "

Now Aunt Frances hadn't done anything of the kind, so this was a reallywhopping fib. But Elizabeth Ann didn't care if it was. It made her feelless ashamed, though she did not know why. She took another mouthful ofpop-corn and stroked Eleanor's back. Uncle Henry got up and stretched. "It's time to go to bed, folks, " he said. As he wound the clock Betsyheard 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 monthafter this, was walking along through the melting snow in the woods witha big black dog running circles around her. Yes, all alone in the woodswith a terrible great dog beside her, and yet not a bit afraid. Youdon't suppose it could be Elizabeth Ann? Well, whoever she was, she hadsomething on her mind, for she walked more and more slowly and had onlya very absent-minded pat for the dog's head when he thrust it up for acaress. When the wood road led into a clearing in which there was arough little house of slabs, the child stopped altogether, and, lookingdown, began nervously to draw lines in the snow with her overshoe. 

You see, something perfectly dreadful had happened in school that day. The Superintendent, the all-important, seldom-seen Superintendent, cameto visit the school and the children were given some examinations so hecould see how they were getting on. 

Now, you know what an examination did to Elizabeth Ann. Or haven't Itold you yet?

Well, if I haven't, it's because words fail me. If there is anythinghorrid that an examination DIDn't do to Elizabeth Ann, I have yet tohear of it. It began years ago, before ever she went to school, when sheheard Aunt Frances talking about how SHE had dreaded examinations whenshe was a child, and how they dried up her mouth and made her ears ringand her head ache and her knees get all weak and her mind a perfectblank, so that she didn't know what two and two made. Of courseElizabeth Ann didn't feel ALL those things right off at her firstexamination, but by the time she had had several and had rushed to tellAunt Frances about how awful they were and the two of them hadsympathized with one another and compared symptoms and then wept abouther resulting low marks, why, she not only had all the symptoms AuntFrances 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 theSuperintendent was there. Her mouth had gone dry and her knees hadshaken and her elbows had felt as though they had no more bones in themthan so much jelly, and her eyes had smarted, and oh, what answers shehad made! That dreadful tight panic had clutched at her throat wheneverthe Superintendent had looked at her, and she had disgraced herself tentimes over. She went hot and cold to think of it, and felt quite sickwith hurt vanity. She who did so well every day and was so much lookedup to by her classmates, what MUST they be thinking of her! To tell thetruth, she had been crying as she walked along through the woods, because she was so sorry for herself. Her eyes were all red still, andher 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 Franceseverything that happened in school. It happened that Aunt Abigail hadbeen taking a nap when she got home from school, and so she had come outto the sap-house, where Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry were making syrup, tohave it over with as soon as possible. She went up to the little slabhouse now, dragging 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 rubberboots, was just poking some more wood into the big fire which blazedfuriously under the broad, flat pan where the sap was boiling. Therough, brown hut was filled with white steam and that sweetest of allodors, hot maple syrup. Cousin Ann turned her head, her face very redwith the heat of the fire, and nodded at the child. 

"Hello, Betsy, you're just in time. I've saved out a cupful of hot syrupfor you, all ready to wax. "

Betsy hardly heard this, although she had been wild about waxed sugar onsnow ever since her very first taste of it. "Cousin Ann, " she saidunhappily, "the Superintendent visited our school this afternoon. "

"Did he!" said Cousin Ann, dipping a thermometer into the boiling syrup. 

"Yes, and we had EXAMINATIONS!" said Betsy. 

"Did you?" said Cousin Ann, holding the thermometer up to the light andlooking at it. 

"And you know how perfectly awful examinations make you feel, " saidBetsy, very near to tears again. 

"Why, no, " said Cousin Ann, sorting over syrup tins. "They never made mefeel awful. I thought they were sort of fun. "

"FUN!" cried Betsy, indignantly, staring through the beginnings of hertears. 

"Why, yes. Like taking a dare, don't you know. Somebody stumps you tojump off the hitching-post, and you do it to show 'em. I always used tothink examinations were like that. Somebody stumps you to spell'pneumonia, ' and you do it to show 'em. Here's your cup of syrup. You'dbetter go right out and wax it while it's hot. "

Elizabeth Ann automatically took the cup in her hand, but she did notlook at it. "But supposing you get so scared you can't spell 'pneumonia'or anything else!" she said feelingly. "That's what happened to me. Youknow how your mouth gets all dry and your knees . . . " She stopped. CousinAnn had said she did NOT know all about those things. "Well, anyhow, Igot so scared I could hardly STAND up! And I made the most awfulmistakes--things I know just as WELL! I spelled 'doubt' without any band 'separate' with an e, and I said Iowa was bounded on the north byWisconsin, and I . . . "

"Oh, well, " said Cousin Ann, "it doesn't matter if you really know theright answers, does it? That's the important thing. "

This was an idea which had never in all her life entered Betsy's brainand she did not take it in at all now. She only shook her head miserablyand went on in a doleful tone. "And I said 13 and 8 are 22! and I wroteMarch without any capital M, and I . . . "

"Look here, Betsy, do you WANT to tell me all this?" Cousin Ann spoke inthe quick, ringing voice she had once in a while which made everybody, from old Shep up, open his eyes and get his wits about him. Betsygathered hers and thought hard; and she came to an unexpectedconclusion. 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 seethat it's doing anybody any good. I guess Hemlock Mountain will standright 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 outpretty soon. "

She turned back to stoke the fire, and Elizabeth Ann, in a daze, foundherself walking out of the door. It fell shut after her, and there shewas under the clear, pale-blue sky, with the sun just hovering over therim of Hemlock Mountain. She looked up at the big mountains, all blueand silver with shadows and snow, and wondered what in the world CousinAnn had meant. Of course Hemlock Mountain would stand there just thesame. But what of it? What did that have to do with her arithmetic, withanything? She had failed in her examination, hadn't she?

She found a clean white snow-bank under a pine-tree, and, setting hercup of syrup down in a safe place, began to pat the snow down hard tomake the right bed for the waxing of the syrup. The sun, very hot forthat late March day, brought out strongly the tarry perfume of the bigpine-tree. Near her the sap dripped musically into a bucket, alreadyhalf full, hung on a maple-tree. A blue-jay rushed suddenly through theupper branches of the wood, his screaming and chattering voice soundinglike noisy children at play. 

Elizabeth Ann took up her cup and poured some of the thick, hot syrupout on the hard snow, making loops and curves as she poured. Itstiffened and hardened at once, and she lifted up a great coil of it, threw her head back, and let it drop into her mouth. Concentratedsweetness of summer days was in that mouthful, part of it still hot andaromatic, part of it icy and wet with melting snow. She crunched it alltogether with her strong, child's teeth into a delicious, big lump andsucked on it dreamily, her eyes on the rim of Hemlock Mountain, highabove her there, the snow on it bright golden in the sunlight. UncleHenry had promised to take her up to the top as soon as the snow wentoff. She wondered what the top of a mountain would be like. Uncle Henryhad said the main thing was that you could see so much of the world atonce. He said it was too queer the way your own house and big barn andgreat fields looked like little toy things that weren't 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 lovedit, though it did stick to his teeth so! She poured out another lot andgave 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 tolaugh. Then he managed to pull his jaws apart and chewed loudly andvisibly, tossing his head, opening his mouth wide till Betsy could seethe sticky, brown candy draped in melting festoons all over his bigwhite teeth and red gullet. Then with a gulp he had swallowed it alldown and was whining for more, striking softly at the little girl'sskirt with his forepaw. "Oh, you eat it too fast!" cried Betsy, but sheshared her next lot with him too. The sun had gone down over HemlockMountain by this time, and the big slope above her was all deep blueshadow. The mountain looked much higher now as the dusk began to fall, and loomed up bigger and bigger as though it reached to the sky. It wasno wonder houses looked small from its top. Betsy ate the last of hersugar, looking up at the quiet giant there, towering grandly above her. There was no lump in her throat now. And, although she still thought shedid not know what in the world Cousin Ann meant by saying that aboutHemlock Mountain and her examination, it's my opinion that she had madea very good beginning of an understanding. 

She was just picking up her cup to take it back to the sap-house whenShep growled a little and stood with his ears and tail up, looking downthe road. Something was coming down that road in the blue, cleartwilight, something that was making a very queer noise. It soundedalmost like somebody crying. It WAS somebody crying! It was a childcrying. It was a little, little girl. . . . Betsy could see hernow . . . Stumbling along and crying as though her heart would break. Why, it was little Molly, her own particular charge at school, whose readinglesson she heard every day. Betsy and Shep ran to meet her. "What's thematter, Molly? What's the matter?" Betsy knelt down and put her armsaround the weeping child. "Did you fall down? Did you hurt you? What areyou 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 andover, clinging tightly to Betsy. It was a long time before Betsy couldquiet her enough to find out what had happened. Then she made outbetween Molly's sobs that her mother had been taken suddenly sick andhad to go away to a hospital, and that left nobody at home to take careof Molly, and she was to be sent away to some strange relatives in thecity 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 withsympathy. For a moment she stood again out on the sidewalk in front ofthe Lathrop house with old Mrs. Lathrop's ungracious white head bobbingfrom a window, and knew again that ghastly feeling of being unwanted. Oh, she knew why little Molly was crying! And she shut her handstogether hard and made up her mind that she WOULD help her out!

[Illustration: "What's the matter, Molly? What's the matter?"]

Do you know what she did, right off, without thinking about it? Shedidn't go and look up Aunt Abigail. She didn't wait till Uncle Henrycame back from his round of emptying sap buckets into the big tub on hissled. As fast as her feet could carry her she flew back to Cousin Ann inthe sap-house. I can't tell you (except again that Cousin Ann was CousinAnn) why it was that Betsy ran so fast to her and was so sure thateverything would be all right as soon as Cousin Ann knew about it; butwhatever the reason was it was a good one, for, though Cousin Ann didnot stop to kiss Molly or even to look at her more than one sharp firstglance, she said after a moment's pause, during which she filled a syrupcan and screwed the cover down very tight: "Well, if her folks will lether stay, how would you like to have Molly come and stay with us tillher mother gets back from the hospital? Now you've got a room of yourown, I guess if you wanted to you could have her sleep with you. "

"Oh, Molly, Molly, Molly!" shouted Betsy, jumping up and down, and thenhugging the little girl with all her might. "Oh, it will be like havinga little sister!"

Cousin Ann sounded a dry, warning note: "Don't be too sure her folkswill let her. We don't know about them yet. "

Betsy ran to her, and caught her hand, looking up at her with shiningeyes. "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 bettergo along back to the house now, Betsy. It's time for you to help Motherwith the supper. "

The two children trotted back along the darkening wood road, Sheprunning before them, little Molly clinging fast to the older child'shand. "Aren't you ever afraid, Betsy, in the woods this way?" she askedadmiringly, looking 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, OW!" said Molly, cringing. "What's the Wolf Pit? What an awfulname!"

Betsy laughed. She tried to make her laugh sound brave like CousinAnn's, which always seemed so scornful of being afraid. As a matter offact, she was beginning to fear that they HAD made the wrong turn, andshe was not quite sure that she could find the way home. But she putthis out of her mind and walked along very fast, peering ahead into thedusk. "Oh, it hasn't anything to do with wolves, " she said in answer toMolly's question; "anyhow, not now. It's just a big, deep hole in theground where a brook had dug out a cave. . . . Uncle Henry told me allabout it when he showed it to me . . . And then part of the roof caved in;sometimes there's ice in the corner of the covered part all the summer, Aunt Abigail says. "

"Why do you call it the Wolf Pit?" asked Molly, walking very close toBetsy and holding very tightly to her hand. 

"Oh, long, ever so long ago, when the first settlers came up here, theyheard a wolf howling 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 andcouldn't get out. "

"My! I hope they killed him!" said Molly. 

"Oh, gracious! that was more than a hundred years ago, " said Betsy. Shewas not thinking of what she was saying. She was thinking that if theyWERE on the right road they ought to be home by this time. She wasthinking that the right road ran down hill to the house all the way, andthat this certainly seemed to be going up a little. She was wonderingwhat had become of Shep. "Stand here just a minute, Molly, " she said. "Iwant . . . I just want to go ahead a little bit and see . . . And see . . . " Shedarted on around a curve of the road and stood still, her heart sinking. The road turned there and led straight up the mountain!

For just a moment the little girl felt a wild impulse to burst out in ashriek for Aunt Frances, and to run crazily away, anywhere so long asshe was running. But the thought of Molly standing back there, trustfully waiting to be taken care of, shut Betsy's lips together hardbefore her scream of fright got out. She stood still, thinking. Now shemustn't get frightened. All they had to do was to walk back along theroad till they came to the fork and then make the right turn. But whatif they didn't get back to the turn till it was so dark they couldn'tsee it . . . ? Well, she mustn't think of that. She ran back, calling, "Comeon, Molly, " in a tone she tried to make as firm as Cousin Ann's. "Iguess we have made the wrong turn after all. We'd better . . . "

But there was no Molly there. In the brief moment Betsy had stoodthinking, Molly had disappeared. The long, shadowy wood road held not atrace of her. 

Then Betsy WAS frightened and then she DID begin to scream, at the topof her voice, "Molly! Molly!" She was beside herself with terror, andstarted back hastily to hear Molly's voice, very faint, apparentlycoming 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 leastlittle bit out of the road, and slipped on the ice and began to slideand 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 endwith horror. Molly must have fallen down into the Wolf Pit! Yes, theywere quite near it. She remembered now that big white-birch tree stoodright at the place where the brook tumbled over the edge and fell intoit. Although she was dreadfully afraid of falling in herself, she wentcautiously over to this tree, feeling her way with her foot to make sureshe 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 holding 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 wantto 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 theright road and back to the house and get Uncle Henry. He'll come with arope and get you out!"

At this Molly's crying rose to a frantic scream. "Oh, Betsy, don't leaveme here alone! Don't! Don't! The wolves will get me! Betsy, DON'T leaveme alone!" The child was wild with terror. 

"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 piteoushowl. Betsy made a great effort and stopped crying. She sat down on astone and tried to think. And this is what came into her mind as aguide: "What would Cousin Ann do if she were here? She wouldn't cry. Shewould THINK of something. "

Betsy looked around her desperately. The first thing she saw was the biglimb of a pine-tree, broken off by the wind, which half lay and halfslantingly stood up against a tree a little distance above the mouth ofthe pit. It had been there so long that the needles had all dried andfallen off, and the skeleton of the branch with the broken stubs lookedlike . . . Yes, it looked like a ladder! THAT was what Cousin Ann would havedone!

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute, Molly!" she called wildly down the pit, warm all over in excitement. "Now listen. You go off there in a corner, where the ground makes a sort of roof. I'm going to throw down somethingyou can climb up on, maybe. "

"Ow! Ow, it'll hit me!" cried poor little Molly, more and morefrightened. But she scrambled off under her shelter obediently, whileBetsy struggled with the branch. It was so firmly imbedded in the snowthat at first she could not budge it at all. But after she cleared thataway and pried hard with the stick she was using as a lever she felt itgive a little. She bore down with all her might, throwing her weightagain and again on her lever, and finally felt the big branchperceptibly move. After that it was easier, as its course was down hillover the snow to the mouth of the pit. Glowing, and pushing, wet withperspiration, she slowly maneuvered it along to the edge, turned itsquarely, gave it a great shove, and leaned over anxiously. Then shegave a great sigh of relief! Just as she had hoped, it went down sharpend first and stuck fast in the snow which had saved Molly from brokenbones. She was so out of breath with her work that for a moment shecould not speak. Then, "Molly, there! Now I guess you can climb up towhere I can reach you. "

Molly made a rush for any way out of her prison, and climbed, like thelittle practiced squirrel that she was, up from one stub to another tothe 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 tookhold hard, and, digging her toes into the snow, slowly wormed her way upto 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 rubberboots, 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 behindthem. "I always TOLD Father we ought to put a fence around that pit, "she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Some day a sheep's going to falldown there. Shep came along to the house without you, and we thoughtmost likely you'd taken the wrong turn. "

Betsy felt terribly aggrieved. She wanted to be petted and praised forher heroism. She wanted Cousin Ann to REALIZE . . . Oh, if Aunt Frances wereonly there, SHE would realize . . . !

"I fell down in the hole, and Betsy wanted to go and get Mr. Putney, butI wouldn't let her, and so she threw down a big branch and I climbedout, " explained Molly, who, now that her danger was past, took Betsy'saction quite as a matter of course. 

"Oh, that was how it happened, " said Cousin Ann. She looked down thehole and saw the big branch, and looked back and saw the long trail ofcrushed snow where Betsy had dragged it. "Well, now, that was quite agood idea for a little girl to have, " she said briefly. "I guess you'lldo to take care of Molly all right!"

She spoke in her usual voice and immediately drew the children afterher, but Betsy's heart was singing joyfully as she trotted alongclasping Cousin Ann's strong hand. Now she knew that Cousin Annrealized. . . . She trotted fast, smiling to herself in the darkness. 

"What made you think of doing that?" asked Cousin Ann presently, as theyapproached 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 asthey stepped into the lighted room, saw an expression that made her givea 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 warmbeside her, she remembered, oh, ever so faintly, as something of noimportance, 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 theold wooden doll with brown, painted curls. She had lain in a trunkalmost ever since Aunt Abigail's childhood, because Cousin Ann had nevercared for dolls when she was a little girl. At first Betsy had not daredto ask to see her, much less to play with her, but when Ellen, as shehad promised, came over to Putney Farm that first Saturday she had saidright out, as soon as she landed in the house, "Oh, Mrs. Putney, can'twe play with Deborah?" And Aunt Abigail had answered: "Why YES, ofcourse! I KNEW there was something I've kept forgetting!" She went upwith them herself to the cold attic and opened the little hair-trunkunder the eaves. 

There lay a doll, flat on her back, looking up at them brightly out ofher blue eyes. 

"Well, Debby dear, " said Aunt Abigail, taking her up gently. "It's agood 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 youmind, you'll have some good times again, now. " She pulled down thedoll's full, ruffled skirt, straightened the lace at the neck of herdress, and held her for a moment, looking down at her silently. Youcould tell by the way she spoke, by the way she touched Deborah, by theway she looked at her, that she had loved the doll very dearly, andmaybe still did, a little. 

When she put Deborah into Betsy's arms, the child felt that she wasreceiving something very precious, almost something alive. She and Ellenlooked with delight at the yards and yards of picot-edged ribbon, sewedon by hand to the ruffles of the skirt, and lifted up the silk folds toadmire the carefully made, full petticoats and frilly drawers, thepretty, soft old kid shoes and white stockings. Aunt Abigail looked atthem with an absent smile on her lips, as though she were living overold scenes. 

[Illustration: Betsy and Ellen and the old doll. ]

Finally, "It's too cold to play up here, " she said, coming to herselfwith a long breath. "You'd better bring Deborah and the trunk down intothe south room. " She carried the doll, and Betsy and Ellen each took anend of the old trunk, no larger than a modern suitcase. They settledthemselves on the big couch, back of the table with the lamp. Old Shepwas on it, but Betsy coaxed him off by putting down some bones CousinAnn had been saving for him. When he finished those and came back forthe rest of his snooze, he found his place occupied by the little girls, sitting cross-legged, examining the contents of the trunk, all spreadout around them. Shep sighed deeply and sat down with his nose restingon the couch near Betsy's knee, following all their movements with hiskind, dark eyes. Once in a while Betsy stopped hugging Deborah orexclaiming over a new dress long enough to pat Shep's head and fondlehis ears. This was what he was waiting for, and every time she did it hewagged his tail thumpingly against the floor. 

After that Deborah and her trunk were kept downstairs where Betsy couldplay with her. And often she was taken to school. You never heard ofsuch a thing as taking a doll to school, did you? Well, I told you thiswas a queer, old-fashioned school that any modern School Superintendentwould sniff at. As a matter of fact, it was not only Betsy who took herdoll 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 wherethe wraps were hung, and the dolls sat on it and waited patiently allthrough lessons. At recess time or nooning each little mother snatchedher own child and began to play. As soon as it grew warm enough to playoutdoors without just racing around every minute to keep from freezingto death, the dolls and their mothers went out to a great pile of rocksat one end of the bare, stony field which was the playground. 

There they sat and played in the spring sunshine, warmer from day today. There were a great many holes and shelves and pockets and littlecaves in the rocks which made lovely places for playing keep-house. Eachlittle girl had her own particular cubby-holes and "rooms, " and they"visited" their dolls back and forth all around the pile. And as theyplayed they talked very fast about all sorts of things, being littlegirls and not boys who just yelled and howled inarticulately as theyplayed ball or duck-on-a-rock or prisoner's goal, racing and running andwrestling noisily all around the rocks. 

There was one child who neither played with the girls nor ran andwhooped with the boys. This was little six-year-old 'Lias, one of thetwo boys in Molly's first grade. At recess time he generally hung aboutthe school door by himself, looking moodily down and knocking the toe ofhis ragged, muddy shoe against a stone. The little girls were talkingabout him one day as they played. "My! Isn't that 'Lias Brewster thehorridest-looking child!" said Eliza, who had the second grade all toherself, although Molly now read out of the second reader with her. 

"Mercy, yes! So ragged!" said Anastasia Monahan, called Stashie forshort. She was a big girl, fourteen years old, who was in the seventhgrade. 

"He doesn't look as if he EVER combed his hair!" said Betsy. "It looksjust like a wisp of old hay. "

"And sometimes, " little Molly proudly added her bit to the talk of theolder girls, "he forgets to put on any stockings and just has hisdreadful old shoes on over his dirty, bare feet. "

"I guess he hasn't GOT any stockings half the time, " said big Stashiescornfully. "I guess his stepfather drinks 'em up. "

"How CAN he drink up stockings!" asked Molly, opening her round eyesvery wide. 

"Sh! You mustn't ask. Little girls shouldn't know about such things, should they, Betsy?"

"No INDEED, " said Betsy, looking mysterious. As a matter of fact, sheherself had no idea what Stashie meant, but she looked wise and saidnothing. 

Some of the boys had squatted down near the rocks for a game of marblesnow. 

"Well, anyhow, " said Molly resentfully, "I don't care what hisstepfather does to his stockings. I wish 'Lias would wear 'em to school. And lots of times he hasn't anything on under those horrid old overallseither! 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 littlegirls at once. Ralph glanced up at them frowning, from where he kneltwith his middle finger crooked behind a marble ready for a shot. Helooked as he always did, very rough and half-threatening. "Oh, you girlsmake me sick!" he said. He sent his marble straight to the mark, pocketed 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 thetime he don't get anything to eat before he comes to school, and if mymother didn't put up some extra for him in my box he wouldn't get anylunch either. And then you go and jump on him!"

"Why doesn't his own mother put up his lunch?" Betsy challenged theircritic. 

"He hasn't got any mother. She's dead, " said Ralph, turning away withhis hands in his pockets. He yelled to the boys, "Come on, fellers, beat-che to the bridge and back!" and was off, with the others racing athis heels. 

"Well, anyhow, I don't care; he IS dirty and horrid!" said Stashieemphatically, looking over at the drooping, battered little figure, leaning against the school door, listlessly kicking at a stone. 

But Betsy did not say anything more just then. 

The teacher, who "boarded 'round, " was staying at Putney Farm at thattime, and that evening, as they all sat around the lamp in the southroom, Betsy looked up from her game of checkers with Uncle Henry andasked, "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 theinstant, rather startled attention given her by the grown-ups. "Why, Ididn't know that Bud Walker had taken to drinking again!" said UncleHenry. "My! That's too bad!"

"Who takes care of that child anyhow, now that poor Susie is dead?" AuntAbigail 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 andaltogether neglected into their minds. They talked for some time afterthat about 'Lias, the teacher confirming what Betsy and Stashie hadsaid. 

"And we sitting right here with plenty to eat and never raising a hand!"cried Aunt Abigail. 

"How you WILL let things slip out of your mind!" said Cousin Annremorsefully. 

It struck Betsy vividly that 'Lias was not at all the one they blamedfor his objectionable appearance. She felt quite ashamed to go on withthe 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 suddenly, as though an inspiration hadjust struck her, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that Elmore Pondmight adopt 'Lias if he was gone at the right way. "

"Who's Elmore Pond?" asked the schoolteacher. 

"Why, you must have seen him--that great, big, red-faced, good-natured-looking man that comes through here twice a year, buying stock. He livesover Bigby way, but his wife was a Hillsboro girl, Matey Pelham--anawfully nice girl she was, too. They never had any children, and Mateytold me the last time she was back for a visit that she and her husbandtalked quite often about adopting a little boy. Seems that Mr. Pond hasalways wanted a little boy. He's such a nice man! 'Twould be a lovelyhome for a child. "

"But goodness!" said the teacher. "Nobody would want to adopt such anawful-looking little ragamuffin as that 'Lias. He looks so meeching, too. I guess his stepfather is real mean to him, when he's beendrinking, and it's got 'Lias so he hardly dares hold his head up. "

The clock struck loudly. "Well, hear that!" said Cousin Ann. "Nineo'clock and the children not in bed! Molly's most asleep this minute. Trot along with you, Betsy! Trot along, Molly. And, Betsy, be sureMolly's nightgown is buttoned up all the way. "

So it happened that, although the grown-ups were evidently going on totalk about 'Lias Brewster, Betsy heard no more of what they said. 

She herself went on thinking about 'Lias while she was undressing andanswering absently little Molly's chatter. She was thinking about himeven after they had gone to bed, had put the light out, and were lyingsnuggled up to each other, back to front, their four legs, crooked atthe 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 couldget hold of Cousin Ann she poured out a new plan. She had never beenafraid of Cousin Ann since the evening Molly had fallen into the WolfPit 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'dhave to help us some--and make some nice, new clothes for little 'LiasBrewster, and fix him up so he'll look better, and maybe that Mr. Pondwill like him and adopt him?"

Cousin Ann listened attentively and nodded her head. "Yes, I think thatwould be a good idea, " she said. "We were thinking last night we oughtto do something for him. If you'll make the clothes, Mother'll knit himsome stockings and Father will get him some shoes. Mr. Pond never makeshis 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 gotthe 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 everySaturday afternoon till we get them done. It'll be fun! Aunt Abigailtelephoned down to the store right away, and Mr. Wilkins says he'll givethe cloth if we'll make it up. "

Betsy spoke very grandly of "making it up, " although she had hardly helda needle in her life, and when the Saturday afternoon meetings began shewas ashamed to see how much better Ellen and even Eliza could sew thanshe. To keep her end up, she was driven to practising her stitchesaround the lamp in the evenings, with Aunt Abigail keeping an eye onher. 

Cousin Ann supervised the sewing on Saturday afternoons and taught thoseof the little girls whose legs were long enough how to use the sewingmachine. First they made a little pair of trousers out of an old graywoolen skirt of Aunt Abigail's. This was for practice, before they cutinto 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 eachcut out one piece. Those flat, queer-shaped pieces of cloth certainlydid look less like a pair of trousers to Betsy than anything she hadever seen. Then one of the girls read aloud very slowly the mysterious-sounding directions from the wrapper of the pattern about how to put thepieces together, Cousin Ann helped here a little, particularly just asthey were about to put the sections together wrong-side-up. Stashie, asthe oldest, did the first basting, putting the notches togethercarefully, just as they read the instructions aloud, and there, all of asudden, was a rough little sketch of a pair of knee trousers, withoutany 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! ThenCousin Ann helped them sew the seams on the machine, and they all turnedto for the basting of the facings and the finishing. They each made onebuttonhole. It was the first one Betsy had ever made, and when she gotthrough she was as tired as though she had run all the way to school andback. Tired, but very proud; although when Cousin Ann inspected thatbuttonhole, she covered her face with her handkerchief for a minute, asthough 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, andwhen they showed the result to Aunt Abigail she was delighted. "Well, tothink of that being my old skirt!" she said, putting on her spectaclesto examine the work. She did not laugh, either, when she saw thosebuttonholes, but she got up hastily and went into the next room, wherethey soon heard her coughing. 

Then they made a little blouse out of some new blue gingham. Cousin Annhappened to have enough left over from a dress she was making. This thinmaterial was ever so much easier to manage than the gray flannel, andthey had the little garment done in no time, even to the buttons andbuttonholes. When it came to making the buttonholes, Cousin Ann satright down with each one and supervised every stitch. You may not besurprised to know that they were a great improvement over the firstbatch. 

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, andMr. Pond might be there at any time. They knew pretty well how to goahead on this one, after the experience of their first pair, and CousinAnn was not much needed, except as adviser in hard places. She sat therein the room with them, doing some sewing of her own, so quiet that halfthe time they forgot she was there. It was great fun, sewing alltogether and chattering as they sewed. 

A good deal of the time they talked about how splendid it was of them tobe so kind to little 'Lias. "My! I don't believe most girls would putthemselves 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--workingand sacrificing for the poor!"

"I guess he'll thank us all right for sure!" said Ellen. "He'll neverforget us as long as he lives, I don't suppose. "

Betsy, her imagination fired by this suggestion, said, "I guess whenhe's grown up he'll be telling everybody about how, when he was so poorand ragged, Stashie Monahan and Ellen Peters and Elizabeth Ann . . . "

"And Eliza!" put in that little girl hastily, very much afraid she wouldnot be given her due share of the glory. 

Cousin Ann sewed, and listened, and said nothing. 

Toward the end of May two little blouses, two pairs of trousers, twopairs of stockings, two sets of underwear (contributed by the teacher), and the pair of shoes Uncle Henry gave were ready. The little girlshandled the pile of new garments with inexpressible pride, and debatedjust which way of bestowing them was sufficiently grand to be worthy theoccasion. Betsy was for taking them to school and giving them to 'Liasone by one, so that each child could have her thanks separately. ButStashie wanted to take them to the house when 'Lias's stepfather wouldbe there, and shame him by showing that little girls had had to do whathe ought to have done. 

Cousin Ann broke into the discussion by asking, in her quiet, firmvoice, "Why do you want 'Lias to know where the clothes come from?"

They had forgotten again that she was there, and turned around quicklyto stare at her. Nobody could think of any answer to her very queerquestion. It had not occurred to any one that there could BE such aquestion. 

Cousin Ann shifted her ground and asked another: "Why did you make theseclothes, 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 maybeadopt him. "

"Well, " said Cousin Ann, "what has that got to do with 'Lias knowing whodid it?"

"Why, he wouldn't know who to be grateful to, " cried Betsy. 

"Oh, " said Cousin Ann. "Oh, I see. You didn't do it to help 'Lias. Youdid 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. " Shenodded her head wisely, as though now she understood. 

But if she did, little Molly certainly did not. She had not the leastidea what everybody was talking about. She looked from one sober, downcast face to another rather anxiously. What was the matter?

Apparently nothing was really the matter, she decided, for after aminute's silence Miss Ann got up with entirely her usual face ofcheerful gravity, and said: "Don't you think you little girls ought totop off this last afternoon with a tea-party? There's a new batch ofcookies, and you can make yourselves some lemonade if you want to. "

They had these refreshments out on the porch, in the sunshine, withtheir dolls for guests and a great deal of chatter for sauce. Nobodysaid another word about how to give the clothes to 'Lias, till, just asthe girls were going away, Betsy said, walking along with the two olderones, "Say, don't you think it'd be fun to go some evening after darkand leave the clothes on 'Lias's doorstep, and knock and run away quickbefore anybody comes to the door?" She spoke in an uncertain voice andsmoothed Deborah's carved wooden curls. 

"Yes, I do!" said Ellen, not looking at Betsy but down at the weeds bythe road. "I think it would be lots of fun!"

Little Molly, playing with Annie and Eliza, did not hear this; but shewas allowed to go with the older girls on the great expedition. 

It was a warm, dark evening in late May, with the frogs piping theirsweet, high note, and the first of the fireflies wheeling over the wetmeadows near the tumble-down house where 'Lias lived. The girls tookturns in carrying the big paper-wrapped bundle, and stole along in theshadow of the trees, full of excitement, looking over their shoulders atnothing and pressing their hands over their mouths to keep back thegiggles. There was, of course, no reason on earth why they shouldgiggle, which is, of course, the very reason why they did. If you'veever been a little girl you know about that. 

One window of the small house was dimly lighted, they found, when theycame in sight of it, and they thrilled with excitement and joyful 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 ontwigs, rustling bushes, crackling gravel under their feet and doing allthe other things that make such a noise at night and never do in thedaytime. But nobody stirred inside the room with the lighted window. They crept forward and peeped cautiously inside . . . And stopped giggling. The dim light coming from a little kerosene lamp with a smoky chimneyfell on a dismal, cluttered room, a bare, greasy wooden table, and twobroken-backed chairs, with little 'Lias in one of them. He had fallenasleep with his head on his arms, his pinched, dirty, sad little figureshowing in the light from the lamp. His feet dangled high above thefloor 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 tindipper stood beside him on the bare table. Nobody else was in the room, nor evidently in the darkened, empty, fireless house. 

[Illustration: He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms. ]

As long as she lives Betsy will never forget what she saw that nightthrough that window. Her eyes grew very hot and her hands very cold. Herheart thumped hard. She reached for little Molly and gave her a greathug in the darkness. Suppose it were little Molly asleep there, allalone in the dirty, dismal house, with no supper and nobody to put herto bed. She found that Ellen, next her, was crying quietly into thecorner of her apron. 

Nobody said a word. Stashie, who had the bundle, walked around soberlyto the front door, put it down, and knocked loudly. They all darted awaynoiselessly to the road, to the shadow of the trees, and waited untilthe 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 thebundle and go back into the house. Then they went quickly and silentlyback, separating at the cross-roads with no good-night greetings. 

Molly and Betsy began to climb the hill to Putney Farm. It was a verywarm night for May, and little Molly began to puff for breath. "Let'ssit down on this rock awhile and rest, " she said. 

They were half-way up the hill now. From the rock they could see thelights in the farmhouses scattered along the valley road and on the sideof the mountain opposite them, like big stars fallen from the multitudeabove. Betsy lay down on the rock and looked up at the stars. After asilence little Molly's chirping voice said, "Oh, I thought you said wewere going to march up to 'Lias in school and give him his clothes. Didyou forget about that?"

Betsy gave a wriggle of shame as she remembered that plan. "No, wedidn't forget it, " she said. "We thought this would be a better way. "

"But how'll 'Lias know who to thank?" asked Molly. 

"That's no matter, " said Betsy. Yes, it was Elizabeth-Ann-that-was whosaid that. And meant it, too. She was not even thinking of what she wassaying. Between her and the stars, thick over her in the black, softsky, she saw again that dirty, disordered room and the little boy, allalone, 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 quietstars 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. Pondadopt 'Lias. "

CHAPTER IX

THE NEW CLOTHES FAIL

All the little girls went early to school the next day, eager for thefirst glimpse of 'Lias in his new clothes. They now quite enjoyed themystery about who had made them, and were full of agreeable excitementas the little figure was seen approaching down the road. He wore thegray trousers and the little blue shirt; the trousers were a little toolong, the shirt a perfect fit. The girls gazed at him with pride as hecame on the playground, walking briskly along in the new shoes, whichwere 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 ashe came closer . . . Oh! his face! his hair! his hands! his finger-nails!The little fellow had evidently tried to live up to his beautiful newraiment, for his hair had been roughly put back from his face, andaround his mouth and nose was a small area of almost clean skin, wherehe had made an attempt at washing his face. But he had made practicallyno impression on the layers of encrusted dirt, and the little girlslooked at him ruefully. Mr. Pond would certainly never take a fancy tosuch a dreadfully grimy child! His new, clean clothes made him look allthe worse, as though dirty on purpose!

The little girls retired to their rock-pile and talked over their bitterdisappointment, Ralph and the other boys absorbed in a game of marblesnear them. 'Lias had gone proudly into the schoolroom to show himself toMiss Benton. 

It was the day before Decoration Day and a good deal of time was takenup with practising on the recitations they were going to give at theDecoration Day exercises in the village. Several of the children fromeach school in the township were to speak pieces in the Town Hall. Betsywas to recite Barbara Frietchie, her first love in that school, but shedroned 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. Theyoften took a swim at noon and nobody thought anything about it on thatday. The little girls ate their lunch on their rock, mourning over thefailure of their plans, and scheming ways to meet the new obstacle. Stashie suggested, "Couldn't your Aunt Abigail invite him up to yourhouse for supper and then give him a bath afterward?" But Betsy, although she had never heard of treating a supper-guest in this way, wassure that it was not possible. She shook her head sadly, her eyes on thefar-off gleam of white where the boys jumped up and down in theirswimming-hole. That was not a good name for it, because there was onlyone part of it deep enough to swim in. Mostly it was a shallow bay in anarm of the river, where the water was only up to a little boy's kneesand where there was almost no current. The sun beating down on it madeit quite warm, and even the first-graders' mothers allowed them to goin. 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 thepool. They were late in getting back from the river that day and MissBenton had to ring her bell hard in that direction before they cametrooping up and clattered into the schoolroom, where the girls alreadysat, their eyes lowered virtuously to their books, with a prim air ofself-righteousness. THEY were never late!

Betsy was reciting her arithmetic. She was getting on famously withthat. Weeks ago, as soon as Miss Benton had seen the confusion of thelittle girl's mind, the two had settled down to a serious struggle withthat subject. Miss Benton had had Betsy recite all by herself, so shewouldn't be flurried by the others; and to begin with had gone back, back, back to bedrock, to things Betsy absolutely knew, to the 2x2's andthe 3x3's. And then, very cautiously, a step at a time, they hadadvanced, stopping short whenever Betsy felt a beginning of thatbewildered "guessing" impulse which made her answer wildly at random. 

After a while, in the dark night which arithmetic had always been toher, Betsy began to make out a few definite outlines, which were alwaysthere, facts which she knew to be so without guessing from theexpression of her teacher's face. From that moment her progress had beenrapid, one sure fact hooking itself on to another, and another one on tothat. She attacked a page of problems now with a zest and self-confidence which made her arithmetic lessons among the most interestinghours at school. On that day she was standing up at the board, a pieceof chalk in her hand, chewing her tongue and thinking hard how to findout the amount of wall-paper needed for a room 12 feet square with twodoors and two windows in it, when her eye fell on little 'Lias, bentover his reading book. She forgot her arithmetic, she forgot where shewas. She stared and stared, till Ellen, catching the direction of hereyes, looked and stared too. Little 'Lias was CLEAN, preternaturally, almost wetly clean. His face was clean and shining, his ears shone pinkand fair, his hands were absolutely spotless, even his hay-colored hairwas clean and, still damp, brushed flatly back till it shone in the sun. Betsy blinked her eyes a great many times, thinking she must bedreaming, but every time she opened them there was 'Lias, looking whiteand polished like a new willow whistle. 

Somebody poked her hard in the ribs. She started and, turning, sawRalph, who was doing a sum beside her on the board, scowling at herunder his black brows. "Quit gawking at 'Lias, " he said under hisbreath. "You make me tired!" Something conscious and shame-faced in hismanner made Betsy understand at once what had happened. Ralph had taken'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 toRalph 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't9 x 8 and get it right!"

"How queer boys are!" thought Betsy, erasing her mistake and puttingdown 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 newcap on his head which she recognized as Ralph's. She just looked atRalph's bare head, and smiled her eyes at him, keeping the rest of herface sober, the way Cousin Ann did. For just a minute Ralph almostsmiled back. At least he looked quite friendly. They stepped alongtoward home together, the first time Ralph had ever condescended to walkbeside a girl. 

"We got a new colt, " he said. 

"Have you?" she said. "What color?"

"Black, with a white star, and they're going to let me ride him whenhe's old enough. "

"My! Won't that be nice!" said Betsy. 

And all the time they were both thinking of little 'Lias with his newclothes 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 tomorrow, if I don't forget it, " saidRalph, 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 theafternoon 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 hiswhite blouse. The little girls gloated over his appearance, and hungaround him, for who was to "visit school" that morning but Mr. Pondhimself! Cousin Ann had arranged it somehow. It took Cousin Ann to fixthings! During recess, as they were playing still-pond-no-more-moving onthe playground, Mr. Pond and Uncle Henry drew up to the edge of theplayground, stopped their horse, and, talking and laughing 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 thathe would "do" perfectly for 'Lias. But what she decided was to havelittle importance, apparently, for after all he would not get out of thewagon, but said he'd have to drive right on to the village. Just likethat, with no excuse other than a careless glance at his watch. No, heguessed he wouldn't have time, this morning, he said. Betsy cast animploring look up into Uncle Henry's face, but evidently he felt himselfquite helpless, too. Oh, if only Cousin Ann had come! SHE would havemarched him into the schoolhouse double-quick. But Uncle Henry was notCousin Ann, and though Betsy saw him, as they drove away, conscientiously point out little 'Lias, resplendent and shining, Mr. Pond only nodded absently, as though, he were thinking of somethingelse. 

Betsy could have cried with disappointment; but she and the other girls, putting their heads together for comfort, told each other that there wastime 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 atthe schoolhouse, the girls fresh and crisp in their newly starcheddresses, with red or blue hair-ribbons, the boys very self-conscious intheir dark suits, clean collars, new caps (all but Ralph), and blackedshoes, there was no little 'Lias. They waited and waited, but there wasno sign of him. Finally Uncle Henry, who was to drive the straw-ridedown to town, looked at his watch, gathered up the reins, and said theywould be late if they didn't start right away. Maybe 'Lias had had achance to ride in with somebody else. 

They all piled in, the horses stepped off, the wheels grated on thestones. And just at that moment a dismal sound of sobbing wails reachedthem from the woodshed back of the schoolhouse. The children tumbled outas fast as they had tumbled in, and ran back, Betsy and Ralph at theirhead. There in the woodshed was little 'Lias, huddled in the cornerbehind some wood, crying and crying and crying, digging his fists intohis eyes, his face all smeared with tears and dirt. And he was dressedagain in his filthy, torn old overalls and ragged shirt. His poor littlebare feet shone with a piteous cleanliness in that dark place. 

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" the children asked him all atonce. He flung himself on Ralph, burying his face in the other boy'scoat, and sobbed out some disjointed story which only Ralph couldhear . . . And then as last and final climax of the disaster, who shouldcome 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 apile of wood, utterly disheartened. What was the use of anything!

"What's the matter?" asked the two men together. 

Ralph turned, with an angry toss of his dark head, and told thembitterly, over the heads of the children: "He just had some decentclothes. . . . First ones he's EVER had! And he was plotting on going tothe exercises in the Town Hall. And that darned old skunk of astepfather has gone and taken 'em and sold 'em to get whiskey. I'd liketo KILL him!"

Betsy could have flung her arms around Ralph, he looked so exactly theway she felt. "Yes, he is a darned old skunk!" she said to herself, rejoicing in the bad words she did not know before. It TOOK bad words toqualify what had happened. 

She saw an electric spark pass from Ralph's blazing eyes to Mr. Pond'sbroad face, now grim and fierce. She saw Mr. Pond step forward, brushingthe children out of his way, like a giant among dwarfs. She saw himstoop and pick little 'Lias up in his great, strong arms, and, holdinghim close, stride furiously out of the woodshed, across the playgroundto the buggy which was waiting for him. 

"He'll go to the exercises all right!" he called back over his shoulderin a great roar. "He'll go, if I have to buy out the whole town to gethim an outfit! And that whelp won't get these clothes, either; you hearme say so!"

He sprang into the buggy and, holding 'Lias on his lap, took up thereins 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, coatand all, and he wore white stockings and neat, low shoes, like a citychild!

They saw him later, up on the platform, squeaking out his littlepatriotic poem, his eyes, shining like stars, fixed on one broad, smiling face in the audience. When he finished he was overcome withshyness by the applause, and for a moment forgot to turn and leave theplatform. He hung his head, and, looking out from under his eyebrows, gave a quaint, shy little smile at the audience. Betsy saw Mr. Pond'sgreat smile waver and grow dim. His eyes filled so full that he had totake out his handkerchief and blow his nose loudly. 

And they saw little 'Lias once more, for the last time. Mr. Pond's buggydrove rapidly past their slow-moving hay-wagon, Mr. Pond holding thereins masterfully in one hand. Beside him, very close, sat 'Lias withhis lap full of toys, oh, FULL--like Christmas! In that fleeting glimpsethey 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 bigmechanical toy dredge that everybody said the store-keeper could neversell to anybody because it cost so much!

As they passed swiftly, 'Lias looked out at them and waved his littlehand flutteringly. His other hand was tightly clasped in Mr. Pond's bigone. He was smiling at them all. His eyes looked dazed and radiant. Heturned his head as the buggy flashed by to call out, in a shrill, exulting little shout, "Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm going to live with . . . "They could hear no more. He was gone, only his little hand still wavingat 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 different. Thenshe saw that he was smiling. She had never seen him smile before. Hesmiled at her as though he were sure she would understand, and neversaid a word. Betsy looked forward again and saw the gleaming buggyvanishing over the hill in front of them. She smiled back at Ralphsilently. 

Not a thing had happened the way she had planned; no, not a singlething! 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 September, and the NecronsettValley Fair is always held from the eighth to the twelfth. So it wasdecided that Betsy should celebrate her birthday by going up toWoodford, 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 roomin their surrey for the two little girls; for, of course, Molly wasgoing, too. In fact, she said the Fair was held partly to celebrate herbeing six years old. This would happen on the seventeenth of October. Molly insisted that that was PLENTY close enough to the ninth ofSeptember to be celebrated then. This made Betsy feel like laughing out, but observing that the Putneys only looked at each other with thefaintest possible quirk in the corners of their serious mouths, sheunderstood that they were afraid that Molly's feelings might be hurt ifthey laughed out loud. So Betsy tried to curve her young lips to thesame kind and secret mirth. 

And, I can't tell you why, this effort not to hurt Molly's feelings madeher have a perfect spasm of love for Molly. She threw herself on her andgave her a great hug that tipped them both over on the couch on top ofShep, who stopped snoring with his great gurgling snort, wriggled outfrom under them, and stood with laughing eyes and wagging tail, lookingat 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 appliedthemselves to the serious question of a toilet. 

When the great day arrived and the surrey drove away from the Wendells'gate, Betsy was in a fresh pink-and-white gingham which she had helpedCousin Ann make, and plump Molly looked like something good to eat in acrisp white little dimity, one of Betsy's old dresses, with a deep hemtaken in to make it short enough for the little butter-ball. Because itwas Betsy's birthday, she sat on the front seat with Mr. Wendell, andpart of the time, when there were not too many teams on the road, shedrove, herself. Mrs. Wendell and her sister filled the back seat solidlyfull from side to side and made one continuous soft lap on which Mollyhappily perched, her eyes shining, her round cheeks red with joyfulexcitement. Betsy looked back at her several times and thought how verynice Molly looked. She had, of course, little idea how she herselflooked, because the mirrors at Putney Farm were all small and high up, and anyhow they were so old and greenish that they made everybody lookvery queer-colored. You looked in them to see if your hair was smooth, and that was about all you could stand. 

So it was a great surprise to Betsy later in the morning, as she andMolly wandered hand in hand through the wonders of Industrial Hall, tocatch sight of Molly in a full-length mirror as clear as water. She wasalmost startled to see how faithfully reflected were the yellow of thelittle girl's curls, the clear pink and white of her face, and the blueof her soft eyes. An older girl was reflected there also, near Molly, adark-eyed, red-cheeked, sturdy little girl, standing very straight ontwo strong legs, holding her head high and free, her dark eyes lookingout brightly from her tanned face. For an instant Betsy gazed into thoseclear eyes and then . . . Why, gracious goodness! That was herself she waslooking at! How changed she was! How very, very different she lookedfrom the last time she had seen herself in a big mirror! She rememberedit well--out shopping with Aunt Frances in a department store, she hadcaught sight of a pale little girl, with a thin neck, and spindling legshalf-hidden in the folds of Aunt Frances's skirts. But she didn't lookeven like the sister of this browned, muscular, upstanding child whoheld Molly's hand so firmly. 

All this came into her mind and went out again in a moment, for Mollycaught sight of a big doll in the next aisle and they hurried over toinspect her clothing. The mirror was forgotten in the many excitingsights 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 andeat their picnic lunch together. The two parties arrived together fromdifferent directions, having seen very different sides of the Fair. Thechildren were full of the merry-go-rounds, the balloon-seller, the toy-venders, and the pop-corn stands, while the Wendells exchanged views onthe shortness of a hog's legs, the dip in a cow's back, and thethickness of a sheep's wool. The Wendells, it seemed, had met somecousins they didn't expect to see, who, not knowing about Betsy andMolly, had hoped that they might ride home with the Wendells. 

"Don't you suppose, " Mrs. Wendell asked Betsy, "that you and Molly couldgo home with the Vaughans? They're here in their big wagon. You couldsit on the floor with the Vaughan children. "

Betsy and Molly thought this would be great fun, and agreedenthusiastically. 

"All right then, " said Mrs. Wendell. She called to a young man who stoodinside the building, near an open window: "Oh, Frank, Will Vaughan isgoing 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 atPutney Farm are going to go home with them. They can sit on the bottomof the wagon with the Vaughan young ones. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said the young man, with a noticeable lack of interest inhow Betsy and Molly got home. 

"Now, Betsy, " said Mrs. Wendell, "you go round to that booth at two andask Will Vaughan what time they're going to start and where their wagonis, 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 hadbrought with them, twenty-five earned by berry-picking and fifteen apresent from Uncle Henry. They now put their heads together to see howthey could make the best possible use of their four nickels. Cousin Annhad put no restrictions whatever on them, saying they could buy any sortof truck or rubbish they could find, except the pink lemonade. She saidshe had been told the venders washed their glasses in that, and theirhands, 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 buying thata 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, andseeing the little girls looking at him he pulled the tail of the one heheld. It gave forth a fine loud yelp, just like Shep when his tail gotstepped on. Betsy bought one, all done up neatly in a box tied with bluestring. She thought it a great bargain to get a dog who would bark forfive 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 faintestsqueak when his tail was pulled; but that is the sort of thing you mustexpect to have happen to you at a county fair. )

Now they had ten cents left and they decided to have a ride apiece onthe merry-go-round. But, glancing up at the clock-face in the tower overAgricultural Hall, Betsy noticed it was half-past two and she decided togo first to the booth where Will Vaughan was to be and find out whattime they would start for home. She found the booth with no difficulty, but William Vaughan was not in it. Nor was the young man she had seenbefore. There was a new one, a strange one, a careless, whistling youngman, with very bright socks, very yellow shoes, and very striped cuffs. He said, in answer to Betsy's inquiry: "Vaughan? Will Vaughan? Neverheard the name, " and immediately went on whistling and looking up anddown the aisle over the heads of the little girls, who stood gazing upat him with very wide, startled eyes. An older man leaned over from thenext booth and said: "Will Vaughan? He from Hillsboro? Well, I heardsomebody say those Hillsboro Vaughans had word one of their cows wasawful sick, and they had to start right home that minute. "

Betsy came to herself out of her momentary daze and snatched Molly'shand. "Hurry! quick! We must find the Wendells before they get away!" Inher agitation (for she was really very much frightened) she forgot howeasily terrified little Molly was. Her alarm instantly sent the childinto a panic. "Oh, Betsy! Betsy! What will we do!" she gasped, as Betsypulled her along the aisle and out of the door. 

"Oh, the Wendells can't be gone yet, " said Betsy reassuringly, thoughshe was not at all sure she was telling the truth. She ran as fast asshe could drag Molly's fat legs, to the horse-shed where Mr. Wendell hadtied his horses and left the surrey. The horse-shed was empty, quiteempty. 

Betsy stopped short and stood still, her heart seeming to be up in herthroat so that she could hardly breathe. After all, she was only tenthat day, you must remember. Molly began to cry loudly, hiding herweeping 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 wereeight miles from Putney Farm, far too much for Molly to walk, and anyhowneither of them knew the way. They had only ten cents left, and nothingto eat. And the only people they knew in all that throng of strangershad gone back to Hillsboro. 

"What will we do, Betsy?" Molly kept on crying out, horrified by Betsy'ssilence and evident consternation. 

The other child's head swam. She tried again the formula which hadhelped her when Molly fell into the Wolf Pit, and asked herself, desperately, "What would Cousin Ann do if she were here!" But that didnot help her much now, because she could not possibly imagine whatCousin Ann would do under such appalling circumstances. Yes, one thingCousin Ann would be sure to do, of course; she would quiet Molly firstof all. 

At this thought Betsy sat down on the ground and took the panic-strickenlittle 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'll you ever do it?" sobbed Molly. 

"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 mysurprise 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 itseemed to her a little less dauntingly strange than every other spot inthe howling wilderness about her; for all at once the Fair, which hadseemed so lively and cheerful and gay before, seemed now a horrible, frightening, noisy place, full of hurried strangers who came and wenttheir own ways, with not a glance out of their hard eyes for two littlegirls stranded far from home. 

The bright-colored young man was no better when they found him again. Hestopped his whistling only long enough to say, "Nope, no Will Vaughananywhere around these diggings yet. "

"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 youngman casually. He smoothed his black hair back straighter than ever fromhis forehead and looked over their heads. 

"How much does it cost to go to Hillsboro on the cars?" asked Betsy witha sinking heart. 

"You'll have to ask somebody else about that, " said the young man. "WhatI don't know about this Rube state! I never was in it before. " He spokeas though he were very proud of the fact. 

Betsy turned and went over to the older man who had told them about theVaughans. 

Molly trotted at her heels, quite comforted, now that Betsy was talkingso competently to grown-ups. She did not hear what they said, nor tryto. Now that Betsy's voice sounded all right she had no more fears. Betsy would manage somehow. She heard Betsy's voice again talking to theother man, but she was busy looking at an exhibit of beautiful jellyglasses, and paid no attention. Then Betsy led her away again out ofdoors, where everybody was walking back and forth under the brightSeptember sky, blowing on horns, waving plumes of brilliant tissue-paper, tickling each other with peacock feathers, and eating pop-cornand candy out of paper bags. 

That reminded Molly that they had ten cents yet. "Oh, Betsy, " sheproposed, "let's take a nickel of our money for some pop-corn. "

She was startled by Betsy's fierce sudden clutch at their little purseand by the quaver in her voice as she answered: "No, no, Molly. We'vegot to save every cent of that. I've found out it costs thirty cents forus both to go home to Hillsboro on the train. The last one goes at sixo'clock. "

"We haven't got but ten, " said Molly. 

Betsy looked at her silently for a moment and then burst out, "I'll earnthe rest! I'll earn it somehow! I'll have to! There isn't any otherway!"

"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 meetpeople in a crowd. "No, you won't! You just follow me every minute! Idon't want you out of my sight!"

They began to move forward now, Betsy's eyes wildly roving from oneplace to another. How COULD a little girl earn money at a county fair!She was horribly afraid to go up and speak to a stranger, and yet howelse could she begin?

"Here, Molly, you wait here, " she said. "Don't you budge till I comeback. "

But alas! Molly had only a moment to wait that time, for the man who wasselling lemonade 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 expectant, confident inBetsy; Betsy with a very dry mouth and a very gone feeling. They werepassing by a big shed-like building now, where a large sign proclaimedthat the Woodford Ladies' Aid Society would serve a hot chicken dinnerfor 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 eatenand in place of the diners was a group of weary women moving languidlyabout or standing saggingly by a great table piled with dirty dishes. Betsy paused here, meditated a moment, and went in rapidly so that hercourage would not evaporate. 

The woman with gray hair looked down at her a little impatiently andsaid, "Dinner's all over. "

"I didn't come for dinner, " said Betsy, swallowing hard. "I came to seeif 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 away, "Mercy, child, if you washed from now tillmorning, 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 moremoney for the side-shows. "

Now, now was the moment to remember what Cousin Ann would have done. Shewould certainly not have shaken all over with hurt feelings nor haveallowed the tears to come stingingly to her eyes. So Betsy sternly madeherself stop doing these things. And Cousin Ann wouldn't have given wayto the dreadful sinking feeling of utter discouragement, but would havegone right on to the next place. So, although Betsy felt like nothing somuch as crooking her elbow over her face and crying as hard as she couldcry, 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 andpointing out the pranks and antics of the young people, who were feelinglivelier than ever as the afternoon wore on. Betsy looked at them grimlywith unseeing eyes. It was four o'clock. The last train for Hillsboroleft 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 werewalking slowly, she kept feeling breathless and choked. It occurred toher that if ever a little girl had had a more horrible birthday shenever 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 leaning over theedge of a little canvas-covered booth, the sign of which announced thathome-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 elegant. You can keep aneye on the booth from the hall! Nobody's going to run away with the oldthing anyhow!''

"Honest, I'd love to! But I got a great lot of dishes to wash, too! Youknow Momma!" She looked longingly toward the open-air dancing floor, outfrom 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 weup and coming!" said the man. "You're most as big as a pint-cup, aren'tyou?" he said to Betsy. 

The little girl flushed--she detested being laughed at--but she lookedstraight into the laughing eyes. "I'm ten years old today, " she said, "and I can wash dishes as well as anybody. " 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 fromwalking off with the dope and . . . "

"I'll do the dishes, too, " repeated Betsy, trying hard not to mind beinglaughed at, and keeping her eyes fixed steadily on the tickets toHillsboro. 

"Well, by gosh, " said the young man, laughing. "Here's our chance, Annie, for fair! Come along!"

The girl laughed, too, out of high spirits. "Wouldn't Momma be crazy!"she said hilariously. "But she'll never know. Here, you cute kid, here'smy 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 thatcounter. "

She was out of the little gate in the counter in a twinkling, just asMolly, in answer to a beckoning 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 safeyou'll run at them and bark and drive them away!"

Molly opened her sweet, blue eyes very wide, not understanding a singleword. The girl laughed, swooped back, gave Molly a kiss, anddisappeared, running side by side with the young man toward the dancehall. 

Betsy mounted on a soap box and began joyfully to wash the dishes. Shehad never thought that ever in her life would she simply LOVE to washdishes beyond anything else! But it was so. Her relief was so great thatshe could have kissed the coarse, thick plates and glasses as she washedthem. 

"It's all right, Molly; it's all right!" she quavered exultantly toMolly over her shoulder. But as Molly had not (from the moment Betsytook command) suspected that it was not all right, she only nodded andasked if she might sit up on a barrel where she could watch the crowd goby. 

"I guess you could. I don't know why NOT, " said Betsy doubtfully. Shelifted her up and went back to her dishes. Never were dishes washedbetter!

"Two doughnuts, please, " said a man's voice behind her. 

Oh, mercy, there was somebody come to buy! Whatever should she do? Shecame forward intending to say that the owner of the booth was away andshe didn't know anything about . . . But the man laid down a nickel, tooktwo doughnuts, and turned away. Betsy gasped and looked at the home-madesign stuck into the big pan of doughnuts. Sure enough, it read "2 for5. " 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 funin her new situation, and when a woman with two little boys approachedshe came forward to wait on her, elated, important. "Two for five, " shesaid in a businesslike tone. The woman put down a dime, took up fourdoughnuts, divided them between her sons, and departed. 

[Illustration: Never were dishes washed better!]

"My!" said Molly, looking admiringly at Betsy's coolness over thistransaction. Betsy went back to her dishes, stepping high. 

"Oh, Betsy, see! The pig! The big ox!" cried Molly now, looking from hercoign of vantage down the wide, grass-grown lane between the booths. 

Betsy craned her head around over her shoulder, continuingconscientiously to wash and wipe the dishes. The prize stock was beingparaded around the Fair; the great prize ox, his shining horns tippedwith blue rosettes; the prize cows, with wreaths around their necks; theprize horses, four or five of them as glossy as satin, curving theirbright, strong necks and stepping as though on eggs, their manes andtails braided with bright ribbon; and then, "Oh, Betsy, LOOK at thepig!" screamed Molly again--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 tocome she can shut her eyes and see again in every detail that rusticprocession under the golden, September light. 

But she looked anxiously at the clock. It was nearing five. Oh, supposethe girl forgot and danced too long!

"Two bottles of ginger ale and half a dozen doughnuts, " said a man witha woman and three children. 

Betsy looked feverishly among the bottles ranged on the counter, selected two marked ginger ale, and glared at their corrugated tinstoppers. 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 ahurry. Got to catch a train. "

Well, they were not the only people who had to catch a train, Betsythought sadly. They drank in gulps and departed, cramming doughnuts intotheir mouths. Betsy wished ardently that the girl would come back. Shewas now almost sure that she had forgotten and would dance there tillnightfall. But there, there she came, running along, as light-footedafter an hour's dancing as when she had left the booth. 

"Here you are, kid, " said the young man, producing a quarter. "We've hadthe time of our young lives, thanks to you. "

Betsy gave him back one of the nickels that remained to her, but herefused 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'll never miss 'em. And what you sell here has got to be freshevery day. Here, hold out your hands, both of you. "

"Some people came and bought things, " said Betsy, happening to rememberas 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 ofthe town and down to the station. Molly was eating doughnuts as shewent. They were both quite hungry by this time, but Betsy could notthink of eating till she had those tickets in her hand. 

She pushed her quarter and a nickel into the ticket-seller's window andsaid "Hillsboro" in as confident a tone as she could; but when theprecious bits of paper were pushed out at her and she actually heldthem, her knees shook under her and she had to go and sit down on thebench. 

"My! Aren't these doughnuts good?" said Molly. "I never in my life hadENOUGH doughnuts before!"

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 HillsboroStation and started wearily up the road toward Putney Farm. Two mileslay before them, two miles which they had often walked before, but neverafter such a day as now lay back of them. Molly dragged her feet as shewalked and hung heavily on Betsy's hand. Betsy plodded along, her headhanging, her eyes all gritty with fatigue and sleepiness. A light buggyspun round the turn of the road behind them, the single horse trottingfast as though the driver were in a hurry, the wheels rattling smartlyon the hard road. The little girls drew out to one side and stoodwaiting till the road should be free again. When he saw them the driverpulled the horse back so quickly it stood almost straight up. He peeredat them through the twilight and then with a loud shout sprang over theside of the buggy. 

It was Uncle Henry--oh, goody, it was Uncle 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 themdesperately as though he expected them to be broken somewhere. And Betsycould feel that his old hands were shaking, that he was trembling allover. When she said, "Why, yes, Uncle Henry, we're all right. We camehome on the cars, " Uncle Henry leaned up against the fence as though hecouldn't stand up. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead and hesaid--it didn't seem as though it could be Uncle Henry talking, hesounded 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 anythingstranger 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 we've had a scare! When the Wendells come back withtheir cousins early this afternoon, they said you were coming with theVaughans. And then when you didn't come and DIDN'T come, we telephonedto the Vaughans, and they said they hadn't seen hide nor hair of ye, anddidn't even know you were TO the Fair at all! I tell you, your AuntAbigail and I had an awful turn! Ann and I hitched up quicker'n scat andshe put right out with Prince up toward Woodford and I took Jessie downthis way; thought maybe I'd get trace of ye somewhere here. Well, land!"He wiped his forehead again. "Wa'n't I glad to see you standin'there . . . Get along, Jess! I want to get the news to Abigail soon as Ican!"

"Now tell me what in thunder DID happen to you!"

Betsy began at the beginning and told straight through, interrupted atfirst by indignant comments from Uncle Henry, who was outraged by theWendells' loose wearing of their responsibility for the children. But asshe went on he quieted down to a closely attentive silence, interruptingonly to keep Jess at her top speed. 

Now that it was all safely over, Betsy thought her story quite aninteresting one, and she omitted no detail, although she wondered onceor 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 formon 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. Whenthe little girls dragged their weary legs in they found her quietlysetting out some supper for them on the table, but she was wiping awaywith her apron the joyful tears which ran down her cheeks, such whitecheeks! It seemed so strange to see rosy Aunt Abigail with a face likepaper. 

"Well, I'm glad to see ye, " she told them soberly. "Sit right down andhave some hot milk. I had some all ready. "

The telephone rang, she went into the next room, and they heard hersaying, in an unsteady voice: "All right, Ann. They're here. Your fatherjust brought them in. I haven't had time to hear about what happenedyet. 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 afew minutes later she asked him in a rather weak voice for the ammoniabottle. He rushed for it, got her a fan and a drink of cold water, andhung over her anxiously till the color began to come back into her paleface. "I know just how you feel, Mother, " he said sympathetically. "WhenI saw 'em standin' there by the roadside I felt as though somebody hadhit me a clip right in the pit of the stomach. "

The little girls ate their supper in a tired daze, not paying anyattention to what the grown-ups were saying, until rapid hoofs clickedon the stones outside and Cousin Ann came in quickly, her black eyessnapping. 

"Now, for mercy's sake, tell me what happened, " 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 doit. You and Mother just listen, just sit right down and listen. " Hisvoice was shaking with feeling, and as he went on and told of Betsy'safternoon, her fright, her confusion, her forming the plan of cominghome on the train and of earning the money for the tickets, he made, foronce, no Putney pretense of casual coolness. His old eyes flashed fireas he talked. 

Betsy, watching him, felt her heart swell and beat fast in incredulousjoy. Why, he was proud of her! She had done something to make the Putneycousins proud of her!

When Uncle Henry came to the part where she went on asking foremployment after one and then another refusal, Cousin Ann reached outher long arms and quickly, almost roughly, gathered Betsy up on her lap, holding her close as she listened. Betsy had never before sat on CousinAnn's lap. 

And when Uncle Henry finished--he had not forgotten a single thing Betsyhad told him--and asked, "What do you think of THAT for a little girlten years old today?" Cousin Ann opened the flood-gates wide and burstout, "I think I never heard of a child's doing a smarter, grittierthing . . . 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, wondered if any little girl hadever had such a beautiful birthday. 

CHAPTER XI

"UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES"

About a month, after Betsy's birthday, one October day when the leaveswere all red and yellow, two very momentous events occurred, and, in amanner of speaking, at the very same time. Betsy had noticed that herkitten Eleanor (she still thought of her as a kitten, although she wasnow a big, grown-up cat) spent very little time around the house. Shecame into the kitchen two or three times a day, mewing loudly for milkand food, but after eating very fast she always disappeared at once. Betsy missed the purring, contented ball of fur on her lap in the longevenings as she played checkers, or read aloud, or sewed, or playedguessing games. She felt rather hurt, too, that Eleanor paid her solittle attention, and several times she tried hard to make her stay, trailing in front of her a spool tied to a string or rolling a worstedball across the floor. But Eleanor seemed to have lost all her taste forthe things she had liked so much. Invariably, the moment the door wasopened, she darted out and vanished. 

One afternoon Betsy ran out after her, determined to catch her and bringher back. When the cat found she was being followed, she bounded alongin great leaps, constantly escaping from Betsy's outstretched hand. Theycame thus to the horse-barn, into the open door of which Eleanor whiskedlike a little gray shadow, Betsy close behind. The cat flashed up thesteep, ladder-like stairs that led to the hay-loft. Betsy scrambledrapidly up, too. It was dark up there, compared to the gorgeous-coloredOctober day outside, and for a moment she could not see Eleanor. Thenshe made her out, a dim little shape, picking her way over the hay, andshe heard her talking. Yes, it was real talk, quite, quite differentfrom the loud, imperious "MIAUW!" with which Eleanor asked for her milk. This was the softest, prettiest kind of conversation, all little murmursand chirps and sing-songs. Why, Betsy could almost understand it! SheCOULD understand it enough to know that it was love-talk, and then, breaking into this, came a sudden series of shrill, little, needle-likecries that fairly filled the hay-loft. Eleanor gave a bound forward anddisappeared. Betsy, very much excited, scrambled and climbed up over thehay as fast as she could go. 

It was all silent now--the piercing, funny little squalls had stopped assuddenly as they began. On the top in a little nest lay Eleanor, purringso loudly you could hear her all over the big mow, and so proud andhappy she could hardly contain herself. Her eyes glistened, she archedher back, rolled over and spread out her paws, disclosing to Betsy'sastounded, delighted eyes--no, she wasn't dreaming--two dear littlekittens, one all gray, just like its mother; one gray with a big bib onhis chest. 

Oh! How dear they were! How darling, and cuddly, and fuzzy! Betsy puther fingers very softly on the gray one's head and thrilled to feel thewarmth 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 toher cheek. The little thing nestled down in the warm hollow of her hand. She could feel its tiny, tiny little claws pricking softly into herpalm. "Oh, you sweetness! You little, little baby-thing!" she said overand over in a whisper. 

Eleanor did not stop purring, and she looked up with friendly, trustingeyes as her little mistress made the acquaintance of her children, butBetsy could feel somehow that Eleanor was anxious about her kitten, wasafraid that, although the little girl meant everything that was kind, her great, clumsy, awkward human hands weren't clever enough to hold ababy-cat the proper way. "I don't blame you a bit, Eleanor, " 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. Eleanor at once beganto wash its face very vigorously, knocking it over and over with herstrong 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 somethingelse. 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 footsteps. Itmust be little Molly, tagging along, as she always did. What fun to showMolly the kittens!

"Betsy!" called Molly from below. 

"Molly!" called Betsy from above. "Come up here quick! I've gotsomething up here. "

There was a sound of scrambling, rapid feet on the rough stairs, andMolly's yellow curls appeared, shining in the dusk. "I've got a . . . " shebegan, but Betsy did not let her finish. 

"Come here, Molly, quick! QUICK!" she called, beckoning eagerly, asthough the kittens might evaporate into thin air if Molly didn't getthere at once. Molly forgot what she was going to say, climbed madly upthe steep pile of hay, and in a moment was lying flat on her stomachbeside the little family in a spasm of delight that satisfied even Betsyand Eleanor, both of them convinced that these were the finest kittensthe 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 amoment's hesitation. "It's LOTS the prettiest! Oh, Betsy! For my veryown?"

Something white fell out of the folds of her skirt on the hay. "Oh, yes, " she said indifferently. "A letter for you. Miss Ann told me tobring 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 tosee that she did not hug her new darling too tightly, and began to readit in the ray of dusty sunlight slanting in through a crack in the sideof the barn. She could do this easily, because Aunt Frances always madeher handwriting very large and round and clear, so that a little girlcould 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 soquickly! and went away down the stairs. Molly hardly noticed she hadgone, so absorbing and delightful were the kittens. 

Betsy went out of the dusky barn into the rich, October splendor and sawnone of it. She went straight away from the house and the barn, straightup into the hill-pasture toward her favorite place beside the brook, theshady pool under the big maple-tree. At first she walked, but after awhile she ran, faster and faster, as though she could not get there soonenough. 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 bigmaple-tree. And the very reason she ran away so fast was so that shecould 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 waittill Betsy comes walking listlessly in, her eyes red and her cheekspale. Cousin Ann was up in the top of a tree, a basket hung over hershoulder half full of striped red Northern Spies; Uncle Henry was on aladder against another tree, filling a bag with the beautiful, shining, yellow-green Pound Sweets, and Aunt Abigail was moving around, pickingup the parti-colored windfalls and putting them into barrels ready to goto the cider-mill. 

Something about the way Betsy walked, and as she drew closer somethingabout the expression of her face, and oh! as she began to speak, something about the tone of her voice, stopped all this cheerfulactivity as though a bomb had gone off in their midst. 

"I've had a letter from Aunt Frances, " said Betsy, biting her lips, "andshe says she's coming to take me away, back to them, tomorrow. "

There was a big silence; Cousin Ann stood, perfectly motionless up inher tree, staring down through the leaves at Betsy. Uncle Henry wasturned around on his ladder, one hand on an apple as though it hadfrozen there, staring down at Betsy. Aunt Abigail leaned with both fathands on her barrel, staring hard at Betsy. Betsy was staring down ather shoes, biting her lips and winking her eyes. The yellow, hazyOctober sun sank slowly down toward the rim of Hemlock Mountain, andsent long, golden shafts of light through the branches of the trees uponthis group of people, all so silent, so motionless. 

[Illustration: Betsy was staring down at her shoes, biting her lips andwinking her eyes. ]

Betsy was the first to speak, and I'm very proud of her for what shesaid. She said, loyally, "Dear Aunt Frances! She was always so sweet tome! She always tried so hard to take care of me!"

For that was what Betsy had found up by the brook under the big redmaple-tree. She had found there a certainty that, whatever else she did, she must NOT hurt Aunt Frances's feelings--dear, gentle, sweet AuntFrances, whose feelings were so easily hurt and who had given her somany years of such anxious care. Something up there had told her--perhaps the quiet blue shadow of Windward Mountain creeping slowly overthe pasture toward her, perhaps the silent glory of the great red-and-gold tree, perhaps the singing murmur of the little brook--perhaps allof them together had told her that now had come a time when she must domore than what Cousin Ann would do--when she must do what she herselfknew was right. And that was to protect Aunt Frances from hurt. 

When she spoke, out there in the orchard, she broke the spell ofsilence. Cousin Ann climbed hastily down from her tree, with her basketonly partly filled. Uncle Henry got stiffly off his ladder, and AuntAbigail 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 gravefaces. Then, still silently, they all turned and went back into thehouse, leaving their forgotten bags and barrels and baskets out underthe trees. When they found themselves in the kitchen--"Well, it'ssuppertime, anyhow, " said Cousin Ann hastily, as if ashamed of losingher 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 notnearly his usual time. He took up the milk pails and marched out towardthe barn, stepping heavily, his head hanging. 

Shep woke up with a snort and, getting off the couch, gamboled clumsilyup to Betsy, wagging his tail and jumping up on her, ready for a frolic. That was almost too much for Betsy! To think that after tomorrow shewould never see Shep again--nor Eleanor! Nor the kittens! She choked asshe bent over Shep and put her arms around his neck for a great hug. Butshe mustn't cry, she mustn't hurt Aunt Frances's feelings, or show thatshe wasn't glad to go back to her. That wouldn't be fair, after all AuntFrances had done for her!

That night she lay awake after she and Molly had gone to bed and Mollywas asleep. They had decided not to tell Molly until the last minute, soshe had dropped off peacefully, as usual. But poor Betsy's eyes werewide open. She saw a gleam of light under the door. It widened; the dooropened. Aunt Abigail stood there, in her night cap, mountainous in herlong white gown, a candle shining up into her serious old face. 

"You awake, Betsy?" she whispered, seeing the child's dark eyes gleamingat her over the covers. "I just--I just thought I'd look in to see ifyou were all right. " She came to the edge of the bed and set the candledown on the little stand. Betsy reached her arms up longingly and theold woman stooped over her. Neither of them said a single word duringthe long embrace which followed. Then Aunt Abigail straightened uphastily, took her candle very quickly and softly, and heavily padded outof the room. 

Betsy turned over and flung one arm over Molly--no Molly, either, aftertomorrow!

She gulped hard and stared up at the ceiling, dimly white in thestarlight. A gleam of light shone under the door. It widened, and UncleHenry stood there, a candle in his hand, peering into the room. "Youawake, Betsy?" 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. It's kindof handy to have a watch on the train. And I'd like real well for you tohave it. "

He laid it down on the stand, his own cherished gold watch, that hadbeen 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 uncertain voice. "It'sbeen . . . It's been real nice to have you here . . . "

And then he too snatched up his candle very quickly and almost ran outof the room. 

Betsy turned over on her back. "No crying, now!" she told herselffiercely. "No crying, now!" She clenched her hands together tightly andset her teeth. 

Something moved in the room. Somebody leaned over her. It was CousinAnn, who didn't make a sound, not one, but who took Betsy in her strongarms and held her close and closer, till Betsy could feel the quickpulse of the other's heart beating all through her own body. Then shewas gone--as silently as she came. 

But somehow that great embrace had taken away all the burning tightnessfrom Betsy's eyes and heart. She was very, very tired, and soon afterthis she fell sound asleep, snuggled up close to Molly. 

In the morning, nobody spoke of last night at all. Breakfast wasprepared and eaten, and the team hitched up directly afterward. Betsyand Uncle Henry were to drive to the station together to meet AuntFrances's train. Betsy put on her new wine-colored cashmere that CousinAnn had made her, with the soft white collar of delicate old embroiderythat Aunt Abigail 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, andeven less as they stood waiting together on the platform. Betsy slippedher hand into his and he held it tight as the train whistled in thedistance and came slowly and laboriously puffing up to the station. 

Just one person got off at the little station, and that was AuntFrances, 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 blueone floating from her gay-flowered velvet hat. How pretty she was! Andhow young--under the veil which hid so kindly all the little lines inher sweet, thin face. And how excited and fluttery! Betsy had forgottenhow fluttery Aunt Frances was! She clasped Betsy to her, and thenstarted back crying--she must see to her suitcase--and then she claspedBetsy to her again and shook hands with Uncle Henry, whose grim old facelooked about as cordial and welcoming as the sourest kind of sourpickle, and she fluttered back and said she must have left her umbrellaon the train. "Oh, Conductor! Conductor! My umbrella--right in my seat--a blue one with a crooked-over--oh, here it is in my hand! What am Ithinking of!"

The conductor evidently thought he'd better get the train away as soonas possible, for he now shouted, "All aboard!" to nobody at all, andsprang back on the steps. The train went off, groaning over the steepgrade, and screaming out its usual echoing warning about the next roadcrossing. 

Uncle Henry took Aunt Frances's suitcase and plodded back to the surrey. He got into the front seat and Aunt Frances and Betsy in the back; andthey started off. 

And now I want you to listen to every single word that was said on theback seat, for it was a very, very important conversation, when Betsy'sfate hung on the curl of an eyelash and the flicker of a voice, as fatesoften do. 

Aunt Frances hugged Betsy again and again and exclaimed about her havinggrown so big and tall and fat--she didn't say brown too, although youcould see that she was thinking that, as she looked through her veil atBetsy's tanned face and down at the contrast between her own pretty, white fingers and Betsy's leather-colored, muscular little hands. Sheexclaimed and exclaimed and kept on exclaiming! Betsy wondered if shereally always had been as fluttery as this. And then, all of a sudden itcame 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 fervently. "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 oldAunt Frances just as much, won't you, when she's Mrs. Plimpton!"

Betsy put her arms around her and gave her a great hug. "I'll alwayslove you, Aunt Frances!" she said. 

"You'll love Mr. Plimpton, too. He's so big and strong, and he justloves to take care of people. He says that's why he's marrying me. Don'tyou wonder where we are going to live?" she asked, answering her ownquestion quickly. "We're not going to live anywhere. Isn't that a joke?Mr. Plimpton's business keeps him always moving around from one place toanother, never more than a month anywhere. "

"What'll 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, whereshe's been a missionary for ever so long, and the two old ladies aregoing to keep house together out in California, in the dearest littlebungalow, all roses and honeysuckle. 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 voiceand her face suggested a faint possibility to Betsy that maybe AuntFrances didn't really think it would be such awfully jolly fun as herwords said. Her heart gave a big jump up, and she had to hold tight tothe arm of the surrey before she could ask, in a quiet voice, "But, AuntFrances, won't I be awfully in your way, traveling around so?"

Now, Aunt Frances had ears of her own, and though that was what Betsy'swords said, what Aunt Frances heard was a suggestion that possibly Betsywasn't as crazy to leave Putney Farm as she had supposed of course shewould be. 

They both stopped talking for a moment and peered at each other throughthe thicket of words that held them apart. I told you this was a verymomentous conversation. One sure thing is that the people on the backseat saw the inside of the surrey as they traveled along, and nothingelse. Red sumac and bronzed beech-trees waved their flags at them invain. They kept their eyes fixed on each other intently, each in anagony of fear lest she hurt the other's feelings. 

After a pause Aunt Frances came to herself with a start, and said, affectionately putting her arm around Betsy, "Why, you darling, whatdoes Aunt Frances care about trouble if her own dear baby-girl ishappy?"

And Betsy said, resolutely, "Oh, you know, Aunt Frances, I'd LOVE to bewith you!" She ventured one more step through the thicket. "Buthonestly, Aunt Frances, WON'T it be a bother . . . ?"

Aunt Frances ventured another step to meet her, "But dear little girlsmust be SOMEWHERE . . . "

And Betsy almost forgot her caution and burst out, "But I could stayhere! I know they would keep me!"

Even Aunt Frances's two veils could not hide the gleam of relief andhope that came into her pretty, thin, sweet face. She summoned all hercourage and stepped out into the clearing in the middle of the thicket, asking right out, boldly, "Why, do you like it here, Betsy? Would youlike to stay?"

And Betsy--she never could remember afterward if she had been carefulenough not to shout too loudly and joyfully--Betsy cried out, "Oh, ILOVE it here!" There they stood, face to face, looking at each otherwith honest and very happy eyes. Aunt Prances threw her arm around Betsyand asked again, "Are you SURE, dear?" and didn't try to hide herrelief. 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 AuntFrances. And this time there was nothing in their hearts thatcontradicted their lips. 

They clung to each other in speechless satisfaction as Uncle Henryguided the surrey up to the marble stepping-stone. Betsy jumped outfirst, and while Uncle Henry was helping Aunt Frances out, she wasdashing up the walk like a crazy thing. She flung open the front doorand catapulted into Aunt Abigail just coming out. It was like flingingherself into a feather-bed . . . . 

"Oh! Oh!" she gasped out. "Aunt Frances is going to be married. Andtravel around all the time! And she doesn't REALLY want me at all! Can'tI stay here? Can't I stay here?"

Cousin Ann was right behind Aunt Abigail, and she heard this. She lookedover their shoulders toward Aunt Frances, who was approaching frombehind, 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 youare in for congratulations. Who's the happy man?"

Betsy was overcome with admiration for her coolness in being able totalk so in such an exciting moment. She knew Aunt Abigail couldn't havedone it, for she had sat down in a rocking-chair, and was holding Betsyon her lap. The little girl could see her wrinkled old hand trembling onthe arm of the chair. 

"I hope that means, " continued Cousin Ann, going as usual straight tothe point, "that we can keep Betsy here with us. "

"Oh, would you like to?" asked Aunt Frances, fluttering, as though theidea had never occurred to her before that minute. "Would Elizabeth Annreally LIKE to stay?"

"Oh, I'd LIKE to, all right!" said Betsy, looking confidently up intoAunt Abigail's face. 

Aunt Abigail spoke now. She cleared her throat twice before she couldbring out a word. Then she said, "Why, yes, we'd kind of like to keepher. We've sort of got used to having her around. "

That's what she SAID, but, as you have noticed before on this excitingday, what people said didn't matter as much as what they looked; and asher old lips pronounced these words so quietly the corners of AuntAbigail's mouth were twitching, and she was swallowing hard. She said, impatiently, to Cousin Ann, "Hand me that handkerchief, Ann!" And as sheblew her nose, she said, "Oh, what an old fool I am!"

Then, all of a sudden, it was as though a great, fresh breeze had blownthrough the house. They all drew a long breath and began to talk loudlyand cheerfully about the weather and Aunt Frances's trip and how AuntHarriet was and which room Aunt Frances was to have and would she leaveher wraps down in the hall or take them upstairs--and, in the midst ofthis, Betsy, her heart ready to burst, dashed out of doors, followed byShep. She ran madly toward the barn. She did not know where she wasgoing. She only knew that she must run and jump and shout, or she wouldexplode. 

Shep ran and jumped because Betsy did. 

To these two wild creatures, careering through the air like bright-blownautumn leaves, appeared little Molly in the barn door. 

"Oh, I'm going to stay! I'm going to stay!" screamed Betsy. 

But as Molly had not had any notion of the contrary, she only said, "Ofcourse, why not?" and went on to something really important, saying, ina very much capitalized statement, "My kitten can WALK! It took THREESTEPS just now. "

After Aunt Frances got her wraps off, Betsy took her for a tour ofinspection. They went all over the house first, with special emphasislaid on the living-room. "Isn't this the loveliest 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 forgotentirely that she had thought it a very poor, common kind of room whenshe had first seen it. Nor did she notice that Aunt Frances showed noenthusiasm over it now. 

She stopped for a few moments to wash some potatoes and put them intothe oven for dinner. Aunt Frances opened her eyes at this. "I always seeto the potatoes and the apples, the cooking of them, I mean, " explainedBetsy proudly. "I've just learned to make apple-pie and brown betty. "

Then down into the stone-floored milk-room, where Aunt Abigail wasworking over butter, and where Betsy, swelling with pride, showed AuntFrances how deftly and smoothly she could manipulate the wooden paddleand 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 AuntFrances, more and more astonished. 

They went out of doors now, Shep bounding by their side. Betsy wasamazed to see that Aunt Frances drew back, quite nervously, whenever thebig dog frisked near her. Out in the barn Betsy had a disappointment. Aunt Frances just balked absolutely at those ladder-like stairs--"Oh, ICOULDN'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, onthe edge of exasperation. But her heart softened at the sight of AuntFrances's evident distress of mind at the very idea of climbing into theloft, and she brought the kittens down for inspection, Eleanor mewinganxiously at the top of the stairs. 

On the way back to the house they had an adventure, a sort of adventure, and it brought home to Betsy once for all how much she loved dear, sweetAunt Frances, and just what kind of love it was. 

As they crossed the barnyard the calf approached them playfully, leapingstiff-legged into the air, and making a pretense of butting at them withits 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 beingcut into pieces. "Help! HELP!" she screamed. "Betsy! Oh, Betsy!"

She had turned as white as a sheet and could not take a single stepforward. "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 Betsyindifferently, kicking at him. 

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, andshe acted accordingly. She stepped in front of Aunt Frances, picked up astick, and hit the calf a blow on the neck with it. He moved away, startled and injured, looking at his playfellow with reproachful eyes. But Betsy was relentless. Aunt Frances must not be frightened!

"Here, Shep! Here, Shep!" she called loudly, and when the big dog camebounding to her she pointed to the calf and said sternly, "Take him intothe barn! Drive him into the barn, sir!"

Shep asked nothing better than this command, and charged forward, barking furiously and leaping into the air as though he intended to eatthe calf up alive. The two swept across the barnyard and into the lowerregions of the barn. In a moment Shep reappeared, his tongue hangingout, his tail wagging, his eyes glistening, very proud of himself, andmounted 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 paleand agitated. Betsy threw her arms around her in a transport ofaffection. She felt that she UNDERSTOOD Aunt Frances as nobody elsecould, the dear, sweet, gentle, timid aunt! She took the thin, nervouswhite fingers in her strong brown hands. "Oh, Aunt Frances, dear, darling Aunt Frances!" she cried, "how I wish I could ALWAYS take careof you. "

The last of the red and gold leaves were slowly drifting to the groundas Betsy and Uncle Henry drove back from the station after seeing AuntFrances off. They were not silent this time, as when they had gone tomeet her. They were talking cheerfully together, laying their plans forthe winter which was so near. "I must begin to bank the house tomorrow, "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 awayDeborah's summer clothes and get Cousin Ann to help me make some warmones, if I'm going to take her to school in cold weather. "

As they drove into the yard, they saw Eleanor coming from the directionof the barn with something big and heavy in her mouth. She held her headas 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 andlaughed. "We're not the only ones that are getting ready for winter, " heremarked. 

Betsy did not know what he meant and climbed hastily over the wheel andran to see. As she approached Eleanor, the cat laid her burden down withan 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 thecold weather was drawing near. Betsy picked up the little sprawlingthing, trying with weak legs to get around over the rough ground. Shecarried it carefully toward the house, Eleanor walking sinuously by herside and "talking" in little singing, purring MIAUWS to explain herideas of kitten-comfort. Betsy felt that she quite understood her. "Yes, Eleanor, a nice little basket behind the stove with a warm piece of anold blanket in it. Yes, I'll fix it for you. It'll be lovely to have thewhole family there. And I'll bring the other one in for you. "

But evidently Eleanor did not understand little-girl talk as well asBetsy understood cat-talk, for a little later, as Betsy turned from thenest 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 headstrained painfully back, dragging another fat, heavy kitten, who curledhis pink feet up as high as he could in a vain effort not to have themknock against the stones. "Now, Eleanor, " 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 mustbegin 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 intothe house, Betsy poured out some in a saucer and put the kittens up toit. She and Molly squatted down on their heels to watch, and before longthey were laughing so that they were rolling on the kitchen floor. Atfirst the kittens looked every way but at the milk, seeming to seeeverything but what was under their noses. Then Graykin (that wasBetsy's) absent-mindedly walked right through the saucer, emerging withvery wet feet and a very much aggrieved and astonished expression. Mollyscreamed with laughter to see him shake his little pink toes and finallysit down seriously to lick them clean. Then White-bib (Molly's) put hishead down to the saucer. 

"There! Mine is smarter than yours!" said Molly. But White-bib went onputting his head down, down, down, clear into the milk nearly up to hiseyes, although he looked very frightened and miserable. Then he jerkedit up quickly and sneezed and sneezed and sneezed, such deliriouslyfunny little baby sneezes! He pawed and pawed at his little pink nosewith his little pink paw until Eleanor took pity on him and came to washhim off. In the midst of this process she saw the milk, and left off tolap it up eagerly; and in a jiffy she had drunk every drop and waslicking the saucer loudly with her raspy tongue. And that was the end ofthe kittens' first lesson. 

That evening, as they sat around the lamp, Eleanor came and got up inBetsy's lap just like old times. Betsy was playing checkers with UncleHenry and interrupted the game to welcome the cat back delightedly. ButEleanor was uneasy, and kept stopping her toilet to prick up her earsand look restlessly toward the basket, where the kittens lay curled soclosely together that they looked like one soft ball of gray fur. By andby Eleanor jumped down heavily and went back to the basket. She stayedthere only a moment, standing over the kittens and licking themconvulsively, and then she came back and got up in Betsy's lap again. 

"What ails that cat?" said Cousin Ann, noting this pacing andrestlessness. 

"Maybe she wants Betsy to hold her kittens, too, " suggested AuntAbigail. 

"Oh, I'd love to!" said Betsy, spreading out her knees to make her lapbigger. 

"But I want my own White-bib myself!" said Molly, looking up from thebeads 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 ownkitten. Eleanor watched them anxiously, but as soon as they sat down shejumped up happily into Betsy's lap and curled down close to littleGraykin. This time she was completely satisfied, and her loud purringfilled 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 thecouch and came to stand by Betsy's knee to get an occasional handful. Eleanor opened one eye, recognized a friend, and shut it sleepily. Butthe little kitten woke up in terrible alarm to see that hideous monsterso near him, and prepared to sell his life dearly. He bristled up hisridiculous little tail, opened his absurd, little pink mouth in a soft, baby s-s-s-, and struck savagely at old Shep's good-natured face with asoft little paw. Betsy felt her heart overflow with amusement and pridein the intrepid little morsel. She burst into laughter, but she pickedit up and held it lovingly close to her cheek. What fun it was going tobe to see those kittens grow up!

Old Shep padded back softly to the couch, his toe-nails clicking on thefloor, hoisted himself heavily up, and went to sleep. The kittensubsided into a ball again. Eleanor stirred and stretched in her sleepand laid her head in utter trust on her little mistress's hand. Afterthat Betsy moved the checkers only with her other hand. 

In the intervals of the game, while Uncle Henry was pondering over hismoves, the little girl looked down at her pets and listened absently tothe keen autumnal wind that swept around the old house, shaking theshutters and rattling the windows. A stick of wood in the stove burnedin two and fell together with a soft, whispering sound. The lamp cast asteady radiance on Uncle Henry bent seriously over the checker-board, onMolly's blooming, round cheeks and bright hair, on Aunt Abigail's rosy, cheerful, wrinkled old face, and on Cousin Ann's quiet, clear, darkeyes . . . . 

That room was full to the brim of something beautiful, and Betsy knewwhat it was. Its name was Happiness. 

THE END.