IV AN ACCEPTABLE VALENTINE
The McGuires had lived for more than a month in their pleasant home onCommonwealth Avenue, and Betty had begun to feel at home there.
The house was only rented for the winter, and Denniston Hall wastemporarily closed until the summer-time, when they expected to go backthere. The whole arrangement had been made in order that Betty mightattend school in Boston, and she was a day-pupil in Miss Whittier'sschool for girls, which was quite near her home.
The school was very much to Betty's liking. She had started in under verypleasant auspices, as she had become acquainted with two or three of thegirls before she went. She soon made friends with the others, and, asschool hours lasted only from nine o'clock till one, she had theadvantage of being most of the time in her own home.
The house, completely furnished, had been rented from some friends ofMrs. McGuire's who were traveling abroad, but Betty had had some of herfavorite belongings sent up from Denniston.
Good-natured Pete had taken Betty's list and had carefully packed andforwarded every item on it, and then, after securely locking up thehouse, had followed the family to Boston, and was installed there asgeneral utility-man, and a very valuable one at that.
Grandma Jean and little Polly were also there, and Jack, who had enteredthe Institute of Technology, was delighted with his new opportunities forprogress in his studies.
Mrs. McGuire had wisely concluded not to make very desperate efforts toimprove Betty's "manners," but to trust to the general influences of awell-ordered school and well-bred companions.
And so Betty was happy in her new school life, and was rapidly makingfirm friends among the pupils there.
Indeed, given a fair start, she could not fail to be a general favorite,for her warm-hearted unselfishness and her cheerful good nature wereunfailing, and she was always ready to do a favor or to enter into a planwith enthusiasm.
Though friendly with the others, Betty liked Jeanette Porter and DorothyBates best of all the girls, and this trio were often together, both inand out of school hours.
Jeanette was a slender, rather delicate, girl, with a sweet countenanceand large, serious eyes. Dorothy was a gay, roly-poly sort of a being,who was always smiling, and irrepressibly inclined to mischief. But theyboth loved Betty, and she was fond of them, and never a cross word marredthe happiness of their intimacy. Sometimes, if Jeanette seemed toosober-faced, the other two would tease her a bit or play a merry joke onher, but always in a spirit of harmless fun, and when their victim couldno longer keep from smiling at their foolery, they declared themselvessatisfied.
But one day, as they walked home from school together, Jeanette wasreally troubled about something, and though she tried to conceal it, shewas on the very verge of tears.
"What's the matter, Jeanie?" said Betty, tucking her arm through herfriend's, while Dorothy walked on her other side.
"Nothing, Betty," said Jeanette, not crossly, but decidedly. "Pleasedon't ask me about it."
"Indeed we will ask you about it!" declared Dorothy. "You just must tellus what's up, because we're your trusties and trues--aren't we, Betty?"
"Of course we are! What's up, Jeanette? Anybody been scolding you?"
"No, it isn't that. Oh, girls, I don't want to tell you!"
"Well, I like that!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Now, you just out with it, MissSecret-Keeper, and pretty quick, too!"
"Oh, well, it's nothing, anyhow," said Jeanette, with a heightened color;"it's only that I can't go to the reception."
"Not go to the reception!" cried Betty and Dorothy together. "Why not?"
"Well, because--because I can't have a new dress."
"Oh, is that all?" said Betty. "Why, I'll give you a new dress."
To Betty's amazement, Jeanette turned to her with a look she neverforgot.
"How _dare_ you say such a thing, Betty McGuire? If you weren't one of mybest friends, I'd never forgive you!"
"I didn't mean any harm," stammered Betty, quite crushed by Jeanette'soffended look.
"Of course she didn't," chimed in Dorothy; "in fact, she didn't mean itat all."
Betty was about to speak, but Dorothy pinched her arm to be silent, andwent on herself.
"You don't need a new dress, Jeanette. Your white muslin with the laceyoke is a very pretty dress?"
"It was; but it's just been done up, and it went all to pieces. It's soold, you know. Mother said she didn't believe it would stand washingagain. So I can't go, and I told Miss Whittier to-day that I wouldn'tselect a piece."
"Oh, what a shame!" cried Betty; "and you recite so well, too. Can't youwear some other dress?"
"No, I have nothing fit for an evening affair, and Mother says I can'thave a new one. So I'm not going."
At Miss Whittier's school a reception was given each winter, and always avery important event. The parents and friends of the pupils were invited,and elaborate preparations were made for the occasion. The girls woretheir prettiest frocks, and a program of entertainment was given in whichthe pupils who excelled in singing or declamation took part.
Usually this reception was held on the date of some poet's birthday, andthis year the 27th of February, Longfellow's birthday, had been chosen.
It was now the 10th, but the intervening time was none too long in whichto prepare for the great event.
Betty, Jeanette, and Dorothy were all among the ones chosen to recitefrom the poet's works, and a prize would be rewarded to the one who bestdeserved it.
Each contestant was allowed to make her own selection, and already Bettywas practising on "The Wreck of the _Hesperus_," while Dorothy had chosen"The Skeleton in Armor."
These decisions were profound secrets among the school-girls, only MissWhittier being supposed to know what each girl was to recite. But ofcourse our three little friends told each other in the strictestconfidence, and when Jeanette announced her intention of staying awayfrom the reception, both Betty and Dorothy were astounded.
But argumenting and coaxing were in vain, and when Jeanette turned in ather own gate, the other two said good-by and went on toward their homes.
"Whatever made Jeanette so angry when I offered to give her a dress?"exclaimed Betty as soon as she and Dorothy were alone.
"Why, you goose, of course she wouldn't accept a dress from anybody! Youought to have known that the mere mention of such a thing would offendher!"
"But I don't see why. I'd love to give it to her."
"It would hurt her pride too much. Don't you see, the Porters are not atall well off,--I don't mean quite poor, but I mean they have to scrimp toget along,--but they're fearfully proud. Jeanette would be quite willingto say she couldn't afford a new frock, but she'd die before she'd letany one give her one."
"Well, I think that's silly. Just because I happen to have more moneythan she has, is the very reason I ought to give her a dress."
"It does seem so," admitted Dorothy, "but it isn't so, and don't you everpropose it to her again, for it won't be a bit of good, and it only makesher angry."
"Well, I won't, then, but won't it be horrid not to have Jeanette at thereception? It takes all the fun out of it for us, I think."
"Yes, I think so, too; and look here, Betty, don't you tell anybody thereason why Jeanette's not coming. She told us, of course, but she knew wewouldn't tell."
"Didn't she tell Miss Whittier?"
"Of course not, silly. Though most likely Miss Whittier guessed."
"But you said Jeanette would just as lief tell it."
"Well, she might tell it to us, not to any one else. I declare, Betty,you don't seem to have any gumption about some things!"
"No," said Betty, rather meekly, for she was often bothered by her lackof "gumption" about matters which were new to her experience.
On reaching her own home, she went straight to her mother with the story.
Mrs. McGuire sat reading in the pleasant library, and looked up with aloving smile as Betty ent
ered rather abruptly.
"And will you tell me, Mother," she concluded, after she had poured outher indignation, "why Jeanette should get so angry at what I said?"
"You can't understand, deary," said her mother, smoothing Betty's tangleddark curls, "that peculiar pride which revolts at accepting anything ofmoney value from anybody outside one's own family. It is, perhaps,especially a New England trait, and your own Irish heart is so big itleaves no room for the Puritan instincts which are also yours byinheritance. But Dorothy is right, dear, and you must not repeat youroffer to Jeanette, though I, too, am sorry that it is not possible."
"But, Mother, if I could think of some way to give her a dress withoutletting her know where it came from, wouldn't that do?"
"Hardly, dear. She would know at once that you had sent it, and would, ofcourse, be offended."
"Oh, dear! I think people are just silly."
"That may be, but you can't make the world different in a moment. Come toluncheon now, and tell me all about your own plans for the reception."
"All right; but, Mother, I'm going to find some way for Jeanette to go toit, too. I don't know how yet, but you see if I can't fix it somehow!"
"Very well, Betty; but don't do anything without consulting me."
"No, I won't, and I haven't thought of anything yet, but I'm sure Ishall."
All the rest of that day, Betty thought hard, but it was not until aftershe had gone to bed at night that an idea flashed upon her. Such abeautiful idea! She wondered that she hadn't thought of it sooner!
She felt she must discuss it with her mother at once, for if it wouldn'tdo, she wanted to think up something else. But surely it would do! Such agrand idea _must_ be all right!
She jumped up and put on her blue kimono, and poking her bare feet intolittle bedroom slippers of blue quilted satin, she ran out into the halland called over the banister:
"Mother, are you alone? May I come down?"
In response to the "Yes, Betty dear; what is it?" she ran down-stairs,and, flinging a sofa-cushion on the floor, nestled against her mother'sknee.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "I've thought of the beautifullest plan to giveJeanette a dress and not offend her! Oh, do approve of it, Mother, pleasedo! It's such a good plan!"
"Tell me about it, Betty, so that I can enjoy it, too."
"Well, you see, Mother, to-day's the tenth. So next Saturday's thefourteenth--Valentine's Day, you know. Now, I want to get a lovely dressfor Jeanette, and make it into a valentine, and send it to her! Don't yousee, nobody could get angry at a valentine, and you can't put your nameto it, and so she'd have to keep it!"
Betty looked so radiant over her plan that Mrs. McGuire hadn't the heartto disapprove of it, though she felt a little dubious about its wisdom.
"Let me think it over," she said quietly.
"But remember, Mother, I mean to make it like a real valentine. Put it ina box, you know, and lace paper around it, and sort of hearts and dartsand things, and a verse, a lovely, loving verse. Wouldn't that be nice?"
"Yes; that effect would greatly help it, for valentines nowadays oftencontain a lace handkerchief or bonbons or something by way of a gift.Your plan seems to grow on me, Betty."
"Oh, Mother, how lovely you are!" Betty jumped up from her low seat togive her mother a most enthusiastic squeeze, and then, big girl thoughshe was, stayed cuddled in her arms while they continued theconversation.
"How can you get a dress to fit her, my child?"
"I thought about that. But if we just buy one all ready-made, you know,about my size, I'm sure it will be about right for her. And Mrs. Portercan take it in or let it out, or whatever it needs. A soft, white kind ofa one, I mean."
"Chiffon?"
"Yes, with lace here and there, and cunning little ribbon bows, and knotsof velvet, or something fancy-like for evening."
"Well, we'll go together to select it."
"To-morrow afternoon, after school?"
"Yes, or next day. Of course you won't send it until Saturday?"
"No; but we have to fix it up valentine-y, you know, so we'd better goto-morrow. Then we must write the verse. Mother, won't you make up theverse? I don't want a 'Roses red, violets blue' sort of a one."
"Very well; skip back to bed, and I'll see what I can do in the poetryline."
"Oh, you dear Mother! You _are_ so sweet!" And with a final, rathersmothering embrace, Betty said good night, and ran back to her bed todream of valentines and Longfellow and Jeanette, all in a grand jumble.
It was hard next day to say nothing of her plan to Dorothy, but Mrs.McGuire had decided if it were to be successful it must be keptabsolutely secret. So not even Jack was told about it, and, afterluncheon, Mrs. McGuire and Betty started off to buy the frock. Mrs.McGuire had slight misgivings about it all, but she determined to try theexperiment, for it was the only way that the thing could possibly beaccomplished, and she felt very sorry for Jeanette. After looking atseveral pretty, girlish dresses, they decided upon a lovely one ofcream-white chiffon, made over white silk. It had a soft lace bertha,bordered with a wreath of tiny pink rosebuds. It was a simple, daintylittle gown, but very effective, and Betty agreed that it would suitJeanette perfectly.
The saleswoman was asked to provide an especially nice box, and Bettyexamined it herself, to be sure that the corners were unbroken.
Then, with explicit directions about careful packing and wrapping andspeedy sending of it home, they went away.
"Of course, Mother, I must send Jeanette another valentine, too; a realone, you know, so she won't suspect about the dress. And, anyway, I wantto buy at least twenty other valentines to send. Will you go with me?"
So they went to another shop, and Betty bought valentines for a fewschool-girls and other friends she had made in Boston; for Jack and Pollyand Grandma Jean, and for some of her Greenborough friends.
Nor were Pete and Ellen forgotten, for Betty well knew how they wouldprize valentines from her. And so engrossing was the selection of allthese that the afternoon slipped away, and when they reached home, totheir great joy the new dress had already arrived.
Behind the locked doors of her mother's room, Betty carefully lifted thelovely thing from its tissue-papers, and exclaimed with delight at itsbeauty. It looked even prettier than it had in the shop, and Betty wassure her plan would be a fine success.
"I hope so," said Mrs. McGuire; "at any rate, we'll try it, and if itdoesn't turn out as well as we hope, I'll take the matter in charge, andgo and see Mrs. Porter about it."
The next afternoon Betty devoted to fixing what she called the"valentine-y" part of it.
The big box was of fine white pasteboard, of a watered design, with giltedges, and the firm's name in gilt letters on the cover.
Over this name Betty pasted a large valentine that completely covered it.
Then, with considerable cleverness, she cut up several other prettyvalentines, and of the rose garlands and doves and cupids she obtained inthis way, she contrived a sort of wreath, which, when pasted into place,made a border all round the box cover.
Inside the box were two large leaves of satin paper which closed likeshutters over the dress when it was folded in place. These leaves Bettydecorated in similar fashion to the cover, and replaced the white tapeswith narrow blue ribbons. The leaves closed together and were fastenedwith a large red paper heart, garlanded with flowers, and pierced by agilt arrow.
Fastened to the heart by the arrow was the verse Betty's mother hadcomposed and had copied on the blank page of a real valentine. This wasin an embossed envelop and was addressed "_To Jeanette from St.Valentine_."
The verses which her mother wrote read thus:
On Cupid's Day One may, they say, Send tokens to a friend, Of love most true, As mine for you, A love that ne'er shall end.
Accept then, dear, The token here, That tells this love of mine; Or else a dart Will pierce the heart Of your fond Valentine.
"Mother, it is perfectly lovely!" cried
Betty, as she read the verses."And, don't you see, saying 'from St. Valentine' is the same as saying'from Santa Claus,' so I _don't_ think she'll mind, do you?"
As this was about the fiftieth time Betty had asked the same question,Mrs. McGuire could only make the same reply:
"I don't know, dear, but don't worry about it. If she 'minds,' I willundertake to set the matter right again."
Then the box was carefully wrapped in white paper, and sealed up withgilt hearts. Mrs. McGuire addressed it, and she had also written theverses, for Jeanette would have recognized Betty's penmanship at once.
It was hard to wait for Valentine's Day, but, as Betty had much to dogetting ready her other valentines to be dispatched, the time flewquickly. Jack also had many to send, and as, except for the dress, Bettyneed make no secrets of hers, they spent the afternoon of the thirteenthtogether in the library, addressing the pretty missives.
"This is a beauty!" said Jack, holding up a lovely affair of giltlatticework, which, if you pulled a cord, burst into a mass of flowersand birds. "I think I'll send this to Jeanette Porter. She's one of thenicest girls we know, don't you think so, Betty?"
"Yes, I do. She and Dorothy Bates are my dearest friends, and they'recoming over this afternoon, so let's get theirs out of the way first."
"All right. I'll send this one to Dorothy. She's a jolly girl, butJeanette's my choice. She's so quiet and pretty-mannered."
"I'm fond of Jeanette myself, Jack," said Betty; "and--oh, here theycome! Slip theirs in here, quick!"
They whisked the valentines into a table drawer, just in time to escapethe eyes of the girls as they came in.
"Hello!" said Betty, gaily. "We're addressing valentines. As there aren'tany here for you two, you may look at them all you like. I hope you'renot expecting us to send you any!"
"Oh, no!" said the visitors, laughing, for well they knew they would allsend valentines to each other.
"Isn't it jolly that Valentine's Day comes on Saturday?" said Dorothy. "Ishall sit on the lowest step of the staircase all day long to be ready tofly to the door every time the bell rings."
"Oh, girls," cried Betty, "wouldn't it be fun if you'd all come over hereto-morrow afternoon and bring your valentines! We can have a regular showof them!"
"All right, I'll come," said Dorothy, and "So will I," said Jeanette."Oh, what a beauty this is! Betty, I don't see where you found suchlovely ones."
"That's left over," said Betty, carelessly; "you may have it, if you carefor it."
The thoughtless words were no sooner spoken than Betty's heart stoodstill with a sudden fear that Jeanette would be offended again.
But, to her amazement, she replied as carelessly:
"Don't you want it? Oh, thank you, I'd love to have it. I got mine atMorrison's, and they're not nearly so pretty as this one."
Betty was bewildered.
Why was Jeanette so ready to accept a valentine, and so angered at theoffer of a dress? To be sure, the valentine cost but a trifle, and thefrock considerably more, but that was a matter of degree, and if it wason account of principle, Betty thought the cases were the same. But Bettygave up trying to understand these fine distinctions, and awaited resultsof her enterprise.
On Saturday a messenger was sent with the precious box. He was givenspecial directions, if any one should ask him where the box came from,not to give the slightest hint.
"Trust me, ma'am!" said the boy, and taking the box carefully, he went onhis errand. Then there was suspense indeed. Betty hovered near thetelephone, though she had no real reason to think Jeanette would call herup. Had her mind not been distracted by the continuous arrival ofvalentines to herself, she could scarcely have kept from flying over toJeanette's house.
But valentines of all sorts and styles came pouring into the house allday. Betty and Jack received them in every mail, and also between mailsby messenger.
Polly had enough to make her baby heart over-flow with glee, and thoughshe ruined most of them with her affectionate pats and kisses, she likedthem just as well in their shabby condition.
About four o'clock the young people arrived. Betty had invited a dozen ormore, both girls and boys, and though valentines are particularly meantfor the fair sex, yet the boys had a goodly number to exhibit also.
The young folk gathered in the drawing-room and set their treasuresaround on tables, mantels, piano, and even on chairs, so many there were.
Eagerly Betty watched Jeanette to see what her demeanor might be.
To her amazement, Jeanette was positively gay! She seemed like onetransformed. Her eyes danced, and her face fairly beamed, as if she werebubbling over with happiness.
Jack admired her more than ever, and wondered if the receiving of a fewvalentines pleased her as much as all that. Betty didn't quiteunderstand, but she saw that Jeanette was radiantly happy, and she feltsure that it _must_ be because of the new dress.
"Oh, I know the valentine _you_ sent me, Betty!" she cried soon after shecame in.
"Which?" said Betty, her heart in her throat with excitement.
"This one!" cried Jeanette, triumphantly holding up the pretty papervalentine that Betty had sent.
"Right you are, Jeanette," she replied; "I did send you that, because Iknew you'd love that landscape with the blue trees and green sky."
"It isn't that way!" cried Jeanette. "You needn't make fun of myprettiest valentine of all--or nearly," she added, with a funny littlesmile.
Betty was mystified, but said nothing, but after the others had gone andonly Jeanette and Dorothy remained, she said, unable longer to restrainher curiosity:
"Whatever is the matter with you, Jeanette? I never saw you so gay andfestive."
"Indeed, I should think I would be!" exclaimed Jeanette. "I waited tillthe others had gone, to tell you. Girls, I'm going to the reception!"
"You are!" cried Dorothy. "How perfectly lovely!" And Betty said: "Oh,Jeanette, I'm so glad!"
"How did you happen to change your mind?" asked Dorothy.
"Oh, I had a dress for a valentine! The loveliest dress you ever saw!It's just a dream! All filmy chiffon, and the darlingest little pinkrosebuds, and exquisite lace--oh!"
"A valentine!" cried Dorothy, and Betty said eagerly: "Who sent it?"
"I don't know," said Jeanette, turning her eyes on Betty, so honestlyignorant that Betty knew she didn't suspect in the least. "I've no idea.It came in the most beautiful box, all fixed up like a lovely bigvalentine, and the sweetest verse, all written out. I never saw thehandwriting before, and I can't imagine--I haven't the least idea--whosent it to me."
"Are you glad?" said Betty.
"Glad? Well, I just guess I am. Now I can go to the reception, and I'mgoing to recite 'The Famine' lines from 'Hiawatha.'"
"But haven't you any way to find out who sent it?" persisted Dorothy,thereby asking the very question Betty wanted to.
"No, and I don't want to try. You see, you're not supposed to know whosends a valentine, and of course it would turn out to be Aunt Esther, orGrandmother Harrington, and that would take away all the beautifulmystery and romance. It's _so_ lovely not to know where it came from.It's a true valentine."
"So it is," agreed Betty, her heart fairly bounding with joy at thecomplete success of her little plan.
"Come on home with me and see it," urged Jeanette; but Betty felt shemust tell her mother about it at once, so she said, "No, it's too late.I'll run over to-morrow to see it."
"All right, then; be sure to come," and happy Jeanette went away withDorothy, leaving an equally happy Betty behind her.
"And don't you mind if she _never_ knows you gave it to her?" asked Mrs.McGuire after she had the story.
"Why, no, Mother. What a question! The whole trouble was for fear she_would_ know that. And now she has the dress, and she's so happy aboutit, indeed I _don't_ want her _ever_ to know where it came from!"
Betty's own joy in the gift she had made was purely unselfish, and shefelt amply rewarded in the pleasure she had given Jeanet
te.
So when the night of the reception came, Betty took quite as muchsatisfaction in seeing Jeanette in the lovely and becoming frock as shedid in wearing her own beautiful new one.
And when Jeanette received the prize for her wonderfully well-donerecitation, Betty squeezed her mother's hand and looked up at her witheyes fairly beaming in triumph at the thought that she had made itpossible for Jeanette to win.
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