CHAPTER II
HOME AGAIN
Betty dries her tears, and looks up.
She is in the train now, speeding towards the great, smoky city, whereshe has lived nearly all her life.
She watches the fields and woods flying past, and her thoughts are sad.
Already Grannie seems far away. The little white cottage is hidden amongthose great moors yonder. She can see them still, although they aregrowing fainter every minute, fading into the blue of the sky.
"Dear Grannie! how good she has been to me--how happy I have been withher!"
She pulls a little Bible out of her pocket. Grannie put it into herhands as she gave her the first kiss this morning.
"I will read it every morning and evening," she thinks, "just as Granniedoes. When I see the words I shall remember the very sound of her voiceand the look in her dear eyes. That will help me so much."
The thought comforts her, and she looks about more cheerfully.
"Grannie has promised to write to me, and I'm to write to her. How Ishall love her letters! I know just how she'll write--she is so wise andstrong, and yet so loving and kind. But what sort of letters shall Iwrite to Grannie?
"Why, of course, I must tell her all my troubles, and how hard I amfighting--_so_ hard! Then she must know everything about the wonderfulvictories I mean to win. How pleased she will be! I shall have plenty ofbattles to fight, for home is horrid sometimes--it really is.
"There's Bob; when Bob is in one of his teasing fits it's almostimpossible to keep one's temper. But _I_ mean to do it. Bob shall haveto own that he _can't_ make me cross.
"Then I do believe Clara is the most trying servant in the whole world.Well, I'm going to teach her that a dirty face and torn apron are a realdisgrace, and I'll show her how to keep the kitchen just as Granniekeeps hers.
"I do wish I could persuade mother to keep the sitting-room tidier, andfinish her house-work in the morning, and do her hair before dinner. Ifshe'd only let me manage everything, I believe I should get on muchbetter.
"Jennie and Pollie must learn to sew, and Harry to read, and Lucy reallymust leave her perpetual poring over books and take an interest in herhome like other girls. And father--dear old father!--he shall have allhis meals at the proper time, instead of scrambling through them at thelast minute; and I'll keep his socks mended, and his handkerchiefsironed. Yes, Grannie's quite right--there are heaps of battles to fightevery day. I'll fight them, too; I'll manage everything; I'll be morethan conqueror! Oh, how surprised and glad she will be!"
And Betty sinks back in her seat with quite a self-satisfied smile.
And still the fields fly past; they are flatter now; the woods havedisappeared, and every now and then the engine rushes screaming throughthe station of a large town.
Betty eats her lunch of Grannie's apples and home-made cake. She is sadno longer. The battle-field is before her; she is eager for the fight.
"I'm _glad_ now that things are so tiresome at home; there is so muchmore for me to put right. What a change I'll make in everything!"
All her doubts have vanished; she is sure of success. As for failure anddefeat, that is clearly impossible!
It is late in the afternoon before long lines of houses, stretching awayin every direction, begin to warn her that she is nearing home.
Be sure her head is out of the window long before the train draws up atthe well-known platform, and her eyes are eagerly straining to catch theearliest possible glimpse of father's face. For Betty loves her fatherdearly.
There he is! The platform is crowded, but she sees him directly. He seesher, too, and, pushing his way through the crowd, he opens the carriagedoor, and she springs into his arms.
"Aye, Betty, my girl, I'm glad to see you back again!" he says; that isall. But John Langdale is a man of few words, and this is a great dealfrom him.
"How did you leave your Grannie?"]
He shoulders her bag, and makes his way through the pile of luggage,the bustling porters, and anxious passengers, Betty following as bestshe can.
Her head feels giddy and bewildered after the long train journey, andthe noise, and hurry, and smoky air, all is so different from the quietcountry scenes she left eight hours ago.
Her father does not speak again until they are safely seated on the topof a homeward-bound bus; and even then, before he speaks a word, heturns to his daughter, and looks searchingly in her face.
There is a change in Betty's face that tells of more than the merereturn of health and strength.
"Aye, well, my girl!" he says softly.
Betty smiles confidingly into his eyes, and nestles closer to his side.
He half smiles in return, and then turns away with a sigh. For hethinks, "It is the country air and her Grannie's care that have madesuch a change in my Betty, and now she will have neither."
"Well, how did you leave your Grannie?" he says aloud.
"Oh, ever so well! And she sent lots of love and messages--and otherthings--for the children, you know. The other things are in the bag. Becareful you don't smash the jam-pots! I'll tell you the messages as Iremember them. And the love--Oh, father, Grannie showed me what reallove is; and, father, I----" Betty comes to a full stop.
"Well, well, my girl, what is it?" asks her father, turning his eyesinquiringly to her face.
"Grannie has taught me so many things," she goes on, in a low voice,"and somehow, without saying much, she made me understand how selfish Ihave been; how through all these years I have been trying to do withoutGod. And--and she took me to The Army Meetings, and last night I--Iasked God to forgive me and make me as good as Grannie."
Betty's voice has sunk to the merest whisper, but father hears it aboveall the roar of the traffic.
"That's right, my girl. God bless you, Betty!" he says, heartily, andnow at last a bright smile lights up his careworn face.
"Here we are!" says father, presently, and he signals to the driver. Thebus pulls up at the entrance to a small street, father shoulders thebag, and Betty, scrambling down after him, soon finds herself standingon the shabby little front doorstep of her home.
A narrow, dull street it is; closely packed with dull houses, all builtin one pattern, all alike grey with smoke, all looking as though nobreath of spring air, or gleam of spring sunshine, could ever find theirway through the close-shut windows.
All too swiftly Betty's thoughts travel back to the white cottage in thehills, to the sunny garden, the fresh moorland breezes.
The contrast is too much for her; a big lump seems to rise in herthroat. Her eyes fill with tears; her good resolutions fade away.
She doesn't want to be at home--Oh, that she were with Grannie now!
Father has found his key at last, and fits it into the lock. At the samemoment there is a rush of noisy feet within, the loud clamour of excitedvoices. Directly the door is flung open Betty is surrounded by aboisterous crowd of younger brothers and sisters--they seize her, theydance round her, shouting out their rough welcome.
"We knew it was you! Mother, here's our Betty! Come along, Betty." Andthey almost drag her down the passage into the family sitting-room.
Tea is set on the round table. Betty's quick eye notices that the trayis slopped with milk, and the stained cloth askew. "How different fromGrannie's tea-table," she thinks bitterly.
"Where's mother?" she asks, after kissing her brothers and sisters allround.
"She was rather late to-day, and so she's only just gone upstairs totidy herself," explains Lucy. Lucy is next in age to Betty. "You mustn'tgo up, she'll be down in a minute."
"This bag feels pretty heavy," exclaims Bob, the eldest boy, "anythinggood in it, Betty?" and he begins fumbling at the fastening.
"My flowers--Oh, Bob, do be careful!" cries Betty, rushing to the rescueof her daffodils and wallflowers. How sweet and fresh they looked thismorning, how crushed and faded now!
"You careless boy; you've broken the stalks off ever so many! Put thebag down. Oh, dear, why isn't mother here
! Father's washing his hands, Isuppose. Lucy, do ask mother to make haste; here's the kettle boilingaway, and the tea not in the pot or anything." Betty is growing moreirritable every minute; but now mother appears.
"Well, Betty, here you are at last, then."
Mrs. Langdale is a large, fair-haired woman. Her gown is onlyhalf-fastened, and stray wisps of hair are hanging round her face. Thisis nothing unusual, for Betty's mother is scarcely ever neatly dressed.
Betty knows this well enough. It would be well if she understood thelook of love in her mother's eyes as clearly as she sees the untidinessof her mother's dress.
"Well, Betty, I'm glad to have you back again, that I am; there's somuch to be done in this house, and time slips away so. Now, to-day, Ireally made up my mind to have everything ready by the time you came in,but what with one thing and another--Pollie, take your fingers out ofthe sugar-bowl, you naughty child--Jennie, fetch the knives, they're inthe scullery, I forgot them; make haste now! Can't you see your sisterwants her tea?"
She pushes a few loose tags of hair out of her eyes, and begins makingthe tea, talking all the time.
"Well, my dear, did your Grannie send any message to me? What sort ofjourney did you have? How did those boots wear? Now did you----?"
"Betty's too tired to talk just yet, I think," interposes her father,coming in that moment. "She'll tell us everything after tea."
Indeed, Betty does feel dreadfully tired. The noise and confusionbewilder her. Every one seems to be talking at once. It is all sodifferent from the quiet orderliness of Grannie's home.
The knives are brought at last, the tea made, and for awhile the youngerchildren are too busy with their bread and butter even for talk.
Tea over, however, the tumult begins afresh. The tea-things are justpushed to one side of the table, and then mother begins to unpack thebag.
Shrieks of delight greet the various packages, the table is soon strewnwith Grannie's good things. The paper is torn from the cake; Bob seizeson a great pot of blackberry jam, bumps against a chair and drops thepot with a crash to the floor. The sticky mess, mixed with broken glass,spreads slowly over the carpet.
"There you go, you tiresome boy!" cries mother fretfully. "Alwayssmashing something, always spoiling things. If you eat a bit of ityou'll swallow broken glass, and serve you right. Lucy, ask Clara for aduster and pail of water to mop up the mess. Who told you to touch thatcake, Pollie? Jennie, how dare you meddle with the honey--you'll oversetthat next! I don't believe there ever were such rude, tiresome,disobedient children! I'm sure I don't know what to do with you all.Harry, Jennie, Pollie, I _won't_ have that cake eaten to-night! Youshall all just pack off to bed."
The younger children sober down a little at this threat, and presently,between coaxings, and slappings, and the promise of unlimited caketo-morrow, they go off noisily to bed.
How thankful Betty is when she manages at last to escape to her ownlittle room, and lays her weary head on her pillow!
She is utterly tired out. Too tired to remember any of her goodresolutions; too tired even to think.
Betty's Battles: An Everyday Story Page 3