Betty's Battles: An Everyday Story

by Harriet Pyne Grove

  CHAPTER VI

  FOR FATHER'S SAKE

  Betty stands gazing at the ambulance, as it passes steadily out ofsight, and a feeling of deep loneliness sweeps over her heart. No oneloves her, no one understands her as father does, and now he has gonefrom her.

  "Ah! there I am, thinking about myself again--I _won't_ do it!"

  She rouses herself with a brave effort, and goes back into the house.

  A house full of noise and confusion just now. Mother sobbing loudly inthe little sitting-room. Jennie and Pollie, awakened from sleep,shrieking themselves hoarse in their bedroom above. Clara helpless; Bobdazed-looking; Lucy tearful. Only Betty still manages to keep her witsabout her.

  "Lucy, run upstairs and quiet the children--mother, mother, you mustn'tupset yourself so--father will soon be better, I'm sure--such a nice,sweet nurse came to look after him. Come, mother, you're quite tiredout; lie down on the sofa, and I'll make you a cup of tea."

  "Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?" moans Mrs. Langdale.

  "Father will soon be in less pain, and----"

  "But what shall _I_ do? Most likely he'll never be able to walk again.Mr. Duncan will get some one else to collect his rents and look afterthe houses, and we shall all starve."

  "Mother, you really must not worry about all that to-night. Father toldme to go and see Mr. Duncan to-morrow, and perhaps he'll do somethingfor us."

  "Mr. Duncan do anything? Why, he's as hard as flint, always grumbling atyour father for not getting the last penny out of the tenants; _he_ doanything? Oh, no, no!"

  "Well, we don't know how it will be yet. Come, mother, I'm going to makeyou that cup of tea, and you must lie down while I get it."

  Betty makes the tea, and coaxes her mother into taking it, and presentlypersuades her to go to bed.

  It is very late by this time, the house is quiet, and Betty goes to bedherself.

  Now, at last, in the silence, she has time to think.

  This morning--was it really only this morning that she was so foolishlyvexed because her birthday was not remembered? Did she really feel thesweep's visit a big trouble only a few hours ago? How small, how utterlyinsignificant her troubles have been up to now! And yet she has made somuch of them, has felt herself so hardly used!

  For a long time she lies awake, turning it all over in her mind."Father, dear, patient old father is tossing in pain and fever, and hisworry is much worse than mine, for he must lie still and think, and Ican be up and at work. It is so much harder to bear things when you cando nothing to make them better. Lord, show me what to do; show me how towork for our home--for father's sake."

  Somehow, soon after that prayer, Betty falls into a sound sleep, anddoes not awake until it is morning.

  When at length she opens her eyes, it is time to get up. For a momentshe lies still enough, not remembering what has happened; then, with arush, it all comes back to her, and she starts out of bed.

  Father, mother, children--what can she do for them all? Last night shehad no answer to that question, but now a bright, a daring hope hasflashed into her mind. Why shouldn't _she_ collect Mr. Duncan's rents,and keep his accounts whilst father is laid by? She wanted to go out towork for herself. Here is the chance of doing something much better, ofworking for father's sake, of lifting a great part of this heavy loadfrom his heart!

  But can she do it--can she? Her heart sinks again. "Oh, will Mr. Duncangive me a trial?" Suddenly she remembers Grannie. "How sorry Granniewill be for this--Oh, if I were like Grannie how much easier it wouldbe! Let me think, if Grannie was in my place, what would she do first?"

  The answer to that question is easy enough. "She would pray."

  Betty kneels by the bedside. She prays for her father, and then sheprays for herself; prays that she may have strength given her, andwisdom, and courage, to do her work bravely and well.

  Mother is quite unfit for anything this morning. Lucy must give up hermusic-lesson to wait on her. The children are very fretful. Claradeclares she is "too much upset to do her usual work, and it ought notto be expected of her."

  Only Betty is patient and gentle, striving to get through the usualduties. Love is leading her at last--love for her father. Just now nothought of self dims her memory of his suffering face.

  But for all that her heart beats very fast, when at last she knocks atMr. Duncan's door, and her grand plan of carrying on a part of dearfather's work suddenly appears quite hopeless.

  "I'm afraid it will make Mr. Duncan quite angry to propose such a thing.Had not I better just give him the money father collected, and saynothing about my idea after all?" Betty hesitates a moment, then--

  "For father's sake--for father's sake," she murmurs to herself.

  The door is opened by a neat maid. Yes, Mr. Duncan is at home, will sheplease to give her name? Another minute and she is shown into a room,where an elderly gentleman is writing at a table.

  "The young person to see you, sir," announces the maid.

  The elderly gentleman looks up with a frown, and fixes a pair of hardgrey eyes on her face.

  "Well, what's the meaning of this?" he says gruffly. "Where's yourfather?"

  Betty pauses a moment.

  "Where's your father? I want to see him particularly," repeats Mr.Duncan, still more angrily.

  Betty quakes inwardly; but her courage is of the kind that always risesat an emergency, and she explains what has happened in a clearbusiness-like fashion.

  "Hem! accident indeed--pretty fix his accident has left me in," grumblesMr. Duncan, when she has finished. "Have you the money with you?"

  Betty produces it. He counts it over. "Why, how's this? There's twopounds short!"

  "Father was to collect that to-day, sir; there's a note in his booksaying which of the tenants haven't paid yet."

  "Hem! bad system. If they can't pay up to time, they ought to go. Andwhat am I to do now, pray?"

  "Please, if you'll let me, I'll go round to the tenants in father'splace," cries Betty, eagerly.

  "You? Why, what does a girl like you know about it?"

  "I'm good at accounts; and father has told me how it is done, and shownme the books--I help him with them sometimes. If you would _only_ let metry, sir--until father gets better----"

  "Oh, that's it, is it? _You_ want to take over my work!" and, rather toBetty's surprise, the hard old eyes give a little twinkle of amusement."No--no, my girl, you don't understand; there's a great deal besidesjust collecting the money. Repairs to attend to; bad tenants to get ridof; new tenants to bargain with----"

  "But, sir," interrupts Betty, eagerly, "if you would only let me try todo the best I can until father comes out of the hospital--perhaps therepairs could wait--and I'd try _so_ hard; and--and we've nothing but afew pounds in the savings bank, and father said he thought you might dosomething----"

  "Oh, he did--did he? Very kind of him, I'm sure!" snaps Mr. Duncan, thehard, suspicious look returning to his face.

  Betty feels ready to burst into tears. "He thinks the very idea ofemploying me utterly absurd," she thinks, and turns to go.

  But hardly have her fingers touched the handle, before Mr. Duncan callsher back.

  "Don't be in such a hurry, young person. Your father is a great deal toosoft with the tenants; but I believe he means well, and I'm sorry forhis accident. Suppose you go round to the tenants who haven't paid thismorning? It will be time enough to talk about your taking on the workwhen I see what you can do."

  She is to have a trial after all! The expression on Betty's face changesso quickly, that Mr. Duncan's eyes twinkle again.

  "Hem! you needn't look so pleased. I don't promise anything, mind--why,bless the girl, if she isn't off already! Well, if she takes after herfather, I might do worse. Soft-hearted--a great deal toosoft-hearted--but as honest as the day," and the old gentleman returnsto his writing.

  Betty hurries home for her father's little rent-collecting bag; and thenmakes her way through the network of narrow streets, in the midst ofwhich the houses owned
by Mr. Duncan stand.

  Arriving at the long row, she looks round her in some dismay.

  "Rent?" cries the woman bitterly.]

  How small the houses are--how dirty! How narrow and wretched-lookingthe street!

  She consults her list, and knocks timidly at the door of the firstnumber. No answer. She knocks again. A shuffling of feet follows, andpresently a woman appears. She is haggard and old-looking, and the childin her arms is wailing pitifully. A second child clings to her skirt,and mother and children alike are wretchedly clad.

  "Rent?" cries the woman bitterly, in answer to Betty's timid request."Pray, how do you suppose I'm to pay the rent, and my husband still onthe drink? I told the agent it was no use calling, and if he wants toturn me out, he must!"

  And without giving Betty time to answer, she drags the children in, andslams the door.

  Betty has not the courage to knock again. What a glimpse of dull,hopeless misery the woman's face and voice have revealed to her! Shepasses on to the next house.

  The woman who answers this door is rather cleaner. "Called for the rent?But you're not the agent," she says, looking at Betty very suspiciously.

  Betty explains. "Hum! I don't like the look of it. How do I know it'sall right? There, you needn't look so offended. If _you_ had had to workearly and late, denying yourself your proper rest, and a bit of butterto your bread, to make up the rent, you'd be careful who you trusted itwith, I can tell you."

  Betty shows the poor woman her father's collecting book, and after awhile the rent is put grudgingly into her hands. Betty cannot bear totake it from the poor thing.

  It is a slow, miserable business, but before the morning is over Bettymanages to get the greater part of the two pounds together.

  "Hem; short, as usual," is Mr. Duncan's discouraging remark, as hecounts it over.

  Betty feels sick at heart. The morning's work has been quite a newexperience. Occupied only with her own thoughts and plans, she hasthought very little about other people's difficulties; and the miserablehomes she has just seen have shocked and pained her deeply.

  Mr. Duncan weighs the money in his hand for a moment or two, as thoughconsidering.

  "Well, I can't be bothered just now with looking up anyone else. Isuppose we'd better go on as we are--for the present. Here's the wholerent account-book; take it home, and let me know how much rent I've loston the half-year. Good morning."

  So she is to take up part of father's work, after all! How glad dearfather will be!