XII.
BETTY AT HOME.
EVERYBODY was as kind as possible when Betty Leicester first came toTideshead, and best company manners prevailed toward her; but as thegirls got used to having a new friend and playmate, some of them proveddisappointing. Nothing could shake her deep affection for honest-heartedMary Beck, but in some directions Mary had made up her inexperienced andnarrow mind, and would listen to none of Betty's kindly persuasions. TheFosters' father had done some very dishonest deeds, and had run awayfrom justice after defrauding some of the most trustful of hisneighbors. Mary Beck's mother had lost some money in this way, and oldCaptain Beck even more, so that the girl had heard sharp comments andindignant blame at home; and she shocked Miss Barbara Leicester andBetty one morning by wondering how Henry and Nelly Foster could havehad the face to go to church the very Sunday after their father was sentto jail. She did not believe that they cared a bit what people thought.
"Poor children," said Miss Leicester, with quiet compassion, "the sightof their pitiful young faces was enough for me. When should one go tochurch if not in bitter trouble? That boy and girl look years older thanthe rest of you young folks."
"It never seemed to me that they thought any less of themselves," saidMary Beck, in a disagreeable tone; "and I wouldn't ask them to my party,if I had one."
"But they have worked so hard," said Betty. "Jonathan said yesterdaythat Harry Foster told him this spring, when he was working here, thathe was going to pay every cent that his father owed, if he lived longenough. He is studying hard, too; you know that he hoped to go tocollege before this happened. They always look as if they were gratefulfor just being spoken to."
"Plenty of people have made everything of them and turned their heads,"said Mary Beck, as if she were repeating something that had been saidat home. "I think I should pity some people whose father had behaved so,but I don't like the Fosters a bit."
"They are carrying a heavy load on their young shoulders," said MissBarbara Leicester. "You will feel differently by and by, about them.Help them all you can, Mary!"
Mary Beck went home that morning much displeased. She didn't mean to behard-hearted, but it had seemed to her like proper condemnation ofwrong-doing to treat the Fosters loftily. Now that Betty's eyes hadfilled with tears as she listened, and Miss Leicester evidently thoughtless of her for what had been said, Mary began to feel doubtful aboutthe matter. Yes, what if her father had been like theirs,--could she beshut up like a prisoner, and behave as she expected the Fosters tobehave? By the time she reached her own house she was ashamed of whatshe had said. Miss Leicester was at that moment telling Betty that shewas astonished at such bitter feeling in their young neighbor. "She hasnever really thought about it. I dare say she only needs a sensible wordor two to change her mind. You children have such tremendous opinions,"and Aunt Barbara smiled.
"Once when I was staying in the Isle of Wight," said Betty, "I belongedto such a nice out-of-door club, Aunt Barbara."
"Did you? What was it like?"
"Oh, not really like anything that I can think of, only we had great funtogether. We used to walk miles and miles, and carry some buns or buythem, and get milk or ginger-beer at the farms. There are so many ruinsto go to see, and old churches, and homes of eminent persons of the timeof Elizabeth, and we would read from their works; and it was so pleasantcoming home by the foot-paths afterward," announced Betty withsatisfaction. "The governesses used to go, too, but we could outrun allbut one of them, the Barry's, and my Miss Winter, who was as dear ascould be. I had my lessons with the Duncans, you know. Oh, it was suchfun!--the others would let us go on as fast as we liked, and come pokingalong together, and have their own quiet pleasures." Betty was muchdiverted with her recollections. "I mean to begin an out-of-door clubhere, Aunt Barbara."
"In my time," said Aunt Barbara, "girls were expected to know how tosew, and to learn to be good housekeepers."
"You would join the club, wouldn't you?" asked Betty anxiously.
"And be run away from, like the stout governesses, I dare say."
There was an attempt at a serious expression, but Miss Leicester couldnot help laughing a little. Down came Miss Mary at this moment, withLetty behind her, carrying cushions, and Betty sprang up to help makethe couch ready.
"I wish that you would belong, too, and come with us on wheels," saidshe, returning to the subject that had been interrupted. "You coulddrive to the meetings and be head-member, Aunt Mary." But Aunt Mary wastired that day, and wished to have no demands made upon her. There weredays when Betty had a plan for every half-hour, remarked Aunt Barbaraindulgently.
"Suppose you come out to the garden with me to pick some raspberries?"and Betty was quietly removed from the weak nerves of Aunt Mary, whoplaintively said that Betty had almost too much life.
"Too much life! Not a bit of it," said Serena, who was the grandniece'schief upholder and champion. "We did need waking up, 't was a fact, MissLeicester; now, wa'n't it? It seemed just like old times, that night ofthe tea-party. Trouble is, we've all got to bein' too mastercomfortable, and thought we couldn't step one foot out o' the beatenrut. 'T is the misfortune o' livin' in a little place."
And Serena marched back to the kitchen, carrying the empty glass fromwhich Miss Mary Leicester had taken some milk, as if it were the bannerof liberty.
She put it down on the clean kitchen-table. "Too much life!" the goodwoman repeated scornfully. "I'd like to see a gal that had too much lifefor me. I was that kind myself, and right up an' doin'. All theseTideshead gals behave as slow as the everlastin' month o' March. Fussin'about their clothes, and fussin' about '_you_ do this' and '_I_ can't dothat,' an' lettin' folks that know something ride right by 'em. See thislittle Betty, now, sweet as white laylocks, I do declare. There she goes'long o' Miss Barbary, out into the ros'berry bushes."
"Aunt Barbara," Betty was saying a few minutes later, as one knelt eachside of the row of white raspberries,--"Aunt Barbara, do you like bestbeing grown up or being about as old as I am?"
"Being grown up, I'm sure, dear," replied the aunt, after seriousreflection.
"I'm so glad. I don't believe people ever have such hard times withthemselves afterward as they do growing up."
"What is the matter now, Betty?"
"Mary Beck, Aunt Barbara. I thought that I liked her ever and ever somuch, but I have days when I want to shake her. It's my fault, because Iwake up and think about her and feel cross before I even look at her,and then I can't get on all day. Then some days I can hardly wait to getover to see her, and we have such a good time. But you can't change hermind about anything."
"I thought that you wouldn't be so unreasonable all summer," said AuntBarbara, picking very fast. "You see that you expect Mary Beck to beperfect, and the poor child isn't. You made up a Mary Beck in your ownmind, who was perfect at all points and just the kind of a girl youwould like best to spend all your time with. Be thankful for all you dolike in her; that's the best way."
"I just fell in love with a girl in the Isle of Wight, last summer,"said Betty sorrowfully. "We wished to be together all the time, and wewrote notes and always went about together. She was older than I. Butone day she said things that made me forget I ever liked her a bit. Shewanted to make up afterward, but I _couldn't_; and she writes and writesme letters, but I never wish to see her again. I am sorry I ever likedher." Betty's eyes flashed, and her cheeks were very red.
"I suppose it has been hard for her too," said Aunt Barbara; "but wemust like different friends for different reasons. Just try to rememberthat you cannot find perfection. I used to know a great many girls whenI was growing up, and some of them are my friends still, the few who areleft. To find one true-hearted friend is worth living through a greatmany disappointments."
* * * * *
Two or three weeks went over before Betty ceased to have the feelingthat she was a stranger and foreigner in Tideshead. At first she said"you" and "I" when she was talking with the girls, but soon i
t becameeasier to say "we." She took great pleasure in doing whatever the restdid, from joining a class in Sunday-school to carrying round one of thesubscription-papers to pay for some Fourth of July fireworks, which wentup in a blaze of splendor on the evening of that glorious day.
After the garden tea-party, nothing happened, of a social nature, forsome time, although several of the boys and girls gave fine hints thatsomething might be expected to happen at their own houses. There was acheerful running to and fro about the Leicester house, and the highwhite gate next the street was heard to creak and clack at least once inevery half-hour. Nelly Foster came seldom, but she was the brightest andmerriest of all the girls when she grew a little excited, and lost thefrightened look that had made lines on her forehead much too soon. Harrywas not seen very often, but Betty wondered a great deal about him, andfancied him hunting and fishing in all sorts of dangerous places. ThePicknell girls came into the village on Sundays always, and often onceor twice in the week; but it was haying time now, and they were verybusy at the farm. Betty liked them dearly, and so did Mary Beck, who didnot get on with the minister's daughters at all, and had a prejudice, aswe know, against Nelly Foster. These made the little company whichseemed most closely allied, especially after the Sin Book Club became athing of the past as an active society. Betty had proposed theout-of-door club, and had started a tennis-court, and devoted much timeto it; but nobody knew how to play very well yet, except Harry Fosterand Julia Picknell, and they were the most difficult ones to catch foran idle afternoon. George Max could play, and one or two others couldstumble through a game and like it pretty well; but as for Mary Beck,her shoes were too small for much agility, and she liked to wear herclothes so tight that she was very clumsy with a racket. Betty's lightlittle gowns looked prim and plain to the Tideshead girls, who thoughttheir colors very strange, to begin with, and had not the sense to beenvious when their wearer went by, as light-footed and graceful as theywere awkward. They could not understand the simplicity that was naturalto Betty, but everybody liked her, and felt as much interested as if shewere an altogether new variety of human being. Perhaps we shallunderstand the situation better if we read a letter which our heroinewrote just then:--
MY DEAR PAPA,--This is from your Betty, who intended to take a long walk with Mary Beck this afternoon, but is now prevented by a thunder-shower. It makes me wonder what you do when you get wet, and who sees that you take off your wet clothes and tries not to let you have a cold. Isn't it almost time for you to come home now, papa? I do miss taking care of you so very much. You will be tired hearing about Mary Beck, and you can't stop it, can you? as if you laughed and then talked about something else when we were walking together. You must remember that you said we must be always fighting an enemy in ourselves, and my enemy just now is making little funs of Mary, and seeing that she doesn't know so much as she thinks she does. I like too well to show her that she is mistaken when she tells about things; but it makes me sorry afterward, because, in spite of myself, I like her better than I do anybody. I truly love her, papa; indeed, I do, but I like to tease her better than to help her, when she puts on airs about the very places where I have been and things I have done. Aunt Barbara speaks of her manners, and wishes I would "play with" Nelly Foster and the minister's girls: but Nelly is like anybody grown up,--I suppose it is because she has seen trouble, as people say here; and the minister's girls are _little 'fraid cats_. That is what Serena says, and is sure to make you laugh. "Try and make 'em hop 'round," Serena told me at the party, and I did try; but they aren't good hoppers, and that's all there is to say. I sent down to Riverport and bought Seth a book of violin airs, and he practiced until two o'clock one morning, so that Serena and Jonathan were saying dreadful things. Aunt Mary is about the same, and so is Aunt Barbara, and they send their love. Papa, you must never tell, but I hate the one and love the other. Mary Beck isn't half so bad as I am to say that, but now it is a black mark and must stay. There is one awful piece of news. The Fosters' father has broken out of jail and escaped, and they are offering a great reward, and it is in all the papers. I ought to go to see Nelly, but I dread it. I am writing this last page another day, for yesterday the sun came out after the shower and I went out with Aunt Barbara. She is letting Mrs. Foster do some sewing for me. She says that my clothes were in ruins; she did indeed, and that they had been badly washed. I hope that yours are not the same. Mrs. Foster looked terribly frightened and pale, and asked Aunt B. to come into the other room, and told her about Mr. Foster. Then it was in the paper last night. Papa, dear, I do remember what you said in one of your letters about being a Tideshead girl myself for this summer, and not standing off and finding fault. I feel more like a Tideshead girl lately, but I wish they wouldn't keep saying how slow it is and nothing going on. We might do so many nice things, but they make such great fusses first, instead of just going and doing them, the way you and I do. _They think of every reason why you can't do things that you can do._ The currants are all gone. You can't have a currant pie this year. I thought those by the fence, under the cherry-tree, might last until you came, because it is shady, but they all spoiled in the rain. Now I am going to read in "Walton's Lives" to Aunt Mary. She says it is a book everybody ought to know, and that I run wild more than I ought at my age. I like to read aloud, as you know, so good-by, but my age is _such_ a trouble. If you were here, we would have the best good time.
Your own child, BETTY.
Betty Leicester: A Story For Girls Page 12