Betty Leicester: A Story For Girls
Page 15
XV.
THE STARLIGHT COMES IN.
THERE was a most joyful evening in the old Leicester house. Everybodyforgot to speak about Betty's going to bed, and even Aunt Mary was inhigh spirits. It was wonderful how much good a little excitement did forher, and Betty had learned that an effort to be entertaining alwaysbrought the pleasant reward of saving Aunt Mary from a miserable,tedious morning or afternoon. When she waked next morning, her firstthought was about papa, and her next that Aunt Mary was likely to have aheadache after sitting up so late. Betty herself was tired, and felt asif it were the day after the fair; but when she hurried down tobreakfast she found Aunt Barbara alone, and was told that papa had risenat four o'clock, and, as she expressed it to Aunt Mary a little later,stolen his breakfast from Serena and gone down to Riverport on thepacket, the tide having served at that early hour.
"I heard a clacketing in the kitchen closet," said Serena, "and I justgot my skirt an' a cape on to me an' flew down to see what 't was. Iexpected somebody was took with fits; an' there was y'r father with bothhis hands full o' somethin' he'd collected to stay himself with, an' helooked 's much o' a boy's ever he did, and I so remarked, an' he told mehe was goin' to Riverport. 'Want a little change, I s'pose?' says I, an'he laughed good an' clipped it out o' the door and down towards thelandin'."
"I wonder what he's after now, Serena?" said Betty sagely, but Serenashook her head absently. It was evident to Betty's mind that papa hadshaken off all thought of care, and was taking steps towards somedesired form of enjoyment. He had been disappointed the evening beforeto find that there were hardly any boats to be had. Very likely he meantto bring one up on the packet that afternoon; but Betty was disappointednot to find him in the house, and thought that he might have called herto go down on the packet with him. She felt as if she were going tohave a long and dull morning.
However, she found that Aunt Mary was awake and in a cheerful frame, soshe brought her boots in, and sat by the garden window while she putsome new buttons on with the delightful little clamps that save so manydifficult stitches. Aunt Mary was already dressed, though it was onlynine o'clock, and was seated before an open bureau drawer, which hergrandniece had learned to recognize as a good sign. Aunt Mary hadendless treasures of the past carefully tucked away in little bundlesand boxes, and she liked to look these over, and to show them to Betty,and tell their history. She listened with great eagerness to Betty'saccount of papa's departure.
"I was afraid that you would feel tired this morning," said the girl,turning a bright face toward her aunt.
"I am sure I expected it myself," replied Aunt Mary plaintively, "but itisn't neuralgia weather, perhaps. At any rate, I am none the worse."
"I believe that a good frolic is the very best thing for you," insistedBetty, feeling very bold; but Aunt Mary received this news amiably,though she made no reply. Betty had recovered by this time from hersense of bitter wrong at her father's departure, and after she hadtalked with Aunt Mary a little while about the grand success of theOut-of-Door Club, she went her ways to find Becky.
Becky was in a very friendly mood, and admired Mr. Leicester, andwondered too at ever having been afraid of him in other years, when sheused to see him walking sedately down the street.
"Papa is very sober sometimes when he is hard at work," explained Bettywith eagerness. "He gets very tired, and then--oh, I don't mean thatpapa is ever aggravating, but for days and days I know that he isworking hard and can't stop to hear about my troubles, so I try not totalk to him; but he always makes up for it after a while. I don't mindnow, but when I was a little girl and first went away from here I usedto be lonely, and even cry sometimes, and of course I didn't understand.We get on beautifully now, and I like to read so much that I can alwayscover up the dull times with a nice book."
"Do they last long,--the dull times?" asked Mary Beck in an unusuallysympathetic voice. Betty had spoken sadly, and it dawned upon herfriend's mind that life was not all a holiday even to Betty Leicester.
"Ever so long," answered Betty briskly; "but you see I have my mendingand housekeeping when we are in lodgings. We are masters of thesituation now, papa always says; but when I was too small to look afterhim, we used to have to depend upon old lodging-house women, and theymade us miserable, though I love them all for the sake of the good oneswho will let you go into the kitchen yourself and make a cup of tea forpapa just right, and be honest and good, and cry when you go awayinstead of slamming the door. Oh, I could tell you stories, Mary ElizaBeck!" and Betty took one or two frisky steps along the sidewalk as ifshe meant to dance. Mary Beck felt as if she were looking out of a verysmall and high garret window at a vast and surprising world. She was notsure that she should not like to keep house in country lodgings, though,and order the dinner, and have a housekeeping purse, as Betty had donethese three or four years. They had often talked about theseexperiences; but Becky's heart always faltered when she thought of beingalone in strange houses and walking alone in strange streets. SometimesBetty had delightful visits, and excellent town lodgings, anddiversified hotel life of the most entertaining sort. She seemed to bethinking about all this and reflecting upon it deeply. "I wish that papaand I were going to be here a year," she said. "I love Tideshead."
* * * * *
Mr. Leicester did not wait to come back with the packet boat, butappeared by the stage from the railway station in good season fordinner. He was very hungry, and looked well satisfied with his morning'swork, and he told Betty that she should know toward the end of theafternoon the reason of his going to Riverport, so that there wasnothing to do but to wait. She was disappointed, because she had fanciedthat he meant to bring home a new row-boat; perhaps, after all, he hadmade some arrangements about it. Why, yes! it might be coming up by thepacket, and they would go out together that very evening. Betty couldhardly wait for the hour to come.
When dinner was over, papa was enticed up to see the cubby-house, whilethe aunts took their nap. There was a little roast pig for dinner, andAunt Barbara had been disappointed to find that her guest had gone away,as it was his favorite dinner; but his unexpected return made up foreverything, and they had a great deal of good fun. Papa was in the bestof spirits, and went out to speak to Serena about the batter pudding assoon as Aunt Barbara rose from her chair.
"Now don't you tell me you don't get them batter puddings a sight betterin the dwellings of the rich and great," insisted Serena, with greatcomplacency. "Setting down to feast with lords and dukes, same's you do,you must eat of the best the year round. We do season the sauce well, Iwill allow. Miss Barbara, she always thinks it may need a drop more."
"Serena," said Betty's father solemnly, "I assure you that I have eatena slice of bacon between two tough pieces of hard tack for my dinnermany a day this summer, and I haven't had such a batter pudding sincethe last one you made yourself."
"You don't tell me they're goin' out o' fashion," said Serena, muchshocked. "I know some ain't got the knack o' makin' 'em."
Betty stood by, enjoying the conversation. Serena always said proudlythat a great light of intellect would have been lost to the world if shehad not rescued Mr. Leicester from the duck-pond when he was a boy, andthey were indeed the best of friends. Serena's heart rejoiced whenanybody praised her cooking, and she turned away now toward the pantrywith a beaming smile, while the father and daughter went up to thegarret.
It was hot there at this time of day; still the great elms outside keptthe sun from shining directly on the roof, and a light breeze wasblowing in at the dormer window.
Mr. Leicester sat down in the high-backed wooden rocking-chair, andlooked about the quaint little place with evident pleasure. Betty wasperched on the window-sill. She had looked forward eagerly to thismoment.
"There is my old butterfly-net," he exclaimed, "and my minerals,and--why, all the old traps! Where did you find them? I remember thatonce I came up here and found everything cleared away but thegun,--they were afraid to touch that."
"Some day we will come to Tideshead and have a great celebration, tomake up for losing that," said papa. "Betty, my child, I'm sleepy. Idon't know whether it is this rocking-chair or Serena's dinner."
"Perhaps it was getting up so early in the morning," suggested Betty."Go to sleep, papa. I'll say some of my new pieces of poetry. I learnedall you gave me, and some others beside."
"Not the 'Scholar Gypsy,' I suppose?"
"Yes, indeed," said Betty. "The last of it was hard, but all thoseverses about the fields are lovely, and make me remember that springwhen we lived in Oxford. That was the only long one you gave me. I amnot sure that I can say it without the book. I always play that I am inthe 'high field corner' looking down at the meadows, and I can rememberthe first pages beautifully."
Papa's eyes were already shut, and by the time Betty had said
"All the live murmur of a summer's day"
she found that he was fast asleep. She stole a glance at him now andthen, and a little pang went through her heart as she saw that his hairwas really growing gray. Aunt Mary and Aunt Barbara appeared to believethat he was hardly more than a boy, but to Betty thirty-nine years was along lifetime, and indeed her father had achieved much more than mostmen of his age. She was afraid of waking him and kept very still, sothat a sparrow lit on the window-sill and looked at her a moment or twobefore he flew away again. She could even hear the pigeons walking onthe roof overhead and hopping on the shingles, with a tap, from thelittle fence that went about the house-top. When Mr. Leicester waked hestill wished to hear the "Scholar Gypsy," which was accordingly begunagain, and repeated with only two or three stops. Sometimes they said averse together, and then they fell to talking about some of the peoplewhom they both loved in Oxford, and had a delightful hour together. Atfirst Betty had not liked to learn long poems, and thought her fatherwas stern and inconsiderate in choosing such old and sober ones; but shewas already beginning to see a reason for it, and was glad, if fornothing else, to know the poems papa himself liked best, even if she didnot wholly understand them. It was easy now to remember a new one, forshe had learned so many. Aunt Barbara was much pleased with thisaccomplishment, for she had learned a great many herself in herlifetime. It seemed to be an old custom in the Leicester family, andBetty thought one day that she could let this gift stand in the place ofsinging as Becky could; one's own friends were not apt to care so muchfor poetry, but older people liked to be "repeated" to. One night,however, she had said Tennyson's ballad of "The Revenge" to Harry Fosterand Nelly as they came up the river, and they liked it surprisingly.
Papa reached for the old guitar presently and after mending the brokenstrings he began to sing a delightful little Italian song, a greatfavorite of Betty's. Then there was a step on the stairs, Aunt Barbara'sdignified head appeared behind the railing, and they called her to comeup and join them.
"I felt as if there must be ghosts walking in daylight when I heard theold guitar," she said a little wistfully. When she was seated in therocking-chair and Betty's father had pulled forward a flowered tea-chestfor himself, he went on with his singing, and then played a Spanishdancing tune, with a nod to Betty, so that she skipped at once to theopen garret-floor and took the pretty steps with much gayety. AuntBarbara smiled and kept time with her foot; then she left the primrocking-chair and began to follow the dance too, soberly chasing Bettyand receding and even twirling her about, until they were both out ofbreath and came back to their places very warm and excited. They lookedstrangely alike as they danced. Betty was almost as tall and only alittle more quick and graceful than her grandaunt.
"It is such fun to be just the same age as you and papa," insistedBetty. "We do everything together now." She took on a pretty grown-upair, and looked at Aunt Barbara admiringly. It was only this summer thatshe had begun to understand how young grown people really are. Aunt Maryseemed much older because she had stopped doing so many pleasant things.This garret dance was a thing to remember. Betty liked Aunt Barbarabetter every day, but it had never occurred to her that she knew thatparticular Spanish dance. An army officer's wife had taught it to Bettyand some of her friends the summer she was in the Isle of Wight. Beckyhad been brought up to be very doubtful about dancing, which was a greatpity, for she was apt to be stiff and awkward when she walked or triedto move about in the room. Somehow she moved her feet as if they hadbeen made too heavy for her, but she learned a good deal from trying tokeep step as she walked with Betty, who was naturally light-footed.
Mr. Leicester put down the guitar at last, and said that he had anerrand to do, and that Betty had better come along.
"Can't you sit still five minutes, either of you?" maliciously askedAunt Barbara, who had quite regained her breath. "I really did not knowhow cozy this corner was. I must say that I had forgot to associate itwith anything but Serena's and my putting away blankets in the spring. Iused to like to sit by the window and read when I was your age, Betty.In those days I could look over this nearest elm and see way down theriver, just as you can now in winter when the leaves are gone. I daresay the three generations before me have played here too. I am so gladthat we could have Betty this summer; it is time she began to strike herroots a little deeper here."
"Yes," said Mr. Leicester, "but I _can't_ do without her, my onlyBetsey!" and they all laughed, but Betty had a sudden suspicion thatAunt Barbara would try to keep her altogether now. This frightened ourfriend a little, for though she loved the old home dearly, she must takecare of papa. It was her place to take care of him now; she had beenlooking over his damaged wardrobe most anxiously that morning, as if herown had never known ruin. His outside clothes were well enough, butalas for his pocket handkerchiefs and stockings! He looked a littlepale, too, and as if he had on the whole been badly neglected in minorways.
But there never was a more cheerful and contented papa, as they walkedtoward the river together hand-in-hand, in the fashion of Betty'schildhood. They found that the packet had come in, and there was a groupof spectators on the old wharf, who were looking eagerly at somethingwhich proved to be a large cat-boat which the packet had in tow. Mr.Leicester left Betty suddenly and went to the wharf's edge.
"Did you have any trouble bringing her up?" he asked.
"Bless ye, no, sir," said the packet's skipper; "didn't hinder us onegrain; had a clever little breeze right astern all the way up."
"Look here, Betty," said papa, returning presently. "I went down thismorning to hunt for a dory with a sail, and I saw this cat-boat whichsomebody was willing to let, and I have hired it for a while. I wish tolook up the river shell-fish a bit; it's not altogether play, I mean youto understand."
"Oh, _papa_!" cried Betty joyfully. "The only thing we needed was a niceboat. But you can't have clutters in pots and pans at Aunt Barbara's,can you, and your works going on? Serena won't like it, and she can bequite terrible, you know!"
"Come on board and look at her," said Mr. Leicester, regardless of theterrors of Serena's disapproval. The cat-boat carried a jib beside agood-sized mainsail, and had a comfortable little cabin with a tinystove and two berths and plenty of lockers. Two young men had just spenttheir vacation in her, coasting eastward, and one of them told Mr.Leicester that she was the quickest and steadiest boat he ever saw,sailing close to the wind and answering her rudder capitally. They hadlived on board altogether and made themselves very comfortable indeed.There was a light little flat-bottomed boat for tender, and the whitecat-boat itself had been newly painted with gilt lettering across thestern, _Starlight, Riverport_.
"I can ask the Out-of-Door Club one day next week," announced Betty,with great ent
husiasm. "Isn't she clean and pretty? _Won't_ Aunt Barbaralike her, papa?"
"I must look about for some one to help me to sail her," said Mr.Leicester, with uncommon gravity. "What do you think of young Foster? Hemust know the river well, and his fishing may be falling off a littlenow. It would be a good way to help him, don't you think so?"
Betty's eyes shone with joy. "Oh, yes," she said; "they do have such ahard time now. Nelly told me so yesterday morning. It has cost them somuch lately. Harry has been trying to get something to do in Riverport."
They were busy anchoring the Starlight out in the stream, and now Mr.Leicester helped Betty over the side into the tender and sculled herashore. Some of the men on the wharf had disappeared, but others werestill there, and there was a great bustle of unloading some bags ofgrain from the packet. Mr. Leicester invited one of his oldacquaintances who asked many questions to come out and see the cat-boat,and as Betty hurried up the street to the house she saw over hershoulder that a large company in small leaky crafts had surrounded thepretty Starlight like pirates. It was apt to be very dull in Tidesheadfor many of the idle citizens, and Mr. Leicester's return was alwayshailed with delight. It was nearly tea-time, so that Betty could not goover to tell Mary Beck the good news; but one white handkerchief,meaning _Come over_, was quickly displayed on the pear-tree branch, andwhile Betty was getting dressed in a much-needed fresh gown for teaBecky kindly appeared, and was delighted with the good news. She hadseen the Starlight already from a distance.
"My father used to have a splendid sailboat," said fatherless Becky withmuch wistfulness, and Betty put her arms round her and gave her a warmkiss. Sometimes it seemed that whatever one had the other lacked.