MORE LESSONS
“Betsy,” said Mrs. Johns, “school begins next Monday. Would you like to
go?”
“Oh, my, yes, Aunt Kate. May I?”
“Certainly. I haven’t bothered you much this summer about your studies,
for there were so many other important things to learn. But I think you
had better begin now.”
“Do you think I have enough manners, Aunt Kate?”
“Why, dearie, you’ve done wonders in these three months, and I’m going
to send you to Pelham Towers as a day pupil. You’ll meet little girls
there with good manners and it will help you. How are you in your
studies? Do you like books?”
“I just love ’em, Aunt Kate, and I took two prizes last winter term.
Then Pa wouldn’t let me go any more. He said if I could take prizes I
knew enough. I felt awful, at first. But I guess Ma did need me. She
was took--taken--sick pretty soon, and she never did get well any more.”
“Betsy dear, I’m sure it was best for you to help your mother, and what
you did will help make you the fine woman you are going to be some day.
But there’s nothing now to hinder you from learning as fast as you
like.”
So Betsy began, and after the first day she came home looking very
thoughtful.
“Well, how does school seem to you? What’s on your mind, Betsy?”
“It’s all right, I guess,” she said slowly. “But--Aunt Kate, it’s
like it is at Sunday School. My clothes are as nice and nicer than
most, but--I heard one girl tell another one--they thought I wasn’t
hearin’--that I was ‘country’.”
“Never mind them, Betsy. How about your lessons?”
“Well, Auntie, I was all kinds. Grammar,--” Betsy smiled up sidewise at
her Aunt,--“grammar,--I’m not much; geography,--I’m in the top class;
’rithmetic,--I’m top in that, too; reading,--Miss Pelham says I have a
good voice, but I need a lot of trainin’; and nature study,--Aunt Kate,
I don’t know the names of things, but I know more about bugs and worms
and garden sass and wild flowers than the whole school. And oh, Aunt
Kate, I’m going to learn the name of everything there is on earth.”
“Good girl! That’s the right road to travel.”
“And, Auntie Kate,” Betsy’s eyes were on the floor now, “I’m going to
watch those girls, and the first thing you know I won’t be queer any
more. I’ll be a real lady.”
“You’ve the makings of one in you, Betsy girl. Don’t be in a hurry,
everything will come out finely. I’ll trust you.”
“Some of those girls have got too many manners. They’re silly.”
“Follow after the simpler-mannered ones; putting on airs is not good
manners. How is your book coming on? I have never seen what you have
written. Don’t you think I am entitled to just a glimpse?”
Without a word Betsy got the book and handed it to Mrs. Johns, who
opened it with a keen appreciation of the sacredness of it, and of the
little girl’s simple trust in her.
From beginning to end it was a record of struggle and victory. Aunt
Kate did not smile, although many of the items were quaint, to say the
least. The first one was:
“Bathe yurself good. Do not skip neck and ears.”
Following came such as these:
“Bread is not buttered all to once. You break off little chunks.”
“A mouthful is not what you can stuf in. It is very little.”
“Do not bite your nales.”
“Hold your spoon and fork in your fingers like they was hot and burnin’
you.”
“Do not skuf your feet.”
“Do not drink out loud. Van makes a noise but he is a dog and
diffrent. Eat as still as you know how.”
“Knives is to cut with and nothin’ else.”
“Do not dip your supe tords you. It may go in your lap.”
“Drink supe from the side of spoon. (This is orkard, but Aunt Kate says
it is currect.) Do not soke cracker in supe.”
“A lie is the worst thing on earth. I will never be a liar.”
“Never bite your nales.”
“I will kepe my sole clene, just like the rest of me.”
“Teeth will not spoil on you if you brush ’em every time you eat.”
“Hare is a woman’s glory if it is comed. If not it is a site.”
“Aint and haint is not nice. Same with yep and nope.”
“Slang and swear words is not nice.”
“Never never never bite your nales. Ladies hands is always clene.”
There were many others, all showing that the child was struggling hard
to reach her physical and moral ideals.
“Betsy mine, I’m astonished at the amount of things you have learned;
and the best of it is that you are using your knowledge. Why, I’m proud
of you.”
And now the long days of romping with Van were over. Betsy took her
lunch, and did not reach home until half-past three. Always the little
Prince was on the lookout for her return. He knew when the very minute
came for her to turn in at the park gates, and would bark frantically
until he was let out. Then a wild rush, and before she was past the
lodge-gate, he would be leaping upon her. A frolic and a ramble would
follow, and after that Betsy must study a little before dinner.
With the flying days one had only to look at Betsy to see her grow.
She held her own at school, for her independent way of holding herself
aloof kept her from exposing her speech and actions to criticism.
Gradually she assimilated the gentle breeding of the better class
of girls in the school. There was a fine instinct in her that kept
her ideals in the right path. In her classes, although at first her
expressions were not always couched in elegance, her understanding of
things was clear. She loved her books to their very bindings. To get
at them she would almost neglect her play with Van. Her standing in
her classes gradually caused the girls to respect her, but although
her little heart craved a closer intimacy with some of them, she could
not bring herself to break the bond of reserve which her loveless
childhood had woven about her. So, while her comrades came to her for
help in their lessons, they went off with their arms twined about each
other, leaving her wondering. With Aunt Kate she would talk eagerly and
intelligently, but at the touch of a caressing arm, there would come in
Betsy’s eyes that startled glance of the wild thing,--the instinctive
drawing back; and then a pounding of the heart that did not yet dare to
own its hidden wells of affection.
With Van, however, she felt this reserve drop away entirely. The little
fellow gave his affection so freely, and demanded hers so insistently,
that refusal would have been impossible. He expected love, and it was
his. Aunt Kate watched this with a growing yearning in her motherly
heart, and caught glimpses now and then of the wonderful blossom that
might some day unfold from the stubborn little calyx.
The winter days grew short, then longer; Van waxed in greatness and
importance on the Hill-Top, and then, one Saturday morning he had an
experience that opened up new vistas. He, too, began his Grammar School.
Dr. Peters came over, looking as if he had something on his
mind--something special.
“Miss Betsy,” he said, “Dr. Johns thinks Van is old enough to try on
Ward M. There are some rats in the yard there that we cannot get rid
of.”
Betsy gave her consent rather reluctantly. Catching mice off one’s
own vine and fig tree is one thing, but being loaned out as a common
rat-catcher is another, and a bit beneath the dignity of a Prince of
the Blood.
Van himself had no such scruples. He went joyfully, with a feeling that
something unusual was about to happen, and whatever it might be, he
would be the boy for it.
The yard on Ward M. was surrounded on three sides by buildings,
underneath which the rats had burrowed and made fortresses for
themselves. No one could get at them without tearing down the
foundations of the Hospital. This was the yard where certain patients
took their airing, and the rats had become a pest and a nuisance.
Dr. Peters had a great scheme all planned out, by means of which he
hoped to make a clean sweep of the enemy. There were to be three
principal actors--Van, the Fire-Hose and Himself. The other doctors,
six of them, came out and stood around and got in the way, in the hope
that they might help a little, and at all events, see the fun. They
were like a lot of overgrown boys. Van felt that he was in first-rate
company, and pranced around proudly, feeling from the glances they cast
upon him, and the words with which they cheered him on, that, whatever
was about to happen, he was looked upon as the star performer.
The curtain went up when Dr. Peters fastened the fire-hose to the
hydrant, and the fire-hose opened the melodrama with a great swish and
swirl. As the water filled it, it flapped and writhed across the yard
like a great boa-constrictor.
“Look out there! The water’s coming pretty strong!”
The fat young doctor spoke too late. Dr. Peters missed his cue,
and the nozzle was jerked out of his hand by the rushing stream of
water. The hose capered around the enclosure, and tied itself up into
bow-knots, as if it were the historical sea-serpent in captivity. It
pointed its nozzle straight at a black-bearded young doctor, doubled
him up, put a crease in him, and left him gasping and soaked. Then it
turned its attention to Dr. Peters, who was jumping like a chestnut
on a hot shovel, trying to get another grip without being washed off
the face of the earth. All the other doctors scrambled off into safe
corners, and shouted directions to everybody, which nobody heard. Van
barked and tried to seize the wriggling hose, but only succeeded in
adding to the general tumult. At last the fat young doctor turned off
the water at the hydrant, Dr. Peters mopped his brow, the black-bearded
young doctor wrung the water out of his coat-tails, and the show went
on into the second act.
Gripping the nozzle-end of the hose firmly in both hands, Dr. Peters
aimed it at a rat-hole under the steps.
“Now, Van, stand ready. Easy now! Let her go at the hydrant,--not too
fast on the start.”
The fire-hose came alive again. Dr. Peters kept the nozzle turned
off until things were quite ready; Van stood by, all a-tremble with
eagerness,--and then----
Sh-sh-h-h-h-h! Squirt went a stream of water strong enough to knock
terror into the heart of the stoutest rat on earth. Straight into the
hole this time, and no bungling.
A squealing sound, and out came flying a drenched and much-befuddled
rat.
No chance for him to make an exit. Snap! The star performer had him by
the back of the neck. One little shake, a crunch, and all was over.
Another followed out of the same hole,--reluctantly. It was only a
question of choice for him,--death by drowning, or raticide. The hose
was too much for him; he chose the latter, and went the way of his
brother.
Nothing more out of that hole. Dr. Peters tried another. Squirt went
the icy stream, and out trailed a mother-rat and her nine half-grown
children.
Lively work for Van now. They scuttled in every direction, all over the
yard. Like a true sportsman, Van tackled the mother first, with a good
back-neck clutch, and she was done for. Now for the rest!
Hither, thither, from Dan to Beersheba he darted. No time now to make
a clean finish; every rat must be disabled before it could get away to
cover. And not one escaped. No historical Herod was ever in the running
with Van. His agility was marvelous. It was dart, shake, drop; dart,
shake, drop;--nine times, and all over the place.
Then he went the rounds again, and in a trice the whole ten were ready
to add to the heap of slain.
Another hole. Two came out, and one doubled and fled into the next hole
before Van could get him. All round the yard went the fire-hose, led by
Dr. Peters, sending its messenger into every hole, and seldom failing
to bring out one or more victims.
It was a sweeping massacre, nothing more nor less; the rats had no
chance against that terrible trio,--a doctor, a fire-hose, and a
fox-terrier. Twenty-six rodents were gathered to their fathers.
Dr. Peters and the fire-hose remained unchanged, but Van went home
a reconstructed dog, never more to be merely a cuddled, pampered
house-darling. Betsy shuddered when she looked at him. He had a wild
eye, a swagger, blood on his white shirt-front and all over his coat.
He was a man-grown now, and had done a man’s work. His only regret was
that the lady of his heart could not see the magnificent heap of slain.
But perhaps she would not have appreciated it. He looked pityingly at
Betsy. She was only a girl. She could not go out into the world and
kill rats. Poor Betsy!
[Illustration: “Ha! Ha! I’m sure the cat must have laughed.”]