ON MONDAY
Betsy, who was always most eager to greet Elizabeth on Monday mornings
at school, did not feel very enthusiastic about it on this present
occasion; Elizabeth was sure to hark back to the subject of Christmas
gifts; it was like her to be interested in one thing to the exclusion
of all others until the matter had been well threshed out, unless
something much more exciting occurred to put it out of her mind, so
Betsy, instead of hurrying off as usual to school, lagged behind,
giving no answer to the call which Elizabeth and Bess gave as they
passed by together, and arriving just at the very last stroke of the
bell. Elizabeth looked up beamingly as she entered and gave Betsy’s
hand an affectionate squeeze when her desk-mate took the seat by her
side; but Betsy’s face wore such a solemn expression that Elizabeth
looked at her inquiringly, receiving no response to her questioning
glance.
When the hour for recess came Elizabeth’s first question was: “Aren’t
you well, Betsy? Has anything happened?”
Betsy shook her head. “No, I feel cross; that is all.”
“Then here is something to sweeten your disposition,” returned
Elizabeth laughingly. “I got up early and made some fudge with
marshmallows in it. I brought this boxful to you; it is all for
yourself, because you were so dear and generous about the silk pieces.”
Again! Betsy felt that she could not stand it much longer. “Bother the
silk pieces,” she cried. “I wish you would stop talking about them.”
“Well, you are cross, sure enough,” said Elizabeth, really feeling hurt
at this reception of her gift. “You’d better eat a piece of fudge and
see if it won’t do you good.”
But Betsy left the fudge untouched and had very little to say during
luncheon. When Bess rallied her upon her silence Elizabeth shook her
head and whispered to Bess: “Don’t tease her; I don’t believe she feels
well.”
That her first best friend did not resent her ill temper was the
crowning stroke, and before school closed Betsy gave in. She slipped
a little note into Elizabeth’s hand, addressing her in the style they
adopted toward one another on such occasions, and asking that Elizabeth
would meet her at their trysting place that afternoon. If she were not
there Elizabeth was to look for a message left in the usual secret
place.
Nothing pleased Elizabeth more than such messages. She was usually the
one to take the initiative and to bid Betsy to the trysting place; it
had been some time since either of them had made an excuse for such a
meeting and it was therefore the keener prospect. Elizabeth did not
delay in reaching the spot, but found no Betsy. She hastened to the big
stone, looked under it and found a small package wrapped in heavy paper
and securely sealed. Wondering what it could contain, Elizabeth broke
the seals and found inside the heavy paper another wrapping of soft
white paper which she unfastened--to find inside a length of beautiful
ribbon and a note; the note read:
DEAREST FREDERICA,--This ribbon is for you. I have a confession to
make about it. I was meanly going to keep it for myself. It was in
the bag I brought to your house and I found it and did not tell you
nor show it to you because I was a pig and didn’t want you to have
it. You thought I was generous when I was a mean, mean, selfish,
disgusting creature. Now I shall not be happy till you take it for I
cannot stand your thinking me generous when I was not. If you forgive
me run up the flag and I will come and fall at your feet, crying,
“_Peccavi_,” and throwing myself on your mercy. If you do not forgive
me I shall be heart-broken.
Your sinful and contrite,
PHILLIPA.
Elizabeth read the note over several times before she quite took in its
meaning, then she hurried to a hollow tree, drew forth a small tin box
and took out a white flag. This she fastened to a long pole hidden in
the bushes and, lifting it, waved it slowly back and forth. This was
what the two girls called running up the flag.
Betsy was on the watch, and as soon as she caught sight of the waving
banner she hurried down the garden path, out the side gate, and in a
few minutes was in Elizabeth’s presence. She wore a black shawl draped
about her small person and a short veil fell over her face. She could
have taken no surer way of appealing to Elizabeth than by such dress.
Arriving at the spot where Elizabeth waited, Betsy dropped upon her
knees and stretched out her arms in an attitude of despairing entreaty.
“Do not kneel to unworthy me, fair lady!” began Elizabeth. “Rise and
come to my heart. Who am I that you should kneel to me?”
For answer, Betsy, still on her knees, moved nearer and humbly kissed
Elizabeth’s hand. “Your gentle heart forgives a suffering culprit?” she
murmured.
“There is no question of forgiveness between the Lady Phillipa and her
adoring Frederica,” answered Elizabeth. Then Betsy fell on her neck and
the two rapturously embraced. After which Elizabeth held off her friend
to look at her admiringly. “What a fine costume,” she commented. “How
did you ever think of it?”
“I found the old black shawl up in the attic, and the veil is one that
aunt Emily had thrown away. I cut off the holey part,” Betsy told her.
“It makes a perfect penitilential dress,” declared Elizabeth. “But,
Betsy, I am not going to take that ribbon. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.
After your giving me that lovely blue I would like to know who would be
the pig if I accepted both. Besides, you must have wanted it awfully
yourself. Honest now, didn’t you?”
Driven to a corner, Betsy had to acknowledge facts. “Of course, or I
wouldn’t have been so mean about it.”
“I don’t call it mean. You have a perfect right to it, a much better
right than I have.”
“It isn’t that I haven’t the right, I suppose,” replied Betsy gravely;
“it is because I deceived you and aunt Emily and allowed you to think I
was generous when I wasn’t. I wanted the ribbon to make the thread and
needle case much more than I did anything to make a scent bag.”
“Well, but don’t you remember that you said it would be no fair if
I gave two presents and you only one, unless yours should be much
handsomer. Of course we have to say that this is much handsomer, so
if you like it best why not let me make a scent bag out of the blue
flowery piece, a handkerchief case out of something else, and you take
this?”
“Would you really truly just as lief?” said Betsy, still finding her
ardent desire for the ribbon unquenched.
“Of course I would. I couldn’t possibly bring myself to gobble up the
two very prettiest pieces in the whole lot, and if I have one and you
the other that will make it just right, don’t you see?”
“Oh, Elizabeth, you are a dear, yet still I don’t feel quite right
about it.”
“You are supersensitive,” said Elizabeth, pleased at being able to air
a word which she had heard her sister use that morning.
Betsy was a little awed by it, as she always was by any addition to
Elizabeth’s vocabulary. Elizabeth always used new, important-sounding
words with such glibness and in such an assured manner, though many
times she did not get them just right. “Aunt Emily likes the idea of
the scent bag,” said Betsy, a little uncertain yet.
“Then, I’ll tell you what,” said Elizabeth, ready with an answering
argument. “I promised you some of my dried stuff in exchange for silk
pieces, didn’t I?”
Betsy was obliged to acknowledge this was true.
“Well, then, I wouldn’t be keeping my part of the bargain unless I did
it, so you take some and make a scent bag for your aunt Em. I have
another idea; if you don’t like to use the pieces she is acquainted
with you can get Kathie to change with you; she has some real pretty
ones, so Miss Emily will have something quite a novelty to her.”
“Oh, Elizabeth, what a very nice plan,” said Betsy, now thoroughly
convinced. “I do think you can think out the nicest things. I should
like to do that.”
“I almost hope next Saturday will be rainy, don’t you?” said Elizabeth
as, with arms around one another, they walked towards the garden gate.
“I almost do,” agreed Betsy, “though I usually despise rainy days. Come
in and let us go up to my room and look over the bag together; you must
have another choice, you know, and I will choose something to swap with
Kathie; you are sure she will be willing to, Elizabeth.”
“Of course she will. It will be much more interesting to have a
variety.”
Betsy was satisfied with this assurance, and thus all clouds rolled
away.
It was too dark for Elizabeth to linger long, but each made her choice
from the stuffs which Betsy shook out upon her bed, and then Elizabeth,
with hers safely tucked in her coat pocket, started up the long street
towards the brown house at the end of it.
There was a comforting odor of supper when Elizabeth entered, and she
made straight for the kitchen that she might discover what Electra was
cooking.
“Now, what are you after?” inquired Electra, as she quickly shut the
oven door.
“I wanted to know what it was that smelled so good,” returned Elizabeth.
“I’ll be bound for you,” returned Electra. “It is filoes for meddlers,
if you must know.”
This was always Electra’s answer when she was making something which
she meant as a surprise, and Elizabeth’s curiosity was aroused. She
sniffed the air, saying: “If I guess what it is will you tell me?”
Electra smiled grimly. “I’ll give you three guesses, and if you don’t
guess right you can just clear out.”
“It has a sort of cakey smell, and yet it doesn’t smell exactly like
gingerbread,” said Elizabeth contemplatively. “I suppose it isn’t
ginger muffins.”
“If that’s a guess,” returned Electra, “I’m free to say it ain’t.”
“I didn’t think it was,” returned Elizabeth, “so I am not going to call
it a guess.”
“Then what was it?”
“Oh, just a--a sort of side remark.”
Electra laughed. “Hurry up, or I’ll shoo you out without any guesses.”
“Then I’ll guess rusk, hot rusks.”
“Wrong.”
“Then--then, maybe it is French rolls; I hope it is, for I dearly like
them.”
“You won’t have your appetite pampered by them this night, although I
don’t believe you’ll refuse what is in the oven.”
“Let me see,” Elizabeth reflected. “I shall have to think very hard for
this is my last go.” She looked around the kitchen. “It is not anything
you cut out, for you are not using the biscuit board.” She went over to
the sink where stood some dishes which Electra had set there to wash.
Elizabeth regarded them earnestly. “That bowl looks as if it might have
had muffins stirred up in it,” remarked Elizabeth, “though,” she added
hastily, “that isn’t a guess, ’Lectra.”
“It is just another side remark, I suppose,” returned Electra.
Elizabeth opened the door of one of the cupboards and looked in. “It
can’t be muffins,” she said, “for there are the muffin pans.”
“Well, now, ain’t you smart?” declared Electra. “Who but you would have
thought of that? Now turn your back and don’t peep while I’m looking in
the oven again.”
Elizabeth obeyed. “I can use my nose if I can’t my eyes.” She made the
remark sniffing thoughtfully. “Oh, Electra, I believe I can guess with
my nose; it is Sally Lunn.”
“Well, now, ain’t you got a good nose; that’s just what it is,” Electra
told her. “We ain’t had any in a long time, and as the bread had give
out with so much extra company over Sunday, I thought I’d stir some up
this morning. Being wash day, I couldn’t do a regular baking.”
“I’m mighty glad you couldn’t, for Sally Lunn is much better than bread
or rolls or anything like that. Is it most done, Electra?” Elizabeth
peeped over the woman’s shoulder as she tested the browning cakes.
“Not quite, but pretty near. You run in and get me a plate while I take
up this ham; then you can sound the gong, for I reckon by the time they
all collect we shall be ready.”
Elizabeth ran off with alacrity. She enjoyed helping Electra but was
not always permitted to, for Electra was cranky and as she had been
with the family a long time and was an excellent servant, her peculiar
moods were overlooked and the children were not allowed to bother when
she was cross.
“Please let me take it in,” Elizabeth begged. “Let’s wait till they are
all at the table; it will be so much more of a surprise that way.”
Electra was ready to humor her and allowed her to bear in a well-piled
plate in triumph, Elizabeth announcing with an air of having planned
the whole thing “See, what a surprise I’ve brought.”
“Humph! You didn’t make it,” said Bert scornfully.
“I don’t care if I didn’t; I knew about it and that is more than you
did. Bah!” returned Elizabeth.
“Here, here, don’t let us have any squabbling,” said Mr. Hollins. “That
is not the sort of sauce we want to season a good supper.” And the two
children subsided, being the more ready to do so since they did not
want to waste any time in beginning their meal.