WINTER DOINGS
As the heroine of such an adventure, Elizabeth was the admiration and
envy of the whole school while Bert was a close second. Being at the
boastful age, Bert was not slow in discoursing upon how “we” did thus
and so; “We” chased the lynx--“We” shot him--“We” carried him to Jim
Powers’s shop. “Yes, sir, I tell you he came mighty near to springing
on me,” was his greatest boast.
As for Elizabeth, she bore herself more modestly, but nevertheless was
willing to tell of her experience with all the thrilling details she
could think of while the boys and girls gathered around in breathless
attention.
Big Phil Selden, who had never taken the least notice of Elizabeth,
secretly placed a huge red apple on her desk. Leonora Stayman offered
her a ring set with a blue stone. Maria Black asked if she couldn’t
walk home with her. As these were all two or three years older than
Elizabeth and counted her among the little girls, she considered
herself much complimented.
The mild weather suddenly gave place to a sharp frost, which was
followed by the first snow, and Elizabeth became much in demand for
coasting. Not a boy that was not willing to drag her uphill for the
sake of coasting down again in her company; not a girl who would not
have done the same if Elizabeth had allowed it. This did all very well
for awhile, but finally she grew tired of having honor thrust upon
her and, moreover, found that however popular she might be with the
boys she was losing favor with the girls; even her own Betsy and Bess
once or twice walked home without her. Elizabeth was quick-tempered
upon sudden provocation, but was long-suffering where her friends were
concerned, so she did not resent these slights until she overheard Bess
say: “Humph! I suppose we’re not old enough for her to care for. Well,
let her go with the big girls if she wants to!”
“You’d better say boys,” replied Betsy. “She went down on Phil Selden’s
sled three times yesterday afternoon.”
“Some people are too lazy to pull their own sleds uphill,” returned
Bess.
Elizabeth, in the cloakroom, heard it all. She flounced out, her cheeks
blazing and her eyes snapping. “You mean, deceitful, jealous things!”
she cried. “I heard every word you said, and I don’t want to speak to
you. I am going to ask Miss Jewett to let me change my seat, Betsy
Tyson, and as for you, Bess Ferguson--no wonder the boys don’t want to
drag a great fat thing like you uphill. I’ll never, never be friends
with you again, so there!” She flounced out the door and down the path
before the schoolhouse, pounding her feet down very hard and trying to
keep back the smarting tears.
Betsy and Bess looked at one another dismayed. “Now we’ve done it,”
said Betsy. “You needn’t have called her lazy, Bess. You know she
isn’t.”
“That wasn’t half as bad as what you said,” returned Bess, aggrieved.
“Well, I didn’t really mean it,” returned Betsy. “I didn’t know she was
in there, did you?”
“Indeed I didn’t. I wouldn’t have had her hear for the world.”
“I don’t suppose she will ever forgive us.”
“I am not at all sure that I want to forgive her. I think what she said
was a great deal worse than what we did.”
“You _are_ fat, you know,” replied Betsy, ready to be a little spiteful.
“I’d rather be nice and plump than be a little skinny thing like you,”
returned Bess.
Betsy curled her lip scornfully. “Oh yes, we’re very well pleased with
ourselves, aren’t we? Wait till you have to do your arithmetic alone
and you won’t be so pleased at having quarrelled with Elizabeth.”
“I don’t care,” replied Bess with an air of supreme indifference. “I’m
not the only one who did the quarreling; you were as bad as I.”
“You began it.”
“But I only said things about girls and you said about boys; that was a
great deal worse.”
“I didn’t mean it; I was mad,” Betsy repeated.
Bess was not ready to acknowledge that much. Elizabeth’s remarks still
rankled and as anything relating to her personal appearance was a
tender subject with Bess she could not forget very soon. “I’m not going
to apologize, are you?” she said. “She ought to apologize first. If
she doesn’t, I’ll take you for my first best friend, Betsy.”
“Indeed you won’t, then,” returned Betsy. “If I can’t have Elizabeth I
don’t want anybody.”
“Oh, very well,” responded Bess with a haughty air. “Nobody wants you,
I’m sure.” And she walked off, leaving Betsy torn by varied emotions.
For two whole days the three girls did not speak to one another. Each
went her own way. Betsy moped by herself. Bess selected Flo Harris as
a companion. Elizabeth sought out the older girls, and it must be said
that, in defiance, she was more friendly than usual with the boys.
Then appeared upon the scene Corinne Barker, a city girl, who dressed
stylishly and accepted attentions with the air of one conferring a
great favor. Her parents had gone abroad and she was to spend the
months of their absence with her aunt and uncle. She was a little
older than Bess though somewhat younger than Leonora Stayman and Maria
Black. Bess was ready to make overtures at once. Corinne’s real coral
necklace, her flashing ring which far outshone Elizabeth’s modest
little turquoise, her gold bangle, all these won Bess’s admiration, and
it must be said that there were others who looked with envious eyes at
these possessions. In imitation of Corinne, Bess changed the style of
wearing her hair and presented herself with her usually smooth locks
pulled down in scraggy loops over her forehead and bound down with a
fillet. It was not becoming, but Bess prided herself upon its being in
the latest style. Within the next twenty-four hours nearly every girl
had followed the new fashion. Betsy arose early, had breakfast before
her aunt and uncle and so escaped detection. Miss Emily would never
have approved, Betsy well knew. When she took her place by Elizabeth’s
side, her desk-mate gave her an amused, supercilious glance which did
not escape Corinne’s eye. Elizabeth, be it said, had made up her mind
not to ape the new pupil, for she had taken a dislike to her from the
first. Corinne, recognizing in Elizabeth a leader, was ready to make
war against her, and so matters stood after the second day of Corinne’s
coming.
Betsy had begun to make overtures to her first best. She well knew her
aunt would not permit her to adopt the new fashion of arranging her
hair and she also knew it was far from becoming. Betsy’s little dark
face, overshadowed by her dusky locks, looked like some small animal’s;
still she wanted to prove that she could follow the style if she wanted
to. Not only little girls, but the world in general, will take pattern
after a flock of sheep; let one jump over a fence, the rest will jump
after it. Betsy had made the jump to show that she could, but she was
ready to return to her familiar field, the more especially as she
missed the companionship of Elizabeth.
At recess a flock of girls gathered around Corinne to examine her
corals, to borrow her ring for a moment, to see how it would look on
another hand, to hear her recount the number of parties and teas which
she had attended. The schoolhouse porch was by no means deserted that
day, for Corinne preferred it to any outside spot. Elizabeth with her
older friends sat on a bench by the gate, a row of boys perched like
crows on the fence above them. Betsy uncertainly hovered between the
two places.
“Come here, Betsy,” called Corinne. “See if my ring will fit your third
finger; it is too small for Bess. Flo says it will be too big for you,
but I don’t believe it. I know my hand is smaller than yours.”
Betsy paused in taking a second bite of her big red apple, and looked
uncertainly toward the group by the fence.
“Your hair looks real nice,” continued Corinne. “Bess says she didn’t
believe you would dare to change it.”
“I don’t think it looks very nice,” replied Betsy doubtfully; “I just
tried it for today to see how it would look. I am going back to the old
way tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t,” Corinne went on. “It mightn’t look nice if you had red
hair like some people we know. Nobody can be good-looking with red
hair, and they must always expect to be made fun of.” This was spoken
quite nonchalantly and with a little laugh.
Then all Betsy’s loyalty arose. She knew how sensitive Elizabeth was
about her auburn locks, and that she had heard every word Corinne said,
as it was intended she should. “Real red hair, of course,” responded
Betsy. “But there is nothing in the world so beautiful as auburn hair.
True auburn hair is very rare, my uncle says. All the artists rave over
it, and anyone who has it doesn’t have to wear it like common folks.”
Then, having flung forth her defiance, Betsy turned and ran to where
Elizabeth sat on the end of the bench, snuggling up close to her,
putting her hand in hers, and whispering, “I just hate that Corinne
Barker. I wish she had stayed at home.”
Elizabeth gave the little hand a squeeze and Maria Black remarked, “I
think Elizabeth Hollins has the prettiest hair I ever saw. I am glad
she has sense enough to wear it as she does. I wish you could have
heard my brother make fun of me this morning. I almost was ashamed to
be seen after what he said about my hair. I’ll not dare to wear it so
another day, I can tell you.” As Maria was the oldest girl in school
her words carried weight and Elizabeth looked at her with grateful eyes.
So peace was once more restored between Elizabeth and Betsy. But Bess
still hung off; she could not forget that Elizabeth had called her fat,
but she was soon almost the only one who sought out Corinne. The older
girls avoided her, the boys would have nothing to do with her. Boys
despise a girl who makes mean little pin-pricking remarks about other
girls. When they have a grievance they fight it out with their fists
and have done with it.
Miss Jewett had noticed the coolness between Betsy and Elizabeth and
was sorry. These two were her favorite pupils although she tried not to
show partiality. As she was some day to marry Betsy’s uncle, Mr. Robert
Tyson, she often discussed her scholars with him. “I wonder what is
wrong between Elizabeth and Betsy,” she said to him one evening. “Has
Betsy confided in you?”
“Haven’t had any report,” returned Mr. Tyson. “They sometimes have
these little flare-ups, but they don’t last.”
“I believe all girls do have them,” said Miss Jewett reflectively. “It
seems to go with youthful friendships. Perhaps the charm of making up
makes them more ready to quarrel. This time it seems rather serious. I
notice the two have scarcely spoken to one another for two whole days,
though they sit side by side.”
“That does look serious. What about Bess Ferguson? Which side does she
take?”
“Oh, she has gone over entirely to the new element. I have Mrs.
Wilmer’s niece, Corinne Barker, you know, and she has made quite a
sensation.”
“In what way?”
“Rather a silly way. I don’t like her influence with my sweet, simple
girls. She is putting wrong notions in their heads and is stirring
up discord, I am afraid. Of course, one must expect girls to admire
trinkets, but I don’t think it is good taste for them to put them on
when they come to school. This Corinne Barker enjoys nothing so much
as making a display and is the envy of the whole school. She wears her
hair in an abominable fashion which I was amused today to see imitated
by nearly every girl in school. Even Betsy came with frowsy locks
pulled down over her pretty low forehead. It gave her an uncanny look
for she has such a mite of a face that it seemed to leave her with only
half enough.”
“I’ll venture to say aunt Em didn’t observe it,” returned Mr. Tyson
with a little laugh. “I must look tomorrow morning and see for myself.”
But there was nothing wrong with Betsy when her uncle next saw her,
for her hair was arranged in its usual neat fashion and she appeared
in good spirits. “Isn’t aunt Emily down yet?” she inquired as she came
into the breakfast-room where her uncle was looking over the morning
paper.
“Not yet, but we needn’t wait. You can begin on your orange if you
like.”
Betsy seated herself and her uncle put down his paper. “What is the
matter with you and Elizabeth?” he asked. “I hear you are at odds
again.”
“Who told you? We are not, whoever it was,” Betsy replied.
“But weren’t you?”
“Well, yes,” Betsy answered hesitatingly; “we were for a little while.”
“How did it happen?”
“Well, she overheard something Bess and I were saying and she pounced
out at us and got awfully mad and called us mean, jealous, horrid
things. Then she said Bess was fat and that we were both deceitful,
so--” Betsy paused.
“So,”--repeated her uncle,--“there was a big row. What made her say you
were all those things? Were you?”
Betsy looked down at her plate. “I believe we were a little.”
“What were you saying about her?”
Betsy was honest and did not hesitate to tell. “Bess said she was lazy
and I said she liked to play with the boys better than with us girls.”
“Was it true?”
“Why, you see everybody made a lot of her after her adventure with the
lynx and of course she liked it. Phil Selden has the very nicest sled
in school and he took her on it ever and ever so many times, then Maria
Black made a fuss over her and Leonora Stayman gave her a ring that was
too small for herself and--and----”
“You and Bess were jealous, I see. So that much was true, and you said
things to one another behind her back that you wouldn’t have said to
her face. I suppose we might call that deceitful.”
Betsy nodded in token that she thought this true. “And Bess is fat,”
she declared.
Mr. Tyson repressed a smile. “While no one can say truthfully that
Elizabeth is lazy. It looks to me as if you had the worst of it, Betsy.
The court convicts you on your own evidence and condemns you to pay
Miss Elizabeth Hollins ten kisses in return for her injured feelings.”
“I’ve already paid them,” returned Betsy gravely. “We made up today
after Corinne Barker called her a red-head. I wouldn’t stand that, you
know; so I said what I thought and I am never going to have anything to
do with her, with Corinne, I mean.”
“Not even to the extent of adopting her manner of wearing her hair,”
said Mr. Tyson slyly.
“Oh, uncle Rob, did Miss Jewett tell you? Of course she must have. It
was silly, of course, but I just wanted to see how it looked.”
“Did you find out?”
“It didn’t look nice a bit. Elizabeth told me on her sacred honor that
I was a sight, though that isn’t the reason I gave it up, at least
it isn’t the only reason. We have formed ourselves into two parties,
Styles and Non-styles. Elizabeth and I belong to the Non-styles, so do
Maria and Leonora. Bess belongs to the Styles, but we don’t care.”
“I must say that I approve more heartily of the Non-styles myself,” Mr.
Tyson told her. “But here comes your aunt Em. I’ll not tell, Betsy”--a
promise which Betsy was glad to hear.