"Right!" assented the old gentleman, promptly. "Now, if you had said
There, it would have been wrong; for Then is There. You see, this is
the way: When we have lived in Now until it is all used up, it changes
into Then, and, instead of being Here, is There. I hope it's plain to
you. Well, you asked me where By-and-by was. That 's the very thing
about it: it never was, not even _is_; it's always _going to be_, and
it's generally a rather long way from Now; so, if you know where Now
is, you can make your own calculations as to the distance of By-and-by."
"But I don't know anything about calculating distances," said Betty,
dolefully.
"It does n't matter," remarked Mr. Bombus; "for even if you did you
could n't apply it in this case. But we 're getting on in our journey.
Yes, indeed, we seem to be really getting on."
"Why, I should hope so!" returned Betty. "It seems to me I never flew
so fast in all my life before and for such a long time. If we were n't
getting on, I think I should be discouraged. We seem to be almost
running a race, we go so quickly."
"We are running a race," observed Mr. Bombus.
Betty opened her eyes wide and said: "Why, _I_ did n't know it. When
did we begin?"
"When we started, Child. Pray, don't be stupid!" replied her friend, a
little severely.
"But with whom are we running it?" queried Betty.
"With Time," whispered Mr. Bombus, confidentially. "One always has to
beat him before one can get to By-and-by. And then it depends on one's
self whether one likes it or not after one gets there."
But even as he spoke Betty seemed to feel herself hurried along more
rapidly than ever, as if she were making a final effort to outstrip
some one; and then she was brought to so sudden a standstill that she
had to do her best to keep from falling forward, and was still quite
dizzy with her effort when she heard a panting voice say, "That last
rush quite took away my breath!" and found herself being addressed by
Mr. Bombus, who was very red in the face and gasping rather painfully,
and whom she had, for the moment, forgotten.
Betty said: "My, Mr. Bombus, how warm you are! Sit right down on the
grass and cool off before we go any farther, please."
"Oh, dear, no!" objected her companion. "That would be terribly
imprudent, with these cold autumn winds blowing so; and winter just
over there. I 'd catch my death, Child."
"Why, I 'm sure," replied Betty, "I don't know what you mean. It's as
summer as it can be. It's a hot August day, and if you can't sit
outdoors in August, I 'd like to know when you can."
"Allow me to inform you, my dear child, that it isn't August at all;
and if you had half an eye you 'd see it, let alone feel it. Do these
leaves look as if it were August?" and he pointed to a clump of trees
whose foliage shone red and yellow in the sunlight.
Betty started. "Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "How came they to
change so early?"
"It _is n't_ early," explained Mr. Bombus. "It's the last of
October,--even later,--and keeps getting more so every minute."
"But," insisted Betty, "it was August when I first saw you, a few hours
ago, and--"
"Yes, _then_ it was August," assented Mr. Bombus; "but we 've got
beyond that. We 're in By-and-by. Did n't you hear your mother say it
would be October by and by, and it _is_ October. Time is jogging on,
back there in the world; but we beat him, you see, and are safe and
sound--far ahead of him--in By-and-by. Things are being done here that
are always _going_ to be done behind there. It's great fun."
But at these words Betty's face grew very grave, and a sudden thought
struck her that was anything but "great fun." Would she be set to
doing all the things she had promised to do "by and by"?
"I 'm afraid so," said Mr. Bombus, replying to her question though she
had only _thought_ it. "I told you it depended on one's self if one
were going to like By-and-by or not. Evidently you 're _not_. Oh!
going so soon? You must have been a lazy little girl to be set about
settling your account as quick as this. See you later! Good--"
But again he was not permitted to say "by," for before he could fairly
get the word out, Betty was whisked away, and Mr. Bombus stood solitary
and alone under a bare maple-tree, chuckling to himself in an amused
fashion and, it must be confessed, in a spiteful.
"It 'll be a good lesson for her. She deserves it," he said to
himself; and Betty seemed to hear him, though she was by this time far
away.
Poor child! she did not know where she was going nor what would take
place next, and was pretty well frightened at feeling herself powerless
to do anything against the unknown force that was driving her on.
But even while she was wondering she ceased to wonder; and what was
going to happen had happened, and she found herself standing in an
enormous hall that was filled with countless children, of all ages and
nationalities,--and some who were not children at all,--every one of
whom was hurrying to and fro and in and out, while all the time a voice
from somewhere was calling out names and dates in such rapid succession
that Betty was fairly deafened with the sound. There was a continual
stir in the assembly, and people were appearing and reappearing
constantly in the most perplexing manner, so that it made one quite
dizzy to look on. But Betty was not permitted to look long, for in the
midst of the haranguing of the dreadful voice she seemed to distinguish
something that sounded strangely familiar.
"Betty Bleecker," it called, "began her account here when she was five
years old by the World calculation. Therefore she has the undone
duties of seven years--World count--to perform. Let her set about
paying off her debt at once, and stop only when the account is
squared;" whereupon Betty was again whisked off, and had not even time
to guess where, before she found herself in a place that reminded her
strangely of home and yet was not home at all. Then a wearisome round
of tasks began.
She picked up pins, she opened doors, she shut windows, she raised
shades, she closed shutters, she ran errands, she delivered messages,
she practised scales, she studied lessons, she set her doll-house in
order and replaced her toys, she washed her face and brushed her hair,
she picked currants and stoned raisins, she hung up her skipping-rope
and fastened her sash; and so she went on from one thing to another
until she was almost ready to cry with weariness and fatigue. Half the
things she did she had forgotten she had ever promised to do. But she
had sent them into By-and-by, and here they were to be done, and do
them she must. On and on she went, until after a while the tasks she
had to perform began to gain a more familiar look, and she recognized
them as being unkept promises of quite a recent date. She dusted her
room, she darned her stockings, she mended her apron, she fed her bird,
she wrote a letter, she read her Bible; and at last, after an endless
space and when tears of real anguish were coursing down her cheeks, she
found herself amusing the baby, and discovered that she had come to the
last of her long line of duties and was cancelling her debt to
By-and-by.
As soon as all was finished she felt herself being hurried, still
sobbing and crying, back to the place from which she had started, and
on entering heard the same voice she had listened to before, say,--
"Betty Bleecker's account is squared. Let a receipted bill be given
her; advise her to run up no more accounts, and send her home."
At these words Betty wept afresh, but not now from sorrow, but from
gladness at the thought of returning home. And before she could even
realize it, she was standing beside Mr. Bombus again, with something in
her hand which she clutched tightly and which proved to be a signed
receipt for her debt to By-and-by. Then she heard her companion say,--
"Like to look about a bit before you leave? By-and-by's a busy place;
don't you think so?"
And Betty replied promptly, "Oh, no, sir--yes, sir--not at all, sir--if
you please, sir;" quite too frantic at the thought of having to go
back, even for a moment, to answer the questions.
But all the while she was very angry with Mr. Bombus for bringing her
there, quite forgetting she had pleaded with him to do so; and his
smiling at her in that very superior fashion provoked her sadly, and
she began upbraiding him, between her sobs and tears, for his
unkindness and severity.
"It would only have been harder in the end," replied her companion,
calmly. "Now you 've paid them and can take care not to run up any
more debts; for, mark my words, you 'll have to square your account
every time, and the longer it runs the worse it will be. Nothing in
the world, in the way of responsibility, ever goes scot-free. You have
to pay in one way or another for everything you do or leave undone, and
the sooner you know it the better."
Betty was sobbing harder than ever, and when she thought she caught a
triumphant gleam in Mr. Bombus's eyes and heard him humming in an
aggravating undertone, "In the Sweet By-and-by," she could restrain
herself no longer, but raised her hand and struck him a sounding blow.
Instantly she was most deeply repentant, and would have begged his
pardon; but as she turned to address him, his cocked hat flew off, his
legs doubled up under him, his eyes rolled madly, and then with a
fierce glare at her he roared in a voice of thunder: "BET-TY!"
And there she was in the soft grass-heap, sobbing with fright and
clutching tightly in her hand a fistful of straw; while yonder in the
wistaria-vine a humble-bee was settling, and a voice from the house was
heard calling her name:
"Betty! BET-TY!"