BETTY’S LETTER
If Betty was amazed at hearing her name pronounced by Mrs. Tucker in
such a gentle, almost deferential tone, she was still more astounded
when that lady said pleasantly:
“Come into my room, my child. I have something important to tell you.”
The two went into the landlady’s private sitting-room, and Betty nearly
fainted when Mrs. Tucker offered her a chair with all the politeness she
would have shown to her best boarder.
With her usual ready acceptance of a situation, Betty sat down with a
vague feeling that Mrs. Tucker must have lost her mind, but that it was
as well to enjoy the advantages of her mental weakness as they offered
themselves.
“The postman brought a letter for you,” Mrs. Tucker began, “and as I am
your best friend and only guardian, I opened it, and I will now read it
to you.”
“You had no right to open a letter addressed to me,” said Betty,
sharply, her sense of justice at once on the alert.
“Oh, yes, my dear,” said Mrs. Tucker, sweetly; “in the absence of a
legal guardian, I will assume that relation toward you.”
Betty was silenced, though not convinced; and, not daring to ask for the
wonderful letter, she sat waiting to hear it read. You see, she had
never had one before, and she would have dearly loved the excitement of
breaking the seal of her own letter.
“It is from Miss Van Court,” Mrs. Tucker continued, and then Betty was
more puzzled than ever. What _could_ Miss Van Court have to say, except
in regard to the unfortunate sprinkling episode?—and why should any
message about that make Mrs. Tucker so bland and dove-like?
The landlady went on:
“_To Betty McGuire at Mrs. Tucker’s_:
“I may be mistaken, but if your name is as written above, I
think a piece of good fortune is in store for you. If you were
with your father in a railroad accident near Chicago, about ten
years ago, and if you were afterward taken to an orphan asylum
at Mapleville, and stayed there five or six years, then you are
the Elizabeth McGuire that a friend of mine is looking for. My
friend is a lawyer from New York, and is staying at my home for
a few days; so, if you fulfil the above conditions, I would like
you to let me know as soon as possible.
“Yours very truly,
“GRACE VAN COURT.
“P.S. Perhaps it would be best for you to come here this
afternoon between three and five o’clock.”
“It’s me!” screamed Betty, excitedly. “It’s me, and I’m going to see her
right now!”
“Of course you’re going, my dear, and I’ll go with you,” was Mrs.
Tucker’s reply.
Betty would have preferred to call on Miss Van Court alone; but she
feared any opposition might break the charm and restore Mrs. Tucker to
her normal state of temper; so the wise child decided to humor her.
“Yes, ma’am; we’ll go together; and please, ma’am, could I have me red
sash again to wear?”
“That ridiculous rag? No, indeed. Put on your best frock, and I’ll lend
you a neat collar and brooch.”
Betty dared not disobey, and when three o’clock came she put on her
skimpy and worn best frock, which Mrs. Tucker supplemented by a wide,
stiff white collar, much too large, and fastened with a huge black
rubber brooch. But while waiting for her companion to be ready, Betty
found time to load her old straw hat with great bunches of the
old-fashioned pink roses which grew all over the back fence.
This Mrs. Tucker viewed with dismay, and ordered the flowers thrown away
at once. But the excitement of the occasion stimulated Betty’s courage,
and she refused to part with her flowers, adding: “You needn’t go with
me, if you don’t like my posies.” This apparently brought Mrs. Tucker to
terms, and the two started off to the Van Court mansion.
[Illustration: “BETTY NEARLY FAINTED WHEN MRS. TUCKER OFFERED HER A
CHAIR.”]
It was characteristic of Betty that she gave not a thought as to what
Miss Van Court might have to tell her, not a guess as to what the good
news might be about. She gave all her attention to fully enjoying the
happiness of the present moment. To be walking leisurely along, wearing
a rose-trimmed hat, on her way to a great house, and assured of her
welcome there—all this made little Betty so superlatively happy that
even the unpleasant presence of Mrs. Tucker failed to annoy her. And,
too, the Mrs. Tucker of to-day was so different from the Mrs. Tucker of
all past days that it was almost a pleasure to be with her. She chatted
affably; and though Betty would rather have been alone, so that she
could “pretend” more successfully, she met the lady’s overtures
half-way, and they seemed the best of friends.
As they entered the Van Court gate, and went up the path under the great
trees, and saw the beautiful landscape garden, Betty walked along like
one in a dream. She had never seen such a place before, and it seemed to
her like paradise. Even Mrs. Tucker’s chatter passed unnoticed, for
Betty was pretending to herself that this was her home and she was
returning after an absence of a few days. One thing bothered her,
though. All the time she was getting ready for this visit she had been
thinking how much she would like to take a small gift of some sort to
Miss Van Court—not anything of intrinsic value, but something that
would be an offering, and would show how sorry she was that she had
spoiled the parasol that day. She had looked carefully over her small
store of treasures, but none of them seemed suitable, except, perhaps, a
tarnished gilt buckle that Pete had given her. She had put it in her
pocket, uncertain whether to present it or not; but as she walked by the
glowing flower-beds that adorned the Van Court grounds, she had a
brilliant idea. Nothing could be more acceptable to Miss Van Court than
a bunch of flowers, and she would be sure to like such beauties as these
were. So Betty broke off half a dozen stalks of pink gladioli, while
Mrs. Tucker looked on aghast. She remonstrated; but Betty, keyed up to a
high pitch of daring, paid no attention.
She felt a little shy when an important-looking servant answered the
knock at the door; but when she entered the drawing-room, Miss Van Court
greeted her with such a cordial manner that she felt at ease at once.
“I’ve brought you some flowers,” she said simply. “They’re from your own
garden; but I had nothing myself that you would like, and I wanted to
give you some thing nice.”
Betty was so adaptable by nature, and so quickly responsive to the
atmosphere of her surroundings, that she spoke quietly and with almost
no trace of the Irish brogue that was so noticeable when she talked with
Ellen, or the careless slang of her conversations with Jack.
“Thank you, dear,” said Miss Van Court, taking the flowers as graciously
as if from a duchess; “I am very glad you thought of me.”
But if Betty felt at ease, it was not so with Mrs. Tucker. She could
impress the waif with her sudden kindliness toward her, but Miss Van
Court was not likely to forget how the angry landlady had berated the
poor little drudge the morning of the drenching performance. And Mrs.
Tucker trembled in her shoes as Miss Van Court said coldly: “I thank you
for bringing Betty to me, but you need not wait; I will send her home
after the interview.”
Mrs. Tucker indistinctly murmured something about being very much
attached to the child and her only friend and benefactor; but Miss Van
Court said nothing, and was so evidently waiting for her to go that the
disappointed landlady was forced to depart.
Then Miss Grace turned to Betty and looked at her critically. She smiled
kindly at the earnest little face, crowned with the bunches of roses, so
heavy that the old straw hat could scarcely support them; but she seemed
to disapprove of the collar and brooch.
“Where’s your red necktie?” she asked Betty abruptly.
“Mrs. Tucker took it and kept it, ma’am,” Betty answered.
“Were you sorry?”
“Oh, yes, indeed; but,”—with an endeavor to look on the bright
side,—“but I couldn’t have worn it with these pink roses, ma’am; they
wouldn’t like each other.”
Miss Grace seemed much amused, but only said, “Come with me, Betty, into
the library.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Betty, slipping her hand into that of her friend with a
loving little squeeze; and together they went into the next room.
A big man sat at a table, writing. He looked at Betty somewhat kindly
and very curiously, and presently said:
“Well, Miss Van Court?”
“This is Elizabeth McGuire,” said Miss Grace; “and, Betty, this is Mr.
Brewster.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Betty.
Then Mr. Brewster asked Betty a long string of questions, until he had
found out everything she knew about her parentage and early life. At
last he seemed satisfied, and, turning from the puzzled Betty, he said
to Miss Van Court:
“There can be no doubt about it; I believe you may tell her.”
Miss Van Court’s face beamed with delight, and she held out her hands,
saying, “Come here, Betty.”
Betty almost ran across the room, and Mr. Brewster rose and placed a low
chair for her, so that she could look right up into Miss Van Court’s
face.
The lady took both Betty’s little brown hands in her own, and said:
“My dear, I have a wonderful piece of news for you—so great and
splendid that I scarcely know how to tell it. But the principal fact is
that you are the only heir to a large fortune.”
“Where is it?” said Betty, looking around with wondering eyes, as if she
expected to see bank-notes fluttering through the air.
“It is safe in trust for you. But you are really mistress of it; you are
absolutely free in regard to its use, and can do exactly what you please
with it. It _doesn’t_ seem right, does it?” she added, turning to Mr.
Brewster. For Betty’s face expressed such blank amazement that it did
seem as if there must be a mistake somewhere.
But the child was comprehending it, though slowly and with an effort.
[Illustration: “‘MY DEAR, I HAVE A WONDERFUL PIECE OF NEWS FOR YOU—SO
GREAT AND SPLENDID THAT I SCARCELY KNOW HOW TO TELL IT.’”]
“Tell me more about it,” she said at last, still looking steadily at
Miss Grace.
“Well, Betty, you know that long ago your grandfather went to Australia
to seek his fortune in the gold-fields there. By years of hard work he
succeeded in acquiring great wealth, and he sent for his son to come out
and enjoy it with him. But word came back that his son had gone to
America and married there, but further trace of him could not be found.
Soon after this the old man died, and ever since his executors have been
trying to find his son, Martin McGuire, or his heirs. It was through the
accident of the garden hose that day that I learned your name was
McGuire, and we have proved beyond a doubt that you are the rightful
owner of old Dennis McGuire’s money.”
“Yes, ’m,” said Betty; and then she rose and walked over to where Mr.
Brewster still sat by the writing-table.
“Now, will _you_ please tell me about it?” she said.
The request was from no lack of confidence in Miss Van Court’s
statements, but simply a desire to hear other particulars, and to have
the added authority of the man’s advice.
So Mr. Brewster began impressively:
“Miss McGuire, I have the honor to inform you that you are heiress to a
large sum of money, probably a million of dollars, and that, according
to the provisions of your grandfather’s will, it is absolutely at your
own disposal. For the will specially states that in the event of Martin
McGuire’s death the money shall belong to his children, and shall be
spent or used as they desire, even though a nominal guardian must needs
be appointed to fulfil the letter of the law. Mr. Dennis McGuire’s
lawyer came from Australia to New York some time ago to hunt up the
heirs. His search seemed fruitless, and one day he told me about the
case, in a casual conversation. I came down here on a few days’ visit to
my friend Mr. Van Court, and I happened to tell him about it in his
sister’s presence. She at once remembered that your name was McGuire;
and though it seemed one chance out of a thousand, we investigated the
case, and we feel convinced that the heir is found at last. I will write
Mr. Morris, the Australian lawyer, and he will come to Greenborough at
once. Meantime, Miss McGuire, you may be planning your future mode of
life, which will, of course, be very different from your past.”
“Yes, sir. Will you please pinch me, sir?” and Betty held out her
scrawny little arm toward the gentleman.
He seemed a bit astonished; but the vagaries of heiresses are easily
forgiven, and he nipped the arm between his thumb and forefinger,
saying:
“Oh, you are awake; there is no doubt of that! But you haven’t realized
the case yet. Come, now; what do you think you will do with all this
money?”
“First, I shall buy two things, sir—a white parasol and a home.”
“Indeed! and why do you buy the parasol first?”
“Because that is to give to Miss Van Court, to replace the one I
spoiled.”
Miss Grace was too kind-hearted to oppose Betty’s plan, so she said: “I
shall prize the new one highly as a gift from my little friend. And then
next you’re to purchase a home, are you?”
“Yes,” said Betty, her eyes fairly dancing as she awoke to the
possibilities. “Yes; I’ve never had a home, and oh, I’ve longed for one
so! But I think I’d better go back to Mrs. Tucker’s now, ma’am. Ellen
will be wanting me to pare the potatoes.”
Mr. Brewster looked inquiringly at Miss Grace.
“Yes,” said the lady; “she may as well go back there for to-night. It
will be quieter and better for her than to stay here. And to-morrow
morning, Betty, I will call for you, and we’ll go and buy you some new
clothes, more appropriate to your changed fortunes.”