“Hello, hello; that you, Sue?”
“Yes–Janet?”
“Nobody else. Going to be at home for a while?”
“Yes; can you come over?”
“That is what I’d like to do, for what do you think?”
“Anything exciting going on?”
“Not exactly, but I’ve a letter from Betty Lee at last!”
“Oh, then you will bring it over with you, won’t you?”
“Of course. That’s what I’m coming for, although we might just as well
make plans for the Sunday‐school picnic while I’m over. This is a real
good long letter. I thought she’d never write as she promised, to tell
me about everything. I’d almost begun to thing Betty _had_ forgotten us!
But she hasn’t, at least she says she hasn’t, and she’s been so busy, of
course, and everything new. She wrote this at several different times.
But there, I’d better let her letter speak for itself. She said to tell
you all the news, and sent you her love and everything, so I’ll just let
you read all of it, even the more or less private part if you want to.
I’ll not get to your house for a little while, for I have to go down
street for Mother first. She has to have some soap and starch and other
groceries. She’s been doing up something extra. But I thought I’d better
call you up to see if you’d be there.”
In due season Janet Light appeared at the home of her friend, where the
two girls repaired to the big swing in the back yard. There an old apple
tree spread wide branches over them and let the sunshine of late
September come through its leaves in fitful fashion, dancing with their
shadows on and about the slightly swaying lassies. It was Saturday
morning, hence their leisure after early morning tasks were over.
“And see what I have to show you,” said Janet, drawing from the envelope
the letter and something with it that fell on the floor of the swing,
almost going through its slats.
“Oh, a new picture of Betty!” exclaimed Sue, reaching down carefully to
pick up the unmounted photograph, a small one. “Isn’t that cute? And
it’s good of Betty, too. Why, it doesn’t look like a snap‐shot.” Sue
turned it over to examine it.
“It isn’t. It was taken at some shop. Betty tells about it in the
letter.”
“That’s Betty’s smile, and what a good light on her hair. Betty’s hair
is a real gold, just like what you read about in books. I always wished
I had hair like Betty’s. And I never saw such dark blue eyes as Betty
has. They look straight at you here. I think Betty is a real pretty
girl, don’t you?”
“Yes, but she’s no doll. And I think Betty’s ‘gold’ on the inside, too.
That letter didn’t sound as if she’d forgotten us this soon. Read it.”
Janet held out the thick packet of folded sheets.
“Oh, you read it to me. It will sound twice as well in your
‘mellifluous’ tones. Kate had to put ‘mellifluous’ in a sentence at
school yesterday.”
Janet laughed. “I may leave out the messages to me, then, but I’ll read
it if you want me to. Thank fortune, Betty writes so a body can read it.
And she says that we simply must come down to see her at the
Thanksgiving vacation. I can’t wait to _read_ you that. Her mother says
so, too, she wrote. Do you suppose we could? I haven’t said anything to
Mother yet.”
“Wouldn’t it be _wonderful_? But–clothes and everything–I’m afraid not.”
“We have as good things as Betty has.”
“I haven’t anything that would do to travel in, though, and I’m afraid I
can’t have a new winter coat. My old one’s a sight!”
“Why it looked good enough to me last winter. But listen now. I’ll
begin.”
“Dear Janet,” the letter commenced. “I’ll have to begin with apologies,
of course, and I’m hoping that you’ve received the two picture post
cards I sent. I meant to send some to all the girls and haven’t. But
honestly, I’ve been so busy and it’s all been so mixy, if you know what
I mean by that, that I just haven’t gotten at a letter that would give
you any idea of how things are. It looks sort of hopeless now, to tell
the truth, but I’m going to start in anyhow, even if I have to write at
several different times. The longer I put it off the more there will be
to tell. You haven’t any idea how much I’ve missed you and how I’ve
almost started to tell you things; that is, I’d think ‘I must tell Janet
that,’ and then I’d think again that you weren’t anywhere around!
“Talk about being lonesome! Of course I’ve had the family, but not a
single girl at first. I have several friends now that I know more or
less, but nobody that takes the place of the girls at home. You see I
still call it home. I’m not sure that the city will ever seem like home,
but it is very interesting and the place where we live is ever so nice.
It is all on one floor, which makes it easy for Mother, and we have
enough room, though we wouldn’t have if we hadn’t gotten rid of so much
stuff before we moved. Still, there is a little room on the third floor
where we can store some things, like our trunks and boxes. Mother likes
it, though she has been lonesome, too, for all the friends. But of
course Mother and Father used to live in a city, so it doesn’t seem so
strange to them. Two people live on the floor above us, but there is a
separate entrance and stairs and everything separate in the basement.
“There is a good church near enough to walk to it and Mother has been to
some of the missionary meetings and suppers and all, and we have, too–to
the suppers! So Mother and Father are beginning to be acquainted. I’m in
a Sunday school class, but I haven’t had time to go to anything besides
just Sunday morning, for there are too many lessons and school things
that take my time. I just have to get a good start. But I’ll have time
pretty soon. The class has monthly meetings. They wanted me to be in
some kind of a pageant, but Mother said I’d better not try it, for I
wouldn’t have time to practice.
“And now about the school. Honestly, girls, I don’t know where to begin.
Not all the high schools are as fine as ours, for ours isn’t as old as
some of them and Father says it is modern in every respect. They are so
crowded that they simply have to build new schools, which Father says is
a good thing. In some old schools they’ve been actually heating with
stoves, not even a furnace. So Father said.
“Well, the building is big and the grounds are gorgeous, full of
beautiful trees and shrubbery. I’m no architect, so I can’t tell you
about the building except that it spreads out and up three stories,
besides the basement floor, and Mother says we need wings! The basement
floor isn’t under the ground or anything, and all the freshmen have
their lockers there. We put our wraps and books there when we do not
need them and get them out when we do. We have a ‘home room’ and a
teacher in charge of it, and we go there the first thing in the morning
and the last thing before we go home. She tells us things, the teacher,
I mean. Some days we don’t do the same things. Sometimes we go to the
‘auditorium’ and hear somebody speak, or something happens there, but
not much yet.
“At first I simply felt lost. Just imagine. Girls, there are
_twenty‐eight hundred boys and girls_ that attend our high school and I
don’t think that counts the pupils in the junior high. That is _more
than half as many people_ as are in our home town!
“Dick and Doris are very much set up over being in a ‘junior high
school’–though I don’t mean that unkindly. But they think it as
wonderful as possible and like their teachers. Dick is more interested
in athletics than he is in his lessons and Father has to keep him at his
lessons a while in the evenings after he has been outdoors enough, as
Father thinks. Doris is working away to make good grades. She has her
eye on things that the other girls do and wear but that is only natural,
and I imagine that we need all the good advice Father and Mother give
us. Mother says not to join anything until we get a good start in our
lessons and learn more about living here. Oh, yes, I was to send some
message to Billy, but I told Dick he could just as well write himself,
and it may be possible that Billy will hear from him, though I couldn’t
say positively. You know how much the boys like to write!
“By the way, I’m putting in a little picture of myself. Mother let me go
down town with, one of the girls that lives not so very far from us; at
least we take the same street car home from school. So we went down one
day right after school. She invited me, and took me to a real good
moving picture, and we stopped in at a cute little place where they take
cheap photographs. We also had a grand sundae at a wonderful place and
came home not a bit hungry for dinner. And that makes me think–we have
dinner at night, for Father can’t come home very well, it is so far, and
has a noon lunch down town. We children have one at school, and my, what
grand lunches we do have! They give it to us at about what it costs, so
it doesn’t quite break us up to buy it, enough for the time we have to
eat it. But everything, street‐car fare and all, costs more in a city.
Father drives us to school, mostly, and then goes on down to his
business.
“I think that I shall have to stop, though I’ve been scribbling as fast
as I could, and I believe I’ll just send this right off, though I’m not
half through with all there is to tell. I’ll try to write something
about the folks we have met when I write again. More things will have
happened, too, I suppose, but I’ve got to stop now. Give Sue my love and
now I want you both to plan to come here for your Thanksgiving vacation.
Mother invites you, too. She said it would do me good to see some of
you. Auntie can’t come for she’s going to some family reunion or other,
and we can make room for you. Please try to do it!”
But the letter was not finished with this. A dash and a new date began
the next part in which Betty said that since she had been interrupted
she might as well add something more to her “book” she was writing to
Janet. There followed more details with a comical description of “her
trip down in charge of the family,” her arriving to find no one, and the
“time she had the first day of school.”
The “private messages” to Janet were only some loving remarks with which
she closed and those Janet let Sue read herself.
“I’m sure she does miss you, Janet, just as I have missed my cousin
Moira. I don’t see why Uncle had to move ’way out to California. I’m
afraid I never _will_ see her again.”
“Oh, yes you will–and wouldn’t it be a great place to go to visit her?”
“Y‐yes, if I ever could. I’m glad I have you left, Janet. I know why you
and Betty have liked each other so much. You’re both so cheerful and
stout‐hearted some way.”
“Why, whatever made you think that?” asked Janet, surprised.
“Mother said that about Betty, and I’ve noticed it about you, only I
hadn’t put it into those words.”
“It’s very nice of you to think it about me. I’m just as glad to have
you, Sue, and we’d better see a great deal of each other, just as we
have since Betty left. And if Mrs. Lee herself invites us to come, let’s
try as hard as we can to go to visit Betty at Thanksgiving. We’d not
need much in the clothes line for such a few days, our school dress and
our Sunday dress, a change of underclothing, I suppose, and our wraps.
_Betty_ would never be ashamed of us if we didn’t have new and stylish
hats and coats.”
“I believe Betty did say that her old coat would have to do this winter,
though I’m not sure. Perhaps it was you that mentioned it. Well, it
doesn’t matter. I’ll go if I can, Janet, and be sure to give Betty my
love when you write to her. I hope she’ll write to me.”
“Oh, she will, Sue. Of course Betty will, if she is inviting you. But
you can see what a rush she’s in. It must take a lot of time just to get
to places on the street cars. Mother said it would take over half an
hour to get down town from some of the suburbs. And maybe it’s more than
that. I believe I’d rather live here, where you can walk to church and
school and to the groceries and picture show and everything.”
“I can imagine that Betty _is_ pretty lonesome sometimes,” added Sue,
gravely looking at the letter which she still held. “But it seems just
like a nice adventure that you read about, and if we can go, we’ll have
a share in some of it.”