BETSY’S FIND
The Big Six--as the older children were now called--were returning
from their swim. A shower, early in the morning, had delayed the
bathing hour until afternoon. And their pent-up spirits had exploded in
prolonged skylarking in the water. It was late afternoon when they came
in sight of the Little House. They threw themselves under one of the
twin elms on the front lawn, a little warm from their walk home. And
as the Big Six languidly talked, the Little Six came, in single file,
along the trail which led from House Rock.
“Where’s Betsy?” the sharp-eyed Rosie called.
“I sent her back for her dolly,” Molly explained gravely. “She forgot
and left Hildegarde on House Rock. Hildegarde was all dressed up in her
best clothes and I didn’t fink she ought to stay out all night long.”
“That’s right, Molly,” Maida applauded the little girl. “Take just as
good care of your dollies as you do of yourselves. And then when you
grow up, they’ll still be with you--like Lucy.”
Molly, heading the file turned suddenly and walked soberly over to
Maida’s side. She knelt down on the grass beside her. “Maida,” she
said, “when we first came down here, you said if we were very _very_
good, we could play with Lucy some rainy day.”
Maida laughed up into the earnest little face. The key-note of Molly’s
coloring was brown just as Delia’s was red, Betsy’s black, and the
Clark twins pink-and-white. Molly’s serious little face, from which
hung two tight thick little braids, had, even in her wee childhood, a
touch of motherliness; and indeed she brooded like a warm little mother
bird over the entire rest of the group.
“So I did,” Maida said.
“But we’ve only had free rainy days,” Molly complained.
The Big Six laughed. Molly could not pronounce t and her failure in
this respect always entertained the Big Six. They all reached out and
knocked the elm trunk. “Knock wood!” they called to Molly; and Molly,
not at all understanding what it was all about, obediently tapped the
tree with her dimpled knuckles.
“And you didn’t let us have Lucy those free days,” Molly stated
reproachfully.
“But if you wait long enough, Molly,” Maida excused herself, “you are
sure to have a big three-days’ storm. And I promise you you shall have
Lucy all three days.”
“And the little hair frunk?” Molly questioned eagerly.
“Yes,” Maida agreed, “the little hair frunk.”
“Cross you froat!” Molly demanded.
“Yes, cross my froat,” Maida agreed and crossed it.
“Oh goody!” Molly skipped away on the wings of ecstasy.
“Did Betsy come back?” Dicky asked carelessly.
“I didn’t notice,” Maida answered absently, “I wasn’t looking.”
But after a while the supper bell rang. The children filed into the
dining room and took their places. One chair was vacant.
“Where’s Betsy?” Mrs. Dore immediately asked.
Everybody looked puzzled and nobody answered.
“I told her to go and get her dolly,” Molly asserted.
Nobody paid any attention to her.
“She’s probably up-stairs in the nursery,” Mrs. Dore decided. “Once or
twice she’s fallen asleep up there--she’s got so tired playing.”
She left the room and the children heard her running over the stairs.
In a moment or two, they heard her footsteps coming back--at a swifter
pace.
“She isn’t there,” Mrs. Dore said in a quiet voice. “Nor in any one of
the upstairs rooms. Now before you eat, children, scatter about the
place and see if you can find her.”
“She’s run away,” Dicky asserted. “I told you she would.”
“I told her to go back for her dolly,” Molly reiterated gravely.
As Mrs. Dore had ordered, the children scattered. They searched the
house, the Annex, the barn, the Tree House, the two gardens, and the
adjacent trails. No Betsy! By this time, Floribel and Zeke, looking
very serious, had joined in the search. Granny Flynn, obviously
frightened, was wringing her hands. Mrs. Dore’s face had turned
serious too, but she was quite mistress of herself.
“We’ll wait a few minutes,” she ordered slowly, “and then if we haven’t
found her, we’ll telephone the Big House. In the meantime, Granny,
you see that the children have their supper. The rest of you,” she
addressed the Big Six, “must go without your supper for a while. I want
you to help.”
The Big Six wanted to help of course. For a moment or two they wandered
about aimlessly--a haphazard group; with Mrs. Dore and Floribel and
Zeke trying to direct all at once. Suddenly Arthur Duncan took command
of the situation. He ran into the house and emerged with his arms full
of things; the cow-bell with which Floribel called the children to
meals and four electric flash-lights. “Laura,” he commanded, handing
her the cow-bell, “I want you to stand here at the door and ring this
bell at regular intervals. I’m going to divide the rest of you into
pairs and send you off in different directions. We’re losing time,
all bunched together like this. Now Mrs. Dore, if you and Dicky will
go to the Magic Mirror and hunt the woods there--and Floribel, you
and Rosie take the House Rock direction. Zeke, you and Harold search
in front, across the road. Maida and I’ll beat the woods back of the
house. Remember, don’t any one of you go out of hearing of the bell.
And if any of you find Betsy, come back and ring the bell hard--without
stopping.”
The four pairs scattered, north, south, east and west. For a few
moments Maida could hear the others crashing through the woods. She
caught their voices ... getting farther and farther away ... calling
“Betsy!” ... “Betsy!” ... fragments of sentences. Finally as she
and Arthur plunged deeper and deeper into the forest, she got only
broken blurred calls. At length these too died away. The silence of
the immeasurable, immemorial forest closed about her and Arthur. The
oncoming dusk seemed to be pouring like a great, gradual-growing flood
upon them.
“There isn’t any chance of our losing Betsy forever, Arthur?” Maida
asked once in a hushed voice.
“Not a chance,” Arthur answered. “If we don’t find her, your father
will. In five minutes he can get enough men together to beat these
woods. And by midnight they can cover every spot of them.”
“They are awfully big woods, Arthur,” Maida commented a little
fearfully.
“But a gang of men working systematically,” Arthur explained, “could
get through them in no time. Why the year my father and I camped out
in Maine, there was a child lost in a forest a hundred times as big as
this, but the whole village turned out and they found her in an hour.”
Arthur did not add that the child was only three. He went on. “You see,
little children can’t walk very fast. They are likely to go round in
circles any way. And they soon get tired out. We shall probably find
her asleep.”
“But if she’s fast asleep,” Maida remarked, “she can’t help us by
answering our calls.”
To this Arthur answered, “Perhaps our calls will wake her.”
In the meantime, they searched every bit of ground thoroughly. At the
foot of tree trunks, beside rocks, under bushes, Arthur thrust the rays
of his electric flash-light. At intervals, he called to Maida and at
intervals Maida called to him. It grew darker and darker.
“There, there’s the moon!” Arthur said in a relieved tone. “It’s going
to help a good deal--having a full moon.” Following his pointing
finger, Maida caught a faint, red glow through the trees. They searched
a little longer.
“Arthur, I can barely hear the bell,” Maida exclaimed suddenly.
Arthur sighed. “I was just thinking of that,” he said. “I guess we’ll
have to go back to the Little House and telephone the Big House.”
They turned and walked in the direction of the cow-bell. They were too
preoccupied with the sense of their unhappiness to talk. Once only
Maida said, “She’s one of the darlingest little girls I ever knew. If
anything happened to Betsy--And then how could we tell her mother?”
When they came out on the lawn of the Little House, they found Floribel
and Rosie sitting there. A minute later, Zeke and Harold appeared from
one direction and, after an interval, Mrs. Dore and Dicky from another.
They all had the same anxious, slightly-terrified look.
“I’ll call up the Big House now,” Mrs. Dore said quietly. “We can’t
handle this alone any longer.” She started towards the door and
automatically the others followed her in a silent, down-cast file.
And then suddenly, Rosie screamed, “There’s Betsy now!”
The whole group turned; stood petrified.
Maida followed Rosie’s scream with “And what is she carrying in her
arms?”
And then the whole group broke and ran in the direction of House Rock.
Betsy was coming down the trail toward the Little House. The moon was
fairly high now and it shown full on the erect little figure and the
excited sparkling little face. Her dress was soiled and torn. Her
hair ribbon had gone and her curls hung helter-skelter about her rosy
cheeks. Her great eyes shone like baby moons as her gaze fell on the
group running towards her. A trusting smile parted her red lips; showed
all her little white mice teeth.
“She’s carrying a fawn!” Arthur exclaimed as he neared her. “Why, it
can’t be a day old!”
Betsy _was_ carrying a fawn. As they surrounded her, she handed it
trustfully over into Arthur’s extended hands. “I finded it myself,” she
announced proudly. “I ranned and I ranned and I ranned. And it runned
and it runned and it runned. But I ranned faster than it runned and
pretty soon it was all tired out and I catched it.”
This was all of her adventure that they ever got out of Betsy.
Conjecture later filled in these meager outlines; that Betsy had
been coming home with her doll, Hildegarde, when this stray from the
Westabrook preserves crossed her path. Dropping Hildegarde--they found
her a few moments later, not far from House Rock--she chased the poor
little creature over trails, through bushes, across rocks until she ran
him down. Then picking him up in her arms, she found the path by some
lucky accident and came home.
“Mother of God!” Mrs. Dore said, hugging Betsy again and again, “the
child looked like the young St. John coming down the path.”
Floribel lifted Betsy in her arms and carried her the rest of the way,
a very excited little girl proudly telling her story again and again.
“I ranned and I ranned and I ranned,” she kept repeating, “and he
runned and he runned and he runned--”
The other children tried to help in the process by holding onto
dangling legs and arms, by patting the little thickly-curly head and
by reaching up to kiss the round rosy cheeks. All except Arthur, who
carried the exhausted little fawn.
Once home, Betsy was the center of attention for only a moment. She was
given her supper; a warm soothing bath and put immediately to bed. Then
the fawn took the center of the stage.
The capable Arthur found a big basket which he filled with soft cloths;
placed the exhausted little creature in it. He _was_ exhausted; for
when Arthur first put him on the floor, his legs gave out under him. He
spraddled, all four legs flat, on the rug in front of the fireplace--as
Rosie said, “exactly like a wet mosquito.” Then Arthur heated some
milk; dipped a corner of a handkerchief into it; gave it to the fawn to
suck. It was a slow process; for the fawn did not seem to understand
this strange method of being fed. At length, Arthur thought of a better
scheme. Procuring an eye-dropper from the medicine-chest, he poured the
warm fluid, drop by drop, into the little creature’s mouth.
All the time the children knelt around the basket in a circle.
“How sweet it is,” Rosie who adored animals, kept saying. “Look at its
big eyes and its beautiful head!”
“I’d love to take it in my arms,” Maida exclaimed, again and again,
“only I know I would frighten it to death. See how it trembles if we
get too near!”
The little children, who had been allowed one glimpse of the deer,
went up-stairs chattering like little magpies. Betsy, tired with her
long hunting, had fallen asleep the instant she struck the pillow. But
the rest were in such a high state of excitement that it was almost an
hour before the last of them calmed down. It was not easy that night to
drive the Big Six to bed.
When the denizens of the Little House waked the next morning, their
tiny forest guest was lying in his basket, bright-eyed as usual. For
an hour after his breakfast and theirs, they hovered about him making
all kinds of plans in regard to his future. But these dreams were
rudely shattered when Mrs. Dore informed them that she had told Mr.
Westabrook, over the telephone, the whole episode and that he was
sending a man that day to bring the deer back to the Big House.
“Oh I don’t see why we have to give him up!” Maida declared in
heart-broken accents. “What fun it would be to have a deer all our own
and watch him grow. Just think when his horns came!”
“Oh, Maida!” Rosie begged, “do call your father up and tease him to let
us keep him. Just think of having a baby fawn running about the house.”
Both the Sixes, Little and Big, added their entreaties to Rosie’s.
“I don’t think it would be any use, Maida,” Mrs. Dore quietly
interrupted. “Your father said if by chance any stranger brought a
dog here, he would kill the little fawn the moment he caught him. And
then when the fawn himself grew bigger, and developed horns, he might
even be dangerous. Besides Betsy,” as Betsy burst into loud wails
of, “I finded him myself. I ranned and I ranned and I ranned--” “Mr.
Westabrook said he would send you something nice to take the fawn’s
place.”
“But the fawn’s alive,” Rosie expostulated in a grieved tone. “And
nothing can be as nice as a live creature.”
“He said this would be alive too,” Mrs. Dore comforted her.
“Oh _what_?” Rosie asked.
Mrs. Dore’s eyes danced. “It’s a surprise. I’m not to tell it.”
Only half appeased, the children hung around the house, waiting to see
what the _live_ thing was. In the middle of the morning, a run-about
drew up in front of the Little House and one of Mr. Westabrook’s men
alighted from it. He was wearing a long loose coat, but he had nothing
in his arms. He took the little fawn, basket and all, and placed it in
the run-about. The children tagged his every movement, followed with
their eyes his every motion. After the fawn was safely installed on the
seat beside him, he turned on the engine.
Betsy burst into tears.
“Oh that’s the little girl,” the man exclaimed, as though suddenly
remembering something, “who found the fawn, isn’t it?”
Through her sobs Betsy began, “I ranned and I ranned and I--”
“Well then,” the man said, “I guess I’ve got something for you.” He
reached into one of the pockets of his big coat and brought out a tiny,
nondescript bundle of loose white fur; of helpless waving black paws;
big bulging winking black eyes; a curly queue of tail; an impertinent
sniffing nose--a baby bull dog. He handed it to Betsy. Betsy’s tears
dried in a flash. She hugged the puppy close to her warm neck; ran with
him to the house. The children raced after her, and the run-about,
utterly forgotten, disappeared down the road.
“Let’s call it Fawn,” Rosie said, and Fawn it was.
Fawn adopted the Little House as her home at once. She was a very
affectionate person and she soon grew to love devotedly every member of
the household. They all loved her devotedly in return; but none loved
her more than Betsy; and Betsy’s dog she always remained.