BETTY MAKES UP HER MIND
BETTY had a confused picture of Mr. Peabody staring at her, his fork
arrested half way to his mouth, before she dashed from the kitchen and
fled to her room. She flung herself on the bed and burst into tears.
She lay there for a long time, sobbing uncontrollably and more unhappy
than she had ever been in her short life. She missed her mother and
father intolerably, she longed for the kindness of the good, if
querulous, Mrs. Arnold and the comfort of Uncle Dick's tenderness and
protection.
"He wouldn't want me to stay here, I know he wouldn't!" she whispered
stormily. "He never would have let me come if he had known what kind of
a place Bramble Farm is. I'll write to him to-night."
A low whistle came to her. She ran to the window.
"Sh! Got a piece of string?" came a sibilant whisper. Bob Henderson
peered up at her from around a lilac bush. "I brought you some bread
with raspberries mashed between it. Let down a cord and I'll tie it on."
"I'll come down," said Betty promptly. "Can't we take a walk? It looks
awfully pretty up the lane."
"I have to clean two more horses and bed down a sick cow and carry
slops to the pigs yet," recited Bob in a matter of fact way, as though
these few little duties were commonly performed at the close of his
long day. "After that, though, we might go a little way. It won't be
dark."
"Well, whistle when you're ready," directed Betty. "I won't come down
and run the risk of having to talk to Mr. Peabody. And save me the
bread!"
It seemed a long time before Bob whistled, and the gray summer dusk was
deepening when Betty ran down to join him. He handed her the bread,
wrapped in a bit of clean paper, diffidently.
"I didn't touch it with my hands," he assured her.
Bob's face was shining from a vigorous scrubbing and his hair was
plastered tight to his head and still wet. He had so evidently tried
to make himself neat and his poor frayed overalls and ridiculous shoes
made the task so hopeless that Betty was divided between pity for him
and anger at the Peabodys who could treat a member of their household
so shabbily.
"I guess you kind of shook the old man up," commented Bob, unconscious
of her thoughts. "For half a minute after you slammed the door, he sat
there in a daze. Mrs. Peabody wanted to take some supper up to you, but
he wouldn't let her. She's deathly afraid of him."
"Did he ever hit her?" asked Betty, horrified.
"No, I don't know that he ever did. He doesn't have to hit her; his
talk is worse. They say she used to answer back, but I never heard her
open her mouth to argue with him, and I've been here three years."
"Do they pay you well?"
The boy looked at Betty sharply.
"I thought you were kidding," he said frankly. "Poorhouse children
don't get paid. We get our board till we're eighteen. We're not
supposed to do enough work to cover more'n that. Just the same, I do as
much as Wapley or Leison, any day."
Betty walked along eating her bread and wondering about Bob Henderson.
Who, she speculated, had been his father and mother, and how had he
happened to find himself in the poorhouse? And why, oh, why, should
such a boy have had the bad luck to be "taken" by a man like Mr.
Peabody? Betty was a courteous girl, and she could not bring herself to
ask Bob these questions pointblank, however her curiosity urged her.
Perhaps when they were better acquainted, she might have a chance. But
that thought suggested to Betty her letter.
"I'm going to write to Uncle Dick before I go to bed to-night," she
announced. "He said I needn't stay if for any good reason I found I
wasn't happy here. I can't stay, Bob, honestly I can't. He wouldn't
want me to. Shall I ask him about a place for you? And where do I mail
my letter?"
Bob Henderson's face fell. He had hoped that this bright, pretty girl,
with her independent and friendly manner, might spend the summer at
Bramble Farm. Bob had been so long cut off from communication with a
companion of his own age that it was a perfect luxury for him to have
Betty to talk to. Still, he could not help admitting, the Peabody
circle had nothing to offer Betty.
"Don't mail your letter in the box at the end of the lane," he advised
her. "Joe Peabody might see it and take it out. I'll take it to
Glenside with me to-morrow--unless you want to go along? Say, that
would be great, wouldn't it?"
Betty liked the idea, and so before they turned back to the house
they arranged to mail the letter secretly in Glenside the following
morning. Immensely cheered, Betty went in to write to her uncle and Bob
disappeared up the stairs to the attic, where he and the two hired men
shared quarters.
It was too dark to see clearly in her room, and after Betty had groped
around in a vain hunt for a lamp and matches, she went down to the
kitchen intending to ask for a light.
Mrs. Peabody stood at the table, mixing something in a pan, and a small
glass lamp gave the room all the light it had.
"I'm setting my bread," the woman explained, as Betty came in. "Where
have you been dear? You must be hungry."
"No, I'm not hungry," answered Betty, avoiding explanations. "I've been
out for a little walk. May I have a lamp Mrs. Peabody?"
Her hostess glanced round to make sure that the door was shut.
"You can take this one in just a minute," she said, indicating the
small lamp on the table. "Mr. Peabody's gone up to bed. You see we
don't use lights much in summer--we go to bed early 'cause all hands
have to be up at half-past four. And lamps brings the mosquitoes."
Betty sat down in a chair to wait for her lamp. She was tired from her
journey and the exciting events of the day, but she had made up her
mind to write to her uncle that night, and her mind made up, Betty was
sure to stick to it.
"Aren't you going to bed?" asked Betty, taking up the lamp when Mrs.
Peabody had finished.
Mrs. Peabody made no move to leave the kitchen.
"I like to sit out on the back stoop awhile and get cooled off," she
said. "Sometimes I go to sleep leaning against the post, and one night
I didn't wake up till morning and Bob Henderson fell over me running
out for wood to start the fire. I like to sit quiet. Sometimes I wish I
had a dog to keep me company, but Mr. Peabody don't like dogs."
Betty went back to her room and began her letter. But all the while she
was writing the thought of that lonely woman "sitting quiet" on the
doorstep haunted her. What a life! And she had probably looked forward
to happiness with her husband and home as all girls do.
The mosquitoes were singing madly about the light before the first five
minutes had passed, but Betty stuck it out and sealed and addressed her
letter, putting it under her pillow for safe keeping. Then she blew out
the light and undressed in the dark. The bed was the hardest thing she
had ever lain upon, but, being a healthy young person and very tired,
she fell asleep as quickly as though the mattress had been filled with
softest down and only wakened when a shaft of sunlight fell across her
face. Some one was whistling softly beneath her window.
Seizing her dressing gown and flinging it across her shoulders, Betty
peered out. Bob Henderson, swinging a milk pail in either hand, was
back of the lilac bush again.
"Say, it's quarter of six," he called anxiously, as he saw Betty's face
at the window. "Breakfast is at six, and if you don't hurry you'll be
cheated out of that. I'm going to Glenside right after, too."
"I'll hurry," promised Betty. "Thank you for telling me. Have you been
up long?"
"Hour and a half," came the nonchalant answer as Bob hurried on to the
barn.
Betty sat down on the floor to put on her shoes and stockings. At first
she was angry to think that she should be made to rush like this in
order to have any breakfast when her uncle was paying her board and in
any other household she would have been accorded some consideration
as a guest. Then the humor of the situation appealed to her and she
laughed till the tears came. She, Betty Gordon, who often had to be
called three times in the morning, was scrambling into her clothes at
top speed in the hope of securing something to eat.
"It's too funny!" she gasped as she pulled a middy blouse on over her
head. "I'll bet the Peabody's never have to call any one twice to come
to the table; not if they're within hearing distance. They come first
call without coaxing."
The breakfast table was set in the kitchen, and when Betty entered
Mrs. Peabody was putting small white saucers of oatmeal at each place.
Ordinarily Betty did not care for oatmeal in warm weather, but this
morning she was in no mood to quarrel with anything eatable and she
dispatched her portion almost as quickly as Bob did his. Mr. Peabody
grunted something which she took to mean good-morning, and the two
hired men simply nodded to her. After the oatmeal came fried potatoes,
bread without butter, ham and coffee. There was no milk to drink and no
eggs.
"If I was going to stay," thought Betty to herself, "I'd get some stuff
over in town and hide it in my room. I wonder if I couldn't anyway.
When I leave, Bob would have it."
She fell to planning what she would buy and became as silent as any of
the other five at that queer table.