Betty's Happy Year

“Yes, you will tell Betty, too!” said a voice, and looking up, the two girls saw Betty looking at them. The boat had drifted near shore, and Betty beckoned to them to come in.

“Now, you tell me what it’s all about,” she said, as they landed. “I’m not going to be kept out of it any longer.”

When Betty spoke like that, her comrades usually obeyed her.

Half scared at Betty’s frowning face, Maude told her story.

“What foolishness!” said Betty, as she finished. “Martha could no more take a penny that didn’t belong to her than I could!”

“Then what made her act so flustered when she invited us to have ice-cream and when she paid for it?” demanded Maude.

“I don’t know,” said Betty.

“And where would she get a new five-dollar bill all of a sudden?”

“I don’t know,” said Betty.

“And where is my bill?” wound up Maude, triumphantly, and again Betty was forced to reply, “I don’t know.”

“But all the same,” she went on, “Martha didn’t take it! And I’ll prove it somehow!”

“You can’t prove it unless you find my bill.”

“Then I’ll find your bill!”

“You can’t; I’ve hunted everywhere for it.”

“Well, I will find it, and I’ll make you take back all you’ve said about Martha.”

“I’m sure I’d be glad to,” said Maude, staring at Betty’s angry face; “I’ve no wish to make her seem dishonest if she isn’t.”

“I’ll clear this matter up!” exclaimed Betty, “and then you’ll feel sorry for what you’ve said. And first I’ll go and tell Martha, and let her speak for herself.”

“No, you mustn’t do that! Mrs. Halstead forbade us to mention it to Martha.”

“All right; then I’ll take Martha and go straight to Mrs. Halstead and let her tell her.”

“But you can’t now, for Mrs. Halstead is superintending the May-pole. The carpenters are putting it up, and she asked us to keep away.”

“Well, I’ve got to do something! I can’t rest till Martha is cleared. Poor Martha! I don’t see how anybody could think such a thing of her!”

Betty put her arm through Dorothy’s, and they went on ahead, leaving Maude to follow alone.

“Betty,” said Dorothy, “we know Martha never has spending-money. And for that to be a new bill that she had yesterday does look queer. And she did act awfully funny about it all.”

“I know it, Dorothy,” said Betty, in a tone of despair; “I think it looks awfully queer. But I wouldn’t own up to Maude that I thought so. And, even if it does look queer, I won’t believe Martha took Maude’s money unless she tells me so herself – so there, now!”

Betty had unconsciously raised her voice in her indignation, and as they turned a corner of the path, they came upon the other girls, sitting on a settee, waiting for them.

“What are you saying, Betty?” asked Martha, her face perfectly white.

There was no blushing embarrassment now; Martha looked horrified, and even incredulous, but she was calm and self-possessed. Betty quite forgot what Maude had said of Mrs. Halstead’s orders, and spoke right out to Martha.

“Martha,” she said, “did you see Maude take some money out of her purse and lay it on her table yesterday?”

“Yes, I did,” said Martha.

“Did you take it from the table – to – to put it in a safer place – or anything?”

“No, of course I didn’t! Why should I?”

“Well, it wasn’t a very safe place,” began Betty.

“I should say it wasn’t!” exclaimed Maude.

“Well, I didn’t touch it!” said Martha. “What are you talking about, Betty?”

“Then where did you get that new five-dollar bill you spent yesterday?” burst out Maude, unable to control her tongue.

Martha looked at her.

“Do you mean to say that you’ve been thinking that was your money?” she said, in a low, scared sort of voice.

“Yes, I do!” declared Maude.

“Oh, oh! I didn’t, didn’t! Betty, Betty, what shall I do!” and Martha burst into a fit of crying which nothing could stop.

“Now, you see,” said Betty, as she caressed her weeping friend. “Please all leave her to me.”

The others went away a little shamefacedly, while Betty remained with Martha. She waited until the first bursts of sobs were over, and then she said:

“Now, Martha, brace up. I know and you know you didn’t take her old bill, but we’ve got to prove it.”

“How can we prove it?” asked Martha, between her sobs, as she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh, Betty, I wish I hadn’t come!”

“So shall I, if you act like this. Cheer up, I tell you, and help me, and we’ll fix this matter right yet.”

“How brave you are!” said Martha, looking up at Betty’s determined face.

“Somebody’s got to be, and you won’t,” said Betty, smiling. “Now tell me everything you know about Maude’s money.”

“I don’t know anything, except what she told you. I was sitting by the table when she stuck it behind the picture. I thought it was a funny place to put it, but I didn’t say so. I wouldn’t have been so careless with my bill.”

“Where did you get your bill, Martha?”

“Uncle Fred gave it to me on Christmas. He said to save it until I was sure I’d thought of the thing I’d like best to buy with it. And I was sure I’d rather treat you all to ice-cream than to buy anything for myself. Oh, Betty, I do love to be hospitable to people, and I never have a chance! And when the chance really came, I was so glad and so happy about it, that it made me rather fidgety and embarrassed.”

“You dear thing!” cried Betty, kissing her. “And then to think of how they’ve spoiled your little ice-cream party! Well, go on; then did you stay in Maude’s room after she left it?”

“Only a minute, to say good-by to little Bobby Halstead. He was playing around there, and he’s such a cunning little chap.”

“Bobby! I’ve an idea! Now you stay right here till I come back! Don’t you move!”

Betty flew into the house and went in search of four-year-old Bobby. She found him in his nursery, mounted upon his black hobby-horse.

“Tell me, deary,” she said, “when you were in Maude’s room yesterday, did you see any money around?”

“Pennies?” asked Bobby.

“No, not pennies. Paper money. Green money.”

“Ess, green paper, but not moneys. I cutted out a paper dolly; see! It’s not vewey good ’cause my sissiz was dull.”

Bobby dived down into a box, and produced a queer-shaped paper doll which was surely cut from a five-dollar bill!

Betty’s eyes danced, but she only said quietly:

“Where did you find the green paper, deary?”

“In ve was’e-bastick,” said the child; “I can always have what’s in ve was’e-basticks. Muvver said I could.”

“Yes, of course you can. That’s all right. But lend this dolly to Betty, won’t you? Just for a little while?”

“Ess, I will,” and the child gave it up willingly enough.

Back ran Betty with her prize.

“There!” she cried, triumphantly waving the five-dollar doll above her head. “I told you Martha didn’t know anything about Maude’s money. It must have blown from the table into the waste-basket, and Bobby picked it out.”

“Oh – I do – remember!” said Maude, slowly, “the waste-basket was upset when I came home! So I looked through all the scraps carefully, but of course I didn’t find it. I’m awfully sorry, Martha, – truly I am, – more sorry than I can say! I don’t suppose you can ever forgive me.”

“Oh, yes, I can,” said Martha, smiling through her tears.

“I’m going to forgive you, too, Maude,” said Betty; “but it will take me a little while. I am afraid it will be half an hour before I can feel toward you as if you hadn’t done this.”

“I don’t wonder,” said Maude, contritely; “but, Betty, I didn’t know Martha as you did, and it did look queer.”

“Yes, that’s so,” conceded Betty. “I think I’ll get over it in a quarter of an hour.”

She did, and when it was time for the May party, the late unpleasantness was ignored by all, if not entirely forgotten.

Mr. Halstead gave Maude a five-dollar bill to replace the one his son had spoiled, and he then also presented her with the green paper doll, as a reminder not to trust too much to appearances.

VIII

THE CHAPLET OF HONOR

As soon as June had fairly dawned upon the calendar, the girls of Miss Whittier’s school began to prepare for closing day.

It was customary to give an evening entertainment, in which all the pupils took part.

“This year,” Miss Whittier announced to the class, “I have a very delightful plan, of which I will now tell you. It is not exactly a play, but a little staged allegory which I am sure you will all think very attractive.”

Betty listened eagerly, for “staged allegory” sounded rather dry and poky, and yet it might turn out to be fun after all.

“Sounds like ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’” whispered Dorothy, who sat next her, and Betty’s imagination immediately saw all the girls with packs on their backs, climbing the Hill of Difficulty. But Miss Whittier went on to reveal her plan.

“It is called ‘Honor Chaplet,’” she said, “and it represents all the women who have done praiseworthy deeds presenting their claims for the Chaplet of Honor, which is to be awarded to the one who best merits it. Of course the characters represent women of all time who have become famous for great deeds or noble efforts.”

Betty’s head gave a nod of satisfaction. The whole plan appealed to her, for it meant “dressing up,” and she dearly loved to wear fancy costumes.

“We will have a pretty stage,” said Miss Whittier, who on occasions like this talked sociably with her pupils, “and I’m sure you will all be willing to help with the work of decorating it.”

“Yes, indeed,” and “We will,” said the girls, and then Constance Harper asked:

“Who are the characters, Miss Whittier? Will you tell us now?”

Reading from some papers she held, Miss Whittier named about thirty celebrated women, including Cleopatra, Queen Elizabeth, Pocahontas, Grace Darling, Florence Nightingale, Isabella of Spain, Joan of Arc, Queen Victoria, Barbara Frietchie, Rosa Bonheur, and many others well known to history or tradition.

“I think,” she went on, “you may each select the character you prefer. If, by chance, two choose the same one, we can easily adjust matters afterward. I will distribute papers, and you may each write your own name, followed by the character you choose.”

“While we’re doing that, won’t you tell us a little more about the play, Miss Whittier?” said Dorothy Bates.

“The plot, if it can be called a plot, is simple. One girl must represent the Goddess of Honor. She will stand on a pedestal, and hear the claims of the various celebrities. She will wear a classic costume, and will have a chaplet of bay to bestow on the successful one. She will be attended by four allegorical figures, representing War and Peace, Art and Wisdom. These girls will also wear classic draperies, and look as much as possible like statues. The other characters will, of course, wear costumes suited to their personalities.”

“And is there any dialogue?” asked another pupil.

“Yes; each character makes a short speech, setting forth her claims to honor and glory. This seems a little ostentatious,” Miss Whittier smiled, “but that is the way the play is written. Then, finally, the Goddess awards the chaplet to the one she deems most worthy.”

“And which one is that?” asked Betty.

“I won’t tell that yet,” said Miss Whittier, smiling; “I’ll not divulge that secret until you have all chosen your parts, for, naturally, you would each desire the one who will receive this crown.”

This seemed sensible to Betty, and she began to consider what part she would like to take.

Miss Whittier had a full list of names written on the blackboard, that all might see them, and Betty studied them with care.

The four allegorical figures did not appeal to her at all. It would be no fun to stand, perhaps on a pedestal, draped about with Greek togas, or whatever statues wore, and not even a red sash by way of coloring!

The Goddess of Honor was, of course, the most desirable, and Betty almost decided to write that against her name. But, she reflected, it was doubtful if Miss Whittier would think her well suited for that. A goddess ought to be tall and fair and statuesque, and Betty was anything but that. Her round Irish face and somewhat tilted nose and rosy cheeks were far from classic in type. And, anyhow, probably some one else would choose that one who would be much better fitted for the part. So Betty carefully considered the other names. Pocahontas and Queen Elizabeth both attracted her. She did not look particularly like an Indian maiden, nor yet like an English queen, but as she glanced around the room, she saw no one that looked more so than she; at least, no one looked like Queen Elizabeth, though some of the slim, straight-haired girls might make a better Indian.

But, as she gazed, Betty decided that looks would not have much to do with it. The girls must depend on their costumes to represent the character they assumed.

And so Betty hesitated between the two she liked.

Queen Elizabeth would be grand! In fancy, she saw herself in a stiff, quilted satin petticoat, and long, heavy train of crimson velvet, edged with ermine; a huge ruff round her neck, and a gorgeous gilt crown! This would be fine. Yet there was something very attractive about the idea of Pocahontas; an Indian costume trimmed with gay fringes and beads; leather leggings, and tall quill-feathers sticking up round her head; a bow and arrow, perhaps, and a quiver slung from one shoulder! Yes, it was enticing, but the Queen’s costume was grander and even more enticing in color and glitter. So Betty wrote her own name, and then wrote “Queen Elizabeth” below it, and the papers were all gathered up.

Miss Whittier dismissed the girls then, and said she would tell them definitely the next day what character each should have, and, moreover, she asked them not to tell any one about the entertainment, nor to tell each other what rôle they had chosen. So, as the girls were conscientious in these matters, they did not tell each other what parts they wished to take, but many and eager discussions were held about the details of the great occasion.

Betty told her mother of the choice she had made, as the pledge of secrecy did not include mothers.

Mrs. McGuire smiled at the idea of Betty robed as Queen Elizabeth, but she said:

“Well, at any rate, you look quite as much like Elizabeth as any of the other girls. And we’ll fix up a fine costume for you. I’ll find a picture of the Queen in her most gorgeous robes, and we’ll have it copied as nearly as possible.”

“And I must have a lot of jewels!” said Betty, clasping her hands ecstatically at the thought of such grandeur.

“Yes,” said Mrs. McGuire; “you may wear my necklace, and perhaps Grandma will lend you some large old-fashioned brooches. I think we need not be so very particular as to their being really of the Elizabethan period.”

“Oh, no; any glittery things will do. I think we ought to try some necklaces of big imitation gems.”

“Perhaps we shall! At any rate, we’ll copy the picture as nearly as we can.”

“And it will be a gorgeous costume, won’t it? Oh, I’m glad now I didn’t choose Pocahontas!”

“What sort of speech do you have to make, Betty?”

“I don’t know, Mother. Miss Whittier has them, all type-written, and she will give them to us soon, she said. But I’ll not have any trouble to learn it. I can learn things to recite so easily.”

“Yes, your memory is wonderful. And I suppose one of the teachers will train you.”

“Yes, in gestures and expression. Oh, Mother, won’t it be fun?”

“Yes, girlie? I know it’s just the sort of fun you like.”

“Oh, I do; I’ll walk like this.” Catching up her slumber-robe from the couch, Betty held it from her shoulders like a court train, and walked across the room with stiff, stagy strides, holding her head very high.

“Hello, your Majesty, what are you doing?” said Jack, appearing at the door.

“Good for you, Jack!” cried Betty; “I’m pleased that you should have recognized what was meant for a queenly gait. I’m Queen Elizabeth of England.”

“Pooh! You look more like the White Queen of Looking-Glass Land!”

“Well, maybe I do now; but just you wait till I get my velvet train and jeweled crown, – and, oh, Mother, shall I have a scepter?”

“Yes, I think that’s part of the costume.”

“Oh, what fun!” and seizing Jack, Betty waltzed him about the room by way of expressing her glee.

“Hi, Betty, go slower!” he exclaimed breathlessly; “queens dance stately minuets – they don’t dance break-downs!”

“This queen does,” said Betty, calmly, but she let Jack go, on condition that he would help her hunt the library for books containing pictures of the Queen.

Next day no mention was made of the entertainment until after lessons were over. It was nearly time for dismissal when Miss Whittier summoned the pupils to her in the assembly-room.

She looked at them in a little perplexity, and then she smiled.

“I did not foresee the result,” she said, “when I asked you young ladies to choose your parts for our little play. I thought that if two or even three should choose the same character we could readily arrange matters by a little friendly discussion. But, to my surprise, when the papers were looked over, this was the result: twelve girls have chosen the Goddess of Honor; nine have selected Pocahontas; seven want Queen Elizabeth, and the others are scattering. Now, as you can readily see, this state of affairs requires arbitration. So I am obliged to tell you that we must disregard your wishes, and assign the parts as we, the teachers, think best.”

The girls laughed heartily when they realized how many of their number had asked for the most desirable part, that of Goddess of Honor, and they agreed that, after all, the fairest way was for the teachers to assign the parts, and then there could be no preference.

“And so,” went on Miss Whittier, “I have prepared full directions for each of you. Here are the envelopes for you all, and in your envelope you will each find the name of the character you are to take, with full description of costume, and a copy of the lines you are to learn to recite in the play. And please remember the appointments are final and unalterable.” The envelopes were distributed, and each girl looked eagerly inside to see what her part might be.

“You are dismissed,” said Miss Whittier. “There is no further occasion for secrecy, though I’m sure it will be better for the success of our entertainment not to tell your friends who will be in the audience much about it beforehand.”

“What’s the matter, Betty?” said Dorothy, as, with Jeanette, they all started homeward. “You look as if you’d lost your last friend.”

And truly Betty did look woebegone. Her cheeks were flushed with anger, her lips were drawn in a tight line, and her eyes already showed hints of flooding with tears.

“Look at that!” she exclaimed tragically, as she held out her paper toward the girls.

“‘Grace Darling!’” read Dorothy. “Oh, Betty, you don’t like your part, do you?”

“Like it!” cried Betty; “read what the costume is!”

“‘Simple sailor suit,’” read Dorothy, “‘of dark-blue flannel, small yachting-cap, or no hat at all. Carry an oar.’ Why, that’s a sweet little costume, Betty.”

“Sweet little nothing!” cried Betty, stormily. “I don’t want to wear a common, every-day sailor suit! And carry an oar! Oh!”

“What did you want?” asked Jeanette.

“I wanted to be a goddess,” said Betty, honestly. “But I didn’t write that, ’cause I was ’most sure Miss Whittier would rather have a yellow-haired girl for that. So I chose Queen Elizabeth, but I’d have been satisfied with Pocahontas. But Grace Darling! Oh, I think it’s mean!”

“Why, Grace Darling was very noble and heroic,” said Jeanette.

“Oh, of course. Grace Darling herself was wonderful. I just adore her! But I want to wear a pretty costume in the play – a grand one, you know, like a queen or something.”

“Yes, I know,” said Dorothy, sympathetically, for she well knew Betty’s love of bright colors and gay “dressing up.” “I think it’s a shame, too. Maybe Miss Whittier will let you change with me.”

“No, she said we positively couldn’t change our parts. And, anyhow, I wouldn’t take yours if it’s nicer than mine. What is yours, Dot?”

“Queen Elizabeth,” said Dorothy, feeling as mean as if she had been caught in a wrong action.

Betty had to smile at Dorothy’s contrite tone.

“Well,” she said, “I’d rather you’d have it than any one else. Mother’ll lend you her necklace, I know. What’s yours, Jeanette?”

“Joan of Arc, and just the one I wanted.”

“That’s nice,” said Betty. “I’m glad you got it. But, oh, girls, I wish I had a pretty one. If I’d only had Priscilla or Cleopatra, or anybody that wore pretty things! But ‘a simple sailor suit!’”

“It’s too mean for anything!” declared Dorothy; “it takes the fun out of the whole thing.”

“Oh, no; it isn’t so bad as that,” said Betty, smiling through her gathering tears. “I s’pose I’ll get over my disappointment. And I’m silly to care so much, anyhow. What’s Constance?”

“She’s the Goddess,” said Dorothy, reluctantly, for this seemed to add another straw to Betty’s burden of woe.

“I’m glad of it,” said Betty, generously. “She’ll be a lovely goddess, she’s so pretty and graceful. Well, let me help you girls with your costumes, as long as I haven’t any of my own to fuss over. I can get an inexpensive, ‘simple sailor suit’ ready-made.”

Betty turned in at her own gate, and after their good-bys the other girls went on.

“It’s just horrid,” said Dorothy; “I know how bad Betty feels about it, and I’m going to ask Miss Whittier to change it somehow.”

“She won’t do it,” said Jeanette; “I wish she would, but I know she’ll say if she changes one she’ll have to change others, and it’ll be a regular mix-up.”

And that’s just what Miss Whittier did say, though in different words.

“No, my dear,” she said kindly, but decidedly, when Dorothy told her about it. “I’m sorry Betty is disappointed, but several of the girls have already asked to change their parts, and I’ve been obliged to say ‘no’ to each; so of course I can’t make an exception in favor of Betty.”

This settled it, and Betty accepted her fate, outwardly with a good grace, but secretly with a rebellious heart.

“It’s such a mistake,” she said to her mother, “for girls like Kate Alden and May Jennings would like to have only simple costumes to prepare. And they have to rig up as Martha Washington and Mary, Queen of Scots! Either of them would rather have Grace Darling, and only have to get a ‘simple sailor suit!’”

“It is too bad, Betty dear,” said her mother; “I’m just as sorry as I can be. But I can’t see any help for it, so we must submit.”

“Yes; I know it, and I’m not going to growl about it any more. But it does make me mad!”

Betty kicked a footstool, as if to relieve her overburdened feelings, and then laughed at herself for her foolishness.

She learned her lines carefully, determined to do her part as well as she could, if her dress was plain and inconspicuous.

Her speech was full of brave and noble thoughts, and Betty practised it often, and observed conscientiously her teacher’s instructions as to inflections and gestures. It was easy for Betty to learn by heart; so easy, indeed, that she unconsciously learned most of the other girls’ speeches by merely hearing them at rehearsals.

Often she would amuse her mother and Jack by breaking forth into some of the stilted lines of the play.

“I am Pocahontas,” she would say, striking an attitude of what she considered Indian effect; “I claim the prize, Goddess, because I, in years that are past, rendered a service – ”

“There, there, that will do, Betty!” Jack would cry. “You are a born actress, I know, but I’m studying my English history now, and Pocahontas doesn’t belong with the Saxon kings.”

“Oh, English history!” said Betty, mischievously.

Then, stalking grandly up to him, she held an umbrella for a scepter, and declaimed:

“Goddess of Honor! You see before you Elizabeth, the Virgin Queen. A noble monarch, not alone in power, but in majestic traits that won for her the loyalty and adoration of her loved and loving subjects. A queen who – ”

“Off with her head!” cried Jack, throwing a sofa-pillow at Betty, who promptly threw it back at him, and then ran laughing from the room.