Clever Betsy

“I guess I shall,” returned Mrs. Pogram, in a sort of maze. “I guess I shall. There was always somethin’ out o’ the ordinary about her. I used to think it was that made Loomis mad.” Mrs. Pogram’s eyes looked into a void. “He’s goin’ to marry a real nice girl – poor thing!” she added.

Delicacy restrained Betsy from inquiring which of the contracting parties was thus apostrophized by a fond sister, and in a few minutes her caller left.

By a strange coincidence Mrs. Pogram was present a week later, when one afternoon Captain Salter approached his cottage laden with a heavy wooden case which he carried on his shoulder. He groaned in spirit as he beheld through the window the visitor’s ample sable proportions.

“That’s goin’ to be Betsy’s trouble,” he muttered. “Everybody thinks too darned much of her.”

He gave the caller a cheerful nod, however, as he entered the living-room. He was too happy himself not to let good cheer overflow upon all mankind.

Betsy regarded the heavy case with surprise.

“What ye been sendin’ to Boston for?” he asked, lowering his burden.

“Nothin’. To Boston? There’s some mistake.”

She approached and read the inky address. “Mrs. Hiram Salter.” The name was clear.

Hiram brought some tools and opened the wooden box, then began to take out the packing within.

“It’s a weddin’ present,” exclaimed Mrs. Pogram, throwing back her shawl in the excitement of the moment, and thanking the lucky star which had made her keep on from the market to the Salter cottage.

Tissue paper began to come into view.

Hiram looked at Betsy. “I guess I’ve gone as far as I darst,” he said.

Color came into her cheeks as she lifted out package after package and laid them on the table. Mrs. Pogram rocked violently.

Captain Salter lifted away the wooden case and packing.

An envelope caught Betsy’s eye. She opened it and read the card within.

“O Hiram!” she exclaimed brokenly. “It’s Mr. Irving!”

“Irvin’ Bruce,” cried Mrs. Pogram, raising herself in her chair and dropping back again.

Betsy gave the card to her husband.

He read on it: “To dear Betsy, with her boy’s love.”

A slow, broad smile grew on Hiram’s bronzed face, and he watched motionless while Betsy opened her treasures.

Only Mrs. Pogram’s breathless ejaculations broke the stillness.

“I never! – I never did! – Fit for a queen! – And I wanted to give you a spoon!”

For the morocco cases held silver with the rose pattern which Irving knew that Betsy loved.

There were a dozen tea-spoons, half a dozen table-spoons, and the same number of forks and silver knives. A silver teapot, cream-pitcher and sugar-bowl of colonial design crowned the show. Every article except the knives was engraved with an F. upon which Captain Salter gazed with admiration.

The good soul could not even begrudge Mrs. Pogram’s presence at the unveiling of so much splendor; for the raven more nearly resembled a lark now, in her chirps and cries of joy.

Hiram held his wife in an embrace while they stood looking upon the array.

“You want to bring the burglars down on me, that’s what you want, Betsy.”

“Oh, it’s too handsome, too handsome!” Betsy was murmuring. “Mr. Irving hadn’t ought to spent so much money!” She held the card against her breast.

“I hain’t a particle of objection,” said Hiram jovially. “Would you have, Mrs. Pogram?”

The latter was eyeing the tea-set.

“It’s lots like mine,” she answered, with recovered recollection of the Brown-Pogram estate. “I’m just bound and determined Loomis’s wife shan’t have my tea-set!”

“We can’t do anything but eat, to do justice to it, Betsy,” went on Hiram.

And she turned her head and buried her face on his breast, while he kept his arms around her.

Mrs. Pogram began to be inspired with the idea that perhaps the pair would not mind being left alone for a little while.

“Betsy’s kind o’ worked up,” she said leniently, to Hiram. “She set so much store by Irvin’. I’ll just go on, and see her some other time.”

Some of Mercury’s fleetness was lent to the visitor’s heavy sandals as she considered the number of neighbors she could see on her way home; and before bed-time that night, it was known in Fairport that the Bruce family had given to Captain Salter’s bride a complete dinner-service of solid silver, a watch studded with diamonds, and Oriental rugs for every room in the cottage!

CHAPTER XXVIII

GOOD-BY, SUMMER

One errand which Irving Bruce performed in Boston besides buying Betsy’s wedding present, was to seek out a poor relation of his step-mother’s in her suburban home, and carry her back with him to Fairport.

He wired: “Miss Frost is returning with me.”

And such was Mrs. Bruce’s loneliness, and worry, and desire to hide from her friends, that never did poor relation receive a more cordial welcome.

Miss Frost, a bird-like little person with a high apologetic voice, was bewildered with joyful excitement.

“I haven’t a thing to wear, my dear, not a thing!” she cried to her hostess on her arrival; “but Irving was so perfectly lovely, he wouldn’t let me wait for anything; and he told me how you’ve let that valuable Betsy go to this faithful lover of years, so like you, always to think of others, and Irving says you’re tired, so that really perhaps I can take some care of you, and it will be such a joy to feel that I’m not useless in this beautiful, beautiful spot, and you never could look anything but pretty, Laura, but I do think you show the natural fatigue of travel,” etc., etc.

This combination of flattery and confidence bound up some of Mrs. Bruce’s wounds. She did make the newcomer useful, not only in the actual labor of housekeeping, but as an excuse for not going where she did not wish to be.

But meanwhile she lived a life within herself which her cousin never suspected. Daily the battle between love and pride was renewed. Robert Nixon remained with them, and through him, more than through Irving, she learned of Rosalie’s continued vogue.

She declined the sailing party which went out with Captain Salter, and Miss Frost was with difficulty persuaded to go in her place.

Upon her return, blown and dishevelled, but joyful, Mrs. Bruce met her cousin with veiled eagerness.

“Did they think it very strange of me not to come, Lavinia?”

“Why of course they were disappointed,” chirped the little woman, endeavoring to tuck up the flying strands of her gray hair; “but when I told them how you felt it a duty to rest absolutely for a week, they understood. I told them how I disliked to leave you alone, but that you never could think of yourself, and were determined I should have the pleasure, and so I came; and oh, Laura, it was the most lovely sail; I did wish every minute for you!”

Mrs. Bruce in her chastened state drank in the praise which she knew was sincere.

“Lavinia Frost is really a much more agreeable person to have about than Betsy,” she thought.

Those clear eyes of Betsy’s which had always seemed to read her through and through, appeared to her mental vision now as she mounted the stairs after her cousin, and followed her to her room, remaining with her while the visitor repaired the ravages of wind and wave.

“Do you think Mrs. Nixon enjoyed the excursion?” asked Mrs. Bruce.

Miss Frost raised her hands and dilated her eyes expressively. “I’m afraid not! She’s not a good sailor; but the young people – Oh, what a good time they did have, Laura!”

A little contracting pain, grown familiar, seized the listener.

“Go on. Tell me about it,” she replied quietly.

“Well, you know how amusing Mr. Nixon always is,” began Miss Frost, spreading cold cream over her sunburn; “(so like you, dear Laura, to give me this cream). He and Miss Maynard – such an elegant girl, Miss Maynard – and dear Irving, and that lovely creature Miss Vincent, all four sang together.”

“Did they? Did they sing well?”

“Yes, indeed; but you know they’re so full of fun they couldn’t stick to anything serious, and Miss Vincent sang some coon songs. O Laura, that girl is wonderfully talented. She made Mr. Derwent laugh as hard as the boys. Splendid-looking man, Mr. Derwent. I really – I expect I’m a silly old thing, but I couldn’t help weaving romances out in that boat, those four delightful young people were so tempting to the imagination.”

“Really?” asked Mrs. Bruce. “How did you pair them off in your own mind?”

“I didn’t have to pair them off,” twittered the little woman. “Irving was beside that charming young creature with the gold crown, – you know the way that broad soft braid goes around her head, – he was beside her all the time. I just hoped she appreciated his attentions; but do you know I watched them closely, and I never saw her look at him once! She was pleasant and gay all the time, – but I just said to myself, can – it – be possible that that girl is more attracted by our droll Nixie than by that prince? I’ve often heard you say you dreaded Irving’s falling in love; you’ve always been so like brother and sister, it isn’t to be wondered at; but when Mr. Nixon told me what a good angel you’d been to that talented girl, I thought I could see that you had your little plans!”

Lavinia Frost closed one eye, and nodded knowingly at her cousin, whose flushed face disclosed nothing.

“I told him that was the way you’d gone through life. I told him about the stove you gave me for my living-room, and now what a grand outing you were giving me here, and so thoughtfully letting me feel myself of some use. O Laura, it’s a splendid thing to be rich and powerful, but it’s better still to have that big heart and soul that uses the power to spread blessings along the paths of others less fortunate!”

Mrs. Bruce kept silent. Miss Frost washed the cream from her hands and began winding up her sparse hair.

“It’s awfully thin, you see. Not much more than nine hairs, Laura,” she laughed, “three behind to braid, and one on each side to puff. I don’t want,” she continued after a silence, “to see anything you don’t wish me to, but I could– not – help – thinking that Irving admired that girl extremely; and though I know you’re above such considerations, I couldn’t help being glad she was well-connected as well as beautiful. One of the Derwent family. Think of it! Mr. Nixon told me so, and it was plain to see that Mr. Derwent thinks the world of her. Such an elegant man! And what do you suppose he said to me, Laura? As we were leaving the boat he said with such a charming bow – perfectly charming! He said, ‘I think in some way you have been given the wrong name, Miss Frost. I think it should be Miss Spring!” Lavinia gave a joyous but apologetic giggle. “Wasn’t that a perfectly lovely thing for him to say?”

Mrs. Bruce regarded the speaker thoughtfully.

“Lavinia,” she said, “how should you like to stay with me?”

“Stay with you – my dear?” The little woman stood stock-still, the dress skirt she was about to put on, in her hand.

“Yes, – keep house for me in Boston.”

“Why, Lavinia, it would be heaven– but, how can I!”

“Why can’t you? It is only to give up a few rooms in somebody else’s house. You’re quite alone.”

“I suppose I am,” replied Lavinia slowly, “but somehow I never realize it.”

What a wealth of implication lay in the simple words! Mrs. Bruce could not appreciate that, but she persisted in her plan, which had been gradually taking form for days.

A capable, useful, refined admirer was what her beaten and dependent soul yearned for.

Tears dimmed Lavinia’s eyes when at last she accepted the offer.

“Laura!” she exclaimed, with touching sincerity, “you have been planning this beautiful thing for me! That is why Irving brought me here. Dear Irving, always so courteous, he has been, to your relatives! Dear Laura, when do you ever take time to think of yourself!”

One day in the second week in September, Betsy stood by a window in her cottage and saw Rosalie, in hat and street dress, enter the garden. She watched the girl unnoticed, and saw her turn and look seaward. Clouds were scudding along the sky, and swallows circling against the strong breeze. Presently Rosalie came up the path.

Betsy threw open the door. “Welcome home!” she said, and embraced her.

“I’m the most fortunate girl in the world,” declared Rosalie.

Betsy took the bag she carried. “Let me show you your room,” she said.

With happy pride she led the guest up the narrow stairs, and ushered her into a comfortable little bower, hung in white dimity.

Rosalie turned, and gave her hostess another hug. “Why should you be so good to me?” she exclaimed.

“Because you’re all the little girl I’ve got,” returned Betsy. “See what a nice cozy corner that makes for your trunk!”

Rosalie regarded her affectionately. “I have the greatest news for you,” she said. “I can only stay two days.”

“Answers to the advertisement, eh?” asked Betsy with interest.

“Better than that! How wonderfully good people are! Mr. Derwent actually went to Portland weeks ago, and managed somehow, so that yesterday I received a summons from the Moore School to come and take up my work there. It seems that some of the faculty have heard me at the inn, and it’s settled, practically.”

“All the better, child. Cap’n Salter and I’d never get tired o’ havin’ you here, but you wouldn’t be satisfied with an idle winter in Fairport. Come in my room and sit down for a chat. I’m doin’ some mendin’, and we can settle all the affairs o’ the nation.”

Rosalie followed into the front room, and seated herself by a low window looking out on the gray billows.

“Good-by, summer,” she said, as if to herself.

Betsy glanced at her and sat down by the bed where were scattered articles of clothing.

“The swallows are making them ready to fly,Wheeling out on a windy sky – ”

sang the girl softly.

“Well,” said Betsy, “when you take ’count o’ stock, what sort of a summer has it been?”

“Wonderful.”

“That may be,” returned Betsy, “but how about the net result. Would you like to live it over again?”

“Yes, indeed!” was the fervent reply. “No, Betsy! What am I talking about! No, I wouldn’t. I might not do so well again.”

“How do you mean?” asked the other, beginning to make a lattice-work across the vacant toe of a man’s sock. “Do you mean professionally?”

“Not altogether,” answered the girl slowly.

“Oh, you mean socially too, eh?”

“Yes.”

Silence, while the breakers struck and burst on the rock at the left of the cottage.

“Whom have you over here?” Rosalie rose and moved to the dresser where a flexible leather case stood in a semi-circle. “Captain Salter?” She picked up the case. “Irving!” she added in a different tone, and studied the six pictures with down-drooped face.

“See the envelope standin’ there against the glass? You can open it. It came with my silver.”

Rosalie obeyed. “Oh!” she said softly.

Presently Betsy spoke again: “I’ve heard a lot about how popular you’ve been all summer. Says I to myself, there’s safety in numbers, says I.”

“Yes,” agreed Rosalie, “there’s safety in numbers.”

She returned the card to its envelope.

“Take the pictures over to the window if you’d like to,” said Betsy, mending busily.

“No, thank you,” returned the girl; and placing the case as she had found it, she came back to her seat.

“The Nixon party got off all right, I s’pose,” said Betsy. “Mr. Nixon came over to say good-by. Did you know Mr. Derwent took supper with the cap’n and me one night?”

“Yes. He is greatly taken with Captain Salter.”

“We had a real good time,” said Betsy, “and he praised the supper.”

“There are no suppers as good as yours. Nixie and I had made him hungry telling him about the dinner we had with you that day.”

“And my boy never broke bread with me once,” said Betsy sadly. “I couldn’t ask him away from Mrs. Bruce.”

“Betsy,” asked Rosalie wistfully, “whatever did happen?”

Betsy shook her head. “Nothin’ you need worry about, child.”

“But that’s just what troubles me. I’ve always believed it was about me.”

“Rosalie,” – Betsy lifted her eyes from her work for a minute, – “do you know it says in the Bible that God makes the wrath o’ man to praise him? or somethin’ like that? I’ve thought of it often since I’ve been livin’ here. There had to be some kind of an explosion for Hiram to get his rights. I see now he’s only got his rights.”

“But one thing is very strange,” said Rosalie. “The few times I’ve spoken with Mrs. Bruce this summer, she has been quite polite to me. Do you know about this cousin who is with her, this cunning little Miss Frost, more like a canary-bird than any one I ever saw? Well, she adores Mrs. Bruce, and do you know it has seemed to me that Mrs. Bruce is trying to live up to it. Wouldn’t that be strange?”

Betsy dropped her work and regarded the speaker.

“Miss Lavinia Frost, – I know her well. She don’t seem to wear spectacles, but she’s got a pair on all the time. Rose-color. Mrs. Bruce went out to her rooms once and she didn’t like the looks of ’em, and she took one of her notions and fixed ’em up with a handsome stove, and an arm-chair, and some other nice things, and Miss Frost never could get over it.”

“Mrs. Bruce is going to keep her with her.”

“Fine!” exclaimed Betsy. “Nothin’ could be better.” She shook her head and resumed her work. “Here’s hopin’ Miss Frost’ll never lose those magnifyin’ spectacles!”

“You never saw any one admire another more sincerely. Why, she takes it for granted that Mrs. Bruce made me, and is in love with her work.”

Betsy dropped her hands.

“‘God moves in a mysterious way,His wonders to perform!’”

she declared. “Rosalie,” she added gently, “I wouldn’t wonder one mite if Lavinia Frost livin’ with Mrs. Bruce would be the makin’ o’ her. What do we all want? We want love. Mrs. Bruce hasn’t drawn it to herself from the folks that’s lived closest to her. She’s had some sharp lessons, from what Mr. Irving says, and now, when the plough’s gone deep, and the soil’s softer, this cheerful little lover may be takin’ her just at the right time, and will make a big difference in her.”

“Why, I seem to see it begin,” returned Rosalie. “She’s so much more gentle, and Miss Frost chirps and twitters around her, and waits on her – ”

Betsy nodded. “That’s right,” she said with satisfaction. “That’s good. She loves bein’ made of. I b’lieve that’ll work well.”

There was another silence, which Betsy broke.

“I understand you’ve got somethin’ for me,” she said.

The girl looked around, puzzled.

“Why, – why no, Betsy.”

“Mr. Irving says so.”

Rosalie regarded her calmly, but the faint color deepened in her cheeks.

“I don’t know what he means.”

“Well, I don’t know who else should.” Betsy took a letter out of her pocket and tossed it across to her guest, who opened it, and read: —

Dear Betsy, – I’m feeling very important because they’ve wired for me from the bank. I can’t even run over to the cottage to see you, because I must make a train. I’ve asked Rosalie to give you a hug for me. Good-by.

Your devotedBoy.

“Oh, you mean that,” said Rosalie quietly, refolding the note.

“Of course I mean that. Do you suppose I want to be cheated out o’ his hugs?”

The girl smiled and shook her head. “I certainly haven’t any of them,” she said.

“But he found time to go over and say good-by to you, I notice.”

“Yes, he came. Mrs. Bruce and Miss Frost are to follow him in a day or two.”

“What do you think o’ the young man, now you’ve summered him?” asked Betsy quietly.

“If I didn’t think well of him I’d never dare to tell you so.”

“Perhaps not. Has he been specially attentive to any one o’ the girls at the inn?”

Rosalie twisted the curtain tassel and looked out at the sea.

“Yes,” she answered after some moments. “If I hadn’t known – if you hadn’t told me that – even if he were, the ending of the summer would end his remembrance, I might have been – well, pretty silly a good many times.”

Betsy looked up. “I hope I haven’t made a mistake, or spoiled any o’ your good times, dear.”

“No,” answered the girl. “I’ve been more than glad of all your warnings. Everybody has been so kind, and there have been so many people who wanted to do things for me, that it was made easy in one way. I could avoid him without it’s looking strange to him, or any one else.”

“Was there,” asked Betsy, “was there any other o’ the young men that you liked – just as well?”

Rosalie turned and gave her a look. There was the darkening of the eyes that Betsy remembered, and the lip was caught under the girl’s teeth.

Betsy fumbled with her darning-egg, dropped her eyes, and cleared her throat.

“That child won’t ever learn to be mejum!” she thought.

“You’ve worked and played pretty hard, I guess,” she said, presently. “You’re some thin, Rosalie. I’ve been noticin’ it lately. I hope you feel real good.”

“Never better,” was the reply. “I’m eager to go to work – real work. I hope I can make the girls like me.”

“Law, child, you’ll have to fight ’em off,” was the reply. “Did – did you and Mr. Irving part real friendly?”

“Oh, certainly. I must show you something he gave me a good while ago.”

The girl rose and went to her own room. Betsy laid down her work and gazed ahead. “Ain’t she made o’ the real stuff, though!” she thought. “I guess Irving Bruce has found out that porcelain’s pretty strong sometimes!”

Here Rosalie returned and put into her friend’s hands an exquisite white fan, whose carved sticks Betsy examined with admiration.

“If he’s given you this?” she said, looking up questioningly.

“He had to, I suppose,” returned the girl, “practically; he broke mine the first night we met at the inn. It was part of my outfit. I couldn’t object to his making it good.”

Betsy laughed at the prosaic tone, and looked back at the rich toy.

“He made it good, all right,” she remarked. “When you need another outfit you can pawn this.”

“It is very handsome,” said Rosalie, regarding her possession, while the downcast eyes darkened again under their drooping lids.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE NEW YEAR

Autumn with its crystalline days and frosty nights gave Betsy glorious views from her windows, but played havoc with her garden.

Hiram had long ago put up his boat, and now he began building a small launch that Irving Bruce had ordered for the following season.

With Thanksgiving Day came Rosalie. Hiram brought her home from the station in high satisfaction, and it seemed as if Betsy could never hear enough of her pleasant work in the school.

“I’m bein’ awful mean and selfish,” announced Betsy. “I haven’t asked one person to dinner with us. Seems if we couldn’t share our little girl with anybody else to-day.”

“Yes,” said Hiram, “seems if some special dispensation o’ common sense had been given Betsy, for our benefit, Rosalie. I’ll have ye know I keep an asylum. Never know any day I come home to dinner who I’ll find here. They get their Thanksgivin’ three hundred and sixty-four days a year. I maintain we deserve the sixty-fifth.”

“Don’t be such a goose, Hiram,” laughed his wife. “This is all ’cause Mrs. Pogram wanted to see you to-day, Rosalie. I told her you were comin’ for the whole Christmas vacation, and she should see you then.”

During dinner Rosalie told many things about the school and her work, and afterward the trio sat around an open fire while the first snow of the season flung its stars upon the window-panes.

“Do you hear from any o’ the Boston folks?” asked Betsy.

“Yes, I have, once or twice. I must show you some pictures I brought. They’re in my suit-case.”

Rosalie ran upstairs to the cold little white room.

“Do you know, Betsy,” said Hiram, as he sat in a corner where the smoke from his pipe curled up the chimney with that of the blazing logs, “do you know I used to think last summer Irvin’ Bruce was as set on Rosalie as I am on you. I minded my own business, but I wasn’t blind; and b’gosh I was surprised that he let her teach school this winter. D’ye s’pose she could ’a’ given him the mitten?”