Betty's Happy Year

“Oh, Grandfather, you’ll help me out, won’t you? I couldn’t stay there! Their manners are awful! And they thought I mocked at the lady, but I didn’t. And I know Grandmother won’t like my coming home, but I just had to! So you fix it up with her, won’t you? And what do you think? I haven’t had a scrap of breakfast, and I just couldn’t eat my dinner last night, so I’m fearfully hungry.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Mr. Irving again. “Why, you poor child! Wouldn’t they give you any breakfast?”

“Oh, you don’t understand! I came away before anybody was up. I took the 7.45 from Hillside station, and, you see, coming off suddenly as I did, I – I couldn’t stop for breakfast. Why, Grandfather, I – I ran away!”

“You little rascal! I haven’t the heart to blame you. But, as you suspect, your grandmother won’t be glad! Betty, you’re a caution! Did you have any money with you?”

“Yes, but a girl borrowed twenty dollars last night, so I didn’t have much to spare!”

Mr. Irving shook with laughter.

“Oh, Betty, to think of a young lady at a finishing-school borrowing from a little unfledged pigeon like you! Well, that ought to trouble your grandmother! But come on, you blessed baby; let’s go and get some breakfast at the nearest restaurant, and then go home to break the news to your relatives! Yes, Betty, your old grandfather’ll stand by you for a plucky little martyr.”

“I thought you would,” said Betty, tucking her little hand in his arm, as they started out together.

IV

AN ACCEPTABLE VALENTINE

The McGuires had lived for more than a month in their pleasant home on Commonwealth Avenue, and Betty had begun to feel at home there.

The house was only rented for the winter, and Denniston Hall was temporarily closed until the summer-time, when they expected to go back there. The whole arrangement had been made in order that Betty might attend school in Boston, and she was a day-pupil in Miss Whittier’s school for girls, which was quite near her home.

The school was very much to Betty’s liking. She had started in under very pleasant auspices, as she had become acquainted with two or three of the girls before she went. She soon made friends with the others, and, as school hours lasted only from nine o’clock till one, she had the advantage of being most of the time in her own home.

The house, completely furnished, had been rented from some friends of Mrs. McGuire’s who were traveling abroad, but Betty had had some of her favorite belongings sent up from Denniston.

Good-natured Pete had taken Betty’s list and had carefully packed and forwarded every item on it, and then, after securely locking up the house, had followed the family to Boston, and was installed there as general utility-man, and a very valuable one at that.

Grandma Jean and little Polly were also there, and Jack, who had entered the Institute of Technology, was delighted with his new opportunities for progress in his studies.

Mrs. McGuire had wisely concluded not to make very desperate efforts to improve Betty’s “manners,” but to trust to the general influences of a well-ordered school and well-bred companions.

And so Betty was happy in her new school life, and was rapidly making firm friends among the pupils there.

Indeed, given a fair start, she could not fail to be a general favorite, for her warm-hearted unselfishness and her cheerful good nature were unfailing, and she was always ready to do a favor or to enter into a plan with enthusiasm.

Though friendly with the others, Betty liked Jeanette Porter and Dorothy Bates best of all the girls, and this trio were often together, both in and out of school hours.

Jeanette was a slender, rather delicate, girl, with a sweet countenance and large, serious eyes. Dorothy was a gay, roly-poly sort of a being, who was always smiling, and irrepressibly inclined to mischief. But they both loved Betty, and she was fond of them, and never a cross word marred the happiness of their intimacy. Sometimes, if Jeanette seemed too sober-faced, the other two would tease her a bit or play a merry joke on her, but always in a spirit of harmless fun, and when their victim could no longer keep from smiling at their foolery, they declared themselves satisfied.

But one day, as they walked home from school together, Jeanette was really troubled about something, and though she tried to conceal it, she was on the very verge of tears.

“What’s the matter, Jeanie?” said Betty, tucking her arm through her friend’s, while Dorothy walked on her other side.

“Nothing, Betty,” said Jeanette, not crossly, but decidedly. “Please don’t ask me about it.”

“Indeed we will ask you about it!” declared Dorothy. “You just must tell us what’s up, because we’re your trusties and trues – aren’t we, Betty?”

“Of course we are! What’s up, Jeanette? Anybody been scolding you?”

“No, it isn’t that. Oh, girls, I don’t want to tell you!”

“Well, I like that!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Now, you just out with it, Miss Secret-Keeper, and pretty quick, too!”

“Oh, well, it’s nothing, anyhow,” said Jeanette, with a heightened color; “it’s only that I can’t go to the reception.”

“Not go to the reception!” cried Betty and Dorothy together. “Why not?”

“Well, because – because I can’t have a new dress.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Betty. “Why, I’ll give you a new dress.”

To Betty’s amazement, Jeanette turned to her with a look she never forgot.

“How dare you say such a thing, Betty McGuire? If you weren’t one of my best friends, I’d never forgive you!”

“I didn’t mean any harm,” stammered Betty, quite crushed by Jeanette’s offended look.

“Of course she didn’t,” chimed in Dorothy; “in fact, she didn’t mean it at all.”

Betty was about to speak, but Dorothy pinched her arm to be silent, and went on herself.

“You don’t need a new dress, Jeanette. Your white muslin with the lace yoke is a very pretty dress?”

“It was; but it’s just been done up, and it went all to pieces. It’s so old, you know. Mother said she didn’t believe it would stand washing again. So I can’t go, and I told Miss Whittier to-day that I wouldn’t select a piece.”

“Oh, what a shame!” cried Betty; “and you recite so well, too. Can’t you wear some other dress?”

“No, I have nothing fit for an evening affair, and Mother says I can’t have a new one. So I’m not going.”

At Miss Whittier’s school a reception was given each winter, and always a very important event. The parents and friends of the pupils were invited, and elaborate preparations were made for the occasion. The girls wore their prettiest frocks, and a program of entertainment was given in which the pupils who excelled in singing or declamation took part.

Usually this reception was held on the date of some poet’s birthday, and this year the 27th of February, Longfellow’s birthday, had been chosen.

It was now the 10th, but the intervening time was none too long in which to prepare for the great event.

Betty, Jeanette, and Dorothy were all among the ones chosen to recite from the poet’s works, and a prize would be rewarded to the one who best deserved it.

Each contestant was allowed to make her own selection, and already Betty was practising on “The Wreck of the Hesperus,” while Dorothy had chosen “The Skeleton in Armor.”

These decisions were profound secrets among the school-girls, only Miss Whittier being supposed to know what each girl was to recite. But of course our three little friends told each other in the strictest confidence, and when Jeanette announced her intention of staying away from the reception, both Betty and Dorothy were astounded.

But argumenting and coaxing were in vain, and when Jeanette turned in at her own gate, the other two said good-by and went on toward their homes.

“Whatever made Jeanette so angry when I offered to give her a dress?” exclaimed Betty as soon as she and Dorothy were alone.

“Why, you goose, of course she wouldn’t accept a dress from anybody! You ought to have known that the mere mention of such a thing would offend her!”