Betty's Happy Year

“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.