Betty's Happy Year

Stub Graham had this in charge, and he deserved credit for the clever and humorous jokes he devised.

Catalogues had been prepared, and as an inducement to buy them, a large placard outside the door announced that each purchaser of a catalogue would receive, free of charge, a steel-engraving of George Washington. When these premiums proved to be two-cent postage-stamps, and canceled ones at that, much merriment ensued.

Among the so-called Revolutionary relics were such jests as these:

“Early Home of George Washington,” represented by an old-fashioned cradle.

“Vision of Washington’s Old Age:” a pair of spectacles.

“Washington’s Reflections” was a small portrait of Washington arranged so that it was reflected in a triplicate mirror.

“The Most Brilliant Lights of the Washington Era” were a few lighted candles. “The Lone Picket” was a single fence-picket. “The Tax on Tea” showed a few carpet-tacks on some tea.

“A Little Indian” was a small portion of Indian meal.

“An Old-Time Fancy Ball” was a child’s gay-colored worsted ball, much torn.

“Washington at One Hundred Years of Age” was a bird’s-eye map of the city of Washington.

“Away down on the Suwanee River” was a map of Georgia showing plainly the Suwanee River, on which was pasted a tiny bit of down.

“The Last of the Army” was simply the letter Y.

“A Member of Washington’s Cabinet” was an old brass handle from a mahogany cabinet.

These and many other such quips made up an exhibition that amused people quite as much as the display of real relics edified them.

The preparation of all these features meant a great deal of hard work, but it was the sort of work made light by many hands, and so it was enjoyed by all who engaged in it.

And so, by midday on the Fourth of July, everything was in readiness, and the willing workers went to their homes, to return later, ready to reap the results of their labors.

The grand march was to take place at three o’clock, and Columbia and Uncle Sam were to review it from their stand on the veranda. This was to be followed by the singing of the “Star-Spangled Banner,” accompanied by the orchestra.

It had been arranged that Betty should sing the verses as a solo, and that all the others, and indeed all the audience, should join in the chorus. Betty had not cared specially about singing, but had good-naturedly agreed to do so when the music committee asked her to.

Her voice had improved by reason of her singing lessons in Boston, and after practising the national anthem with her mother, she felt that she could manage its high notes successfully.

It seemed a little incongruous for a girl in a green costume and carrying the harp of Erin to sing the American song, but Betty was of New England parentage as well as Irish, and she was glad to show her double patriotism. Constance was greatly pleased at her rôle of Columbia, and her costume was beautiful. Very becoming, as well, was the striped red and white skirt, and the blue bodice spangled with stars. A liberty-cap, and a large well-made shield on which to lean, added to the picturesque effect.

Mr. Dick Van Court was a humorous figure in his “Uncle Sam” suit. He looked just as the Uncle Sam of the cartoons always looks, and as he was a tall, thin young man, the character suited him well. A white beaver hat and the long, sparse locks of hair and white goatee were all in evidence, so that Mr. Dick’s costume was pronounced a success by all the visitors.

About two o’clock Betty went to her room to dress. She had been busy every minute of the day, had scarcely taken time to eat her luncheon, but now everything was in readiness, and she had only to dress and take her place in the grand march at three o’clock.

Slipping on a kimono, she threw herself down on a couch for a moment’s rest before dressing. It was perhaps half an hour later when Constance presented herself at the door of Betty’s room, ready for inspection of her pretty costume.

“May I come in?” she called, as she tapped at Betty’s closed door.

Getting no reply, she tapped again, but after two or three unanswered calls she concluded Betty had gone down-stairs, and so she went down herself.

She didn’t see Betty, but Mr. Van Court was there, in the full glory of his “regimentals,” and the two, as it was not quite time to take their position, strolled about the veranda, looking out upon the grounds.

“It’s just like fairy-land,” said Constance, “and to-night, when the lanterns are lighted, it will be still more so. Oh, here comes the band.”

The orchestra, in resplendent uniforms, took their places on the band-stand, and began their preliminary tuning of instruments.

Then the girls and boys began to arrive, and each costume was greeted with admiring applause.

“Where’s Betty?” said Dorothy, as she came down, dressed as a dear little Swiss peasant.

“I don’t know,” answered Constance; “she must be out in the grounds somewhere. She wasn’t in her room when I came down.”

“Well, it’s time she appeared,” said Dorothy. “It’s ten minutes of three now.”

“Where’s Betty?” said Jack, as, wrapped in his Indian blanket, he came suddenly up to the girls, looking somewhat worried.

“I don’t know,” they replied at the same time. “She must be around somewhere.”

“Maybe she is,” said Jack, “but she isn’t dressed for the grand march yet. I’ve just been to her room, and her green dress is all spread out on the bed, and she’s nowhere to be found. Mother doesn’t know where she is.”

“Why, how strange!” said Constance. “Betty’s never late, and it was about two when we both went up-stairs to dress. Where can she be?”

There didn’t seem any real reason for alarm, but it was certainly strange that Betty should disappear so mysteriously. As Constance said, Betty was never late. She was always ready at the appointed time, and it seemed as if something must have happened to her.

“I can’t find Betty anywhere,” said Mrs. McGuire, as she joined the disturbed-looking group. “It’s so strange, for I know she had nothing more to attend to. She stopped at my door about two o’clock, and said everything was ready and she was going to dress.”

It was beginning to look serious now, and Dorothy went back to Betty’s room to make search.

As Jack had said, her pretty green dress was spread out in readiness. The little green slippers stood near by, and the green cap and gilt harp lay on the couch. Surely Betty had not begun to dress. She must have been called away by some one suddenly. Her kimono was flung across a chair as if hurriedly thrown there, and Dorothy looked in the dress-cupboard to see what Betty might be wearing. But there were many suits and dresses hanging there, and Dorothy couldn’t tell which, if any, pretty summer costume was missing. It was very mysterious, and she went slowly down-stairs again, wondering what they should do.

“She’s been kidnapped,” Mrs. McGuire was saying; “I’ve always feared it!”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs. Van Court, an elderly lady, who was Mr. Dick’s mother. “Of course she hasn’t been kidnapped. I think she has fallen in the pond.”

Jack laughed at this.

“Oh, no, Mrs. Van Court,” he said; “Betty is too big a girl to tumble into the water. I think some one on some committee wanted her to look after some booth or something, and she’s about the place somewhere.”

“That’s all very well,” said Dick Van Court, “but if I know Betty, she’d attend to the matter and be back in time for the march at three o’clock.”

“It’s after three now,” said Dorothy. “Whatever can we do?”

Nobody knew just what to do. It didn’t seem possible that anything unfortunate had occurred, and yet what else could be keeping Betty away, wherever she was?

Meanwhile what had become of Betty?

Well, it was just this:

While she was in her own room, just about to dress in her green suit, a note was brought to her by one of the servants.