Betty's Happy Year

The note read thus:

“Deer Bety: Susie isent going to the Forth a July Party atall. She’s mad at you.

    “Jennie Hale.”

Jennie Hale was Susie’s younger sister, and Betty saw at once that she had written this note without Susie’s knowledge.

But for Susie, the president of the club, to stay away from the garden-party would be a catastrophe indeed! Betty would be censured for making trouble, and Susie’s friends would say all sorts of things. It was hard on Betty. She had truly tried to make friends with Susie, and thought she had overcome the girl’s silly jealousy. What especial thing Susie was “mad at” now, Betty didn’t know. But she must find out, and make peace, if possible, before time for the garden-party to begin.

She looked at her watch. It was a quarter past two. If she went right over to Susie’s she might fix it up, and get back in time to dress.

She flung off her kimono, and quickly donned a linen suit, selecting the one she could get into most easily.

Then she ran down-stairs, and, without a hat or gloves, jumped into the pony-cart, to which Dixie had been harnessed all day, in case of errands, and drove rapidly down the road toward Susie’s.

It happened that no one noticed her going, but Betty did not think of this, so engrossed was she in the matter in hand.

She dashed up to Susie’s door and rang the bell. Mrs. Hale herself opened the door, and from the cold, hard expression on her face, Betty felt that she was unwelcome.

“I’ve come to see Susie, Mrs. Hale,” she said pleasantly. “Isn’t she ready for the party?”

“No, she isn’t!” snapped Mrs. Hale. “She isn’t going to your old party, so you can sing the solos yourself.”

Then Betty understood. Susie had wanted to sing the solos! Betty remembered now that Susie was the soprano of the village choir, and she probably resented Betty’s being asked to sing the solos instead of herself.

“Oh, my gracious!” exclaimed Betty, annoyed at this foolishness, and yet relieved that it could still be set right, “she can sing the solos, of course! I’d much rather she would! Tell her so, won’t you, and ask her to hurry and come.”

Mrs. Hale looked mollified, but she said:

“She can’t come now. She’s gone to her grandma’s to spend the afternoon.”

“Oh, dear! what a goose she is! Why couldn’t she tell me sooner what she wanted? Where is her grandmother’s?”

Betty was looking at her watch and getting back into the cart, and gathering up the lines, preparatory to going after the truant.

“It’s pretty late,” said Mrs. Hale, glancing at the clock. “She’ll have to come back here to dress, you know.”

“Never mind that!” said Betty, a little impatiently, for she was upset over it all. “Where is her grandmother’s?”

“Oh, out on the Pine Hill road. The third house after you pass the mill.”

Betty groaned, for the place designated was a good two miles away, and Dixie was somewhat tired. But she touched him gently with the whip, and said:

“Dear old Dixie, you’ll help me out, won’t you?” And then they went spinning away toward the Pine Hill road.

Susie, from the window, saw Betty coming, and went out to meet her.

She didn’t look very pleasant, but Betty had no time to waste in coaxing just then.

“Susie Hale,” she said, “get right in this cart. Never mind your hat; just get in this very minute!”

Susie was fairly frightened at Betty’s tones, and though she was unwilling, she couldn’t help doing as she was told.

Silent and a little bewildered, she climbed in beside Betty, and turning quickly, they were soon flying back over the road Betty had come.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Betty began, for she was of no mind to spare Susie’s feelings now. “You, the president of the club, to cut up such a childish caper! You can sing the solos, of course; I don’t care a mite! But you should have told me you wanted to sing them, in the first place.”

“Who told you I wanted to?” said Susie, weakly, now thoroughly ashamed of herself.

“Your mother did, and I’m glad she did, for I never should have guessed what foolish thing was the matter with you. I don’t think anybody that would act like you have is fit to be president of a club!”

Betty’s righteous indignation seemed to show Susie the despicableness of her own conduct, and she began to cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said; “truly I am. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I can,” said Betty, “if you’ll do just as I tell you. First, stop crying. Second, jump out of this cart when we get to your house, and get into your costume like lightning! Third, come over to Denniston and take your place in the march and sing the solos, and act pleasantly and nicely about it. I’ll drive home after I leave you, and I’ll send the cart back for you. And you must be ready! Do you hear? You must be ready!”

Betty spoke almost savagely, and Susie still looked scared, as she said: “I don’t want to sing your solos now.”

“But you will sing them,” said Betty. “You must sing them, and do your very best, too. You sing as well as I do, and to do as I tell you is the only way you can make up for the trouble you’ve stirred up. Now, here you are at home. Fly and dress. Don’t waste a minute. The cart will be back for you in a quarter of an hour!”

Susie sprang out of the cart and ran into the house, and Betty drove rapidly away to Denniston. As she tore up the driveway among the decorated booths and lantern-hung trees, the funny side of it struck her, and smiling broadly, she reached the veranda, where a bewildered group awaited her.

“Where have you been?” cried Constance. “What’s the matter?”

“I’ve been on an errand of mercy,” said Betty, smiling still; “and nothing’s the matter. The grand march must be delayed a little, but I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Come on, Dorothy, and help me dress. Pat, please take Dixie and go over to Mrs. Hale’s and bring Miss Susie back with you.”

And so the grand march was delayed only about half an hour. Susie arrived duly, and sang the solos very prettily. Afterward, when the whole story came out, much indignation was expressed that Betty should have been so bothered, but Betty herself didn’t mind, for it had the result of making Susie her staunch friend forever after.

X

BETTY CRUSOE

It happened most conveniently that when Betty was invited to spend a day and a night at Lena Carey’s, her mother was also just about to go for a short visit to a friend who lived only a few stations beyond, on the same railroad.

“So we can start together,” said Betty, gleefully, “and then I can get off at Pleasant Hill, and you can go on to Mapleton.”

“You’re sure they’ll meet you at the station?” said Mrs. McGuire.

“Oh, yes, indeed. Lena wrote that they would meet me in their new motor-car. I shall take only a suitcase, – that will hold enough clothes for such a short stay, – then I won’t have to bother with a trunk.”

So Betty packed a pretty organdie afternoon dress, a dainty chiffon evening frock, and her night things, and the two travelers started on an early morning train.

The Careys were in their summer home at Pleasant Hill, and, after spending the night there, Betty was to go on next day and join her mother at Mapleton.

The arrangement was satisfactory, as Betty would have to travel alone only the few miles that separated the two places.

It was a lovely day, and in her neat blue traveling-suit and straw hat Betty was a very pretty and contented-looking little tourist. She chattered to her mother all the way, and when the train stopped at Pleasant Hill, she kissed Mrs. McGuire good-by, and followed the porter, who carried her suitcase from the car.