Betty's Happy Year

She couldn’t help looking distressed, for there was not a trace of ostentation in her whole nature, and her enjoyment of her wealth was merely in the simple pleasures that it brought her, without thought of vanity or pride in the possession of it.

Never before had she been accused of this, nor was she now, in words, but there was no doubting the meaning of the looks directed at her.

Miss Price tactfully changed the subject, but Betty made no more contributions to the “light” conversation of that dinner.

The hour in the drawing-room that followed was worse still. Had Betty only known it, her experience was not so very different from that of any new pupil at a strange school; for of course those who have known each other in previous terms naturally get together to talk over their vacation, and new-comers are left to be taken into favor later, if they qualify for it.

But Betty didn’t know this, and she felt it a personal slight that nobody talked to her and nobody seemed responsive if she opened a conversation.

Madeleine stayed by her side, but the more Betty talked with her, the more she was convinced she didn’t like her. “And it’s most ungrateful of me,” thought poor Betty to herself, “for she’s the only one who has shown me decent friendliness, so she is.”

At last it was bedtime, and the girls filed out of the room, saying good night to Miss Frelinghuysen as they passed.

“Hold your hand a little higher,” she said to Betty, “and your head just a trifle to one side, – so.”

Betty imitated the model, alas, only too well! So anxious was she to do as she was told, that her attitude was an exaggeration of the principal’s; indeed, it seemed a mockery, though nothing was farther from Betty’s intention.

The girls behind her giggled outright, which didn’t speak very well for their innate good breeding.

Miss Frelinghuysen turned scarlet, and said: “Report to me in my study to-morrow morning at ten, Miss McGuire. Good night.”

“Good night,” said Betty, all unaware of what she had done wrong.

“Oh, Elizabeth, you were killing!” declared Madeleine, when they reached their room. “But how dared you do it?”

She went off in peals of subdued laughter, only pausing at Betty’s amazed, “What do you mean?”

“Why, the way you mimicked the principal! It was great! You looked so ridiculous, and that made her seem silly. Oh, it was too good!”

“Why, I didn’t mean to do any such thing!” said Betty, ready to cry at the idea of having added a misdemeanor to her other troubles.

“Well, you did! And she’ll never believe you didn’t mean to. I couldn’t believe it myself if you didn’t look so scared to death. Oh, you’ll catch it to-morrow!”

Miserable indeed now, Betty began to prepare for bed. She could scarcely find room for her things, for Madeleine had appropriated far more than half of the cupboards and pegs; and the table and two chairs were strewn with her not very orderly wardrobe.

“Say, Elizabeth,” she said, suddenly coming toward Betty as they were almost ready to put out the light, “I want to ask you something. I’m sure you won’t mind, for of course it’s nothing to you, but will you lend me a little money? Just till my allowance comes, you know.”

“Why, yes,” said Betty, who, never having heard such a request before, supposed it was polite to grant it. “How much do you want?”

Encouraged by such prompt compliance, Madeleine doubled the amount she had meant to ask for.

“Could you – could you make it twenty dollars?” she said.

“Certainly; but what is there to spend money for here? I didn’t bring so very much with me.”

“Oh, I want to join a society to-morrow; I’m ’most sure I can get in, but you have to pay dues in advance.”

Betty gave Madeleine the money without further remark, and the two girls went to bed.

But Betty could not sleep. She lay there in the dark, wondering how she could live in this awful school. Madeleine’s mention of a society alarmed her. She would be glad to join a society if the girls would be nice to her; but to join one and have the members cool and unpleasant toward her would be awful.

And already she disliked Madeleine. Not because she had borrowed money, though somehow Betty felt that was not a right thing for a young girl to do, but because she was so careless with her things and so pushing and forward in her intimacy with Betty. Betty laughed to herself at this thought! Madeleine was too friendly, and the other girls were not friendly enough. Well, that was true. And Betty had looked at their faces carefully that evening. Not one had given her a glance of simple, kindly, girlish friendship. They had looked at her curiously, inquisitively, and even enviously, but for some reason she knew they didn’t like her.

Poor little Betty knew nothing of class distinction, and little dreamed that her warm-hearted, generous nature could easily conquer these difficulties in a short time. She fell at last into a troubled sleep, only to awaken long before dawn, with a heavy heart and a feeling of despair.

She lay in her narrow bed, thinking over the experiences of the day before, and looking forward to the interview with the principal to which she was summoned at ten o’clock.

And as she thought of that, her spirit revolted. She had not mimicked the lady’s manner. She had simply tried to do as she was told, and she would not be punished for it!

A great resolve came to her, so great that she could scarcely formulate it to herself.

But, prompted by her indomitable Irish will-power, and urged on by her outraged sense of justice, she rose slowly from her bed, and, moving softly about the room, began to dress herself. The first touches of dawn gave her just light enough to distinguish the larger objects in the room, and by the time she was fully dressed she could see almost clearly. She had put on the traveling-suit she had worn from Boston, and carried her small satchel, leaving her trunk partly unpacked.

She could send for her clothes afterward, or she did not care if she never saw them again. What was the use of a fortune if it didn’t enable one to run away from a terrible place without worrying about one’s clothes?

She glanced at sleeping Madeleine, and then, on an impulse, she wrote a hurried note, which she pinned to her own pillow:

Dear Madeleine: I did not mimic the lady, and I do not wish to be punished for what I didn’t do. Also, I do not like the school, and I am going home.

    Elizabeth McGuire.

P. S. You may keep my bangle to remember me by.

It was the sight of the bangle still on Madeleine’s wrist that prompted this postscript, and then, taking her satchel, Betty softly opened the door and closed it behind her.

The hall was almost dark, and Betty had no notion how she was to get out of the house, but at least she meant to try in every possible way.

The large front door was so firmly fastened with chains and heavy bolts that she didn’t even attempt to open that, but she remembered the great window in the drawing-room. She easily unfastened one of those long French windows opening on the veranda, and in a moment was walking rapidly down the drive. It was a long walk to the railroad station, but the way was unmistakable, and Betty trudged on, her heart growing lighter at every step.

The sun was shining brightly when she reached the station, and the ticket-agent told her a train for Boston would stop there at a quarter before eight. It was nearly that then, and Betty bought her ticket, and hoped fervently she could get away before any one from the school should follow her. Not that she intended to return with them if they did. She had no thought of running away; she knew only that she could not live at Hillside Manor, so she had left it.

The ticket-agent scanned her curiously, but Betty looked perfectly unconcerned, and he saw no occasion to question her.

About eleven o’clock she reached Boston. On the journey she had been thinking over the situation, and, though she had no fear of her mother’s displeasure at her return, she knew her Grandmother Irving would be extremely annoyed.

Not so, though, her grandfather.

And, with true Irish ingenuity, Betty concluded to go straight to him.

She took a cab at the Boston station, and her calm dignity seemed to forbid any surprise on the part of the cabman, and she gave the address of Mr. Irving’s business office.

Paying the cabman and dismissing him, she went straight to her grandfather’s private room and walked in.

“Well, I’ve come home, Grandfather,” she announced cheerfully.

“Bless my soul! Betty, is that you? What are you doing here? Are you ill?”

“No, indeed,” and Betty’s spirits rose at the sight of the dear, familiar face. She threw her arms around his neck, and said: