Elizabeth, Betsy, and Bess—schoolmates

THE tableaux were given on Easter Monday and a few days later Elizabeth was told that her cousins were coming back to the gray house. She hurried off to tell Betsy, who once was jealous of Ruth but was now her very good friend. “I wonder who Ruth will have for her first best,” remarked Betsy. “She used to have Bess, you know, but since Bess has become so thick with Corinne perhaps she won’t.”

“Bess doesn’t go with Corinne near so much as she did,” Elizabeth assured her, “besides, Corinne will be going back home soon.”

“And I hope she’ll stay there,” returned Betsy fervently.

“Well, anyhow,” said Elizabeth, “we will not let Ruth think we don’t want her with us, will we, Betsy?”

“Of course not. I am very fond of Ruth and we three can play together whether Bess joins us or not. I wish we could do something as a sort of welcome for Ruth. Can’t you think of something, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth proposed several plans, but all were too elaborate or impossible. “I will tell you what we can do,” she said at last. “We can dress up like old beggar women. We will bend over and take sticks to walk with, and baskets. We will sneak around the back way and when we hear Ruth coming we will ask for food in a whining voice and suddenly we will throw off the disguise and appear in our true characters.”

“Oh, I think that will be fine,” cried Betsy, well pleased with the idea. “It will be such a surprise. What can we wear as a disguise, Elizabeth?”

“We ought to have rags, I suppose, but maybe we can root out some old skirts or petticoats. One of us could wear a shawl over her head and the other could find something like a big handkerchief. We must bring them ’way over our faces so we cannot be recognized.” They were quite enraptured with their plan, Elizabeth promising to let Betsy know just as soon as the Gilmore family had returned, and the two parted, arranging to meet at a certain chosen spot.

The next day, when Elizabeth came home at noon she heard that her cousins would arrive about two o’clock, but her mother did not think it worth while for her to stay at home to see them. “You can go right up after school this afternoon,” she said, and Elizabeth was satisfied, the more so that Betsy would be free to help her carry out her plan of surprising Ruth.

Each girl had taken her bundle of poverty-stricken clothes and had carried it to the hollow trysting-tree. This being in a most secluded spot, they were not observed when they changed their appearance and assumed the characters of old women.

“You look so funny,” giggled Betsy when Elizabeth, in a much stained and faded skirt of Electra’s, an old worsted shawl, and a battered felt hat tied down over her ears, announced that she was ready and how did she look.

Betsy was more respectable in a cast-off skirt of Elizabeth’s, a black shawl over her head, and a basket on her arm. Being shorter than her comrade, the skirt reached to her ankles, but instead of her own neat shoes she displayed an old pair of Kathie’s which Elizabeth had found in the attic. The skirt which Elizabeth wore was sufficiently long to cover her feet, but she had chosen her oldest shoes to wear.

Taking a circuitous route, the two stole around the back way and approached the rear of the house where they could take a survey, hiding behind the grape arbor and peeping out from time to time.

“I see cousin Belle on the front porch,” Elizabeth at last whispered, after making a tour of investigation. “Grandpa Gil is there, too, and Cousin Tom went down toward the studio. There comes Ruth now, Betsy. She is probably going down to the spring. Hide, hide, Betsy, and when we hear footsteps we will walk out and confront her. It will have to be she for there is no one else, for I can see both maids in the kitchen and Martin is down at the garage.” All this in hurried whispers.

The two would-be beggars sprang back behind the grape arbor which ran along the side of the hill and opened upon the path which led to the spring. They waited, and presently heard footsteps enter the grape arbor. They did not dare to look, but cowered behind a low evergreen bush which stood at the end of the arbor. The footsteps came nearer and nearer. “She is walking rather slowly,” whispered Elizabeth, “but I think we may appear now.” She stepped out from her hiding-place, Betsy following. With heads bent and faces well obscured they began to whine: “Please help two poor unfortunates.”

“Go away with you,” a peremptory voice said, not Ruth’s, by any means. “What are you doing here? Don’t you know you are trespassing upon private property?”

The two little girls gave one scared look and beheld the tall form of a perfectly strange elderly lady, whom neither had ever seen before. Betsy stepped back hastily; Elizabeth followed suit. She stumbled against Betsy. They both lost footing on the slippery side of the hill and went rolling over and over down the incline. The lady at the top of the hill looked after them, not able to restrain a laugh. It was so comical to see two such queer-looking creatures tumbling over one another and looking like some absurd moving picture. But in a moment the observer began to be alarmed lest the two were injured by their fall, and she called out to them: “Are you hurt?”

To her amazement a childish voice answered: “Oh no; we’re not a bit hurt; only shaken up a little,” and a childish face peeped up at her from a mass of copper-colored hair.

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed the lady. She stood still for a moment and then walked quickly toward the house.

Having reached the foot of the hill the two girls gathered themselves together and sat up. Elizabeth’s hat hung on the back of her head, her worsted shawl had been dragged off by the weeds, while Betsy’s shawl trailed along the ground behind her.

“Well,” exclaimed Betsy, “that was a surprise, sure enough.”

“And we gave it to ourselves,” returned Elizabeth; then the humor of the situation overcame them and they rocked with mirthful laughter.

When the first fit of merriment was over Elizabeth, rubbing her knees, asked, “Are you hurt at all, Betsy?”

“I don’t think so, for my shawl saved me,” replied Betsy, after feeling various parts of her body; “It rolled me up like a mummy at first, then it caught in some briars and unrolled just before we stopped.”

“My knees and elbows got pretty well bumped,” Elizabeth continued to rub them, “but otherwise I am quite sound. Who in the world do you suppose that was, Betsy? I never was so astonished in my life as when I heard that voice.” Then they both went off again into peals of laughter.

When they had sobered down they consulted as to what should next be done. “We can’t sit here all day,” said Elizabeth, “and we haven’t seen Ruth at all. I think we’d better take off our disguise, roll the things up and hide them in that fence corner, and then go around by the front way and say noththing about this till we have to. Of course, we will explain as soon as we get a good chance, but at first we needn’t.”

“I think that will be best,” agreed Betsy. “It is lucky I put on the old shoes over my own, or I shouldn’t be in a state to see anyone.”

“My shoes look pretty bad,” said Elizabeth, contemplating the worn toes, “but I shall have to make them do, for I don’t want to go all the way home.”

“Oh, they’ll do.” Betsy viewed them. “They aren’t any worse than the last time you wore them, you know.”

“And I did wear them to school that last time,” Elizabeth remembered. “Well, come on, let us go over and invest ourselves of these incumbrances, and then we will go and see Ruth.”

They ran along to the fence corner, made a bundle of the superfluous clothes, and then proceeded decorously along the road which led to the gray house. They found the family sitting on the porch, waiting for their trunks to arrive. The maids were busy inside setting things to rights, but there was no sign of the lady whom they had encountered a short time before. Ruth ran out joyously to meet them. “I have been watching for you,” she said, “for I knew you would come soon.” Then followed many embraces and inquiries after the health of one and another; then Mrs. Gilmore, Grandpa Gil, and cousin Tom must be greeted. Still no sign of the strange lady.

“Ruth will come to school with us for the rest of the year, won’t she, Cousin Belle,” Elizabeth had just asked when a voice from the doorway interrupted the answer.

“That’s one of them; I’d know that red head anywhere. Those are the children who scared me nearly out of my wits. With my weak heart it is a wonder I didn’t collapse on the spot. Who are the little wretches, Isabel?”

Everyone was speechless as the lady stepped out on the porch. Then cousin Belle found voice to say: “These? Why this,”—she laid her hand on Elizabeth’s arm,—“this is Kate Hollins’s little girl Elizabeth, and the other one is our little friend Betsy Tyson. Come out, aunt Eunice, won’t you?”

The lady glared first at Elizabeth and then at Betsy. “They are the identical children, I tell you,” she said, stepping out upon the porch. “What did they mean by trying to scare me,—a person of my years? I hate practical jokes and practical jokers.”

“We didn’t mean—” began Elizabeth timidly, “we didn’t want to scare anyone——”

“Then why did you do it?” snapped out the irate lady.

Elizabeth looked helplessly at Betsy, who hung her head and appeared very much crestfallen.

Grandpa Gil stretched out a kindly hand to Elizabeth. “Come here, my dear,” he said, “and tell us how it all happened. I can’t quite make out what the trouble is.”

Elizabeth went over to her old friend, who put his arm around her and drew her close. “Miss Darby was alarmed at somebody or something in the garden——”

“Indeed, I was,” interrupted Miss Darby, who sat rigidly near by. “It came near bringing on an attack. I had to go in and take some drops. Fortunately I never travel without them.”

“We had no idea it was anyone we didn’t know,” began Elizabeth. “We thought it was Ruth.”

“A pretty tale,” sniffed Miss Darby. “Much I look like Ruth.”

“We didn’t see who it was, for we covered our faces,”—Elizabeth turned to Mr. Gilmore with the explanation. “We were hiding behind the evergreen bush and when we heard footsteps we thought they were Ruth’s.”

“Humph!” Miss Darby gave a scornful exclamation.

Grandpa Gil looked puzzled. “Still I don’t understand just what happened,” he said. “Suppose you begin at the beginning, my dear.”

“Well,”—Elizabeth felt emboldened to tell the whole story,—“we wanted to do something to welcome Ruth, and we couldn’t think of anything really nice, but we thought it would be funny if we dressed up like two old beggar women and lay in wait for her, then when we had whined out our beseechment we would suddenly throw off our disguise and stand before her in our true characters.”

“And when we saw a perfect stranger,” put in Betsy, “we were the ones who were surprised and scared. We were so taken aback that we rolled all the way down hill.”

“But we weren’t hurt,” Elizabeth took care to assure them all. “I bruised and scraped my elbows and knees a little, but that was all.”

“Quite what you might expect in playing a practical joke,” remarked Miss Darby. “I hate practical jokes,” she repeated.

“I cannot see that they really intended any harm,” said Mr. Gilmore mildly.

“Whether they intended it or not they did enough,” returned Miss Darby, still refusing to be mollified. “I never knew a red-headed person yet that wasn’t mischievous and unruly. Where did she get that red hair, anyhow? I am sure there is none in our family. It must come from her father’s side of the house.”

Elizabeth cast a deprecating look at her cousin Belle, who put in a good word. “We all admire Elizabeth’s hair very much, aunt Eunice, and we are very fond of her.”

Aunt Eunice looked at Elizabeth as much as to say that she was far from agreeing with this remark, and to Elizabeth’s indignation said: “I am sorry Kate hasn’t shown better judgment in bringing up her children. I imagined that she was a good and careful mother.”

This was too much for Elizabeth. She was quick-tempered when suddenly aroused, and now she did not hesitate to speak her mind. “You can say what you please about me,” she said, turning to Miss Darby, “whether it is true or not; but I will thank you to know that my mother is the best in the world, and I am not going to listen to a word against her from you or anybody else.” Then, bursting into a passion of tears, she broke away from Grandpa Gil and rushed off, leaving Betsy to follow.

“My, what a little spitfire,” exclaimed Miss Darby. “I certainly don’t want to have the bringing up of that child. I haven’t a doubt but poor Kate has her hands full.”

“You certainly have rubbed her the wrong way, aunt Eunice,” declared Mrs. Gilmore. “She is one of the dearest and sweetest children in the world, as a general thing. She is full of fancies and whims, but she is as straightforward and conscientious as even you could wish. I don’t know of another whom I prefer for a companion to Ruth.”

“You must be greatly prejudiced,” insisted Miss Darby. “I certainly hope she will keep out of my sight while I am here.”

Betsy, more self-controlled than Elizabeth, bit her lip to keep from speaking her mind also. Her heart swelled within her at such criticism of her dear Elizabeth. She could scarcely keep back the tears as she said: “Mrs. Gilmore, I think I must go. Good-bye, Ruth. Be sure to come to see me very soon.” Then, with a dignified little bow, she turned away, determining to seek out the abused Elizabeth and pour the balm of consolation upon her bruised heart.

She found her friend in the arms of her mother, sobbing out the tale of her woes. Betsy joined in giving the indignant recital all its value.

“Dear, dear,” murmured Mrs. Hollins; “this is most unfortunate. I am afraid you have gained aunt Eunice’s ill-will. She is very strong in her prejudices and opinions, although a very good woman.”

“Is she your aunt, too, Mrs. Hollins?” asked Betsy.

“Yes, she is my father’s sister, although I have seen but little of her. She was spending the winter in Florida at the same time that cousin Belle was and was persuaded to come up and make a visit before going to her home in western New York.”

“I wish she hadn’t been persuaded,” sighed Elizabeth.

“Under the circumstances I do, too. She is a really kind and charitable woman, doing much good in charity work, but once convinced that her way of thinking is right it is almost impossible to alter her opinion.”

“Well, I shall certainly keep out of her way when she comes here,” said Elizabeth.

“You can come to our house,” Betsy spoke. “You know we are always glad to have you. Uncle Rob is devoted to you, and aunt Emily likes you, too; I know she does.”

This was comforting to hear, for to be actually disliked by anyone was a novel experience for Elizabeth. With the exception of Corinne Barker, she did not know of another who felt toward her as did this hitherto unknown aunt. “I am awfully sorry your aunt doesn’t like me, mother,” she said.

“She is your aunt, too, dear, your great-aunt. I am sorry, myself, for I should like her to be fond of myself and my children.”

“Do you think she should have talked in that horrid way, and did we do anything so very bad?”

“No, I cannot say that you did. It is merely unfortunate that she happened to come along just when she did.”

“I couldn’t stand her saying such mean, mean things about you,” Elizabeth went on. “I don’t care who she is, I despise her for it. Wasn’t I right to stand up for my ownest mother?” Elizabeth gave her mother a close embrace.

“You were right to stand up for your mother, yes; but I think maybe you could have done so in a less offensive manner. I don’t suppose one should expect little girls to be so very dignified under such circumstances, but I think if you had said less it would have been wiser.” It is hard to chide a daughter for the defence of her mother, and Mrs. Hollins wanted to be just and at the same time kind. “Don’t say that you despise aunt Eunice,” she went on. “When you know her better you may like her very much. She was excited and nervous and probably did not realize what she was saying. She is not used to children except in a general way, and their little pranks she takes too seriously, perhaps. She is kindness itself where poor orphaned children are concerned and does great work for the institutions where they are placed, so you can see that she has really a kind heart in spite of her seeming anger.”

Elizabeth sighed. It was very hard to adjust matters in this contradictory world, and she went off with Betsy, both of them much disturbed by the outcome of their surprise.