Elizabeth, Betsy, and Bess—schoolmates

BETSY, who was always most eager to greet Elizabeth on Monday mornings at school, did not feel very enthusiastic about it on this present occasion; Elizabeth was sure to hark back to the subject of Christmas gifts; it was like her to be interested in one thing to the exclusion of all others until the matter had been well threshed out, unless something much more exciting occurred to put it out of her mind, so Betsy, instead of hurrying off as usual to school, lagged behind, giving no answer to the call which Elizabeth and Bess gave as they passed by together, and arriving just at the very last stroke of the bell. Elizabeth looked up beamingly as she entered and gave Betsy’s hand an affectionate squeeze when her desk-mate took the seat by her side; but Betsy’s face wore such a solemn expression that Elizabeth looked at her inquiringly, receiving no response to her questioning glance.

When the hour for recess came Elizabeth’s first question was: “Aren’t you well, Betsy? Has anything happened?”

Betsy shook her head. “No, I feel cross; that is all.”

“Then here is something to sweeten your disposition,” returned Elizabeth laughingly. “I got up early and made some fudge with marshmallows in it. I brought this boxful to you; it is all for yourself, because you were so dear and generous about the silk pieces.”

Again! Betsy felt that she could not stand it much longer. “Bother the silk pieces,” she cried. “I wish you would stop talking about them.”

“Well, you are cross, sure enough,” said Elizabeth, really feeling hurt at this reception of her gift. “You’d better eat a piece of fudge and see if it won’t do you good.”

But Betsy left the fudge untouched and had very little to say during luncheon. When Bess rallied her upon her silence Elizabeth shook her head and whispered to Bess: “Don’t tease her; I don’t believe she feels well.”

That her first best friend did not resent her ill temper was the crowning stroke, and before school closed Betsy gave in. She slipped a little note into Elizabeth’s hand, addressing her in the style they adopted toward one another on such occasions, and asking that Elizabeth would meet her at their trysting place that afternoon. If she were not there Elizabeth was to look for a message left in the usual secret place.

Nothing pleased Elizabeth more than such messages. She was usually the one to take the initiative and to bid Betsy to the trysting place; it had been some time since either of them had made an excuse for such a meeting and it was therefore the keener prospect. Elizabeth did not delay in reaching the spot, but found no Betsy. She hastened to the big stone, looked under it and found a small package wrapped in heavy paper and securely sealed. Wondering what it could contain, Elizabeth broke the seals and found inside the heavy paper another wrapping of soft white paper which she unfastened—to find inside a length of beautiful ribbon and a note; the note read:

Elizabeth read the note over several times before she quite took in its meaning, then she hurried to a hollow tree, drew forth a small tin box and took out a white flag. This she fastened to a long pole hidden in the bushes and, lifting it, waved it slowly back and forth. This was what the two girls called running up the flag.

Betsy was on the watch, and as soon as she caught sight of the waving banner she hurried down the garden path, out the side gate, and in a few minutes was in Elizabeth’s presence. She wore a black shawl draped about her small person and a short veil fell over her face. She could have taken no surer way of appealing to Elizabeth than by such dress. Arriving at the spot where Elizabeth waited, Betsy dropped upon her knees and stretched out her arms in an attitude of despairing entreaty.

“Do not kneel to unworthy me, fair lady!” began Elizabeth. “Rise and come to my heart. Who am I that you should kneel to me?”

For answer, Betsy, still on her knees, moved nearer and humbly kissed Elizabeth’s hand. “Your gentle heart forgives a suffering culprit?” she murmured.

“There is no question of forgiveness between the Lady Phillipa and her adoring Frederica,” answered Elizabeth. Then Betsy fell on her neck and the two rapturously embraced. After which Elizabeth held off her friend to look at her admiringly. “What a fine costume,” she commented. “How did you ever think of it?”

“I found the old black shawl up in the attic, and the veil is one that aunt Emily had thrown away. I cut off the holey part,” Betsy told her.

“It makes a perfect penitilential dress,” declared Elizabeth. “But, Betsy, I am not going to take that ribbon. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t. After your giving me that lovely blue I would like to know who would be the pig if I accepted both. Besides, you must have wanted it awfully yourself. Honest now, didn’t you?”

Driven to a corner, Betsy had to acknowledge facts. “Of course, or I wouldn’t have been so mean about it.”

“I don’t call it mean. You have a perfect right to it, a much better right than I have.”

“It isn’t that I haven’t the right, I suppose,” replied Betsy gravely; “it is because I deceived you and aunt Emily and allowed you to think I was generous when I wasn’t. I wanted the ribbon to make the thread and needle case much more than I did anything to make a scent bag.”

“Well, but don’t you remember that you said it would be no fair if I gave two presents and you only one, unless yours should be much handsomer. Of course we have to say that this is much handsomer, so if you like it best why not let me make a scent bag out of the blue flowery piece, a handkerchief case out of something else, and you take this?”

“Would you really truly just as lief?” said Betsy, still finding her ardent desire for the ribbon unquenched.

“Of course I would. I couldn’t possibly bring myself to gobble up the two very prettiest pieces in the whole lot, and if I have one and you the other that will make it just right, don’t you see?”

“Oh, Elizabeth, you are a dear, yet still I don’t feel quite right about it.”

“You are supersensitive,” said Elizabeth, pleased at being able to air a word which she had heard her sister use that morning.

Betsy was a little awed by it, as she always was by any addition to Elizabeth’s vocabulary. Elizabeth always used new, important-sounding words with such glibness and in such an assured manner, though many times she did not get them just right. “Aunt Emily likes the idea of the scent bag,” said Betsy, a little uncertain yet.

“Then, I’ll tell you what,” said Elizabeth, ready with an answering argument. “I promised you some of my dried stuff in exchange for silk pieces, didn’t I?”

Betsy was obliged to acknowledge this was true.

“Well, then, I wouldn’t be keeping my part of the bargain unless I did it, so you take some and make a scent bag for your aunt Em. I have another idea; if you don’t like to use the pieces she is acquainted with you can get Kathie to change with you; she has some real pretty ones, so Miss Emily will have something quite a novelty to her.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, what a very nice plan,” said Betsy, now thoroughly convinced. “I do think you can think out the nicest things. I should like to do that.”

“I almost hope next Saturday will be rainy, don’t you?” said Elizabeth as, with arms around one another, they walked towards the garden gate.

“I almost do,” agreed Betsy, “though I usually despise rainy days. Come in and let us go up to my room and look over the bag together; you must have another choice, you know, and I will choose something to swap with Kathie; you are sure she will be willing to, Elizabeth.”

“Of course she will. It will be much more interesting to have a variety.”

Betsy was satisfied with this assurance, and thus all clouds rolled away.

It was too dark for Elizabeth to linger long, but each made her choice from the stuffs which Betsy shook out upon her bed, and then Elizabeth, with hers safely tucked in her coat pocket, started up the long street towards the brown house at the end of it.

There was a comforting odor of supper when Elizabeth entered, and she made straight for the kitchen that she might discover what Electra was cooking.

“Now, what are you after?” inquired Electra, as she quickly shut the oven door.

“I wanted to know what it was that smelled so good,” returned Elizabeth.

“I’ll be bound for you,” returned Electra. “It is filoes for meddlers, if you must know.”

This was always Electra’s answer when she was making something which she meant as a surprise, and Elizabeth’s curiosity was aroused. She sniffed the air, saying: “If I guess what it is will you tell me?”

Electra smiled grimly. “I’ll give you three guesses, and if you don’t guess right you can just clear out.”

“It has a sort of cakey smell, and yet it doesn’t smell exactly like gingerbread,” said Elizabeth contemplatively. “I suppose it isn’t ginger muffins.”

“If that’s a guess,” returned Electra, “I’m free to say it ain’t.”

“I didn’t think it was,” returned Elizabeth, “so I am not going to call it a guess.”

“Then what was it?”

“Oh, just a—a sort of side remark.”

Electra laughed. “Hurry up, or I’ll shoo you out without any guesses.”

“Then I’ll guess rusk, hot rusks.”

“Wrong.”

“Then—then, maybe it is French rolls; I hope it is, for I dearly like them.”

“You won’t have your appetite pampered by them this night, although I don’t believe you’ll refuse what is in the oven.”

“Let me see,” Elizabeth reflected. “I shall have to think very hard for this is my last go.” She looked around the kitchen. “It is not anything you cut out, for you are not using the biscuit board.” She went over to the sink where stood some dishes which Electra had set there to wash. Elizabeth regarded them earnestly. “That bowl looks as if it might have had muffins stirred up in it,” remarked Elizabeth, “though,” she added hastily, “that isn’t a guess, ’Lectra.”

“It is just another side remark, I suppose,” returned Electra.

Elizabeth opened the door of one of the cupboards and looked in. “It can’t be muffins,” she said, “for there are the muffin pans.”

“Well, now, ain’t you smart?” declared Electra. “Who but you would have thought of that? Now turn your back and don’t peep while I’m looking in the oven again.”

Elizabeth obeyed. “I can use my nose if I can’t my eyes.” She made the remark sniffing thoughtfully. “Oh, Electra, I believe I can guess with my nose; it is Sally Lunn.”

“Well, now, ain’t you got a good nose; that’s just what it is,” Electra told her. “We ain’t had any in a long time, and as the bread had give out with so much extra company over Sunday, I thought I’d stir some up this morning. Being wash day, I couldn’t do a regular baking.”

“I’m mighty glad you couldn’t, for Sally Lunn is much better than bread or rolls or anything like that. Is it most done, Electra?” Elizabeth peeped over the woman’s shoulder as she tested the browning cakes.

“Not quite, but pretty near. You run in and get me a plate while I take up this ham; then you can sound the gong, for I reckon by the time they all collect we shall be ready.”

Elizabeth ran off with alacrity. She enjoyed helping Electra but was not always permitted to, for Electra was cranky and as she had been with the family a long time and was an excellent servant, her peculiar moods were overlooked and the children were not allowed to bother when she was cross.

“Please let me take it in,” Elizabeth begged. “Let’s wait till they are all at the table; it will be so much more of a surprise that way.”

Electra was ready to humor her and allowed her to bear in a well-piled plate in triumph, Elizabeth announcing with an air of having planned the whole thing “See, what a surprise I’ve brought.”

“Humph! You didn’t make it,” said Bert scornfully.

“I don’t care if I didn’t; I knew about it and that is more than you did. Bah!” returned Elizabeth.

“Here, here, don’t let us have any squabbling,” said Mr. Hollins. “That is not the sort of sauce we want to season a good supper.” And the two children subsided, being the more ready to do so since they did not want to waste any time in beginning their meal.