Elizabeth, Betsy, and Bess—schoolmates

AS the heroine of such an adventure, Elizabeth was the admiration and envy of the whole school while Bert was a close second. Being at the boastful age, Bert was not slow in discoursing upon how “we” did thus and so; “We” chased the lynx—“We” shot him—“We” carried him to Jim Powers’s shop. “Yes, sir, I tell you he came mighty near to springing on me,” was his greatest boast.

As for Elizabeth, she bore herself more modestly, but nevertheless was willing to tell of her experience with all the thrilling details she could think of while the boys and girls gathered around in breathless attention.

Big Phil Selden, who had never taken the least notice of Elizabeth, secretly placed a huge red apple on her desk. Leonora Stayman offered her a ring set with a blue stone. Maria Black asked if she couldn’t walk home with her. As these were all two or three years older than Elizabeth and counted her among the little girls, she considered herself much complimented.

The mild weather suddenly gave place to a sharp frost, which was followed by the first snow, and Elizabeth became much in demand for coasting. Not a boy that was not willing to drag her uphill for the sake of coasting down again in her company; not a girl who would not have done the same if Elizabeth had allowed it. This did all very well for awhile, but finally she grew tired of having honor thrust upon her and, moreover, found that however popular she might be with the boys she was losing favor with the girls; even her own Betsy and Bess once or twice walked home without her. Elizabeth was quick-tempered upon sudden provocation, but was long-suffering where her friends were concerned, so she did not resent these slights until she overheard Bess say: “Humph! I suppose we’re not old enough for her to care for. Well, let her go with the big girls if she wants to!”

“You’d better say boys,” replied Betsy. “She went down on Phil Selden’s sled three times yesterday afternoon.”

“Some people are too lazy to pull their own sleds uphill,” returned Bess.

Elizabeth, in the cloakroom, heard it all. She flounced out, her cheeks blazing and her eyes snapping. “You mean, deceitful, jealous things!” she cried. “I heard every word you said, and I don’t want to speak to you. I am going to ask Miss Jewett to let me change my seat, Betsy Tyson, and as for you, Bess Ferguson—no wonder the boys don’t want to drag a great fat thing like you uphill. I’ll never, never be friends with you again, so there!” She flounced out the door and down the path before the schoolhouse, pounding her feet down very hard and trying to keep back the smarting tears.

Betsy and Bess looked at one another dismayed. “Now we’ve done it,” said Betsy. “You needn’t have called her lazy, Bess. You know she isn’t.”

“That wasn’t half as bad as what you said,” returned Bess, aggrieved.

“Well, I didn’t really mean it,” returned Betsy. “I didn’t know she was in there, did you?”

“Indeed I didn’t. I wouldn’t have had her hear for the world.”

“I don’t suppose she will ever forgive us.”

“I am not at all sure that I want to forgive her. I think what she said was a great deal worse than what we did.”

“You are fat, you know,” replied Betsy, ready to be a little spiteful.

“I’d rather be nice and plump than be a little skinny thing like you,” returned Bess.

Betsy curled her lip scornfully. “Oh yes, we’re very well pleased with ourselves, aren’t we? Wait till you have to do your arithmetic alone and you won’t be so pleased at having quarrelled with Elizabeth.”

“I don’t care,” replied Bess with an air of supreme indifference. “I’m not the only one who did the quarreling; you were as bad as I.”

“You began it.”

“But I only said things about girls and you said about boys; that was a great deal worse.”

“I didn’t mean it; I was mad,” Betsy repeated.

Bess was not ready to acknowledge that much. Elizabeth’s remarks still rankled and as anything relating to her personal appearance was a tender subject with Bess she could not forget very soon. “I’m not going to apologize, are you?” she said. “She ought to apologize first. If she doesn’t, I’ll take you for my first best friend, Betsy.”

“Indeed you won’t, then,” returned Betsy. “If I can’t have Elizabeth I don’t want anybody.”

“Oh, very well,” responded Bess with a haughty air. “Nobody wants you, I’m sure.” And she walked off, leaving Betsy torn by varied emotions.

For two whole days the three girls did not speak to one another. Each went her own way. Betsy moped by herself. Bess selected Flo Harris as a companion. Elizabeth sought out the older girls, and it must be said that, in defiance, she was more friendly than usual with the boys.

Then appeared upon the scene Corinne Barker, a city girl, who dressed stylishly and accepted attentions with the air of one conferring a great favor. Her parents had gone abroad and she was to spend the months of their absence with her aunt and uncle. She was a little older than Bess though somewhat younger than Leonora Stayman and Maria Black. Bess was ready to make overtures at once. Corinne’s real coral necklace, her flashing ring which far outshone Elizabeth’s modest little turquoise, her gold bangle, all these won Bess’s admiration, and it must be said that there were others who looked with envious eyes at these possessions. In imitation of Corinne, Bess changed the style of wearing her hair and presented herself with her usually smooth locks pulled down in scraggy loops over her forehead and bound down with a fillet. It was not becoming, but Bess prided herself upon its being in the latest style. Within the next twenty-four hours nearly every girl had followed the new fashion. Betsy arose early, had breakfast before her aunt and uncle and so escaped detection. Miss Emily would never have approved, Betsy well knew. When she took her place by Elizabeth’s side, her desk-mate gave her an amused, supercilious glance which did not escape Corinne’s eye. Elizabeth, be it said, had made up her mind not to ape the new pupil, for she had taken a dislike to her from the first. Corinne, recognizing in Elizabeth a leader, was ready to make war against her, and so matters stood after the second day of Corinne’s coming.

Betsy had begun to make overtures to her first best. She well knew her aunt would not permit her to adopt the new fashion of arranging her hair and she also knew it was far from becoming. Betsy’s little dark face, overshadowed by her dusky locks, looked like some small animal’s; still she wanted to prove that she could follow the style if she wanted to. Not only little girls, but the world in general, will take pattern after a flock of sheep; let one jump over a fence, the rest will jump after it. Betsy had made the jump to show that she could, but she was ready to return to her familiar field, the more especially as she missed the companionship of Elizabeth.

At recess a flock of girls gathered around Corinne to examine her corals, to borrow her ring for a moment, to see how it would look on another hand, to hear her recount the number of parties and teas which she had attended. The schoolhouse porch was by no means deserted that day, for Corinne preferred it to any outside spot. Elizabeth with her older friends sat on a bench by the gate, a row of boys perched like crows on the fence above them. Betsy uncertainly hovered between the two places.

“Come here, Betsy,” called Corinne. “See if my ring will fit your third finger; it is too small for Bess. Flo says it will be too big for you, but I don’t believe it. I know my hand is smaller than yours.”

Betsy paused in taking a second bite of her big red apple, and looked uncertainly toward the group by the fence.

“Your hair looks real nice,” continued Corinne. “Bess says she didn’t believe you would dare to change it.”

“I don’t think it looks very nice,” replied Betsy doubtfully; “I just tried it for today to see how it would look. I am going back to the old way tomorrow.”

“I wouldn’t,” Corinne went on. “It mightn’t look nice if you had red hair like some people we know. Nobody can be good-looking with red hair, and they must always expect to be made fun of.” This was spoken quite nonchalantly and with a little laugh.

Then all Betsy’s loyalty arose. She knew how sensitive Elizabeth was about her auburn locks, and that she had heard every word Corinne said, as it was intended she should. “Real red hair, of course,” responded Betsy. “But there is nothing in the world so beautiful as auburn hair. True auburn hair is very rare, my uncle says. All the artists rave over it, and anyone who has it doesn’t have to wear it like common folks.” Then, having flung forth her defiance, Betsy turned and ran to where Elizabeth sat on the end of the bench, snuggling up close to her, putting her hand in hers, and whispering, “I just hate that Corinne Barker. I wish she had stayed at home.”

Elizabeth gave the little hand a squeeze and Maria Black remarked, “I think Elizabeth Hollins has the prettiest hair I ever saw. I am glad she has sense enough to wear it as she does. I wish you could have heard my brother make fun of me this morning. I almost was ashamed to be seen after what he said about my hair. I’ll not dare to wear it so another day, I can tell you.” As Maria was the oldest girl in school her words carried weight and Elizabeth looked at her with grateful eyes.

So peace was once more restored between Elizabeth and Betsy. But Bess still hung off; she could not forget that Elizabeth had called her fat, but she was soon almost the only one who sought out Corinne. The older girls avoided her, the boys would have nothing to do with her. Boys despise a girl who makes mean little pin-pricking remarks about other girls. When they have a grievance they fight it out with their fists and have done with it.

Miss Jewett had noticed the coolness between Betsy and Elizabeth and was sorry. These two were her favorite pupils although she tried not to show partiality. As she was some day to marry Betsy’s uncle, Mr. Robert Tyson, she often discussed her scholars with him. “I wonder what is wrong between Elizabeth and Betsy,” she said to him one evening. “Has Betsy confided in you?”

“Haven’t had any report,” returned Mr. Tyson. “They sometimes have these little flare-ups, but they don’t last.”

“I believe all girls do have them,” said Miss Jewett reflectively. “It seems to go with youthful friendships. Perhaps the charm of making up makes them more ready to quarrel. This time it seems rather serious. I notice the two have scarcely spoken to one another for two whole days, though they sit side by side.”

“That does look serious. What about Bess Ferguson? Which side does she take?”

“Oh, she has gone over entirely to the new element. I have Mrs. Wilmer’s niece, Corinne Barker, you know, and she has made quite a sensation.”

“In what way?”

“Rather a silly way. I don’t like her influence with my sweet, simple girls. She is putting wrong notions in their heads and is stirring up discord, I am afraid. Of course, one must expect girls to admire trinkets, but I don’t think it is good taste for them to put them on when they come to school. This Corinne Barker enjoys nothing so much as making a display and is the envy of the whole school. She wears her hair in an abominable fashion which I was amused today to see imitated by nearly every girl in school. Even Betsy came with frowsy locks pulled down over her pretty low forehead. It gave her an uncanny look for she has such a mite of a face that it seemed to leave her with only half enough.”

“I’ll venture to say aunt Em didn’t observe it,” returned Mr. Tyson with a little laugh. “I must look tomorrow morning and see for myself.”

But there was nothing wrong with Betsy when her uncle next saw her, for her hair was arranged in its usual neat fashion and she appeared in good spirits. “Isn’t aunt Emily down yet?” she inquired as she came into the breakfast-room where her uncle was looking over the morning paper.

“Not yet, but we needn’t wait. You can begin on your orange if you like.”

Betsy seated herself and her uncle put down his paper. “What is the matter with you and Elizabeth?” he asked. “I hear you are at odds again.”

“Who told you? We are not, whoever it was,” Betsy replied.

“But weren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Betsy answered hesitatingly; “we were for a little while.”

“How did it happen?”

“Well, she overheard something Bess and I were saying and she pounced out at us and got awfully mad and called us mean, jealous, horrid things. Then she said Bess was fat and that we were both deceitful, so—” Betsy paused.

“So,”—repeated her uncle,—“there was a big row. What made her say you were all those things? Were you?”

Betsy looked down at her plate. “I believe we were a little.”

“What were you saying about her?”

Betsy was honest and did not hesitate to tell. “Bess said she was lazy and I said she liked to play with the boys better than with us girls.”

“Was it true?”

“Why, you see everybody made a lot of her after her adventure with the lynx and of course she liked it. Phil Selden has the very nicest sled in school and he took her on it ever and ever so many times, then Maria Black made a fuss over her and Leonora Stayman gave her a ring that was too small for herself and—and——”

“You and Bess were jealous, I see. So that much was true, and you said things to one another behind her back that you wouldn’t have said to her face. I suppose we might call that deceitful.”

Betsy nodded in token that she thought this true. “And Bess is fat,” she declared.

Mr. Tyson repressed a smile. “While no one can say truthfully that Elizabeth is lazy. It looks to me as if you had the worst of it, Betsy. The court convicts you on your own evidence and condemns you to pay Miss Elizabeth Hollins ten kisses in return for her injured feelings.”

“I’ve already paid them,” returned Betsy gravely. “We made up today after Corinne Barker called her a red-head. I wouldn’t stand that, you know; so I said what I thought and I am never going to have anything to do with her, with Corinne, I mean.”

“Not even to the extent of adopting her manner of wearing her hair,” said Mr. Tyson slyly.

“Oh, uncle Rob, did Miss Jewett tell you? Of course she must have. It was silly, of course, but I just wanted to see how it looked.”

“Did you find out?”

“It didn’t look nice a bit. Elizabeth told me on her sacred honor that I was a sight, though that isn’t the reason I gave it up, at least it isn’t the only reason. We have formed ourselves into two parties, Styles and Non-styles. Elizabeth and I belong to the Non-styles, so do Maria and Leonora. Bess belongs to the Styles, but we don’t care.”

“I must say that I approve more heartily of the Non-styles myself,” Mr. Tyson told her. “But here comes your aunt Em. I’ll not tell, Betsy”—a promise which Betsy was glad to hear.