Plain Jane and pretty Betty

When Mr. Browning entered the office a few moments later he found the two girls clasped in each other’s arms.

Betty was wiping Jane’s eyes with her inadequate little handkerchief and Jane was trying to laugh and making a poor business of it.

No wonder that he paused in amazement at this sight. No wonder, either, that his heart leaped with pride and hope as he saw his pretty Betty in the new role of comforter to Jane.

“She’s come through!” he told himself. “I knew she’d make the grade!”

Then he coughed by way of tactfully announcing his presence.

Betty pulled him down on the settee beside them and, still holding on to Jane, told the latter’s story.

Mr. Browning was wonderful to her, Jane thought afterward, and so comforting. He said that he would try at once to find out more about her parentage, that he would write to the orphan asylum, or perhaps go to Walling personally.

“Their records are usually pretty accurate,” he told Jane. “In the meantime, don’t worry, young lady. A girl like you can’t have sprung from any but good stock. When we find out who your parents were, I’ll guarantee you can be proud of them. Meantime, I think I’ll have a talk with Mr. Powell.”

This he did, and his conference with Mr. Powell resulted immediately in one good thing, at least. He was able to find the latter a position in Drake’s big hardware store, where he started at a salary equal to the one he had had with Martin and Hull and where, he was assured, there was good opportunity for advancement.

About Jane, neither Mr. Powell nor Mr. Browning was so sure. They were almost afraid to investigate for fear they would find out something concerning the girl’s parents that might cast a shadow over her entire life. Nevertheless, they pledged themselves to help her, and went about it with a will.

When Mr. Browning could not obtain satisfactory information by mail he announced to Jane and Betty one day his intention of going to Walling in person.

He seemed vaguely excited about something, but though both girls questioned him, Betty more insistently than Jane, he would give them no satisfaction, merely saying that when he found out anything definite he would tell it to them at once but that at present he had gained no really authentic information.

He left the office in charge of Jane, and that meant that the girl was kept “on her toes all day” doing both her own work and the work of her employer. This was perhaps just as well, since it kept her from useless brooding. But it was a trying time, even though an exciting one, for both the girls left behind.

Meanwhile, Billy Dobson came back to Greenville triumphant. He had been gone for some time, and since he had not written, Jane was beginning to worry for fear his mission had ended in failure after all.

He burst unceremoniously into the office one morning just as Jane was putting her hat on to go out.

Billy was handsomer than ever and there was an air of success about him just now that was rather thrilling. At least, so thought Betty from the modest obscurity of her own little desk in the rear of the office.

Billy rushed directly to Jane and swallowed up both her outstretched hands in his two great brown ones.

“Congratulations, Jane! Give ’em to me quick! I’ve done it!”

“Billy!”

Jane’s face was shining; her heart was thumping gloriously.

“You mean that man has really accepted your invention?”

“Accepted! Oh, boy, I’ll say he has! And at a price—oh, such a price! Jane, feast your eyes upon me, for you’re looking at a rich man—a man, moreover, who some day will be much richer! Are you getting an eyeful?”

“You’re crazy, of course!” Jane laughed helplessly as Billy continued to hold on to her hands and beam upon her. “But I don’t blame you at all, Billy. I feel sort of—unbalanced—myself!”

They had a perfectly marvelous, idiotic time after that, and Jane drew Betty into it, telling Billy of the investigation the latter had instigated and giving him the signed statement of Martin Shiff to read.

Billy looked thoughtfully at Betty after he read it, and then quietly offered his hand.

“Thanks!” he said. “That was a mighty fine thing for you to do, and it means a lot to me.”

Betty accepted the hand but nodded mischievously at Jane, all her pretty dimples in evidence.

“I did it for Jane,” she said demurely. “I knew how pleased she’d be.”

Billy turned to Jane, a slow smile on his lips.

“Were you?” he asked.

Jane flushed, and was surprised and angry at herself for doing it.

“Of course I was glad,” she returned almost shortly. “Who wouldn’t be?”

“I’d be very sorry,” said Billy gravely, “if Jane wasn’t just a little bit more pleased than—any one else.”

Jane smiled, her own bright, cordial smile, and gave him her hand again.

“Of course I am glad, Billy,” she said. “You know how much, without my telling you.”

Betty smiled knowingly and hid her face so that the mischievous dimples would not betray her thought. For who can say that all women—even quite young ones—are not matchmakers at heart!

It was some days before Mr. Browning came home again, and the suspense made Jane thin and etched dark circles under her eyes.

Billy, of course, had been let into her confidence, and he and Betty between them did all they could to comfort and encourage her. But Jane could not sleep at night for the question that said itself over and over in her mind. “Who was my mother? Who was my father? Oh, what will Mr. Browning find out about them?”

Then came the night when Mr. Browning arrived quite unexpectedly in Greenville.

He had engaged a woman in the neighborhood—a bustling wiry person by the name of Joyce—to stay with Betty during his absence. The latter protested that she would be perfectly safe without the wiry Mrs. Joyce, but Mr. Browning would not hear of her staying alone in the house.

On this particular night Betty was just about ready for bed when a familiar step on the porch and a key in the door announced the arrival of her father.

She ran down to him. The flood of questions trembling on her lips was checked by the look on her father’s face. He shut the door quietly and then, with a hand on Betty’s arm, drew her into the front room.

“Dad, is anything wrong? Has anything——”

“Listen, Betty.” Mr. Browning seated himself in a chair and drew Betty down on his knee as though she were a little child again. He had not even thought to take off his overcoat. “I have something very important to tell you. I wanted you to know before I saw Jane. That’s why I timed my arrival after dark. Are you listening?”

The next day Betty entered her father’s office, trying to mask her excitement. Jane was at her desk, sorting and arranging the morning mail. Betty went directly to her.

“Jane, dear,” she said, “daddy is in town and he wants very much to see you.”

Jane started to her feet, her face suddenly very white.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“At home. He thought that perhaps he’d better tell you—what he wants to—there. Come along.”

“But the office——”

“Oh, bother the old office! It can take care of itself for a little while!”

Jane was in her coat, her hat on her head in a moment. She closed and locked the office and automatically put the key in her pocket.

The girls had almost reached Betty’s house, walking swiftly and in silence, when Jane put a hand on the pretty girl’s arm.

“Tell me just one thing, Betty,” she begged. “Is this news—very bad?”

“Bad? No! Don’t ask me any questions, Jane Cross, or I’ll never keep the secret—never!”

They said no more until they stepped up on the porch and the door was opened by Mr. Browning from the inside. Mrs. Joyce had been dismissed that morning.

Jane was trembling when Mr. Browning helped her off with her coat, and then led her into the front room.

“Oh, whatever you have to tell me, please tell me quickly,” she cried, her breath catching. “I can’t bear this a moment longer!”

“All right, then.” Mr. Browning pushed the girl gently down on the couch and drew up a chair near her. Betty sat down close to Jane, one arm about her.

“My news isn’t bad news, Jane; so don’t look like that, my dear girl. But it is strange, so strange that it may be something of a shock to you. Are you ready to listen?”

“Oh, yes, yes!” cried Jane.

“Well then, this is the story of a girl I know.” Mr. Browning took a cigar from his pocket and lighted it, feigning an ease he did not feel. “She was brought up by a woman whom she thought to be her mother. When she found out this woman was not her mother but had taken her from an orphan asylum, the truth came, naturally, as a great shock to her.”

Jane sat very still now, her eyes fixed on Mr. Browning.

“There was a man who took a great interest in her, and who promised to solve the mystery of her parentage for her. He went to the town where the orphan asylum was located in the hope of finding out from the authorities there something concerning this girl’s parents. He did find out something.”

Mr. Browning paused and regarded the tip of his cigar intently for a moment. Jane neither moved nor spoke, but sat with her eyes intently on him.

“He found out something so strange and startling,” Mr. Browning continued, “that he could not bring himself to believe the truth of it at first, but must first satisfy himself with absolute proofs. He found the proofs.” He paused, and for the first time his eyes met Jane’s. The girl stirred, reached out her hands toward him imploringly.

“He found,” said Mr. Browning slowly, “that the child’s real name was not Jane, but Janet, and that her mother was Martha Harper and that her father was Mark Harper, a sailor who lost his life in a great gale off the coast.”

Jane was trembling again and Betty’s arm tightened about her.

“The mother,” continued Mr. Browning in a low voice, and even amid the whirling of her own thought, Jane wondered why he became so agitated, so distressed at the mention of her mother’s name, “tried to make her living and support her baby, but her heart was broken and she died, leaving the baby, the little girl, to the charity of strangers.”

Jane found herself speaking.

“That girl was I?” she asked.

“I am coming to that,” said Mr. Browning. He bent forward and held Jane’s gaze with his own. “This is the strange part, the almost unbelievable part of it. I once had a sister, a gay, high-spirited girl, who fell in love with—and finally married—a sailor. My parents opposed the match, and when the girl married against their wishes, declared they would have nothing more to do with her.”

“Oh, they were cruel!” cried Jane, with a catch in her voice. “Cruel!”

“Yes, it was cruel,” said Mr. Browning. He regarded the end of his cigar for a moment, then turned his gaze again to Jane. “I want you to listen very carefully to what I am saying now.” His tone was so grave that Jane stared at him fascinated, her heart pounding. “That sister of whom I have not until now been able to find a trace, though I have tried, bore the name of Martha, and the man she married was Mark Harper! Now, Jane, do you understand?”

Jane did not understand for a moment. She was so slow, in fact, that Betty’s patience could not stand the strain.

“Jane, don’t you see?” she cried. “Your mother and my father were brother and sister! That makes us—well, what does it make us, you big silly?”

Jane stared at her, while the almost incredible truth flashed to her mind.

“Why, Betty, it can’t be! It isn’t possible! That makes us cousins!”

“First cousins, you old darling! And, Jane, I feel as if I’d found a million dollars!”

Betty hugged Jane and hugged her father—whose face was no longer lined and weary—then went back to Jane and put a mischievous finger under her chin, lifting up her serious, still incredulous face.

“I wanted you for a sister, Jane,” she said. “’Member? Well, I couldn’t have you for my sister. But I can have you for my cousin, and that’s almost as good, now, isn’t it?”

“Almost as good!”

It was a long time before Jane could realize the fact that she and Betty—pretty Betty Browning who had once lived in the finest house on Rose Hill—were cousins. It was a still longer time before she could drag her mind away from that marvelous fact.

Mr. Browning had papers to prove his assertion, but Jane only glanced at them. His word was enough.

Mr. Browning, fine, distinguished Mr. Browning, was her uncle—the next best thing to one’s own father, thought Jane, and tried wistfully to picture that Mark Harper who had died at sea. Mr. Browning was to be Uncle Clyde after this. How intimate it sounded and how she loved Uncle Clyde and Betty for being so good to her!

That mother, that impetuous pretty girl Martha, who had braved the displeasure of her family to marry the man she loved! What of her?

Mr. Browning had brought a tiny locket, a pretty baby’s locket, and in it was a sweet smiling face whose loveliness brought the tears smarting to Jane’s longing eyes.

It had been part of the possessions of the little girl, Janet Harper, when she came to the asylum and had been forgotten when she left. The authorities had lost sight of her, but had kept the tiny locket, thinking that some day some one belonging to her would come and claim it, as some one did!

“Mother! Mother!” whispered Jane, and looking at the lovely pictured face, gradually lost it in a swimming mist of tears.

It is to be feared that very little work was done at Mr. Browning’s real estate office that day. True, there was some one there most of the day and Mr. Browning went about his duties in a perfunctory way, but Jane and Betty were somewhere in the clouds together and could not come down to earth.

Mrs. Powell had to be told the wonderful news, of course, and laughed and cried and exclaimed over Jane to her heart’s content. Marion came in in the midst of the jubilation and almost had hysterics in her joy.

“Best girl in the world!” she cried, bobbing and smiling. “Deserves everything good! Yes, indeed. You have my blessing, Jane—or I should say, Janet! Good luck go with you, my dear. Yes indeed, I wish it. Truly.”

“Marion!” Lydia spoke sternly from the doorway. She had followed her sister to the door and looked with disapproval upon the scene. “Do come away, Marion! You talk too much!”

“Aren’t they funny?” giggled Betty a few moments later, as she linked her arm through Jane’s and started toward home. It had been arranged that Jane should celebrate by having dinner with her newly acquired relatives.

“But Marion and Lydia are good-hearted,” said Jane. “They will do anything in the world for you if they think you need help. I’ll never forget how good they were to us when we first came to Greenville.”

“Well, if you love ’em, Jane, I suppose I’ll have to love ’em too,” said Betty, with a sigh of mock resignation. “Here’s the butcher store. We’ll have to stop and get the makings of a dinner.”

“Here’s the whole day gone and I’ve hardly done a stroke of work,” said Jane. “Mr. Brown——”

“Uncle Clyde!” corrected Betty.

“Uncle Clyde,” repeated Jane with a heightened color and a quick squeeze of Betty’s hand, “will be firing me!”

“He can’t now,” chuckled Betty, and displayed all her dimples. “Because, you see, you’re in the family!”

A short time later the girls let themselves into Betty’s house, chatting gayly, their arms full of bundles.

“Here comes dad,” said Betty, pausing on the threshold and looking back to wave to her father as he turned the corner and came swiftly toward them. “Let’s wait for him.”

So it happened that they entered the house together, Mr. Browning with an arm about each of “his girls,” as he proudly called them.

Something unusual in the atmosphere halted them just within the door.

It was the appetizing smell of a roast browning in the oven.

“Why, dad, you didn’t tell Mrs. Joyce to come back, did you?” asked Betty, staring at him.

“No,” answered her father briefly, and started toward the kitchen. The girls followed, wondering.

Through the kitchen doorway they saw some one slip a pan of biscuits in the oven—a tall handsome some one, swathed in a gingham kitchen apron.

Mr. Browning paused as if stupefied and stood staring.

Betty drew her arm from Jane’s, shrieked wildly:

“Mother! Mother! Mother!”

She flung herself like a young meteor past her father and into the arms of the tall, handsome woman in the gingham apron.

“Mother! Dear, darling mother! It isn’t you, is it? It’s some one that looks like you all dressed up in my funny old apron! Oh, mother, tell me it’s you and that I’m not dreaming!”

“You foolish child, stop mauling me so! You nearly made me spoil the soup, and the roast will burn——”

“Oh, bother the roast! Dad—daddy, she’s come back to us!”

All this time Jane had stood, frozen by surprise, scarcely able to move.

She saw Mr. Browning go forward slowly and take his wife’s hand, saw the questioning look in his eyes.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer, Clyde,” she heard the proud woman say, her eyes humble, almost pleading. “What Betty can do I can do, and I’m ashamed that I let the child teach me this lesson. I’d like to stay and—do my part—if you want me——”

“Well,” said Mr. Browning slowly, “I guess we won’t exactly put her out, shall we, Bettykin?”

Jane realized then that this scene was not for her, and she turned away, feeling for the moment just a little lonely.

But only for a moment.

Betty came flying after her, took her hand, and drew her toward the kitchen.

“Mother!” she cried in her merry voice, all her dimples flashing, “allow me to present another member of the family!”

Several years passed by, and Jane, wandering in the garden that she and Mrs. Powell had coaxed into a riot of color, smiled as she thought of the changes those years had seen.

She still worked in Mr. Browning’s office, and Betty, not to be outdone in anything by her beloved cousin, worked side by side with her.

The business had prospered. Mr. Browning was well on the way to becoming a rich man again, and it began to look as though before long he would be able to buy back the big house on Rose Hill if he cared to. But they were so happy in the little cottage where the roses over the door no longer drooped their heads in sad neglect that it is doubtful whether they would ever have the heart to leave it.

Although Mr. and Mrs. Browning urged Jane to come and live with them and pretty Betty tried all her dimples and all her wiles, Jane would not leave the Powells, those good friends who had been kind to her when she needed kindness most. Mr. Browning had been able to throw a little business in the way of Mr. Powell now and then that he could look after in his leisure hours, so that he, as well, was better off than he had ever dreamed of being.

Billy had prospered too—oh, mightily.

Jane’s smile deepened when she thought of Billy. He was off on one of his many important trips to the city now, but Jane expected him back almost any time. The marketing of his one invention had made much easier the placing of the others. There had been something in that last letter of his——

A quick footstep on the gravel path behind her.

Jane turned to see Billy coming toward her, his fair hair shining in the sun.

“’Lo Jane! Aunt Lou said I’d find you here talking to the posies. Thought maybe you’d rather talk to me.”

“Well, so I would, perhaps. How was the trip, Billy?”

“Pretty slick. All I had to do was tell ’em to sign on the dotted line. We’re going to be rich, Jane!”

“We?” queried Jane, with a smile.

“Yes, I said we! Because you’re going to marry me, whether you know it or not. Don’t you think, Jane, you’ve kept me waiting long enough?” he went on more soberly.

Perhaps it was the smell of the flowers or perhaps it was the spring sunshine or perhaps—it was only Billy. Anyway, Jane said, “Perhaps I have,” and Billy seemed to think he had his answer.

“Oh-h, excuse me!” A pretty face was poked about the edge of the rose arbor, a face framed in lovely flyaway golden hair. “You ought to hang out a sign, you two, warning everybody off the premises!”

“Come in,” grinned Billy. “You’re just in time to be invited to our wedding.”

“When’s it to be?” came with a chuckle from Betty.

“Next week.”

“Oh, Billy!”

“Don’t talk, darling.” Betty put a hand over Jane’s mouth. “He’s made up his mind, and when a man makes up his mind there’s no use arguing with him. You might just as well submit as unprotestingly as possible.”

“But, Billy, I can’t possibly——”

“No but, young lady. I have to go to the city again next week, and you’re going with me. We’ll buy what you need when we get there.”

“No,” said Jane. “I must have at least a month, Billy.”

“A month!” cried Billy reproachfully. “How can I wait a month?”

Betty sighed and turned away.

“I see you don’t need me,” she murmured, with a mischievous glance. She picked a rose from a bush near by and leveled it at them sternly. “I’ll let you have this wedding on one condition!”

“What’s that?” they asked her, smiling.

“That you’ll let me be the bridesmaid.”

“Betty! As though we’d have any one else!”

They watched the pretty figure in the rose-colored frock until it was out of sight, then Jane and Billy turned to walk slowly down the path toward the garden of their dreams.

THE END