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Page 9
"It's Jake," he announced, recognising the boy who had helped his father
with the ploughing.
"Hope he won't see us," said Betty, in a low tone, drawing in her head.
"We are not hurting anything, but maybe some of the church people
wouldn't like it, if they knew I climbed in at the window. They might
think it wasn't respectful."
"He's looking this way," said Davy, who had stood up for a better view,
but squatted down again at Betty's command.
[Illustration: "OH, RUN AND GET IT, QUICK, DAVY,' SHE CRIED."]
It was too late. Jake had recognised Davy's shock of yellow hair, and
called out, good-naturedly, "Hello, stickin'-plaster, where's Betty?
Somewhere around here, I'll bet anything, or you wouldn't be here.
I've got a letter for her."
At that, Betty leaned so far out of the window that she nearly lost her
balance and toppled over. "Oh, run and get it, quick, Davy," she cried.
The little bare feet twinkled through the grass to meet the old sorrel
horse, and two brown hands were held up to receive the letter; but Jake
preferred to deliver the important document himself.
"Here you are," he said, riding alongside the window and dropping the
letter into her eager hands.
"Oh, _thank_ you, Jake," she cried. "It makes me feel as if Christmas
was coming. I never got a letter in my life except in my Christmas
boxes. My godmother always writes to me then, and this must be from her,
too. Yes, it is, I know her handwriting."
If Jake expected her to tear it open instantly and share the news with
him before she had examined every inch of the big square envelope, he
was disappointed. The old blaze-faced sorrel had carried him out of
sight before she had finished cutting it open with a pin. Then she
spread the letter out on her knees, drawing a long breath of pleasure as
the faintest odour of violets floated up from the paper with its dainty
monogram at the top.
Davy waited in silence, watching a flush spread over Betty's face as
she read. Her breath came short and her heart beat fast.
"Oh, Davy," she exclaimed, in a low, wondering tone. "What do you think?
It is an invitation to a house party at Locust; Lloyd Sherman's house
party. Oh, it's like a lovely, lovely fairy tale with me for the
princess. I've never travelled on the cars since I was old enough to
remember it, and they've sent passes for me to go. I've never had any
girls to play with in all my life, and now there will be two besides
Lloyd; and, oh, Davy, best of all, I'll see my beautiful, beautiful
godmother! I shall be there a whole month, and she knew my mamma and was
her dearest friend. I haven't seen her since I was a baby, when she came
to my christening, and of course I can't remember anything about that."
Davy listened to her raptures without saying anything for awhile. Then
he set aside his usual custom and asked a question. "Why are you
crying?" he demanded. "There's a tear running down the side of your
nose."
"Is there?" asked Betty, brushing it away with the back of her hand. "I
didn't know it. Maybe it's because I am so glad. It seems as if I was
going back to my own family; to somebody who really belongs to you more
than just fourth cousins, you know. A godmother must be the next best
thing to a real mother, you see, Davy, because it's a mother that God
gives you to take the place of your own, when she is gone. Oh, let's
hurry home and tell Cousin Hetty."
Slipping from the window-sill to the floor, she carried the book she had
been reading back to its corner in the little red bookcase, and shut it
up with the musty volumes inside. Then she walked slowly down the narrow
aisle of the little meeting-house, between its double rows of narrow
straight-backed pews. As she reached the bench-like altar, extending in
front of the pulpit, she slipped to her knees a moment. Her sunbonnet
had fallen back from her tousled curls, and the late afternoon sun
streamed across her shining little face.
"Thank you, God," came in a happy whisper from the depths of a glad
little heart. "It's the nicest surprise you ever sent me, and I'm _so_
much obliged."
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