Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher


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Page 14

Elizabeth Ann had been wondering and wondering where in the world Aunt
Abigail was. So she stepped quickly to the door, and went dawn the cold
dark stairs she found there. At the bottom was a door, locked
apparently, for she could find no fastening. She heard steps inside, the
door was briskly cast open, and she almost fell into the arms of Aunt
Abigail, who caught her as she stumbled forward, saying: "Well, I've
been expectin' you down here for a long time. I never saw a little girl
yet who didn't like to watch butter-making. Don't you love to run the
butter-worker over it? I do, myself, for all I'm seventy-two!"

"I don't know anything about it," said Elizabeth Ann. "I don't know what
you make butter out of. We always bought ours."

"Well, FOR GOODNESS' SAKES!" said Aunt Abigail. She turned and called
across the room, "Henry, did you ever! Here's Betsy saying she don't
know what we make butter out of! She actually never saw anybody making
butter!"

Uncle Henry was sitting down, near the window, turning the handle to a
small barrel swung between two uprights. He stopped for a moment and
considered Aunt Abigail's remark with the same serious attention he had
given to Elizabeth Ann's discovery about left and right. Then he began
to turn the churn over and over again and said, peaceably: "Well,
Mother, you never saw anybody laying asphalt pavement, I'll warrant you!
And I suppose Betsy knows all about that."

Elizabeth Ann's spirits rose. She felt very superior indeed. "Oh, yes,"
she assured them, "I know ALL about that! Didn't you ever see anybody
doing that? Why, I've seen them HUNDREDS of times! Every day as we went
to school they were doing over the whole pavement for blocks along
there."

Aunt Abigail and Uncle Henry looked at her with interest, and Aunt
Abigail said: "Well, now, think of that! Tell us all about it!"

"Why, there's a big black sort of wagon," began Elizabeth Ann, "and they
run it up and down and pour out the black stuff on the road. And that's
all there is to it." She stopped, rather abruptly, looking uneasy. Uncle
Henry inquired: "Now there's one thing I've always wanted to know. How
do they keep that stuff from hardening on them? How do they keep it
hot?"

The little girl looked blank. "Why, a fire, I suppose," she faltered,
searching her memory desperately and finding there only a dim
recollection of a red glow somewhere connected with the familiar scene
at which she had so often looked with unseeing eyes.

"Of course a fire," agreed Uncle Henry. "But what do they burn in it,
coke or coal or wood or charcoal? And how do they get any draft to keep
it going?"

Elizabeth Ann shook her head. "I never noticed," she said.

Aunt Abigail asked her now, "What do they do to the road before they
pour it on?"

"Do?" said Elizabeth Ann. "I didn't know they did anything."

"Well, they can't pour it right on a dirt road, can they?" asked Aunt
Abigail. "Don't they put down cracked stone or something?"

Elizabeth Ann looked down at her toes. "I never noticed," she said.

"I wonder how long it takes for it to harden?" said Uncle Henry.

"I never noticed," said Elizabeth Ann, in a small voice.

Uncle Henry said, "Oh!" and stopped asking questions. Aunt Abigail
turned away and put a stick of wood in the stove. Elizabeth Ann did not
feel very superior now, and when Aunt Abigail said, "Now the butter's
beginning to come. Don't you want to watch and see everything I do, so's
you can answer if anybody asks you how butter is made?" Elizabeth Ann
understood perfectly what was in Aunt's Abigail's mind, and gave to the
process of butter-making a more alert and aroused attention than she had
ever before given to anything. It was so interesting, too, that in no
time she forgot why she was watching, and was absorbed in the
fascinations of the dairy for their own sake.

She looked in the churn as Aunt Abigail unscrewed the top, and saw the
thick, sour cream separating into buttermilk and tiny golden particles.
"It's gathering," said Aunt Abigail, screwing the lid back on.
"Father'll churn it a little more till it really comes. And you and I
will scald the wooden butter things and get everything ready. You'd
better take that apron there to keep your dress clean."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Wed 26th Nov 2025, 16:36