|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 50
"That's your Cousin Ann telephoning from the Marshalls'."
She herself went and sat down heavily, and when Uncle Henry came in a
few minutes later she asked him in a rather weak voice for the ammonia
bottle. He rushed for it, got her a fan and a drink of cold water, and
hung over her anxiously till the color began to come back into her pale
face. "I know just how you feel, Mother," he said sympathetically. "When
I saw 'em standin' there by the roadside I felt as though somebody had
hit me a clip right in the pit of the stomach."
The little girls ate their supper in a tired daze, not paying any
attention to what the grown-ups were saying, until rapid hoofs clicked
on the stones outside and Cousin Ann came in quickly, her black eyes
snapping.
"Now, for mercy's sake, tell me what happened," she said, adding hotly,
"and if I don't give that Maria Wendell a piece of my mind!"
Uncle Henry broke in: "_I_'M going to tell what happened. I WANT to do
it. You and Mother just listen, just sit right down and listen." His
voice was shaking with feeling, and as he went on and told of Betsy's
afternoon, her fright, her confusion, her forming the plan of coming
home on the train and of earning the money for the tickets, he made, for
once, no Putney pretense of casual coolness. His old eyes flashed fire
as he talked.
Betsy, watching him, felt her heart swell and beat fast in incredulous
joy. Why, he was proud of her! She had done something to make the Putney
cousins proud of her!
When Uncle Henry came to the part where she went on asking for
employment after one and then another refusal, Cousin Ann reached out
her long arms and quickly, almost roughly, gathered Betsy up on her lap,
holding her close as she listened. Betsy had never before sat on Cousin
Ann's lap.
And when Uncle Henry finished--he had not forgotten a single thing Betsy
had told him--and asked, "What do you think of THAT for a little girl
ten years old today?" Cousin Ann opened the flood-gates wide and burst
out, "I think I never heard of a child's doing a smarter, grittier
thing ... AND I DON'T CARE IF SHE DOES HEAR ME SAY SO!"
It was a great, a momentous, an historic moment!
Betsy, enthroned on those strong knees, wondered if any little girl had
ever had such a beautiful birthday.
CHAPTER XI
"UNDERSTOOD AUNT FRANCES"
About a month, after Betsy's birthday, one October day when the leaves
were all red and yellow, two very momentous events occurred, and, in a
manner of speaking, at the very same time. Betsy had noticed that her
kitten Eleanor (she still thought of her as a kitten, although she was
now a big, grown-up cat) spent very little time around the house. She
came into the kitchen two or three times a day, mewing loudly for milk
and food, but after eating very fast she always disappeared at once.
Betsy missed the purring, contented ball of fur on her lap in the long
evenings as she played checkers, or read aloud, or sewed, or played
guessing games. She felt rather hurt, too, that Eleanor paid her so
little attention, and several times she tried hard to make her stay,
trailing in front of her a spool tied to a string or rolling a worsted
ball across the floor. But Eleanor seemed to have lost all her taste for
the things she had liked so much. Invariably, the moment the door was
opened, she darted out and vanished.
One afternoon Betsy ran out after her, determined to catch her and bring
her back. When the cat found she was being followed, she bounded along
in great leaps, constantly escaping from Betsy's outstretched hand. They
came thus to the horse-barn, into the open door of which Eleanor whisked
like a little gray shadow, Betsy close behind. The cat flashed up the
steep, ladder-like stairs that led to the hay-loft. Betsy scrambled
rapidly up, too. It was dark up there, compared to the gorgeous-colored
October day outside, and for a moment she could not see Eleanor. Then
she made her out, a dim little shape, picking her way over the hay, and
she heard her talking. Yes, it was real talk, quite, quite different
from the loud, imperious "MIAUW!" with which Eleanor asked for her milk.
This was the softest, prettiest kind of conversation, all little murmurs
and chirps and sing-songs. Why, Betsy could almost understand it! She
COULD understand it enough to know that it was love-talk, and then,
breaking into this, came a sudden series of shrill, little, needle-like
cries that fairly filled the hay-loft. Eleanor gave a bound forward and
disappeared. Betsy, very much excited, scrambled and climbed up over the
hay as fast as she could go.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|