Betty, a butterfly

Contents

Page

I. A Day’s Tramp

II. A Deserted Home

CHAPTER I. A day’s TRAMP

LITTLE BETTY ; sat on the stile at the end of the lane.

Her black curls were dancing in the soft spring wind, and peal after peal of childish laughter burst from her ripe red lips.

“ Betty, Betty ! ” at last cried Rachel, who had been watching her with

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soft, anxious eyes, “ has thee no conscience? Here thee has been away since early morning and have not brought the cakes for Bardy after all. How can thee be so thoughtless, child ? ”

“ Because I am like the gypsies. Does n’t Aunt Nancy always say so ? Thee must not expect me to behave like thyself, Rachel;” and she laughed merrily again at the thought, as she glanced with mischievous eyes at her sedate friend.

Indeed, nothing would seem to be more impossible than for this gay little creature to become like her companion, for Rachel was the demurest and gentlest of young Quaker girls. The soft gray dress she wore well suited her meek loveliness, for she had soft dovelike eyes and a delicate skin. As for Betty, there was little of the dove in her

Betty , a Butterfly .

laughing dark eyes. The combination of her gypsy beauty and sober dress, her careless gayety and quaint speech, was so droll that it was always easier to laugh at than scold her. Rachel could not help giving her a kiss and a smile, which tempered the severity of her scolding.

“ Why should thee be like the gypsies when thee has been brought up in careful, serious ways ? Thy people have always been industrious and sober. Do I not remember thy beautiful mother, Betty, and did I not promise her to be such a friend to thee as she had been to me? Come, dear, thee must go in now.”

Betty hopped down from the stile, and allowed herself to be led gently along the lane while she listened to an oftrepeated story.

io Betty , a Butterfly.

“ It was just this sweet season of the year, Betty,” Rachel began, “ that I first saw thy mother. It was on my way to the meeting one Sabbath day, when she came down the street leaning on thy father’s arm. ‘ See, that is Silas Grey’s young bride,’ people whispered. She had lovely great dark eyes, and hair as black as night.”

“ Like mine ? ” asked Betty,

“ It was as smooth as satin, dear child,” answered Rachel, passing her hand over Betty’s wilful curls. “ And she was fair — very fair, without such a ruddy tinge as these cheeks of thine wear.”

“ I suppose she was good and quiet like thee,” cried the child, with a sigh and a pout.

“ She was like an angel. Have I not told thee many times how, because I

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cried at the teasing of the children, she took me with her into the meeting, where, entering for the first time, all eyes were upon her ; and how afterwards she became my friend, although I was but a tiresome child ? Thy father was a right good man, too ; and as for thy grandfather, Friend Simon Grey, thee knows how his name is still held in respect in our community. Where thee gets thy wild and reckless nature I do not know; for thee is like a butterfly, dear child, ever flitting from place to place, and taking no thought or care for the future.”

“ But thee knows we like the silly butterflies, after all,” said the child, archly, looking up with her roguish eyes into the sweet face above her own ; “ and I do believe for all thy scoldings, thee is fond of thy foolish Betty.”

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Betty , a Butterfly.

“ Thee has a loving heart, — that I know,” said the other, privately thinking that no one could withstand the witchery of Betty’s voice and smile, “ and sometime thee will give up thy wild ways, and become a good and thoughtful child.”

“ Oh, but I could never work all day like thee and Aunt Nancy, and have a care for all the stupid things about the house. Never, never!” cried the little girl. “ I shall always be like the wild things out of doors, that live as they please.”

But Rachel only shook her head. “ Look at that little cloud, Betty, that drifts so carelessly, as it seems, in the sky ; well, it can only sail in that same way. And the grass, see how it bends in obedience to the wind. These wild things thee envies so are no more free than thyself when thee is guided, as thee should be, by Aunt Nancy’s wish.”

They had now reached the end of the lane, from which point the old farm-house which was Betty’s home could be seen ; and there in her thrifty door-yard, watching for the runaway, stood the trim figure of Aunt Nancy.

“ Oh,” laughed little Betty, “ will she not scold me now for a blunderbuss ! Good-by, Rachel. Thee needs not look so very sorrowful; I did not mean to do wrong, and no great harm is done.”

But Rachel shook her head rather sadly as she watched the gay child flit airily down the hill to the farm-house.

Early that morning Betty had been bidden by Aunt Nancy to watch for the baker’s cart, which passed the house on that day of every week.

It was the softest of spring mornings, and a robin upon the branch of a pinetree beneath which Betty sat, was pouring out his ecstasy in a joyous song. There was another sound besides that of the robin’s song which smote on Betty’s ear, — the cries of little Bardy, who had just distinguished himself by jumping from the roof of the smokehouse, and had covered himself with more bruises than glory. Now, Bardy had no faith in medicines, but he was sure that some ginger-cakes such as the baker carried, would cure him. If he had been wise he would have stopped crying and watched for the baker himself, rather than put his trust in a gay butterfly like Betty.

It all happened as one might guess. For some moments the little girl watched the robin from her seat in the door-yard, i5

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but when the robin flew away she too went to see if he were not building a nest in the old cherry-tree by the well. When, having satisfied her curiosity, she returned, the baker’s cart was just disappearing down the curve of the road, and she was greeted by Aunt Nancy’s voice, a degree less mild than usual, saying, —

“ Run after him, Betty, thou troublesome child, and mind thee does not come back without the cakes.”

Betty obeyed, running as fast as she could, and calling “Baker, baker!” at every step ; but the tinkling of the bells drowned her voice. The baker was going to the village.

“ What a good bit of luck,” thought Betty. “ I will take the short cut through the woods, and have a chance, at last, to see if the cowslips are out.”

On one side of the road were open fields and pastures ; on the other, thick woods. Presently Betty came upon a narrow cart-road, into which she darted like a squirrel.

The woods were of pine-trees for the most part, but here and there their lightsome friends, the dainty birches, had sprung up beside them, answering the melancholy whispering of the pines with a gay chatter. There was a pond in the woods, from which came the sound of the hylas, — the little insects which Betty called tree-toads, and whose cheerful note she liked almost as much as the robin’s song.

At the brook she took off her shoes and stockings and waded into its clear water. The sunlight fell in gleaming spots here and there along the stream, leaving long shadowy spaces where the cowslips grew thickest. It was a fresh, cool nook, with a delicious earthy smell, and full of delicate spring colors.

Here Betty delightedly loitered, gathering a big bunch of cowslips ; but notwithstanding the delay, when she reached the grocers in the village the baker’s cart had not yet arrived.

“ It usually gets here about half-past eleven,” Mr. Miller, the grocer, told her.

It was now twenty minutes past eleven by the village clock, so Betty sauntered down the street looking into the windows of the shops, and many a bit of finery claimed her eye. There were fine shiny ribbons and dress-goods of quite wonderful beauty in her opinion, utterly unlike such sober-hued cloths as Aunt Nancy bought. The pretty colors pleased her right well, so that not until the clanging of the bells announced the noon hour did she remember her errand. On reaching the grocers she found that again the baker had escaped her.

“ By this time he is half way to North Dunham,” said Mr. Miller.

The little girl laughingly declared that it was lucky she was not easily tired, for she could not go home without seeing him. She reflected that the very ugly name of Betty Blunderbuss, by which she was sometimes called, was not undeserved, and also that it would not do to go back to Aunt Nancy without the cakes.

When half the distance to North Dunham was made, Betty was fortunate enough to come upon an ox team travelling in the same direction as herself, and in merry fashion she soon made

Betty , a Butterfly.

friends with the driver, who, glad of this bright little companion perhaps, fixed up a seat for her in his cart and carried her the remaining distance.

But the oxen travelled after the fashion of oxen, and were no match for the baker’s nimble horse ; so that Betty arrived at her destination a whole hour after the baker’s cart, which was now on its way to the “ Centre,” whither she reluctantly followed it.

There at last Betty caught her first glimpse of the old yellow-wheeled vehicle, for having gone its entire route it now stood stock-still by the bake-shop.

Betty came up almost staggering with fatigue, and just able to gasp out to the baker, who was taking his unsold goods from the cart, —

“ I ’m glad I have caught thee at last.

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I have come all the way from Miss Nancy Tucker’s, and I want half-adozen ginger-cakes.”

The baker, a stout German fellow, looked down curiously at his customer.

Betty’s face, unshaded by a hat from the sun, was red, her dress was in disorder, dirty and dusty beyond belief ; her hands were full of flowers as wilted as herself. She had followed him for six miles, and she wanted half-a-dozen ginger-cakes ! He broke into a loud *

laugh.

“ Thee would not hear me, though 1 screamed and screamed,” cried the child, indignantly; “and now I must have the cakes quick.”

But at this demand the baker laughed louder than before.

“ I haf sold efry one,” he said, at last.

Betty sank down on the steps. Tears rushed to her eyes; and then with her quick sense of humor she began to enjoy the joke, and joined in the laugh.

When the baker’s wife listened to Betty’s story, her heart was filled with compassion.

“ She haf walk six miles for noding, poor ting!” she cried.

The .great, glowing dark eyes of the little tramp, her sweet smile and her lovely voice made it seem very hard that she should go back empty-handed after her long walk.

“ I tell you vat,” said the baker’s wife, at length, “ I vill make you dose cakes.”

So she took Betty into the house, where, after washing her face and hands, she gave her a great bowl of bread and milk. Then the little girl curled herself up like a tired kitten upon the lounge, and long before the dough was stirred up for the cakes, she had fallen fast asleep.

Late in the afternoon Betty was wakened by the baker, who had found some one going with a team by Miss Tucker’s house, and who was willing to take the traveller home. Still half asleep, she was carried out to the wagon and lifted in. The two sleek horses started off at a good pace, and Betty, freshened by the breeze, waved her good-bys to her two kind friends standing in the doorway of the bake-shop. There are people in this world who seem always to fall upon their feet, and of these this little Betty was one.

After she had been put into the wagon, the baker had handed her a paper-bag. It was warm with the freshly baked cakes within, which emitted a

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2 3 delightfully spicy odor. By and by, Betty remembered that she had had nothing but the bowl of bread and milk to eat since breakfast. She was very hungry, and discovering that there were more than the half-dozen cakes she had been sent for, took one out and began nibbling it. When it was eaten she took out another and then another, and in this way munched on until only six cakes being left she resolutely twisted the top of the bag.

However, before she would reach home there were yet three miles to be passed, and her appetite was far from satisfied. Temptation was strong and constant ; and when she was left at the turn of the road that led to Miss Tucker’s farm, the sad truth is that not a crumb of Bardy’s cakes remained.

“ I have travelled twelve miles for half-a-dozen cakes, and here I am without them after all,” the little girl thought ; then spying Rachel at the end of the lane she hurried toward her, and catching her by the hands, with merry jests gave her the history of the day.

“ But why,” said Rachel, having listened to the end, “ did thee not buy the cakes at the grocer’s in the village? Thee knows Aunt Nancy often buys them there.”

“ Why, so she does,” cried the butterfly. “ ’Tis odd I did not think of it ; but, oh,” she went on with a fresh peal of laughter, “ this makes the joke even better than before. ’Tis a wonder one could be so stupid ! ” and a more serious view of her profitless day Betty refused to take.

Betty , a Btitterfly.

Chapter II. A Deserted Home

HERE were several families of

Grey in Rose County, but little Betty Grey could not claim kinship with any of them. Indeed she had been often told by Miss Tucker, with whom she lived, that she had but one relation in the world, and he was in the uttermost parts of the earth. This meant that he was living in France, which in Aunt Nancy’s mind was a portion of heathendom.

“ I have but a poor opinion of thy Uncle Richard,” she once said to Betty in answer to her persistent questions. “ Never in all these years has he in-

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quired how it fared with his dead brother’s child. He must make but a poor living to be forced to leave her thus to the care of strangers. But, indeed, he did never incline much to work — thy Uncle Richard.”

“ Why, thee knows he is an artist,” Betty answered, bravely standing by the uncle who had so neglected her. “ He paints pictures.”

“ And what profit is there in that ? ” cried Aunt Nancy, who cared nothing at all for art. In her mind, work meant farm- work. “ Pictures are useless things, child ; but there was plenty to do on thy grandfather’s farm for such as were willing to make themselves useful.”

For answer, Betty could only .look respectfully up over the mantel-shelf where hung the one picture in all Aunt Nancy’s house. This picture was not

Betty , a Butterfly.

the work of Uncle Richard, however, but was painted by Mrs. Hill, Bardy’s mother, who sometimes boarded with Miss Tucker, and who had given her this huge piece of her handiwork. It was called “ Morning in Norway,” and led one to suppose that morning in that far country was quite different from morning elsewhere, — in Rose County for instance, — but was looked upon by Betty as a probable master-piece.

In her opinion, it was not to be wondered at if her uncle preferred painting beautiful pictures like this to digging potatoes, as Aunt Nancy clearly thought was his duty. But even allowing that he did not like to work, and was what the farmers called shiftless, he still might be very agreeable. Betty privately thought that people of this sort were much less tiresome

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than the thrifty ones who were always too busy to be amusing. Besides, she could not complain of him on this score, for one might perhaps say that she, too, was shiftless.

It was all very well for Aunt Nancy to be critical ; but this was all the relation she had, and she wished to make the best of him.

Miss Tucker, or Aunt Nancy as the little girl called her, owned one of the best farms in Rose County. She was called a born manager ; but one might as well seek to manage a humming-bird as careless little Betty. It was not that she did not wish to please the kind friend who when she was left a helpless orphan had taken care of her, but simply that there seemed to be no serious side to her nature. When Aunt Nancy, as sometimes happened, took her to task,

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Betty listened respectfully to every word ; but then she would take her way to the garden or the poultry yard, having been bidden perhaps to perform some neglected task, with a song upon her lips as sweet as a bird’s and with just such a little thrill of joyousness in it. It seemed on these occasions that she did not realize what had happened to her.

Betty was a pretty child ; even Aunt Nancy, who had little eye for beauty, saw that. Her eyes were so large, dark, and lustrous ; her complexion so lovely, notwithstanding the extra tint of brown which the sun had imparted to it ; and her little figure so full of grace and movement, — that it was a pleasure to look at her.

The Greys and the Tuckers had been neighbors for generations, and the Grey farm-house still stood in the midst of its once fertile fields, staring from out its many windows upon a world that had apparently forgotten it. After the death of Betty’s father, the old house was sold ; but the buyer had not cared to live in it, and it had long been unoccupied. Already it had a deserted and dreary air, for no one save little Betty ever cared to go there. To her, however, it was the abode of a charming family. This family owed its existence to Betty’s imagination ; but to her each member of it was as real as Aunt Nancy or Rachel.

The imaginary father was an agreeable gentleman, whose principal occupation was planning picnics and other amusements for his children. And the mother — how delightful she was ! dressed in a cherry-colored satin and always ready to make cake for Betty, the imaginary cake also having an advantage, for it never disagreed with any one. There were some ten or more sisters, too, — gay girls, let me tell you, as different as possible from quiet Rachel, and in whose company she could not be lonely. It is truly pathetic to think of the child slipping away to these imaginary relations in the deserted home of her fathers ; but her happiest hours were passed there, and she did not know that it was pathetic at all.

Late one afternoon of that same spring, Betty might have been seen dancing through the fields that separated Miss Tucker’s house from the old homestead. Aunt Nancy had begun the spring house-cleaning, and had kept Betty so busy all day, running here and there, that this was the first chance she had found to visit her family. Betty’s mother, you may be sure, never went through this tiresome and useless process, and intended to give a party that afternoon in honor of Betty’s birthday, which anniversary Aunt Nancy had not celebrated.

As Betty skipped along with the imaginary sisters beside her, she was very happy ; and the eleven little girls were as harmonious as possible while they decided who should come to the party, and what the entertainment should be.

Betty had now but to scramble over an old stone-wall and she would be in her own door-yard ; but instead of doing so, she suddenly stood motionless, in an attitude of the greatest astonishment. Her arms dropped to her side, and the apple blossoms she had brought to decorate the festal halls fell unnoticed from

Betty, a Butterfly.

her hands ; for on one side of the old house hung a platform such as is used by painters.

™ ~ „ Piles of boards

The Grey House.

were lying by the lilac-bushes, and the shingles which had been torn off the roof were scattered all over the yard. Moreover, a party of work-

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men with their tools were walking down the road. Evidently they had been at work upon the old Grey house.

“Dear me!” said Betty, with a little gasp, “ I did not know father was going to repair the house ; ” but she said it in a spiritless sort of way, and forgot to answer for the sisters.

She looked into the kitchen, and there by the fireplace, where she had left her mother making candy only the afternoon before, was a large box of nails, and in the corner, where her little brother’s cradle had stood so long, were pots of paint.

“It’s the ice-cream for the party, I suppose,” Betty tried to say; but, alas, these realities spoiled the play. They seemed to say : —

“All that nonsense is over. You had better go home, little girl.”

And that is exactly what Betty did.

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Chapter III. The New Neighbors

TT was well that Betty had not loitered by the old house, for on reaching home she found that Rachel had dropped in for a chat with Aunt Nancy. Perhaps “ dropped in ” is not the proper term to use; for Rachel had declared the evening too beautiful to spend in doors, and had sat down on the seat in the porch, enticing Miss Tucker for once out of her stiff sitting-room.

“ I have brought thee the news, Aunt Nancy,” she began. “ Thee is going to have new neighbors.”

“In the Grey house, I suppose,” exclaimed Miss Tucker, interested at once.

“ Are the people from Dunham who bought it going to live there at last ? ”

“ No,” Rachel answered ; “ the house has changed hands again, and now it is a young man who has bought it. Two young men from New York, so I have heard, are to live there this summer.”

“ Two young men ! ” exclaimed Aunt Nancy and Betty, who had just arrived, in a breath, and the child went on, —

“ I don’t want two young men in my house.”

“Tut, tut, child, why should thee care ? Thee can never live there thyself.”

“ May be I can sometime,” said Betty, with a toss of her pretty curls. “ Besides, if anybody is to live there, I would rather it would be a nice family with children for me to play with.”

“To play with ! Yes ; play is all thee

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thinks of, silly child. They will find the land pretty well run out, Rachel. Eh? ” “ They are not going to work the farm, I believe. They are artists. William Johnson, whom they have en gag e d to do some carpentering, says they are going to turn the barn into a studio.”

“ A studio ! That ’s a sad waste of a good building. That barn is built of the very best timber, thee knows. I should think the shed would be good enough for such trifling work,” cried Aunt Nancy, whose economical soul was vexed at this arrangement. “ Does thee know the name of the young man that has bought the farm, Rachel ? ” “Yes,” said Rachel; “it is Grey, which is an odd thing, is it not?”

“Why, thee does not suppose — ” began Aunt Nancy, with a glance at

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Betty ; and then interrupting herself, she continued, “ Grey is no uncommon name after all. Well, well, I hope he will not be sick of his bargain ; but for such as they, there can be little of interest here.”

All this, as you may think, was very hard on poor Betty. She sent her family off for a trip to the city, and condescended to stay temporarily herself with Miss Tucker. The imaginary relations never returned from their trip ; and in the course of future events their existence was forgotten.

Betty’s thoughts now turned to the new occupants of the homestead. With mingled feelings of pleasure and dismay she watched the alterations being made in it, and wondered how it would seem to be shut out of her old home and playground, and to see strangers, with all the rights of ownership, entering its door.

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One evening just at sunset she was sitting, with the old black cat as com-

The,Little Gypsy and the Old Tabby made a Fantastic Picture.

panion, on the stone-wall that bordered Miss Tuckers orchard, when the stationwagon with two passengers came up the hill. Betty knew at once, by their city air, that her new neighbors had arrived.

The little gypsy and the old tabby made a fantastic picture, with the setting sun between the tree-trunks as a background ; and the young men waved their hands and smiled at the handsome child, who returned their salutations in her own graceful and pretty way. When they were out of sight, she hastened home to tell Aunt Nancy of the event.

According to Betty, such charming beings had never before visited Rose County ; but for some time the little girl was quite alone in her admiration. Queer reports were spread abroad. It was plain that the ways of the newcomers were not the ways of Rose County, and still less that of the little community of Friends who were their immediate neighbors. “ Men who were in their beds long after the sun had risen, and did nothing for a living but fling paint about in the pastures,” as the farmers said, were looked upon with suspicion ; and it was not until they had shown their friendly good-will by many kindnesses that this feeling changed into one of honest liking.

But from the first, Betty was the young men’s earnest champion. She only feared that when they found into what a quiet neighborhood they had come, they would do as Aunt Nancy had prophesied, and turn their backs upon Rose County. She tried, in vain, to induce Miss Tucker to enliven their solitude by a neighborly call.

“ I have a mind to go my own self — if she won’t,” Betty one day said saucily to Rachel.

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She meant it for a joke ; but the idea pleased her so much that finally she determined to carry it out, and the day Miss Tucker went over to Dunham seemed to her mind a fitting opportunity.

The child’s wardrobe had not been planned with a view to these social duties; it consisted of a few plain frocks and an old gray sack. Such a thing as a hat Betty did not at present possess, the one that had been provided for her having long ago sailed down the brook as a boat; and it had been decreed that, in consequence, Betty must wear the old slat sun-bonnet or go with uncovered head. Betty had cheerfully consented at the time to this arrangement, having an antipathy to head coverings in general. A hat, though not so objectionable as the close bonnet, was still a superfluous luxury, which she thought she could well do without ; yet here was an occasion when even she felt it to be an indispensable article of ones attire.

But Betty was not at her wits’ end by any means. She brought out an old silk handkerchief which Bardy’s mother had given her, — a gay affair in its day, — and climbing up into a chair to look in the glass that hung over the tall chest, twisted it over her black curls.

“ Indeed, it looks quite like a bonnet,” the little girl thought.

It did not look in the least like a bonnet, but it was picturesque and becoming. Her calico frock was as plain as Quaker ingenuity could devise, — low in the neck with a turn-down, unfashionable collar, which showed Betty’s pretty brown throat. For decoration, she

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pinned a bunch of flowers at her waist, and taking a sun-umbrella, which she fancied lent dignity to her appearance, tripped gayly down the path.