“My mamma …” she began.
“Tib,” said Betsy, interrupting. “Did you know there was a king in Europe, not sixteen years old yet?”
“Is there?” asked Tib.
“Here’s his picture,” said Tacy. “Betsy and I are in love with him.”
“We want to marry him,” said Betsy. “We’ll be queen if we do.”
“Could you both be queen?” asked Tib, staring.
“No, just one of us,” said Betsy. “And it had better be Tacy because of her ringlets. She’d look nice in a crown.”
“Tib would make a nice queen,” said Tacy. Tacy was shy. She didn’t like the idea of being a queen very well.
“My mamma,” said Tib, “is making me a white accordion-pleated dress. For the Entertainment. To dance my Baby Dance in. I was hurrying to tell you.”
“A white accordion-pleated dress would be fine for a queen,” said Tacy. “Don’t you think Tib had better be queen, Betsy?”
“If she’s in love with him,” said Betsy.
Tib could see it was a kind of game.
“If you and Tacy are, I am,” she said. “Let’s play Pom-Pom-Pullaway now. They’re choosing sides.”
So they all played Pom-Pom-Pullaway until the golden light on Hill Street changed to soft gray and mothers began calling from the porches. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib didn’t talk any more that night about the King of Spain. But they talked about him every night for a long time afterward.
The newspapers were full of news of the young King Alphonso as his sixteenth birthday drew near. Every night when her father had finished with the paper, Betsy took it outdoors. She and Tacy and Tib went up to that bench which stood at the end of Hill Street and there they pored over the printed columns together.
Madrid was a whirlpool of gaiety, they read. The city was planning a Battle of Flowers. The buildings were hung with tapestries and carpets and with red and yellow cloth.
“Red and yellow must be his colors,” Betsy remarked thoughtfully.
“We ought to wear them then, like badges,” Tacy said. “After all, we’re in love with him. We’re expecting to marry him. At least, Tib is.”
“If we could find some red and yellow cloth, I would make us some badges,” Tib said.
Tib could sew.
Betsy and Tacy ran into their houses and rummaged in their mothers’ scrap bags. Betsy found some red cambric and Tacy found some yellow ribbon, and Tib took these materials home. The next evening she appeared wearing a red and yellow rosette, and when they had climbed the hill to their bench she pinned one on Betsy and one on Tacy. They felt very solemn.
“Now we’ve got a lodge,” said Betsy. “My father belongs to a lodge. It’s like a club only more important and very secret.”
“Well, this has certainly got to be a secret,” Tib said. “Julia and Katie would tease us plenty if they knew we were in love.”
“They wouldn’t understand being in love with a king,” said Betsy. “At least Julia wouldn’t. She likes just plain boys. Ordinary boys who walk home from school with her and carry her books, like Ben Williams.”
“Katie would think the whole thing was silly,” Tacy said.
“That just shows how little she knows about it,” said Betsy.
Tib acted embarrassed. She wasn’t so much in love as Betsy and Tacy were; she just liked to do whatever they did.
“What is the name of our lodge?” she asked, to change the subject.
“How would K.O.S. be? For King of Spain?” suggested Betsy.
They all thought that was fine.
After that, whenever anyone mentioned “Love” or “Marriage” in their presence, Betsy and Tacy and Tib said “K.O.S.” They sighed and rolled their eyes. They wore their red and yellow rosettes faithfully, changing them from one dress to another.
What is more, they wore pictures of the King of Spain, cut from the newspapers, pinned to their underwaists. Betsy had the one in which he sat on a horse. Tacy had one that showed him in hunting costume, with a shawl thrown over one shoulder, a wide hat, and a gun. In Tib’s picture he wore a white nautical-looking cap. Betsy and Tacy had a hard time concealing their pictures from Julia and Katie when they undressed at night. That made their secret all the more exciting.
They did not join in the games after dinner any more. Instead they walked up to their bench, and there in the cool spring twilight they read about King Alphonso. His birthday now was drawing very near. In fact, it would come next Saturday.
Peasants, the newspapers said, were flocking into Madrid, wearing the picturesque national costume. Great ladies draped in black lace mantillas sat on balconies.
“What are mantillas?” Tib wanted to know.
“They’re shawls,” answered Betsy, who had asked her mother.
“I think we ought to have some shawls then,” said Tib. “But the only shawl my mamma’s got is her old paisley shawl.”
“My mamma’s got that heavy brown one we play house with,” Betsy said.
“My mamma’s got a gray wool one,” Tacy said. “She’d let me wear it, I think. We all ought to wear them next Saturday, the day he’s crowned.”
Betsy and Tib thought so too.
So on Saturday, the seventeenth of May, they wore shawls all day long except at mealtime. It happened that the weather turned very warm that day. The little leaves on the trees seemed to grow bigger by the minute and dandelions on the fresh green lawn almost popped up while you watched them. All up and down Hill Street children put off caps and jackets. But Betsy and Tacy and Tib went around wrapped up in heavy shawls.
The lilacs had come into bloom by Betsy’s kitchen door. They picked a bouquet of fragrant purple clusters. Then they spread a blanket on the lawn and put the bouquet in the middle and they all sat down.
“Whatever are you wearing those shawls for?” asked Julia.
“And those rosettes?” asked Katie.
“K.O.S.,” answered Betsy and Tacy, rolling their eyes.
“K.O.S.,” answered Tib, trying not to laugh.
Julia and Katie went away.
“This is really a birthday party, isn’t it?” asked Tib.
“Yes, it is,” said Tacy. “And we ought to have a birthday cake.”
“I can’t very well ask my mamma for a birthday cake,” said Betsy. “But I can ask for cookies and we can pretend they’re cake.”
That was what they did; and while they munched cookies they tried to imagine what was happening in Spain where the young Alphonso was ascending his throne.
“The newspapers tomorrow will have it all in,” said Tacy from the depths of her shawl.
Tib put out a small perspiring face.
“But we ought to read them together,” she said. “On account of our lodge. And we’re never together on Sunday.”
That was true. They attended different churches, and on Sunday afternoon they often went riding or visiting with their parents.
“Well, let’s not look at the newspapers tomorrow,” Betsy proposed. “And when our fathers have finished with them, let’s save them.”
“Then Monday, after school, let’s take a picnic up on the Big Hill,” suggested Tacy.
“Let’s go to that place we went to before, where we can see Little Syria. It’s the farthest from home of any place we know. There won’t be anybody around to disturb us and Betsy can read the papers out loud,” said Tib. “This mantilla’s hot,” she added.
“If you’re going to be Queen of Spain,” said Betsy, “you’ve got to get used to a mantilla. And so have Tacy and I, because we’ll be your ladies-in-waiting, I suppose.”
“Oh, of course,” said Tib.
It was difficult next day not to look at the Sunday newspapers strewn so invitingly about. But they did not even peek; and when evening came they managed to hide away all the crumpled sheets.
Monday after school, carrying a picnic basket and a fat bundle of papers, they climbed the Big Hill.
They turned right at the Ekstroms’ hou
se, calling “hello” to their friend, Mrs. Ekstrom, who was weeding her garden. They went through the Secret Lane and past the Mystery House, down through a fold of the hills and up again. Then, leaving the thick-growing trees behind, they came out on a high rocky ridge just as they had done before.
Tib took the ends of her skirt into her hands. Holding them wide, as she did when she danced her Baby Dance, she ran to the edge of the ridge. Betsy and Tacy followed, and the three of them looked down over their discovered valley.
The hillside was freshly green now. The gardens of the Syrians made dark brown patches behind their little houses. Behind Mr. Meecham’s Mansion an apple orchard made a patch of grayish pink. Everywhere wild plums, in dazzling white bloom, were perfuming the air.
“It’s just a perfect place,” said Betsy, “to read about his birthday.”
Tacy and Tib thought so too.
They tucked the picnic basket into a cleft of the rocks behind them. Usually they ate their lunch as soon as they reached the place to which they were going, but today they were too anxious to read about the King of Spain.
Tib perched on a high boulder. Tacy sat down in the flower-sprinkled grass with her knees drawn into her arms. Betsy unfolded the newspapers and spread them on her lap. She leaned against a wall of rock and read:
“‘Eight grooms on horseback led the procession. The King rode in the royal coach with his mother, the Queen, and his youngest sister, the Infanta Maria Teresa. He was pale but perfectly cool.’”
“I wish we could have seen him,” Tacy interrupted.
She gave a long, romantic sigh and looked at Tib. Taking the hint Tib sighed too.
“‘The King ascended the throne,’” read Betsy. ‘“He bore himself with manliness. Smilingly he acknowledged the ovations of the crowd.’”
“What’s ‘ovations’?” asked Tib.
“It’s cheering and clapping.”
“We’d have clapped good and hard if we’d been there,” Tacy said. “It’s terrible that we weren’t there.”
Betsy read on: ‘“He wore a dark blue uniform with gold facings, a steel helmet with a white plume, and a red silk waist-band from which hung a sword.’”
“He must have looked stylish,” Tacy said.
“Isn’t there a picture?” Tib asked.
“Plenty of them. Here’s a picture of the Palace. This is where you’ll live, Tib,” said Betsy.
“It looks like our post office, only bigger,” Tib remarked.
“It’s sure to be nice inside,” said Tacy. “You’ll like living there.”
“‘Speculation,”’ continued Betsy, “‘is rife in the capitals of Europe as to whom he will choose as a bride….”’ She paused and her gaze ran down the column.
“Don’t read to yourself!”
“What is it?”
Betsy did not seem to hear. She gave a small squeak of dismay.
“Oh dear, dear, dear!”
“What is it?” cried Tacy and Tib.
“Tib can’t marry him after all! None of us can!”
“Why not?”
“Because,” wailed Betsy, “we’re not of the blood royal.”
“What does that mean?” Tib demanded.
“It means we’re commoners.”
“It means we’re not princesses,” Tacy explained. “He can only marry a princess.”
“That’s the silliest thing I ever heard of,” said Tib. “Oh well! It doesn’t matter. I’ll wear my accordion-pleated dress when I dance my Baby Dance.”
Betsy and Tacy looked at each other. Their eyes said, “Isn’t that just like Tib?”
“But now we’ll never see him!” cried Tacy in a tragic voice.
“Let’s go over to Spain anyhow,” said Betsy. “Let’s be servants in the Palace if we can’t be queen.”
“You and Tacy wouldn’t be any good as servants,” said Tib. “You can’t cook. I can cook, but I don’t think it’s worth while to go way over there just to cook.”
They sat in a flat silence.
“It doesn’t seem right,” Tacy burst out, “that he doesn’t know a thing about us. He ought to know there are such people as us, and that we have a lodge and wear his colors and pin his pictures to our underwaists.”
“He certainly ought,” Betsy agreed. An idea popped up in her head like a dandelion on a lawn.
“Let’s write him a letter and tell him!”
“Betsy!” cried Tacy. “You wouldn’t dare!”
“Do people write letters to kings?” asked Tib.
“If they want to they do. We do,” Betsy said.
Tacy’s blue eyes began to shine.
“We’d better do it right now,” she said, “while Julia and Katie aren’t around to catch on what we’re doing.”
“But we haven’t any paper and pencil,” said Tib.
“You can run to Mrs. Ekstrom’s house and borrow some,” said Betsy. “Tacy and I will wait right here.”
Tib didn’t mind going. She ran lots of errands for Betsy and Tacy. She was off now almost as swiftly as one of the little yellow birds which were flying in and out of the blooming wild plum trees.
When she was gone, Tacy said, “I certainly feel sorry about Tib’s not being queen.”
“So do I,” said Betsy. “It’s too bad we’re not of the blood royal.”
“She’d have made a nice queen,” said Tacy, “in that accordion-pleated dress. And I’ve got kind of interested in queens. I wish we could think up another queen game so that Tib could be queen.”
“Maybe we can,” said Betsy. “There’s a poem about Queen o’ the May. Julia’s reciting it for the School Entertainment. Maybe we can get an idea out of that.”
They talked about it until Tib came back from Mrs. Ekstrom’s.
She had a pencil and a tablet of paper, and an envelope too.
“I told Mrs. Ekstrom we were writing a letter. But I didn’t say who to,” she explained.
She sat down on one side of Betsy and Tacy sat down on the other. Betsy wrote the heading and the salutation just as she had been taught to do in school. Then she started the letter proper and when she couldn’t think what to say next Tacy or Tib told her. When the letter was finished, it read like this:
Deep Valley, Minn.
May 19, 1902.
King Alphonso the Thirteenth,
Royal Palace,
Madrid,
Spain,
Europe.
Dear Sir, —
We are three little American girls. Our names are Betsy, Tacy, and Tib. We are all in love with you and would like to marry you but we can’t, because we’re not of the blood royal. Tib especially would like to marry you because she has a white accordion-pleated dress that she’s going to wear when she dances the Baby Dance. She looks just like a princess. So we’re sorry. But we’re glad you got to be king. Three cheers for King Alphonso of Spain.
Yours truly,
Betsy Ray,
Tacy Kelly,
Tib Muller.
“That’s a fine letter,” said Tib.
“Tomorrow after school,” planned Tacy, “we’ll walk to the post office and mail it.”
“We’ll have to take some money out of our banks,” said Betsy. “It will cost quite a lot of money, I imagine, to send a letter to Spain.”
They put the letter into the envelope and sealed it and addressed it to the King in his Palace, Madrid, Spain, Europe.
When they had finished they were suddenly very hungry.
“I’m famished,” said Betsy.
“I could eat nails,” said Tacy.
“Let’s have our picnic,” said Tib. And they scrambled over the rocks to that cleft in a big rock where they had left their basket.
But when they reached the cleft they stared with eyes of wonder and dismay.
The picnic basket was gone!
4
Naifi
BETSY, TACY, AND TIB all had the same thought … in the same instant too. “Julia and Katie!” “They
were here! They were listening!” “They heard us talking about the King of Spain.” It was a dark thought that sent a shadow over the golden afternoon. They looked at one another in horror, thinking how they would be teased. It would sound queer, said out loud in public, that they were in love with the King of Spain.
Tib bounded toward the path.
“Shall we chase them?”
“It wouldn’t do any good,” said Tacy.
“The sooner we don’t see them the better, I think,” said Betsy gloomily. “Gee whiz!” she added. Betsy very seldom said “Gee whiz!” She was too religious. But it was all she could think of to express her feelings now.
“Gee whiz!” repeated Tacy. “Gee whitakers!”
“Double darn!” said Betsy.
“We could get our lunch back anyway,” said Tib. But neither Betsy nor Tacy paid any attention.
Tib bounced up and down.
“Let’s look around,” she said. “Maybe it wasn’t them at all. Maybe it was a dog….” She broke off in a squeal. “Look! Look! It is a dog, or something.”
She dashed down the hill.
Betsy and Tacy ran around the rock. Halfway down the slope, worrying a basket, there was certainly a shaggy creature, the size of a large dog. But it wasn’t a dog. It had horns.
“It’s a wild animal, a jungle animal most likely,” Betsy cried.
“Tib! Come back!” shouted Tacy.
But Tib continued to run headlong.
“It’s a goat,” she called back. “And he has our basket.”
Betsy and Tacy weren’t afraid of a goat. Besides, relief that Julia and Katie did not know their secret brought back their appetites. They ran after Tib who ran fiercely after the goat which bounded on small fleet hoofs over the tussocks of grass. The basket came unfastened, and a red and white fringed cloth flew out like a banner. Sandwiches, cookies, and hard-boiled eggs scattered in all directions.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” panted Betsy and Tacy, pausing to pick them up. Tib did not pause. She chased the goat around some scrub oak trees, behind a clump of the white wild plum. Then….
“Betsy! Tacy! Betsy! Tacy!” came Tib’s voice, with something in it which caused Betsy and Tacy to drop the sandwiches again and run to find her.