Like a kettle boiling over, the room foamed with laughter.
And the louder the children laughed, the louder Betsy and Tacy made their caterwauls, the more they wiggled their ears and swished their tails. Sometimes Betsy slid up to the soprano and sang along with Tacy, but nobody cared. Tacy forgot to nudge her and Mrs. Ray forgot to pound the right note hard. When the Cat Duet ended, the children clapped and stamped. Mothers wiped tears of laughter from their eyes and Miss Dooley said:
“Betsy and Tacy will have to sing the Cat Duet again for us next year.”
And so they did. In fact they sang it every year until they graduated from high school.
At the end of the program, Tib danced the Baby Dance. She ran out on the platform holding the accordion-pleated dress outstretched very wide. When she whirled, she looked like a butterfly. She did the first four steps, thirty-two times each, and when she began the Russian step, the hard one, squatting down and kicking out right and left, the audience began to clap. She went off the stage doing that step and the people clapped so hard that she had to come back to bow, holding the skirt out wide.
“She’ll certainly make a good queen,” Betsy whispered to Tacy as they clapped tired hands until they could clap no more.
The children marched back to their rooms after that. Mothers came visiting; it was like a big party. When the mothers left, the children returned to their desks briefly. Then Miss Dooley tapped her bell.
“Position! Rise! Turn! March!”
They marched out of the room and down the stairs.
On the front steps Betsy and Tacy took their places on either side of Tib. Still flushed from her dance, her eyes as blue as the soft blue bow which tied her curls, she looked pretty. But the accordion-pleated dress, alas, was covered up by the cape.
“Don’t wear your cape home,” said Betsy.
“I’ll carry it for you,” offered Tacy.
“Or I will,” said Betsy.
Tib laughed.
“It seems funny to have you waiting on me,” she said. “Usually I wait on you.” It was true, and it was just like Tib to mention it.
Tib didn’t feel any different or act any different because she looked so pretty and had danced so well.
“My mamma said I should take good care of this cape,” she remarked, slipping it off.
“I’ll take good care of it,” promised Tacy. She folded it over her arm. Betsy took the cardboard boxes containing the cat costumes. They all walked proudly down the steps.
They skirted the sandy lot known as the boys’ yard. At the corner where it met the street a crowd of boys had gathered. Although they were dressed in their best clothes, they were acting very badly. They were bouncing in a circle, yelling.
“They’re teasing somebody,” said Betsy.
“Mean things!” said Tacy.
“I wonder who,” said Tib.
Coming nearer they could hear what the boys were yelling. It was a singsong:
“Dago! Dago!”
“That’s what they yell at the people from Little Syria sometimes,” said Tib.
“They yell it at Old Bushara and he chases them with a knife.”
“Maybe it’s Old Bushara in there now,”
“Let’s look! I’ve never seen him.”
None of them had. They pushed into the crowd.
The victim they discovered was not Old Bushara. It was a little girl, a lone little girl, looking fearfully from face to face around the cruel circle. She wore a scarf tied closely around her rosy face, a wide long flowered skirt….
“It’s Naifi,” cried Betsy and Tacy and Tib in one horrified breath.
Naifi saw them; she recognized them. Her eyes widened with hope.
“Hel-lo, hel-lo, hel-lo,” she cried in agonized appeal.
Someone began to mimic her.
“Hel-lo, hel-lo.”
“Oh dear!” cried Betsy, tears clouding her eyes.
The boy named Sam who had been chased by Old Bushara jumped out of the circle. He was in Fourth Grade along with Betsy, Tacy, and Tib, but he was old enough to be in Seventh. He was big and rough. He snatched the scarf from Naifi’s head and waved it. He pulled her long black braids.
Tacy struggled forward. She was shy but she wasn’t shy enough to keep still now.
“You stop that!” she cried.
No one paid any attention to Tacy, except one boy who shouted, “Red-headed woodpecker!” because of her red curls.
Like a small shining comet Tib flashed into the ring.
“You let her go! You let her be!” she cried, pushing herself between Sam and Naifi. Sam pushed her back.
There was a singing sound. The accordion-pleated dress ripped smartly in his hand.
There was a scuffle then. Heedless of her dress, Tib pushed Naifi through a break in the circle. Tacy ran to help; someone pulled her back; and Mrs. Muller’s cape fell to the ground. Betsy couldn’t let Tacy and Tib be so much braver than she was. She fought her way forward but she dropped the cardboard boxes. The two cat costumes, red ribbons and all, tumbled out.
With a shout Sam picked them up. Maybe he thought it would be fun to put on a cat costume. Maybe he was ashamed of himself and wanted an excuse to stop teasing Naifi. Certainly some of the other boys seemed ashamed.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib surrounded Naifi and pushed her to the sidewalk.
“Run!” they whispered.
With one deep look of thankfulness, Naifi ran. A flash of blue bloomers, a gleam of red shoes, and she was gone.
Sam and another boy had put on the cat costumes.
“Mee-ow! Mee-ow!” they cried, prancing about.
A third boy was strutting up and down in Tib’s mother’s cape. Tib looked from that to her torn dress and her face went from red to white.
Betsy and Tacy started to cry, but they remembered they were ten years old and didn’t. It was hard not to, though. And just at that moment who should come running but Julia and Katie. Big sisters arrive handily sometimes.
“You leave my little sister alone!” Betsy heard Julia shouting.
“Give me those costumes and that cape and be quick about it!” Katie said.
Everyone always minded Katie … even big boys … even Sam. Sam threw down the cat costumes and another boy tossed Tib’s mother’s cape into the air and ran. They all ran except a few of the boys who had looked ashamed. These helped to pick up the black costumes, the red ribbons, and the cape. Then they ran, too.
When they were alone, Betsy, Tacy, and Tib told Julia and Katie what had happened. But they did not tell them that they knew Naifi. Upset as they were, they remembered to guard their secret.
Katie shook out Tib’s mother’s cape.
“It looks as good as ever,” she said.
“And we’ll go home with you, Tib,” said Julia, “to explain about your dress.”
“I wish you would,” said Tib.
She looked forlorn with her blue hair ribbon missing, her sash untied, and the torn skirt dragging on the ground.
Julia and Katie, Betsy, Tacy, and Tib walked slowly to the chocolate-colored house.
Julia explained the whole thing to Mrs. Muller. She talked her prettiest, almost as though she were reciting; and she made Mrs. Muller understand.
“It’s all right,” said Mrs. Muller. “I’m glad Tib stood up for the little Syrian girl. Foreign people should not be treated like that. America is made up of foreign people. Both of Tib’s grandmothers came from the other side. Perhaps when they got off the boat they looked a little strange too.”
Tib looked at Betsy and Tacy. She breathed a long sigh of relief.
“But my dress, Mamma!” she said. “Can it be mended?”
“Certainly it can be mended,” Mrs. Muller answered.
“You’ll have it to be queen in,” Betsy and Tacy whispered.
For as soon as school was over, they intended to plan that game in which Tib would be queen.
6
A Quarrel
THE
QUEEN GAME had an unexpected result. It led to a quarrel with Julia and Katie.
Not an ordinary quarrel. Not one of the kind which arose all the time from Julia and Katie being bossy and Betsy and Tacy and Tib making nuisances of themselves. Those quarrels didn’t amount to much. They were always made up at bedtime with a pillow fight or a peace offering. Once when Julia had been mean, she bought Betsy a candy fried egg in a little tin pan … one cent at Mrs. Chubbock’s store … to show she was sorry.
This quarrel was different. It lasted for days. Their fathers and mothers knew about it; the whole neighborhood knew about it. And while it was exciting at first, it made Julia and Katie and Betsy and Tacy and Tib all feel bad before it was ended. Julia and Katie were good big sisters, as big sisters go, and Betsy and Tacy were no more exasperating than other little sisters. Everyone liked Tib, and Tib despised quarrels. Yet Tib was the very center of this bitter feud.
The plan for a queen game lagged, after school ended. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib were busy enjoying not having to go to school. They climbed hills and trees, ate picnics, lay on green lawns and talked.
But they did not forget about queens. They could not. For Julia kept reminding them.
Julia kept on reciting:
“For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, Mother,
I’m to be Queen o’ the May.”
She recited it at the school picnic; she recited it for the High Fly Whist Club to which her father and mother belonged; she recited it for the Masons and the Eastern Stars; she recited it for all the neighbors. Julia was a great reciter.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib had queens on their minds, all right. But they did not do much about their plan for making Tib a queen, until they were jolted into it by Julia and Katie.
For several days Julia and Katie had been whispering together. And one hot noon at dinnertime, Julia asked permission to go down to Front Street with Katie. After dinner she shook all the pennies out of her pig bank, put on her hat, and borrowed her mother’s parasol. She and Katie started down Hill Street looking superior.
“They’ve got something up their sleeves,” Betsy and Tacy agreed as they sat with Tib beside Tacy’s pump, washing carrots and eating them. The carrots were small and tender; they came from Tacy’s garden. Washed in the cold well water, they made refreshing eating.
“Let’s think up something ourselves,” suggested Tacy. “What about that queen business … you know … making Tib queen of something?”
“That’s just the thing,” said Betsy.
“But what can I be queen of?” asked Tib. “I can’t be queen of the May because it isn’t May any more.”
“Minnesota is too cold for May queens anyhow,” said Tacy. “Look how cold it was last month.”
“You can be a June queen,” said Betsy. “I’ll find out how they make May queens, and then we’ll do just the same things only we’ll do them in June. I’ll go ask Mamma about May queens now,” she added, jumping up. She ran across the street to her home.
It was a good time to talk to her mother. Not only because Julia was out of the house, but because her mother was not busy. Mrs. Ray did her house work in the morning. After dinner she took a little rest, and after that she put on a fresh dress and sat down in the parlor. Sometimes ladies came to call.
No lady was calling today. Mrs. Ray rocked near a window from which she could look down Hill Street. She was keeping cool and embroidering the head of a Gibson Girl upon a pillow when Betsy burst into the room.
“Mamma,” said Betsy. “Tell me about May queens.”
Mrs. Ray laughed.
“Queens! Queens! Queens!” she said.
Betsy thought that was a strange remark, but she persisted.
“How do people happen to have May queens?” she asked. “What do they do when they have them?”
“It’s an English custom,” answered Mrs. Ray, working her needle skillfully in and out of the Gibson Girl’s hair. “On May Day people used to go to the wood and bring back flowers. They called it ‘going a Maying.’ Then they put up a Maypole with garlands running from the top and danced around it. And they chose a pretty girl and crowned her with a wreath of flowers.”
It sounded enchanting!
“I suppose,” said Betsy eagerly, “people could ‘go a Juning’ and then crown a Queen of June.”
“Of course they could,” answered Mrs. Ray. “But I believe that Julia and Katie have decided on a Queen of Summer.”
Betsy jumped as though the needle in her mother’s hand had pricked her.
“Haven’t they?” asked Mrs. Ray, looking up.
Betsy did not answer. She stared at her mother with horrified eyes.
Mrs. Ray put down her needle. She looked worried.
“You knew what they were planning, didn’t you?” she asked. “If you didn’t, I’m sorry. But you’d have known soon anyway. Julia is going to be queen. Katie and Dorothy and some of the rest of their friends are going to be maids of honor. And you and Tacy and Tib and Margaret are all going to be in it.”
“We are, are we!” muttered Betsy.
“Tacy and I,” she burst out, “are planning the same thing. We’ve been planning it for weeks and weeks. Only we’re going to have Tib for our queen.”
She jumped up, blazing. “Julia and Katie must have found out about it somehow. They’re just copycats, that’s what they are.”
“I’m sure they’re not,” answered Mrs. Ray. “It all came from Julia’s saying, ‘I’m to be Queen o’ the May’ so much. She got the idea … or Katie did … that she ought to be queen of something.”
She looked reprovingly at Betsy’s dark face.
“I don’t see why you feel so badly about it,” she said. “Julia and Katie are spending all their money to buy crepe paper and ribbons. You can all go in together and have a fine celebration.”
Betsy did not answer. After looking blankly in her mother’s face she rushed out of the room. She bounded over terrace, road, and lawn.
“Tacy! Tib! Tacy! Tib!” she shouted wildly.
Tacy and Tib, who had been lying on their backs munching carrots, shot upright.
“I know something awful! Terrible!” Betsy cried. “Julia and Katie are planning a queen.”
“A queen!”
“And Julia is going to be it!”
“The copycats!” cried Tacy. “However did they find out our idea?”
“I don’t know. But they’ve gone downtown to buy crepe paper and ribbons. They’re going to have a Maypole and Dorothy and the rest of the big girls are going to help them.”
“We’ll make ours just as nice,” said Tacy stoutly. But in their hearts they doubted that they could. Big girls knew how to put on such shows better than younger girls did.
Their dismay was mixed with chagrin. They had had the idea of a queen for weeks and weeks. But they had not done anything about it. And while they were dawdling, Julia and Katie had made this lovely plan. They had even taken money from their banks and gone downtown to buy crepe paper.
“They’re planning to let us do some little thing,” said Betsy bitterly, “along with Margaret and Paul and the rest of the babies.”
“That’s kind of them,” said Tacy.
Tib looked from one to the other.
“Why not let Julia be queen if she wants to be?” she asked.
That was just like Tib! Betsy and Tacy would have none of such weakness.
“Has Julia got yellow hair?” demanded Betsy.
“Or an accordion-pleated dress?” Tacy wanted to know.
“Did she almost marry the King of Spain?” asked Betsy.
“No, sir,” said Tacy. “You’re the right one for queen.”
Tib was silenced.
“We won’t give in to those old copycats!” cried Betsy. And jumping up, she began to pump herself some water angrily. She made up a song as she pumped.
“Copycats, copycats,
Having a queen,
Copycats, copycats,
Just to be mea
n.”
Tacy and Tib learned it and sang it with her. And the louder they sang, the angrier they grew. The warmer they grew too, and that helped to make them angrier. Even in the shade by the pump, bare legged and bare footed, they were very hot.
Julia and Katie looked extremely hot when they came toiling up Hill Street, laden with packages, under Betsy’s mother’s parasol. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib ran to meet them, singing at the tops of their voices:
“Copycats, copycats,
Having a queen,
Copycats, copycats,
Just to be mean.”
“What under the sun are you yelling about?” asked Julia and Katie.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib danced around them wrathfully.
“You know perfectly well what!”
“Tib’s going to be queen!”
“Tib! Tib! Tib! And nobody can stop her!”
Julia and Katie looked at each other; they shook their heads sadly.
“Well, talk about copycats!” said Julia. “Getting up a queen just because we’re getting up a queen.”
“We thought of it first!” shrieked Betsy, Tacy, and Tib.
“We’ve been planning it,” said Katie, speaking slowly and reasonably, “ever since Julia began reciting her piece.”
“So have we! So have we!”
Julia and Katie looked at each other again. Their eyes seemed to ask, “Is that likely?”
This time Julia spoke, using that tone of gentle patience which Betsy, Tacy, and Tib found particularly maddening.
“We were going to ask you in, you know. Just as soon as we got things planned. We were going to ask you to be flower girls.”
Flower girls! That was the last straw.
In a rage Betsy snatched at the long roll of crepe paper under Julia’s arm. She shouldn’t have done it, but she did. Julia pushed her back, and Tacy snatched at Julia. Katie snatched at Tacy; and Tib, head first, butted in.
Margaret and Paul and the Rivers children came running. Mrs. Kelly and Mrs. Ray appeared on their porches. And just then Betsy’s father came driving up the street. He said, “Whoa!” to Old Mag and stopped the buggy.