CHAPTER II
UNCLE DICK'S PLAN
THE arbor was rather small and rickety, but at least it was shady.Betty sat down beside her uncle, who braced his feet against theopposite seat to keep his place on the narrow ledge.
"I'm afraid I take up a good deal of room," he said apologetically."Well, my dear, had you begun to think I was never coming?"
Betty glanced up at him bravely.
"It was pretty long--waiting," she admitted. "But now you're here,Uncle Dick, everything is all right. When can we go away?"
"Aren't you happy here, dear?" asked her uncle, plainly troubled. "Ithought from your first letter that Mrs. Arnold was a pretty good kindof friend, and I pictured you as contented as a girl could possibly beafter a bitter loss like yours."
He smiled a bit ruefully.
"Maybe I'm not strong on pictures," he added. "I thought of you as alittle girl, Betty. Don't know what'll you say, but there's a doll inmy grip for you."
Betty laughed musically.
"I've always saved my old doll," she confided, slipping a hand intoUncle Dick's broad fist where it lay clinched on his knee. He was verycompanionable, was this uncle, and she felt that she already loved himdearly. "But, Uncle Dick, I haven't really played with dolls since wemoved from the city. I like outdoor things."
"Well, now, so do I," agreed her uncle. "I can't seem to breatheproperly unless I'm outdoors. But about this going away--do you want toleave Pineville, Sister?"
Betty's troubled eyes rested on the little garden hot in the brightsunshine.
"It isn't home any more, without mother," she said slowly. "And--Idon't belong, Uncle Dick. Mrs. Arnold is a dear, and I love her and sheloves me. But they want to go to California, though they won't talk itbefore me, 'cause they think I'll feel in the way. Mr. Arnold has abrother on a fruit farm, and he's wild to move out there. As soon asyou take me somewhere, they're going to pack up."
"Well, then, we'll have to see that you do belong somewhere," said Mr.Gordon firmly. "Anything else, Sister?"
Betty drew a deep breath.
"It's heavenly to have you to listen to me," she declared. "I want togo! I've never been anywhere, and I feel as though I could go and goand never stop. Daddy was like that. Mother used to say if he hadn'thad us to look after he would have been an explorer, but that he had tomanage to earn a living and do his traveling as a salesman. Couldn't Ilearn to be a salesman, a saleswoman, I mean? Lots of girls do travel."
"We'll think it over," answered her uncle diplomatically.
"And then there's another thing," went on Betty, her pent-up thoughtsfinding relief in speech. "Although Mrs. Arnold was mother's dearestfriend, I can't make her understand how mother felt about wearingmourning."
Betty indicated her rose smock.
"Lots of Pineville folks think I don't care about losing my mother,"she asserted softly, "because I haven't a single black dress. Butmother said mourning was selfish. She wouldn't wear black when daddydied. Black makes other people feel sorry. But I did love mother! Anddo yet!"
Uncle Dick's keen blue eyes misted and the brave little figure in thebright smock was blurred for a moment.
"I suppose the whole town has been giving you reams of advice," he saidirrelevantly. "Well Betty, I can't promise to take you with me--blessme, what would an old bachelor like me do with a young lady like you?But I think I know of a place where you can spend a summer and beneither lonesome nor unhappy. And perhaps in the fall we can make otherarrangements."
Betty was disappointed that he did not promise to take her with himat once. But she had been trained not to tease, and she accepted thecompromise as pleasantly as it was offered.
"Mrs. Arnold will be disappointed if you don't go round to thefront door," she informed her uncle, as he stretched his long legspreparatory to rising from the low seat. "Company always comes to thefront door, Uncle Dick."
Mr. Gordon stepped out of the summer house and turned toward the gate.
"We'll walk around and make a proper entry," he declared obligingly. "Imeant to, and then as I came up the street I remembered how we used tocut across old Clinton's lot and climb the fence. So I had to come theback way for old times' sake."
Betty's eyes were round with wonder.
"Did you ever live in Pineville?" she asked in astonishment.
"You don't mean to tell me you didn't know that?" Uncle Dick was assurprised as his niece. "Why, they shipped me into this town to readlaw with old Judge Clay before they found there was no law in me, andyour father first met your mother one Sunday when he drove twentymiles from the farm to see me."
Betty was still pondering over this when they reached the Arnold frontdoor and Mrs. Arnold, flustered and delighted, answered Mr. Gordon'sknock.
"Sit right down on the front porch where it's cool," she insistedcordially. "I've just put on my dinner, and you'll have time for agood talk. No, Betty, there isn't a thing you can do to help me--youentertain your uncle."
But Betty, who knew that excitement always affected Mrs. Arnold's bumpof neatness, determined to set the table, partly to help her hostessand partly, it must be confessed, to make sure that the knives andforks and napkins were in their proper places.
"I'm sure I don't know where those boys can be," scolded the flushedbut triumphant mother, as she tested the flaky chicken dumplings andpronounced the dinner "done to a turn." "We'll just sit down withoutthem, and it'll do 'em good," she decided.
Betty ran through the hall to call her uncle. Just as she reached thedoor two forlorn figures toiled up the porch steps.
"Where's ma?" whispered Ted, for the moment not seeing the strangerand appealing to Betty, who stood in the doorway. "In the kitchen? Wethought maybe we could sneak up the front stairs."
Ted was plastered from head to foot with slimy black mud, and George,his younger edition, was draped only in a wet bath towel. Both boysclung to their rough fishing rods, and Ted still carried the dirty tincan that had once held bait.
"I should say," observed Mr. Gordon in his deep voice, "that we hadbeen swimming against orders. Things usually happen in such cases."
"Oh, gee!" sighed Ted despairingly. "Who's that? Company?"
Mrs. Arnold had heard the talk, and she came to the door now, pushingBetty aside gently.
"Well, I must say you're a pretty sight," she told her children. "Ifyour father were at home you know what would happen to you prettyquick. Betty's uncle here, too! Aren't you ashamed of yourselves? Ideclare, I've a good mind to whip you good. Where are your clothes,George?"
"They--they floated away," mumbled George. "Ted borrowed this towel.It's Mrs. Smith's. Say, ma, we're awful hungry."
"You march upstairs and get cleaned up," said their mother sternly."We're going to sit down to dinner this minute. Chicken and dumplings.When you come down looking like Christians I'll see about giving yousomething to eat."
Midway in the delicious dinner Ted and George sidled into the room,very wet and shiny as to hair and conspicuously immaculate as to shirtand collar. Mrs. Arnold relented at the transformation and proceeded topile two plates high with samples of her culinary skill.
"Betty," said Mr. Gordon suddenly, "is there a garage here where we canhire a car?"
"There isn't a garage in Pineville," answered Betty. "You see we're offthe state road where the automobile traffic goes. There are only two orthree cars in town, and they're for business. But we can get a horseand buggy, Uncle Dick."
"Guess that's better, after all," said Mr. Gordon contentedly. "I wantto talk to you about that plan I spoke of, and we'll stand a betterchance of having our talk if we travel behind a horse. I wonder----"his eyes twinkled--"if there's a young man about who would care to earna quarter by running down to the livery stable and seeing about a horseand buggy for the afternoon?"
Ted and George grinned above their respective dishes of ice-cold ricepudding.
"I'll go," offered Ted.
"I'll go, too," promised George. "Can we drive the rig back to theh
ouse?"
Mr. Gordon said they could, and the two boys dispatched their dessertin double quick time. While they went down to the town livery stable,Betty hurried to put on a cool, white frock, but, to Mrs. Arnold'sdisappointment, she refused to wear a hat.
"The buggy top will be up, so my complexion will be safe," Bettydeclared merrily, giving Mrs. Arnold a hearty squeeze as that ladyfollowed her downstairs to the porch where Mr. Gordon was waiting.
"What's that? Go without a hat?" he repeated, when Betty consultedhim. "I should say so! You're fifty times prettier with those smoothbraids than with any hat, I don't care how fine it is. This must be ourturnout approaching."
As he guessed, it was their horse and buggy coming toward the house.Ted was driving, assisted by George, and the patient horse wasgalloping like mad as they urged it on.
"Never knew a boy of that age who could be trusted to drive alone,"muttered Mr. Gordon, going down to the gate to meet them.
The boys beamed at him and Betty, sure that they had pleased with theirhaste. They then watched Betty step in, followed by her uncle, anddrive away with something like envy.
"Are you used to driving, Betty?" asked Mr. Gordon, as he chirpedlightly to the horse that obediently quickened its lagging pace.
"Why, I've driven some," replied Betty hesitatingly. "But I wouldn'tknow what to do if he should be frightened at anything. Do you like todrive, Uncle?"
"I'm more used to horseback riding," was the answer. "I hope you'llhave a chance to learn that this summer, Betty. I must have youmeasured for a habit and have it sent up to you from the city. There'sno better sport for a man or a woman, to my way of thinking, than canbe found in the saddle."
"Where am I going?" asked the girl timidly. "Who'll teach me to ride?"
"Oh, there'll be some one," said her uncle easily. "I never knew aranch yet where there were not good horsemen. The idea came to me thatyou might like to spend the summer with Mrs. Peabody, Betty."
"Mrs. Peabody?" repeated Betty, puzzled. "Does she live on a ranch? I'dlove to go out West, Uncle Dick."