XIII.
A GREAT EXCITEMENT.
THAT afternoon Betty's lively young voice grew droning and dull after awhile, as she read the life of Dr. Donne, and at last she stoppedaltogether.
"Aunt Mary, I can't help thinking about the Fosters' father. Do yousuppose he will come home and frighten them some night?"
"No, he would hardly dare to come where they are sure to be looking forhim," said Aunt Mary. "Dear me, the thought makes me so nervous."
"When I have read to the end of this page I will just run down to seeNelly a few minutes, if you can spare me. I keep dreading to see heruntil I am almost afraid to go."
Miss Mary sighed and said yes. Somehow she didn't get hold of Betty'slove,--only her duty.
Betty lingered in the garden and picked some mignonette before shestarted, and a bright carnation or two from Aunt Barbara's specialplants. The Fosters' house was farther down the street on the same side,and Nelly's blinds were shut, but if Betty had only known it, poor Nellywas looking out wistfully through them, and wishing with all her heartthat her young neighbor would come in. She dreaded the meeting, too, butthere was such a simple, frank friendliness about Betty Leicester thatit did not hurt as if one of the other girls had come.
There came the sound of the gate-latch, and Nelly went eagerly down."Come up to my room; I was sitting there sewing," she said, blushingvery red, and Betty felt her own cheeks burn. How dreadful it must benot to have such a comforting dear father as hers! She put her armsround Nelly's neck and kissed her, and Nelly could hardly keep fromcrying; but up-stairs they went to the bedroom, where Betty had neverhappened to go before. She felt suddenly, as she never had before, howpinched and poor the Fosters must be. Nelly was determined to be braveand cheerful, and took up her sewing again. It happened to be a littlewaist of Betty's own. Betty tried to talk gayly about being very tiredof reading "Walton's Lives." She had come to a dull place in Dr. Donne'smemoirs, though she thought them delightful at first. She was justreading "The Village on the Cliff," on her own account, with perfectdelight.
"Harry reads 'Walton's Angler,'" said Nelly. "That's the same man, isn'the? It is a stupid-looking old brown book that belonged to mygrandfather."
"Papa reads it, too," said Betty, nodding her head wisely. "I am in sucha hurry to have him come, when I think of Harry. I am sure that he willhelp him to be a naturalist or something like that. Mr. Buckland wouldhave just loved Harry. I knew him when I was a little bit of a thing.Papa used to take me to see him in London, and all his dreadful beastsand snakes used to frighten me, but I do so like to remember him now.Harry makes me think of Robinson Crusoe and Mayne Reid's books, andthose story-book boys who used to do such wild things fishing andhunting."
"We used to think that Harry never would get on because he spent somuch time in the woods, but somehow he always learned his lessons too,"said Nelly proudly; "and now his fishing brings in so much money that Idon't know how we shall live when winter comes. We are so anxious aboutwinter. Oh, Betty, it is easy to tell you, but I can't bear to haveother people even look at me;" and she burst into tears and hid her facein her hands.
"Let us go out-doors, just down through the garden and across into thewoods a little while," pleaded Betty. "Do, Nelly, dear!" and presentlythey were on their way. The fresh summer air and the sunshine were muchbetter than the close-shaded room, where Nelly was startled by everysound about the house, and they soon lost their first feeling ofconstraint as they sat under a pine-tree whipping two of Miss BarbaraLeicester's new tea-napkins. Betty had many things to say about herEnglish life and her friends. Mary Beck never cared to hear much aboutEngland, and it was always delightful to have an interested listener. Atlast the sewing was finished, and Nelly proposed that they should go alittle way farther, and come out on the river bank. Harry would becoming up about this time with his fare of fish, if he had had goodluck. It would be fun to shout to him as he went by.
They pushed on together through the open pasture, where the sweet-fernand bayberry bushes grew tall and thick; there was another strip ofwoods between them and the river, and just this side was a desertedhouse, which had not been lived in for many years and was gray andcrumbling. The fields that belonged to it had been made part of a greatsheep pasture, and two or three sheep were standing by the half-openeddoor, as if they were quite at home there in windy or wet weather. Bettyhad seen the old house before, and thought it was most picturesque. Shenow proposed that they should have a picnic party by and by, and make afire in the old fireplace; but Nelly Foster thought there would be greatdanger of burning the house down.
"Suppose we go and look in?" pleaded Betty. "Mary Beck and I saw it notlong after I came, but she thought it was going to rain, so that wedidn't stop. I like to go into an empty old ruin, and make up storiesabout it, and wonder who used to live there. Don't stop to pick theseblackberries; you know they aren't half ripe," she teased Nelly; and sothey went over to the old house, frightening away the sheep as theycrossed the doorstep boldly. It was all in ruins; the roof was brokenabout the chimney, so that the sun shone through upon the floor, and thelight-red bricks were softened and sifting down. In one corner there wasa heap of withes for mending fences, which had been pulled about by thesheep, and there were some mud nests of swallows high against the walls,but the birds seemed to have already left them. This room had been thekitchen, and behind it was a dark, small place which must have been abedroom when people lived there, dismal as it looked now.
"I am going to look in here and all about the place," said Bettycheerfully, and stepped in to see what she could find.
"Oh, go back, Nelly!" she screamed, in a great fright, the next moment;and they fled out of the house into the warm sunshine. They had had timeto see that a man was lying on the floor as if he were dead. Betty'sheart was beating so that she could hardly speak.
"We must get somebody to come," she panted, trying to stop Nelly. "Wasit somebody dead?"
But Nelly sank down as pale as ashes into the sweet-fern bushes, andlooked at her strangely. "Oh, Betty Leicester, it will kill mother, itwill kill her! I believe it was my father; what shall I do?"
"Your father," faltered Betty,--"your father? We must go and tell." Thenshe remembered that he was a hunted man, a fugitive from justice.
They looked fearfully at the house; the sheep had come back and stoodagain near the doorway. There was something more horrible than the twogirls had ever known in the silence of the place. It would have beenless awful if there had been a face at the broken door or windows.
"Henry--we must try to stop Henry," said poor pale Nelly, and theyhurried toward the river shore. They could not help looking anxiouslybehind them as they passed the belt of pine; a terrible fear possessedthem as they ran. "He is afraid that somebody will see him. I wonder ifhe will come home to-night."
"He must be ill there," said Betty, but she did not dare to say anythingelse. What an unendurable thing to be afraid and ashamed of one's ownfather!
They looked down the river with eager eyes. Yes, there was HarryFoster's boat coming up slowly, with the three-cornered sail spread tocatch the light breeze. Nelly gave a long sigh and sank down on theturf, and covered her face as she cried bitterly. Betty thought, withcowardly longing, of the quiet and safety of Aunt Mary's room, and thebrown-covered volume of "Walton's Lives." Then she summoned all hercourage. These two might never have sorer need of a friend than in thissummer afternoon.
Henry Foster's boat sailed but slowly. It was heavily laden, and thewind was so light that from time to time he urged it with the oars. Hedid not see the two girls waiting on the bank until he was close tothem, for the sun was in his eyes and his thoughts were busy. Hisfather's escape from jail was worse than any sorrow yet; nobody knewwhat might come of it. Harry felt very old and careworn for a boy ofseventeen. He had determined to go to see Miss Barbara Leicester thatevening, and to talk over his troubles with her. He had been able tosave a little money, and he feared that it might be demanded. He hadalready paid off the sm
aller debts that were owed in the village; but heknew his father too well not to be afraid of getting some menacingletters presently. If his father had only fled the country! But howcould that be done without money? He would not work his passage; Harrywas certain enough of that. Would it not be better to let him have themoney and go to the farthest limit to which it could carry him?
Something made the young man shade his eyes with his hand and looktoward the shore; then he took the oars and pulled quickly in. That wassurely his sister Nelly, and the girl beside her, who wore a grayishdress with a white blouse waist, was Betty Leicester. It was just likekind-hearted little Betty to have teased poor Nelly out into the woods.He would carry them home in his boat; he could rub it clean with somehandfuls of hemlock twigs or river grass. Then he saw how strangely theylooked, as he pushed the boat in and pulled it far ashore. What in theworld had happened?
Nelly tried to speak again and again, but her voice could not makeitself heard. "Oh, don't cry any more, Nelly, dear," said Betty,trembling from head to foot, and very pale. "We went into the old houseup there by the pasture, and found--Nelly said it was your father, andwe thought he was very ill."
"I'll take you both home, then," said Harry Foster, speaking quickly andwith a hard voice. "Get in, both of you,--this is the shortestway,--then I'll come back by myself."
"Oh, no, no!" sobbed Nelly. "He looked as if he were dying, Harry; hewas lying on the floor. We will go, too; he couldn't hurt us, could he?"And the three turned back into the woods. Betty's heart almost failedher. She felt like a soldier going into battle. Oh, could she musterbravery enough to go into that house again? Yet she loved her father somuch that doing this for another girl's father was a great comfort, inall her fear.
The young man hurried ahead when they came near the house, and it wasonly a few minutes before he reappeared.
"You must go and tell mother to come as quick as she can, and hurry tofind the doctor and tell him; he will know what to do. Father has beendreadfully hurt somehow. Perhaps Miss Leicester will let Jonathan cometo help us get him home." Harry Foster's face looked old and strange; henever would seem like a boy any more, Betty thought, with a heart fullof sympathy. She hurried away with Nelly; they could not bring help fastenough.
* * * * *
After the great excitement was over, Betty felt very tired and unhappy.That night she could be comforted only by Aunt Barbara's taking her intoher own bed, and being more affectionate and sympathetic than everbefore, even talking late, like a girl, about the Out-of-Door Clubplans. In spite of this attempt to return to every-day thoughts, Bettywaked next morning to much annoyance and trouble. She felt as if the sadaffairs of yesterday related only to the poor Fosters and herself, butas she went down the street, early, she was stopped and questioned byeager groups of people who were trying to find out something more aboutthe discovery of Mr. Foster in the old house. It proved that he hadleaped from a high window, hurting himself badly by the fall, when hemade his escape from prison, and that he had been wandering in the woodsfor days. The officers had come at once, and there was a group of menoutside the Fosters' house. This had a terrible look to Betty. Everybodysaid that the doctor believed there was only a slight chance for Mr.Foster's life, and that they were not going to try to take him back tojail. He had been delirious all night. One or two kindly disposedpersons said that they pitied his poor family more than ever, but mostof the neighbors insisted that "it served Foster just right." Betty didher errand as quickly as possible, and hastily brushed by some curiousfriends who tried to detain her. She felt as if it were unkind anddisloyal to speak of her neighbor's trouble to everybody, and theexcitement and public concern of the little village astonished her verymuch. She did not know, until then, how the joy or trouble of one homecould affect the town as if it were one household. Everybody spoke verykindly to her, and most people called her "Betty," and seemed to knowher very well, whether they had ever spoken to her before or not. Thewomen were standing at their front doors or their gates, to hearwhatever could be told, and our friend looked down the long street andfelt that it was like running the gauntlet to get home again. Just thenshe met the doctor, looking gray and troubled, as if he had been awakeall night, but when he saw Betty his face brightened.
"Well done, my little lady," he said, in a cheerful voice, which madeher feel steady again, and then he put his hand on Betty's shoulder andlooked at her very kindly.
"Oh, doctor! may I walk along with you a little way?" she faltered."Everybody asks me to tell"--
"Yes, yes, I know all about it," said the doctor; and he turned and tookBetty's hand as if she were a child, and they walked away together. Itwas well known in Tideshead that Dr. Prince did not like to bequestioned about his patients.
"I was wondering whether I ought to go to see Nelly," said Betty, asthey came near the house. "I haven't seen her since I came home with heryesterday. I--didn't quite dare to go in as I came by."
"Wait until to-morrow, perhaps," said the doctor. "The poor man will begone then, and you will be a greater comfort. Go over through thegarden. You can climb the fences, I dare say," and he looked at Bettywith a queer little smile. Perhaps he had seen her sometimes crossingthe fields with Mary Beck.
"Do you mean that he is going to die to-day?" asked Betty, with greatawe. "Ought I to go then?"
"Love may go where common kindness is shut out," said Dr. Prince. "Youhave done a great deal to make those poor children happy, this summer.They had been treated in a very narrow-minded way. It was not likeTideshead, I must say," he added, "but people are shy sometimes, andMrs. Foster herself could not bear to see the pity in her neighbors'faces. It will be easier for her now."
"I keep thinking, what if it were my own papa?" said Betty softly. "Hecouldn't be so wicked, but he might be ill, and I not there."
"Dear me, no!" said the doctor heartily, and giving Betty's hand a tightgrasp and a little swing to and fro. "I suppose he's having a capitalgood time up among his glaciers. I wish that I were with him for amonth's holiday;" and at this Betty was quite cheerful again.
Now they stopped at Betty's own gate. "You must take your Aunt Mary inhand a little, before you go away. There's nothing serious the matternow, only lack of exercise and thinking too much about herself."
"She did come to my tea-party in the garden," responded Betty, with afaint smile, "and I think sometimes she almost gets enough courage to goto walk. She didn't sleep at all last night, Serena said this morning."
"You see, she doesn't need sleep," explained Dr. Prince, quiteprofessionally. "We are all made to run about the world and to work.Your aunt is always making blood and muscle with such a good appetite,and then she never uses them, and nature is clever at revenges. Let herhunt the fields, as you do, and she would sleep like a top. I call it adisease of _too-wellness_, and I only know how to doctor sick people.Now there's a lesson for you to reflect upon," and the busy doctor wenthurrying back to where he had left his horse standing, when he firstcaught sight of Betty's white and anxious face.
As she entered the house Aunt Barbara was just coming out. "I am goingto see poor Mrs. Foster, my dear, or to ask for her at the door," shesaid, and Serena and Letty and Jonathan all came forward to ask whetherBetty knew any later news. Seth Pond had been loitering up the streetmost of the morning, with feelings of great excitement, but he presentlycame back with instructions from Aunt Barbara to weed the longbox-borders behind the house, which he somewhat unwillingly obeyed.
A few days later the excitement was at an end, the sad funeral was over,and on Sunday the Fosters were at church in their appealing blackclothes. Everybody had been as kind as they knew how to be, but therewere no faces so welcome to the sad family as our little Betty's and thedoctor's.
"It comes of simply following her instinct to be kind and do right,"said the doctor to Aunt Barbara, next day. "The child doesn't thinktwice about it, as most of us do. We Tideshead people are terriblyafraid of one another, and have to go through just so
much before we cantake the next step. There's no way to get right things done but tosimply _do_ them. But it isn't so much what your Betty does as what sheis."
"She has grown into my old heart," said Aunt Barbara. "I cannot bear tothink of her going away and taking the sunshine with her!--and yet shehas her faults, of course," added the sensible old lady.
"Oh, by the way!" said Dr. Prince, turning back. "My wife told me to askyou to come over to tea to-night and bring the little girl; I nearlyforgot to give the message."
"I shall be very happy to come," answered Miss Leicester, and the doctornodded and went his busy way. Betty was very fond of going to drive withhim, and he looked about the neighborhood as he drove along, hoping tocatch sight of her; but Betty was at that moment deeply engaged inhelping Letty shell some peas for dinner, at the other side of thehouse, in the garden doorway of the kitchen. She had spent an hourbefore that with Mrs. Beck, while they tried together with more or lesssuccess to trim a new sailor hat for Mary Beck like one of Betty's own.Mrs. Beck was as friendly as possible in these days, but whenever theFosters were mentioned her face grew dark. She did not like Mrs. Foster;she did not exactly blame her for all that had happened, but she did notpity her either, or feel a true compassion for such a troubled neighbor.Betty never could understand it. At any rate, she had been saved by herunsettled life from taking a great interest in her own or other people'sdislikes.
That evening, just as the tea-party was in full progress, somebody camefor Dr. Prince; and when he returned from his study he announced that hemust go at once down the river road to see one of his patients who wasworse. Perhaps he saw an eager look in Betty's eyes, for he askedgravely if Miss Leicester had a niece to lend, it being a moonlightevening and not too long a drive. Aunt Barbara made no objection, andour friend went skipping off to the doctor's stable in high glee.
"Oh, that's nice!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad that you're going to takePepper; she's such a dear little horse."
"Pepper is getting old," said the doctor, "but she really likes to goout in the evening. You can see how fast she will scurry home. Get me awhip from the rack, will you, child? I am anxious to be off."
Mrs. Prince and Aunt Barbara were busy talking in the parlor, and weretaking great pleasure in their social occasion, but Betty was so gladthat she need not stay to listen, instead of going down the town streetand out among the quiet farms behind brisk old Pepper. The wise, kinddoctor at her side was silent as he thought about his patient, yet hefelt much pleasure in Betty's companionship. They could smell the newmarsh hay and hear the tree-toads; it was a most beautiful summer night.Betty felt very grateful and happy, she did not exactly know why; it wasnot altogether the effect of Mrs. Prince's tea and cakes, or evenbecause she was driving with the doctor, but the restlessness anduncertainty that make so great a part of a girl's life seemed to havegone away out of her heart. Instead of the excitement there was apleasant quietness and sense of security, no matter what might be goingto happen.
Presently the doctor appeared to have thought enough about his patient."You don't feel chilly, do you?" he asked kindly. "I find it damp andcold, sometimes, after a hot day, crossing this low land."
"Oh, no, I'm as warm as toast," answered Betty. "Whom are you going tosee, Dr. Prince? Old Mr. Duff?"
"No, he is out-of-doors again. I saw him in the hayfield this morning.You haven't been keeping up with my practice as well as usual, of late,"said the doctor, laughing a little. "I am going to see a girl about yourown age. I am afraid that I am going to lose her, too."
"Is it that pretty Lizzie Edwards who sits behind the Becks' pew? Iheard that she had a fever. I saw her the last Sunday that she was atchurch." Betty's heart was filled with dismay, and the doctor did notspeak again. They were near the house now, and could see some lightsflitting about; and as they stopped the sick girl's father stolesilently from behind the bushes and began to fasten the horse, so thatDr. Prince could go in directly. Betty could hear the ominous word"_sinking_," as they whispered together; then she was left alone. Itseemed so sad that this other girl should be near the door of death, andso close to the great change that must come to every one. Betty hadnever known so direct a consciousness of the inevitableness of death,but she was full of life herself, and so eager and ready for whatevermight be coming. What if this other girl had felt so, too? She watchedthe upper windows where the dim light shone, and now and then a shadowcrossed the curtain. Everything out-of-doors was quiet and sweet; themoon went higher and higher, and the wind rustled among the apple-trees.Some white petunias in a little plot near by looked strangely white, andBetty thought that perhaps the other girl had planted them, and therethey were growing on. Now she was going to die. Betty wondered what itwould be like, and if the other girl knew, and if she minded so verymuch. After a few minutes she found herself saying an eager prayer thatthe doctor might still cure her, and keep her alive. If she must die,Betty hoped that she herself might do some of the things that LizzieEdwards would have done, and take her place. When old people had to go,who had done all they wished to do, and got tired, and could not helpthinking about having a new life, that was one thing; but to go now andleave all your hopes and plans behind,--indeed, it seemed too hard. ButBetty had a sense of the difference between what things could be helpedand what were in God's hands, and when she had said her prayer shewaited again hopefully for a long time in the moonlight.
At last there seemed to be more movement in the house and she could hearvoices; then she heard somebody sobbing, and the light in the upper roomwent quickly out.
The doctor came after a few minutes more, which seemed very long andmiserable. Pepper had fallen asleep, good old horse! and Betty did notdare to ask any questions.
"Well, well," said the doctor, in a surprisingly cheerful voice, "Iforgot all about you, Miss Betty Leicester. I hope that you're not coldthis time, and I don't know what the aunts will have to say about us; itis nearly eleven o'clock."
"I'm not cold, but I did get frightened," acknowledged Betty faintly;then she felt surprisingly light-hearted. Dr. Prince could not be insuch good spirits if he had just seen his poor young patient die!
"We got here just in time," he said, tucking the light blanket closerabout Betty. "We've pulled the child through, but she was almost gonewhen I first saw her; there was just a spark of life left,--a spark oflife," repeated the doctor.
"Who was it crying?" Betty asked.
"The mother," said the doctor. "I had just told her that she was goingto keep the little girl. Why, here's a good sound sassafras lozenge inmy pocket. Now we'll have a handsome entertainment."
Betty, who had just felt as if she were going to cry for nobody knew howlong, began to laugh instead, as Dr. Prince broke his unexpected lozengeinto honest halves and presented her solemnly with one of them. Therewas never such a good sassafras lozenge before or since, and Peppertrotted steadily home to her stall and the last end of her supper. "Onlythink, if the doctor hadn't known just what to do," said Betty later toAunt Barbara, "and how he goes all the time to people's houses! Everyday we see him going by to do things to help people. This might havebeen a freezing, blowing night, and he would have gone just the same."
"Dear child, run up to your bed now," said Aunt Barbara, kissing hergood-night; for Betty was very wide awake, and still had so many thingsto say. She never would forget that drive at night. She had been taughta great lesson of the good doctor's helpfulness, but Aunt Barbara hadlearned it long ago.