III.
A BIT OF COLOR.
BETTY had seen strange countries since her last visit to Tideshead. Thenshe was only a child, but now she was so tall that strangers treated heras if she were already a young lady. At fifteen one does not always knowjust where to find one's self. A year before it was hard to leavechildish things alone, but there soon came a time when they seemed tohave left Betty, while one by one the graver interests of life werepushing themselves forward. It was reasonable enough that she should betaking care of herself; and, as we have seen, she knew how better thanmost girls of her age. Her father's rough journey to the far North hadbeen decided upon suddenly; Mr. Leicester and Betty had been comfortablysettled at Lynton in Devonshire for the summer, with a comfortableprospect of some charming excursions and a good bit of work on papa'snew scientific book. Betty was used to sudden changes of their plans,but it was a hard trial when he had come back from London one day,filled with enthusiasm about the Alaska business.
"The only thing against it is that I don't know what to do with you,Betty dear," said papa, with a most wistful but affectionate glance."Perhaps you would like to go to Switzerland with the Duncans? You knowthey were very anxious that I should lend you for a while."
"I will think about it," said Betty, trying to smile, but she could nottalk any more just then. She didn't believe that the hardships of thisnew journey were too great; it was papa who minded dust and hated thecare of railway rugs and car-tickets, not she. But she gave him a kissand hurried out through the garden and went as fast as she could alongthe lonely long cliff-walk above the sea, to think the sad matter over.
That evening Betty came down to dinner with a serene face. She lookedmore like a young lady than she ever had before. "I have quite decidedwhat I should like to do," she said. "Please let me go home with youand stay in Tideshead with Aunt Barbara and Aunt Mary. They speak aboutseeing us in their letters, and I should be nearer where you are going."Betty's brave voice failed her for a moment just there.
"Why, Betty, what a wise little woman you are!" said Mr. Leicester,looking very much pleased. "That's exactly right. I was thinking aboutthe dear souls as I came from town, and promised myself that I would rundown for a few days before I go North. That is, if you say I may go!"and he looked seriously at Betty.
"Yes," answered Betty slowly; "yes, I am sure you may, papa dear, if youwill be very, very careful."
They had a beloved old custom of papa's asking his girl's leave to doanything that was particularly important. In Betty's baby-days she hadreproved him for going out one morning. "Who said you might go, MasterPapa?" demanded the little thing severely; and it had been a dear bit offun to remember the old story from time to time ever since. Betty'smother had died before she could remember; the two who were left weremost dependent upon each other.
You will see how Betty came to have care-taking ways and how she hadlearned to think more than most girls about what it was best to do. Youwill understand how lonely she felt in this day or two when the storybegins. Mr. Leicester was too much hurried after all when he reachedAmerica, and could not go down to Tideshead for a few days' visit, asthey had both hoped and promised. And here, at last, was Betty going upthe long village street with Captain Beck for company. She had not seenTideshead for four years, but it looked exactly the same. There was thegreat, square, white house, with the poplars and lilac bushes. Therewere Aunt Barbara and Aunt Mary sitting in the wide hall doorway as ifthey had never left their high-backed chairs since she saw them last.
"Who is this coming up the walk?" said Aunt Barbara, rising and turningtoward her placid younger sister in sudden excitement. "It can'tbe--why, yes, it is Betty, after all!" and she hurried down the steps.
"Grown out of all reason, of course!" she said sharply, as she kissedthe surprising grandniece, and then held her at arm's-length to look ather again most fondly. "Where did you find her, Captain Beck? We sentover to the train; in fact, I went myself with Jonathan, but we weredisappointed. Your father always telegraphs two or three times before hereally gets here, Betty; but you have not brought him, after all."
"We had to come up river by the packet," said Captain Beck; "the younglady's had quite a voyage; her sea-chest'll be here directly."
The captain left Betty's traveling-bag on the great stone doorstep, andturned to go away, but Betty thanked him prettily for his kindness, andsaid that she had spent a delightful afternoon. She was now warmlykissed and hugged by Aunt Mary, who looked much younger than AuntBarbara, and she saw two heads appear at the end of the long hall.
"There are Serena and Letty; you must run and speak to them. They havebeen looking forward to seeing you," suggested Aunt Barbara, who seemedto see everything at once; but when Betty went that way nobody was tobe found until she came to the kitchen, where Serena and Letty were, orpretended to be, much surprised at her arrival. They were now bustlingabout to get Betty some supper, and she frankly confessed that she wasvery hungry, which seemed to vastly please the good women.
"What in the world shall we do with her?" worried Aunt Mary, while Bettywas gone. "I had no idea she would seem so well grown. She used to besmall for her age, you know, sister."
"Do? do?" answered Miss Barbara Leicester sternly. "If she can't takecare of herself by this time, she never will know how. Tom Leicestershould have let her stay here altogether, instead of roaming about theworld with him, or else have settled himself down in respectablefashion. I can't get on with teasing children at my age. I'm sure I'mglad she's well grown. She mustn't expect us to turn out of our ways,"grumbled Aunt Barbara, who had the kindest heart in the world, and waslistening anxiously every minute for Betty's footsteps.
It was very pleasant to be safe in the old house at last. The youngguest did not feel any sense of strangeness. She used to be afraid ofAunt Barbara when she was a child, but she was not a bit afraid now; andAunt Mary, who seemed a very lovely person then, was now a little bittiresome,--or else Betty herself was tired and did not find it easy tolisten.
After supper; and it was such a too-good supper, with pound-cakes, andpeach jam, and crisp shortcakes, and four tall silver candlesticks, andBetty being asked to her great astonishment if she would take tea andmeekly preferring some milk instead; they came back to the doorway. Themoon had come up, and the wide lawn in front of the house (which theladies always called the yard) was almost as light as day. The syringabushes were in full bloom and fragrance, and other sweet odors filledthe air beside. There were two irreverent little dogs playing andchasing each other on the wide front walk and bustling among the box andborders. Betty could hear the voices of people who drove by, or walkedalong the sidewalk, but Tideshead village was almost as still as thefields outside the town. She answered all the questions that the auntskindly asked her for conversation's sake, and she tried to think of waysof seeming interested in return.
"Can I climb the cherry-tree this summer, Aunt Barbara?" she asked once."Don't you remember the day when there was a tea company of ladies here,and Mary Beck and I got some of the company's bonnets and shawls off thebest bed and dressed up in them and climbed up in the trees?"
"You looked like two fat black crows," laughed Aunt Barbara, though shehad been very angry at the time. "All the fringes of those thin bestshawls were catching and snapping as you came down. Oh, dear me, Icouldn't think what the old ladies would say. None of your mischief now,Miss Betty!" and she held up a warning forefinger. "Mary Beck is comingto see you to-morrow; you will find some pleasant girls here."
"Tideshead has always been celebrated for its cultivated society, youknow, dear," added Aunt Mary.
Just now a sad feeling of loneliness began to assail Betty. The summermight be very long in passing, and anything might happen to papa. Sheput her hand into her pocket to have the comfort of feeling a crumplednote, a very dear short note, which papa had written her only the daybefore, when he had suddenly decided to go out to Cambridge and not comeback to the hotel for luncheon.
They talked a little longe
r, Betty and the grandaunts, until sensibleAunt Barbara said, "Now run up-stairs to bed, my dear; I am sure thatyou must be tired," and Betty, who usually begged to stay up as long asthe grown folks, was glad for once to be sent away like a small child.Aunt Barbara marched up the stairway and led the way to the eastbedroom. It was an astonishing tribute of respect to Betty, the youngguest, and she admired such large-minded hospitality; but after all shehad expected a comfortable snug little room next Aunt Mary's, where shehad always slept years before. Aunt Barbara assured her that this onewas much cooler and pleasanter, and she must remember what a young ladyshe had grown to be. "But you may change to some other room if you like,my dear child," said the old lady kindly. "I wouldn't unpack to-night,but just go to bed and get rested. I have my breakfast at half pastseven, but your Aunt Mary doesn't come down. I hope that you will beready as early as that, for I like company;" and then, after seeing thateverything was in order and comfortable, she kissed Betty twice mostkindly and told her that she was thankful to have her come to them, andwent away downstairs.
It was a solemn, big, best bedroom, with dark India-silk curtains to thebed and windows, and dull coverings on the furniture. This all looked asif there were pretty figures and touches of gay color by daylight, butnow by the light of the two candles on the dressing-table it seemed adim and dismal place that night. Betty was not a bit afraid; she onlyfelt lonely. She was but fifteen years old, and she did not know how toget on by herself after all. But Betty was no coward. She had beentaught to show energy and to make light of difficulties. What could shedo? Why, unpack a little, and then go to bed and go to sleep; that wouldbe the best thing.
She knelt down before her trunk, and had an affectionate feeling towardit as she turned the key and saw her familiar properties inside. Shetook out her pictures of her father and mother and Mrs. Duncan, andshook out a crumpled dress or two and left them to lie on the old couchuntil morning. Deep down in the sea-chest, as Captain Beck had calledit, she felt the soft folds of a gay piece of Indian silk made like alittle shawl, which papa had pleased himself with buying for her one dayat Liberty's shop in London. Mrs. Duncan had laughed when she saw it,and told Betty not to dare to wear it for at least ten years; but thecolor of it was marvelous in the shadowy old room. Betty threw theshining red thing over the back of a great easy-chair and it seemed tolight the whole place. She could not help feeling more cheerful for thesight of that gay bit of color. Then a great wish filled her heart, dearlittle Betty; perhaps she could really bring some new pleasure toTideshead that summer! The old aunties' lives looked very gray and dullto her young eyes; it was a dull place, perhaps, for Betty, who hadlived a long time where the brightest and busiest people were. The lastthing she thought of before she fell asleep was the little silk shawl.She had often heard artistic people say "a bit of color;" now she had anew idea, though a dim one, of what a bit of color might be expected todo in every-day life. Good-night, Betty. Good-night, dear Betty, in yourbest bedroom, sound asleep all the summer night and dreaming of thoseyou love!