“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 mean.”
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.
“See here! What’s up?” he asked.
Betsy was crying and Julia was waving torn paper. Katie was boxing Tacy’s ears, and Tib, very red in the fac
e, was jumping up and down.
Mr. Ray wound the lines around the whip. He got out of the buggy and Old Mag found her own way up the little driveway that led to her barn.
Gripping Julia in one hand and Betsy in the other, Mr. Ray asked, “What’s the matter?”
“Queen! Queen! Queen!” was all he could make out of their jumbled answers.
“Come along, all of you,” he said; and, followed by the other children, he and Julia and Betsy went up to the front porch. He sat down there and loosened his collar. Mrs. Ray brought him some ice water.
“It’s the most awful misunderstanding,” she said.
“I’ll clear it up,” said Mr. Ray and he took a long drink of the ice water. “Now,” he said. “What’s it all about?”
Both sides told their stories.
Julia spoke last and she was near to weeping.
“Ordinarily,” she said, “Katie and I would give in. We always do. But we’ve asked Dorothy and some other girls. What would they think? And we’ve spent all our money for crepe paper.”
“Which maybe is spoiled,” muttered Katie.
Betsy could see from her father’s expression that this was a telling point.
“Well, Tacy and Tib and I can’t give in,” she wailed. “We’ve been planning this since May seventeenth.”
“May seventeenth?” asked Mr. Ray. “Why May seventeenth?”
“It just was May seventeenth,” Betsy replied.
“Yes it was, Mr. Ray,” Tacy and Tib added.
That was a good point too, remembering the day.
Mr. Ray thought for a long time. Mrs. Ray stood in the doorway looking worried, and there was a smell of biscuits baking. (For shortcake, probably.)
“It seems clear,” said Mr. Ray at last, “that each side thinks his side is right.”
Mrs. Ray nodded.
“And certainly,” he continued, “there must be just one queen. Rival queens would never do.”
He paused while the children stood in silence and Mrs. Ray waited in the doorway.
“I have it,” he said. “We’ll settle this in the good old American way.”
“How?” all the children asked together.
“By the vote. By the ballot,” answered Mr. Ray.
“But Papa,” said Julia. “That wouldn’t do. Katie and I would vote for me, and Betsy and Tacy and Tib would vote for Tib.”
“Let your friends vote,” answered Mr. Ray. “Let the neighborhood vote.”
He warmed to his idea.
“Take two sheets of foolscap,” he went on, while sniffs lessened and eyes brightened. “At the top of one write, ‘We, the undersigned, want Tib Muller for queen.’ And at the top of the other one write, ‘We, the undersigned, want Julia Ray for queen.’ Then tomorrow morning go out after votes. Take your papers up and down Hill Street. And may the best man win!”
It was a wonderful idea.
“Of course,” said Mr. Ray, “you must be good sports. You must all agree to abide by the result of the vote. If Tib wins, Julia and Katie must pitch in and make a success of her coronation. And if Julia wins, Betsy and Tacy and Tib must be her loyal subjects. All right?” he asked.
“All right,” everyone agreed.
“It’s settled then,” said Mr. Ray. He got to his feet. “Old Mag wants her supper and I do too.”
“You’re a perfect Solomon,” said Mrs. Ray.
Katie and Tacy ran across the street and Tib skipped down Hill Street and home. Julia and Betsy and Margaret went into the house for supper, and there was strawberry shortcake.
At bedtime Mrs. Ray suggested to Betsy that she tell Julia she was sorry she had torn the crepe paper. Betsy told her, and Julia said it was perfectly all right.
Everyone thought that the quarrel was over. But it wasn’t, somehow.
7
Out for Votes
N THE RAYS’ hitching block next morning Betsy, Tacy, and Tib made out their petition. They printed at the top of a piece of foolscap:
“We, the undersigned, want Tib Muller for queen.”
Across the street, on the Kellys’ hitching block, Julia and Katie were printing on a sheet of foolscap too. Margaret and the Rivers children ran from group to group. Paul waited on the Kellys’ porch with the dinner bell in his hand.
Katie called across the street, “Are families allowed to sign?”
“No! No!” whispered Tacy, nudging Betsy to remind her that Julia and Katie were on the Kelly side of the street; they could get to the Kelly house first and there were lots of people in the Kelly family.
“No,” called Betsy. “Of course not.” She and Tacy and Tib had finished. They jumped to their feet.
“No fair starting ’til the signal!” warned Julia. It had been agreed in advance that no one was to begin until Paul rang the dinner bell.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib rocked impatiently on their toes; Julia and Katie jumped up.
“Ready?” cried Paul. “One, two, three, go!”
He rang the bell vigorously, and the race for votes was on.
With excited whoops both sides started running down the sloping sun-dappled street. Julia and Katie ran on the Kellys’ side; Betsy, Tacy, and Tib, on the Rays’ side.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib paused to sign up the oldest Rivers child. She hadn’t started to school yet but she could print her name. They ran into the Riverses’ house and Mrs. Rivers signed. They ran down the terrace to the next house.
In that house lived a deaf and dumb family. That is, the father and mother were deaf and dumb. The baby cried as loudly as any other baby. Their name was Hunt. Mrs. Hunt had taught Betsy and Tacy the alphabet in sign language. So they asked her in sign language to vote for Tib for queen. They showed her the petition too, and pointed to Tib and said, “Vote!” Mrs. Hunt smiled and wrote her name.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib bounded down the terrace to the Williamses’ blue frame house. They called there sometimes to borrow the Horatio Alger books. These belonged to Ben who walked home from school with Julia. His sister, Miss Williams, was Julia’s music teacher.
Ben said that he was too busy to vote. He looked cross. Miss Williams wouldn’t sign either. She exclaimed, “Why, Julia has been planning for weeks on being the queen!” Mrs. Williams signed though, and Grandpa Williams signed. So they came out even.
Across the street Julia and Katie could be seen at Mrs. Benson’s door.
“She won’t sign, I’ll bet. She’ll wait for us,” said Tacy as she and Betsy and Tib leaped down another terrace to the Grangers’ house.
This was a neat light tan house with brown trimmings. No children lived there; the Granger daughters were grown-up. But Betsy and Tacy knew the house well, for here they often borrowed Little Women. They had borrowed it almost to tatters.
Mrs. Granger signed and so did the woman in the house below. She had two small children … not old enough to print their names.
In the last house of the block lived a family with many children. All of them signed.
Betsy, Tacy, and Tib paused, panting and triumphant. Julia and Katie emerged from the last house in the block on their side and ran into the vacant lot which led to Pleasant Street.
Here both parties sighted the familiar stocky figure of Mr. Goode, the postman.
Mr. Goode had been bringing the mail to Hill Street for years. He was the children’s friend. Julia and Katie, Betsy, Tacy, and Tib ran toward him as though running for a prize. They all fell upon him at once.
Mr. Goode read both petitions.
“I’ll sign both or none,” he said. So they let him sign both. But when he had passed on up Hill Street they decided not to let anyone else sign both petitions.
“It would mix things up,” Katie explained. “We wouldn’t know at the end who had won.”
Betsy and Tacy and Tib agreed.
“Ta, ta,” said Julia and Katie, and they cut through the vacant lot to Pleasant Street. One of their best friends lived on Pleasant Street. She was the Dorothy whom they had included i
n their plans for a queen celebration. Her father and mother played with Betsy’s father and mother in the High Fly Whist Club.
Julia and Katie were certainly heading for her house.
“Let’s fool them,” said Betsy. “Let’s us go to Pleasant Street too. We’ll go the other way.”
So they raced back up Hill Street and went to Pleasant Street by the road which led down the Big Hill past Tacy’s house. At that corner lived the little girl named Alice. She was an earnest little girl with fat yellow braids.
“I’ll come along and help,” she said.
“Come along,” said Betsy, Tacy, and Tib.
They started down Pleasant Street with Alice.
And, just as they had expected, they found Julia and Katie at Dorothy’s door.
“Ya, ya! Fooled you!” yelled Betsy, Tacy, and Tib.
“Copycats!” yelled Julia and Katie.
“Copycats!” echoed Dorothy. She was one of the little girls’ favorite big girls, with brown curls and eyes and a very sweet voice. But she was their enemy now.
They were all having fun, though.
“How many votes have you got?” yelled Betsy.
“Show us your list and we’ll show you ours,” yelled Julia and Katie.
They met in the middle of the road and compared lists. Julia had fifteen votes for queen, but Tib had sixteen.
“It’s certainly close,” said Alice.
The two parties separated and ran from door to door.
They both rushed at the baker’s boy when they saw him coming out of a house with his tray full of jelly rolls and doughnuts. He was a fat boy with red cheeks; they knew him well.
Like the postman he wanted to sign both lists. But they wouldn’t allow it.
He looked from Julia with her loose brown hair on her shoulders to Tib with her crown of yellow curls.
“By golly!” he said. “This is fierce!”
After a moment he signed Julia’s list.
“But I’ll give you a doughnut,” he said to Tib.
She divided it with Betsy, Tacy, and Alice.
The two parties made rushes also at the grocer’s boy, the butcher’s boy, the iceman, and the milkman. Up and down Pleasant Street they went. They were amazed when the whistles blew loudly for noon. They ran home in great good humor and Julia and Betsy told their adventures at the dinner table.