CHAPTER VIII
BETSY STARTS A SEWING SOCIETY
Betsy and Molly had taken Deborah to school with them. Deborah was theold wooden doll with brown, painted curls. She had lain in a trunkalmost ever since Aunt Abigail's childhood, because Cousin Ann had nevercared for dolls when she was a little girl. At first Betsy had not daredto ask to see her, much less to play with her, but when Ellen, as shehad promised, came over to Putney Farm that first Saturday she had saidright out, as soon as she landed in the house, "Oh, Mrs. Putney, can'twe play with Deborah?" And Aunt Abigail had answered: "Why YES, ofcourse! I KNEW there was something I've kept forgetting!" She went upwith them herself to the cold attic and opened the little hair-trunkunder the eaves.
There lay a doll, flat on her back, looking up at them brightly out ofher blue eyes.
"Well, Debby dear," said Aunt Abigail, taking her up gently. "It's agood long time since you and I played under the lilac bushes, isn't it?I expect you've been pretty lonesome up here all these years. Never youmind, you'll have some good times again, now." She pulled down thedoll's full, ruffled skirt, straightened the lace at the neck of herdress, and held her for a moment, looking down at her silently. Youcould tell by the way she spoke, by the way she touched Deborah, by theway she looked at her, that she had loved the doll very dearly, andmaybe still did, a little.
When she put Deborah into Betsy's arms, the child felt that she wasreceiving something very precious, almost something alive. She and Ellenlooked with delight at the yards and yards of picot-edged ribbon, sewedon by hand to the ruffles of the skirt, and lifted up the silk folds toadmire the carefully made, full petticoats and frilly drawers, thepretty, soft old kid shoes and white stockings. Aunt Abigail looked atthem with an absent smile on her lips, as though she were living overold scenes.
Betsy and Ellen and the old doll.]
Finally, "It's too cold to play up here," she said, coming to herselfwith a long breath. "You'd better bring Deborah and the trunk down intothe south room." She carried the doll, and Betsy and Ellen each took anend of the old trunk, no larger than a modern suitcase. They settledthemselves on the big couch, back of the table with the lamp. Old Shepwas on it, but Betsy coaxed him off by putting down some bones CousinAnn had been saving for him. When he finished those and came back forthe rest of his snooze, he found his place occupied by the little girls,sitting cross-legged, examining the contents of the trunk, all spreadout around them. Shep sighed deeply and sat down with his nose restingon the couch near Betsy's knee, following all their movements with hiskind, dark eyes. Once in a while Betsy stopped hugging Deborah orexclaiming over a new dress long enough to pat Shep's head and fondlehis ears. This was what he was waiting for, and every time she did it hewagged his tail thumpingly against the floor.
After that Deborah and her trunk were kept downstairs where Betsy couldplay with her. And often she was taken to school. You never heard ofsuch a thing as taking a doll to school, did you? Well, I told you thiswas a queer, old-fashioned school that any modern School Superintendentwould sniff at. As a matter of fact, it was not only Betsy who took herdoll to school; all the little girls did, whenever they felt like it.Miss Benton, the teacher, had a shelf for them in the entry-way wherethe wraps were hung, and the dolls sat on it and waited patiently allthrough lessons. At recess time or nooning each little mother snatchedher own child and began to play. As soon as it grew warm enough to playoutdoors without just racing around every minute to keep from freezingto death, the dolls and their mothers went out to a great pile of rocksat one end of the bare, stony field which was the playground.
There they sat and played in the spring sunshine, warmer from day today. There were a great many holes and shelves and pockets and littlecaves in the rocks which made lovely places for playing keep-house. Eachlittle girl had her own particular cubby-holes and "rooms," and they"visited" their dolls back and forth all around the pile. And as theyplayed they talked very fast about all sorts of things, being littlegirls and not boys who just yelled and howled inarticulately as theyplayed ball or duck-on-a-rock or prisoner's goal, racing and running andwrestling noisily all around the rocks.
There was one child who neither played with the girls nor ran andwhooped with the boys. This was little six-year-old 'Lias, one of thetwo boys in Molly's first grade. At recess time he generally hung aboutthe school door by himself, looking moodily down and knocking the toe ofhis ragged, muddy shoe against a stone. The little girls were talkingabout him one day as they played. "My! Isn't that 'Lias Brewster thehorridest-looking child!" said Eliza, who had the second grade all toherself, although Molly now read out of the second reader with her.
"Mercy, yes! So ragged!" said Anastasia Monahan, called Stashie forshort. She was a big girl, fourteen years old, who was in the seventhgrade.
"He doesn't look as if he EVER combed his hair!" said Betsy. "It looksjust like a wisp of old hay."
"And sometimes," little Molly proudly added her bit to the talk of theolder girls, "he forgets to put on any stockings and just has hisdreadful old shoes on over his dirty, bare feet."
"I guess he hasn't GOT any stockings half the time," said big Stashiescornfully. "I guess his stepfather drinks 'em up."
"How CAN he drink up stockings!" asked Molly, opening her round eyesvery wide.
"Sh! You mustn't ask. Little girls shouldn't know about such things,should they, Betsy?"
"No INDEED," said Betsy, looking mysterious. As a matter of fact, sheherself had no idea what Stashie meant, but she looked wise and saidnothing.
Some of the boys had squatted down near the rocks for a game of marblesnow.
"Well, anyhow," said Molly resentfully, "I don't care what hisstepfather does to his stockings. I wish 'Lias would wear 'em to school.And lots of times he hasn't anything on under those horrid old overallseither! I can see his bare skin through the torn places."
"I wish he didn't have to sit so near me," said Betsy complainingly."He's SO dirty."
"Well, I don't want him near ME, either!" cried all the other littlegirls at once. Ralph glanced up at them frowning, from where he kneltwith his middle finger crooked behind a marble ready for a shot. Helooked as he always did, very rough and half-threatening. "Oh, you girlsmake me sick!" he said. He sent his marble straight to the mark,pocketed his opponent's, and stood up, scowling at the little mothers."I guess if you had to live the way he does you'd be dirty! Half thetime he don't get anything to eat before he comes to school, and if mymother didn't put up some extra for him in my box he wouldn't get anylunch either. And then you go and jump on him!"
"Why doesn't his own mother put up his lunch?" Betsy challenged theircritic.
"He hasn't got any mother. She's dead," said Ralph, turning away withhis hands in his pockets. He yelled to the boys, "Come on, fellers,beat-che to the bridge and back!" and was off, with the others racing athis heels.
"Well, anyhow, I don't care; he IS dirty and horrid!" said Stashieemphatically, looking over at the drooping, battered little figure,leaning against the school door, listlessly kicking at a stone.
But Betsy did not say anything more just then.
The teacher, who "boarded 'round," was staying at Putney Farm at thattime, and that evening, as they all sat around the lamp in the southroom, Betsy looked up from her game of checkers with Uncle Henry andasked, "How can anybody drink up stockings?"
"Mercy, child! what are you talking about?" asked Aunt Abigail.
Betsy repeated what Anastasia Monahan had said, and was flattered by theinstant, rather startled attention given her by the grown-ups. "Why, Ididn't know that Bud Walker had taken to drinking again!" said UncleHenry. "My! That's too bad!"
"Who takes care of that child anyhow, now that poor Susie is dead?" AuntAbigail asked of everybody in general.
"Is he just living there ALONE, with that good-for-nothing stepfather?How do they get enough to EAT?" said Cousin Ann, looking troubled.
Apparently Betsy's question had brought something half forgotten andaltogether neg
lected into their minds. They talked for some time afterthat about 'Lias, the teacher confirming what Betsy and Stashie hadsaid.
"And we sitting right here with plenty to eat and never raising a hand!"cried Aunt Abigail.
"How you WILL let things slip out of your mind!" said Cousin Annremorsefully.
It struck Betsy vividly that 'Lias was not at all the one they blamedfor his objectionable appearance. She felt quite ashamed to go on withthe other things she and the little girls had said, and fell silent,pretending to be very much absorbed in her game of checkers.
"Do you know," said Aunt Abigail suddenly, as though an inspiration hadjust struck her, "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that Elmore Pondmight adopt 'Lias if he was gone at the right way."
"Who's Elmore Pond?" asked the schoolteacher.
"Why, you must have seen him--that great, big, red-faced,good-natured-looking man that comes through here twice a year, buyingstock. He lives over Bigby way, but his wife was a Hillsboro girl, MateyPelham--an awfully nice girl she was, too. They never had any children,and Matey told me the last time she was back for a visit that she andher husband talked quite often about adopting a little boy. Seems thatMr. Pond has always wanted a little boy. He's such a nice man! 'Twouldbe a lovely home for a child."
"But goodness!" said the teacher. "Nobody would want to adopt such anawful-looking little ragamuffin as that 'Lias. He looks so meeching,too. I guess his stepfather is real mean to him, when he's beendrinking, and it's got 'Lias so he hardly dares hold his head up."
The clock struck loudly. "Well, hear that!" said Cousin Ann. "Nineo'clock and the children not in bed! Molly's most asleep this minute.Trot along with you, Betsy! Trot along, Molly. And, Betsy, be sureMolly's nightgown is buttoned up all the way."
So it happened that, although the grown-ups were evidently going on totalk about 'Lias Brewster, Betsy heard no more of what they said.
She herself went on thinking about 'Lias while she was undressing andanswering absently little Molly's chatter. She was thinking about himeven after they had gone to bed, had put the light out, and were lyingsnuggled up to each other, back to front, their four legs, crooked atthe same angle, fitting in together neatly like two spoons in a drawer.She was thinking about him when she woke up, and as soon as she couldget hold of Cousin Ann she poured out a new plan. She had never beenafraid of Cousin Ann since the evening Molly had fallen into the WolfPit and Betsy had seen that pleased smile on Cousin Ann's firm lips."Cousin Ann, couldn't we girls at school get together and sew--you'dhave to help us some--and make some nice, new clothes for little 'LiasBrewster, and fix him up so he'll look better, and maybe that Mr. Pondwill like him and adopt him?"
Cousin Ann listened attentively and nodded her head. "Yes, I think thatwould be a good idea," she said. "We were thinking last night we oughtto do something for him. If you'll make the clothes, Mother'll knit himsome stockings and Father will get him some shoes. Mr. Pond never makeshis spring trip till late May, so we'll have plenty of time."
Betsy was full of importance that day at school and at recess time gotthe girls together on the rocks and told them all about the plan."Cousin Ann says she'll help us, and we can meet at our house everySaturday afternoon till we get them done. It'll be fun! Aunt Abigailtelephoned down to the store right away, and Mr. Wilkins says he'll givethe cloth if we'll make it up."
Betsy spoke very grandly of "making it up," although she had hardly helda needle in her life, and when the Saturday afternoon meetings began shewas ashamed to see how much better Ellen and even Eliza could sew thanshe. To keep her end up, she was driven to practising her stitchesaround the lamp in the evenings, with Aunt Abigail keeping an eye onher.
Cousin Ann supervised the sewing on Saturday afternoons and taught thoseof the little girls whose legs were long enough how to use the sewingmachine. First they made a little pair of trousers out of an old graywoolen skirt of Aunt Abigail's. This was for practice, before they cutinto the piece of new blue serge that the storekeeper had sent up.Cousin Ann showed them how to pin the pattern on the goods and they eachcut out one piece. Those flat, queer-shaped pieces of cloth certainlydid look less like a pair of trousers to Betsy than anything she hadever seen. Then one of the girls read aloud very slowly themysterious-sounding directions from the wrapper of the pattern about howto put the pieces together, Cousin Ann helped here a little,particularly just as they were about to put the sections togetherwrong-side-up. Stashie, as the oldest, did the first basting, puttingthe notches together carefully, just as they read the instructionsaloud, and there, all of a sudden, was a rough little sketch of a pairof knee trousers, without any hem or any waist-band, of course, but justthe two-legged, complicated shape they ought to be! It was like amiracle to Betsy! Then Cousin Ann helped them sew the seams on themachine, and they all turned to for the basting of the facings and thefinishing. They each made one buttonhole. It was the first one Betsy hadever made, and when she got through she was as tired as though she hadrun all the way to school and back. Tired, but very proud; although whenCousin Ann inspected that buttonhole, she covered her face with herhandkerchief for a minute, as though she were going to sneeze, althoughshe didn't sneeze at all.
It took them two Saturdays to finish up that trial pair of trousers, andwhen they showed the result to Aunt Abigail she was delighted. "Well, tothink of that being my old skirt!" she said, putting on her spectaclesto examine the work. She did not laugh, either, when she saw thosebuttonholes, but she got up hastily and went into the next room, wherethey soon heard her coughing.
Then they made a little blouse out of some new blue gingham. Cousin Annhappened to have enough left over from a dress she was making. This thinmaterial was ever so much easier to manage than the gray flannel, andthey had the little garment done in no time, even to the buttons andbuttonholes. When it came to making the buttonholes, Cousin Ann satright down with each one and supervised every stitch. You may not besurprised to know that they were a great improvement over the firstbatch.
Then, making a great ceremony of it, they began on the store material,working twice a week now, because May was slipping along very fast, andMr. Pond might be there at any time. They knew pretty well how to goahead on this one, after the experience of their first pair, and CousinAnn was not much needed, except as adviser in hard places. She sat therein the room with them, doing some sewing of her own, so quiet that halfthe time they forgot she was there. It was great fun, sewing alltogether and chattering as they sewed.
A good deal of the time they talked about how splendid it was of them tobe so kind to little 'Lias. "My! I don't believe most girls would putthemselves out this way for a dirty little boy!" said Stashie,complacently.
"No INDEED!" chimed in Betsy. "It's just like a story, isn't it--workingand sacrificing for the poor!"
"I guess he'll thank us all right for sure!" said Ellen. "He'll neverforget us as long as he lives, I don't suppose."
Betsy, her imagination fired by this suggestion, said, "I guess whenhe's grown up he'll be telling everybody about how, when he was so poorand ragged, Stashie Monahan and Ellen Peters and Elizabeth Ann ..."
"And Eliza!" put in that little girl hastily, very much afraid she wouldnot be given her due share of the glory.
Cousin Ann sewed, and listened, and said nothing.
Toward the end of May two little blouses, two pairs of trousers, twopairs of stockings, two sets of underwear (contributed by the teacher),and the pair of shoes Uncle Henry gave were ready. The little girlshandled the pile of new garments with inexpressible pride, and debatedjust which way of bestowing them was sufficiently grand to be worthy theoccasion. Betsy was for taking them to school and giving them to 'Liasone by one, so that each child could have her thanks separately. ButStashie wanted to take them to the house when 'Lias's stepfather wouldbe there, and shame him by showing that little girls had had to do whathe ought to have done.
Cousin Ann broke into the discussion by asking, in her quiet, firmvoice, "Why do you want 'Lias to know where
the clothes come from?"
They had forgotten again that she was there, and turned around quicklyto stare at her. Nobody could think of any answer to her very queerquestion. It had not occurred to any one that there could BE such aquestion.
Cousin Ann shifted her ground and asked another: "Why did you make theseclothes, anyhow?"
They stared again, speechless. Why did she ask that? She knew why.
Finally little Molly said, in her honest, baby way, "Why, YOU know why,Miss Ann! So 'Lias Brewster will look nice, and Mr. Pond will maybeadopt him."
"Well," said Cousin Ann, "what has that got to do with 'Lias knowing whodid it?"
"Why, he wouldn't know who to be grateful to," cried Betsy.
"Oh," said Cousin Ann. "Oh, I see. You didn't do it to help 'Lias. Youdid it to have him grateful to you. I see. Molly is such a little girl,it's no wonder she didn't really take in what you girls were up to." Shenodded her head wisely, as though now she understood.
But if she did, little Molly certainly did not. She had not the leastidea what everybody was talking about. She looked from one sober,downcast face to another rather anxiously. What was the matter?
Apparently nothing was really the matter, she decided, for after aminute's silence Miss Ann got up with entirely her usual face ofcheerful gravity, and said: "Don't you think you little girls ought totop off this last afternoon with a tea-party? There's a new batch ofcookies, and you can make yourselves some lemonade if you want to."
They had these refreshments out on the porch, in the sunshine, withtheir dolls for guests and a great deal of chatter for sauce. Nobodysaid another word about how to give the clothes to 'Lias, till, just asthe girls were going away, Betsy said, walking along with the two olderones, "Say, don't you think it'd be fun to go some evening after darkand leave the clothes on 'Lias's doorstep, and knock and run away quickbefore anybody comes to the door?" She spoke in an uncertain voice andsmoothed Deborah's carved wooden curls.
"Yes, I do!" said Ellen, not looking at Betsy but down at the weeds bythe road. "I think it would be lots of fun!"
Little Molly, playing with Annie and Eliza, did not hear this; but shewas allowed to go with the older girls on the great expedition.
It was a warm, dark evening in late May, with the frogs piping theirsweet, high note, and the first of the fireflies wheeling over the wetmeadows near the tumble-down house where 'Lias lived. The girls tookturns in carrying the big paper-wrapped bundle, and stole along in theshadow of the trees, full of excitement, looking over their shoulders atnothing and pressing their hands over their mouths to keep back thegiggles. There was, of course, no reason on earth why they shouldgiggle, which is, of course, the very reason why they did. If you'veever been a little girl you know about that.
One window of the small house was dimly lighted, they found, when theycame in sight of it, and they thrilled with excitement and joyful alarm.Suppose 'Lias's dreadful stepfather should come out and yell at them!They came forward on tiptoe, making a great deal of noise by stepping ontwigs, rustling bushes, crackling gravel under their feet and doing allthe other things that make such a noise at night and never do in thedaytime. But nobody stirred inside the room with the lighted window.They crept forward and peeped cautiously inside ... and stopped giggling.The dim light coming from a little kerosene lamp with a smoky chimneyfell on a dismal, cluttered room, a bare, greasy wooden table, and twobroken-backed chairs, with little 'Lias in one of them. He had fallenasleep with his head on his arms, his pinched, dirty, sad little figureshowing in the light from the lamp. His feet dangled high above thefloor in their broken, muddy shoes. One sleeve was torn to the shoulder.A piece of dry bread had slipped from his bony little hand and a tindipper stood beside him on the bare table. Nobody else was in the room,nor evidently in the darkened, empty, fireless house.
He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms.]
As long as she lives Betsy will never forget what she saw that nightthrough that window. Her eyes grew very hot and her hands very cold. Herheart thumped hard. She reached for little Molly and gave her a greathug in the darkness. Suppose it were little Molly asleep there, allalone in the dirty, dismal house, with no supper and nobody to put herto bed. She found that Ellen, next her, was crying quietly into thecorner of her apron.
Nobody said a word. Stashie, who had the bundle, walked around soberlyto the front door, put it down, and knocked loudly. They all darted awaynoiselessly to the road, to the shadow of the trees, and waited untilthe door opened. A square of yellow light appeared, with 'Lias's figure,very small, at the bottom of it. They saw him stoop and pick up thebundle and go back into the house. Then they went quickly and silentlyback, separating at the cross-roads with no good-night greetings.
Molly and Betsy began to climb the hill to Putney Farm. It was a verywarm night for May, and little Molly began to puff for breath. "Let'ssit down on this rock awhile and rest," she said.
They were half-way up the hill now. From the rock they could see thelights in the farmhouses scattered along the valley road and on the sideof the mountain opposite them, like big stars fallen from the multitudeabove. Betsy lay down on the rock and looked up at the stars. After asilence little Molly's chirping voice said, "Oh, I thought you said wewere going to march up to 'Lias in school and give him his clothes. Didyou forget about that?"
Betsy gave a wriggle of shame as she remembered that plan. "No, wedidn't forget it," she said. "We thought this would be a better way."
"But how'll 'Lias know who to thank?" asked Molly.
"That's no matter," said Betsy. Yes, it was Elizabeth-Ann-that-was whosaid that. And meant it, too. She was not even thinking of what she wassaying. Between her and the stars, thick over her in the black, softsky, she saw again that dirty, disordered room and the little boy, allalone, asleep with a piece of dry bread in his bony little fingers.
She looked hard and long at that picture, all the time seeing the quietstars through it. And then she turned over and hid her face on the rock.She had said her "Now I lay me" every night since she could remember,but she had never prayed till she lay there with her face on the rock,saying over and over, "Oh, God, please, please, PLEASE make Mr. Pondadopt 'Lias."