Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher (iphone ebook reader .TXT) đź“–
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decided that Betsy should celebrate her birthday by going up to
Woodford, where the Fair was held. The Putneys weren’t going that year,
but the people on the next farm, the Wendells, said they could make room
in their surrey for the two little girls; for, of course, Molly was
going, too. In fact, she said the Fair was held partly to celebrate her
being six years old. This would happen on the seventeenth of October.
Molly insisted that that was PLENTY close enough to the ninth of
September to be celebrated then. This made Betsy feel like laughing out,
but observing that the Putneys only looked at each other with the
faintest possible quirk in the corners of their serious mouths, she
understood that they were afraid that Molly’s feelings might be hurt if
they laughed out loud. So Betsy tried to curve her young lips to the
same kind and secret mirth.
And, I can’t tell you why, this effort not to hurt Molly’s feelings made
her have a perfect spasm of love for Molly. She threw herself on her and
gave her a great hug that tipped them both over on the couch on top of
Shep, who stopped snoring with his great gurgling snort, wriggled out
from under them, and stood with laughing eyes and wagging tail, looking
at them as they rolled and giggled among the pillows.
“What dress are you going to wear to the Fair, Betsy?” asked Cousin Ann.
“And we must decide about Molly’s, too.”
This stopped their rough-and-tumble fun in short order, and they applied
themselves to the serious question of a toilet.
When the great day arrived and the surrey drove away from the Wendells’
gate, Betsy was in a fresh pink-and-white gingham which she had helped
Cousin Ann make, and plump Molly looked like something good to eat in a
crisp white little dimity, one of Betsy’s old dresses, with a deep hem
taken in to make it short enough for the little butter-ball. Because it
was Betsy’s birthday, she sat on the front seat with Mr. Wendell, and
part of the time, when there were not too many teams on the road, she
drove, herself. Mrs. Wendell and her sister filled the back seat solidly
full from side to side and made one continuous soft lap on which Molly
happily perched, her eyes shining, her round cheeks red with joyful
excitement. Betsy looked back at her several times and thought how very
nice Molly looked. She had, of course, little idea how she herself
looked, because the mirrors at Putney Farm were all small and high up,
and anyhow they were so old and greenish that they made everybody look
very queer-colored. You looked in them to see if your hair was smooth,
and that was about all you could stand.
So it was a great surprise to Betsy later in the morning, as she and
Molly wandered hand in hand through the wonders of Industrial Hall, to
catch sight of Molly in a full-length mirror as clear as water. She was
almost startled to see how faithfully reflected were the yellow of the
little girl’s curls, the clear pink and white of her face, and the blue
of her soft eyes. An older girl was reflected there also, near Molly, a
dark-eyed, red-cheeked, sturdy little girl, standing very straight on
two strong legs, holding her head high and free, her dark eyes looking
out brightly from her tanned face. For an instant Betsy gazed into those
clear eyes and then … why, gracious goodness! That was herself she was
looking at! How changed she was! How very, very different she looked
from the last time she had seen herself in a big mirror! She remembered
it well—out shopping with Aunt Frances in a department store, she had
caught sight of a pale little girl, with a thin neck, and spindling legs
half-hidden in the folds of Aunt Frances’s skirts. But she didn’t look
even like the sister of this browned, muscular, upstanding child who
held Molly’s hand so firmly.
All this came into her mind and went out again in a moment, for Molly
caught sight of a big doll in the next aisle and they hurried over to
inspect her clothing. The mirror was forgotten in the many exciting
sights and sounds and smells of their first county fair.
The two little girls were to wander about as they pleased until noon,
when they were to meet the Wendells in the shadow of Industrial Hall and
eat their picnic lunch together. The two parties arrived together from
different directions, having seen very different sides of the Fair. The
children were full of the merry-go-rounds, the balloon-seller, the toy-venders, and the pop-corn stands, while the Wendells exchanged views on
the shortness of a hog’s legs, the dip in a cow’s back, and the
thickness of a sheep’s wool. The Wendells, it seemed, had met some
cousins they didn’t expect to see, who, not knowing about Betsy and
Molly, had hoped that they might ride home with the Wendells.
“Don’t you suppose,” Mrs. Wendell asked Betsy, “that you and Molly could
go home with the Vaughans? They’re here in their big wagon. You could
sit on the floor with the Vaughan children.”
Betsy and Molly thought this would be great fun, and agreed
enthusiastically.
“All right then,” said Mrs. Wendell. She called to a young man who stood
inside the building, near an open window: “Oh, Frank, Will Vaughan is
going to be in your booth this afternoon, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the young man. “His turn is from two to four.”
“Well, you tell him, will you, that the two little girls who live at
Putney Farm are going to go home with them. They can sit on the bottom
of the wagon with the Vaughan young ones.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said the young man, with a noticeable lack of interest in
how Betsy and Molly got home.
“Now, Betsy,” said Mrs. Wendell, “you go round to that booth at two and
ask Will Vaughan what time they’re going to start and where their wagon
is, and then you be sure not to keep them waiting a minute.”
“No, I won’t,” said Betsy. “I’ll be sure to be there on time.”
She and Molly still had twenty cents to spend out of the forty they had
brought with them, twenty-five earned by berry-picking and fifteen a
present from Uncle Henry. They now put their heads together to see how
they could make the best possible use of their four nickels. Cousin Ann
had put no restrictions whatever on them, saying they could buy any sort
of truck or rubbish they could find, except the pink lemonade. She said
she had been told the venders washed their glasses in that, and their
hands, and for all she knew their faces. Betsy was for merry-go-rounds,
but Molly yearned for a big red balloon; and while they were buying that
a man came by with toy dogs, little brown dogs with curled-wire tails.
He called out that they would bark when you pulled their tails, and
seeing the little girls looking at him he pulled the tail of the one he
held. It gave forth a fine loud yelp, just like Shep when his tail got
stepped on. Betsy bought one, all done up neatly in a box tied with blue
string. She thought it a great bargain to get a dog who would bark for
five cents. (Later on, when they undid the string and opened the box,
they found the dog had one leg broken off and wouldn’t make the faintest
squeak when his tail was pulled; but that is the sort of thing you must
expect to have happen to you at a county fair.)
Now they had ten cents left and they decided to have a ride apiece on
the merry-go-round. But, glancing up at the clock-face in the tower over
Agricultural Hall, Betsy noticed it was half-past two and she decided to
go first to the booth where Will Vaughan was to be and find out what
time they would start for home. She found the booth with no difficulty,
but William Vaughan was not in it. Nor was the young man she had seen
before. There was a new one, a strange one, a careless, whistling young
man, with very bright socks, very yellow shoes, and very striped cuffs.
He said, in answer to Betsy’s inquiry: “Vaughan? Will Vaughan? Never
heard the name,” and immediately went on whistling and looking up and
down the aisle over the heads of the little girls, who stood gazing up
at him with very wide, startled eyes. An older man leaned over from the
next booth and said: “Will Vaughan? He from Hillsboro? Well, I heard
somebody say those Hillsboro Vaughans had word one of their cows was
awful sick, and they had to start right home that minute.”
Betsy came to herself out of her momentary daze and snatched Molly’s
hand. “Hurry! quick! We must find the Wendells before they get away!” In
her agitation (for she was really very much frightened) she forgot how
easily terrified little Molly was. Her alarm instantly sent the child
into a panic. “Oh, Betsy! Betsy! What will we do!” she gasped, as Betsy
pulled her along the aisle and out of the door.
“Oh, the Wendells can’t be gone yet,” said Betsy reassuringly, though
she was not at all sure she was telling the truth. She ran as fast as
she could drag Molly’s fat legs, to the horse-shed where Mr. Wendell had
tied his horses and left the surrey. The horse-shed was empty, quite
empty.
Betsy stopped short and stood still, her heart seeming to be up in her
throat so that she could hardly breathe. After all, she was only ten
that day, you must remember. Molly began to cry loudly, hiding her
weeping face in Betsy’s dress. “What will we do, Betsy! What can we DO!”
she wailed.
Betsy did not answer. She did not know what they WOULD do! They were
eight miles from Putney Farm, far too much for Molly to walk, and anyhow
neither of them knew the way. They had only ten cents left, and nothing
to eat. And the only people they knew in all that throng of strangers
had gone back to Hillsboro.
“What will we do, Betsy?” Molly kept on crying out, horrified by Betsy’s
silence and evident consternation.
The other child’s head swam. She tried again the formula which had
helped her when Molly fell into the Wolf Pit, and asked herself,
desperately, “What would Cousin Ann do if she were here!” But that did
not help her much now, because she could not possibly imagine what
Cousin Ann would do under such appalling circumstances. Yes, one thing
Cousin Ann would be sure to do, of course; she would quiet Molly first
of all.
At this thought Betsy sat down on the ground and took the panic-stricken
little girl into her lap, wiping away the tears and saying, stoutly,
“Now, Molly, stop crying this minute. I’ll take care of you, of course.
I’ll get you home all right.”
“How’ll you ever do it?” sobbed Molly.
“Everybody’s gone and left us. We can’t walk!”
“Never you mind how,” said Betsy, trying to be facetious and mock-mysterious, though her own under lip was quivering a little. “That’s my
surprise party for you. Just you wait. Now come on back to that booth.
Maybe Will Vaughan didn’t go home with his folks.”
She had very little hope of this, and only went back there because it
seemed to her a little less dauntingly strange than every other spot in
the
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