Understood Betsy - Dorothy Canfield Fisher (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗

twelfth. So it was

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