Understood Betsy Read online

  CHAPTER III

  A SHORT MORNING

  Aunt Abigail was gone, Eleanor was gone. The room was quite empty exceptfor the bright sunshine pouring in through the small-paned windows.Elizabeth Ann stretched and yawned and looked about her. What funnywall-paper it was--so old-fashioned looking! The picture was of a blueriver and a brown mill, with green willow-trees over it, and a man withsacks on his horse's back stood in front of the mill. This picture wasrepeated a great many times, all over the paper; and in the corner,where it hadn't come out even, they had had to cut it right down themiddle of the horse. It was very curious-looking. She stared at it along time, waiting for somebody to tell her when to get up. At home AuntFrances always told her, and helped her get dressed. But here nobodycame. She discovered that the heat came from a hole in the floor nearthe bed, which opened down into the room below. From it came a warmbreath of baking bread and a muffled thump once in a while.

  The sun rose higher and higher, and Elizabeth Ann grew hungrier andhungrier. Finally it occurred to her that it was not absolutelynecessary to have somebody tell her to get up. She reached for herclothes and began to dress. When she had finished she went out into thehall, and with a return of her aggrieved, abandoned feeling (you mustremember that her stomach was very empty) she began to try to find herway downstairs. She soon found the steps, went down them one at a time,and pushed open the door at the foot. Cousin Ann, the brown-haired one,was ironing near the stove. She nodded and smiled as the child came intothe room, and said, "Well, you must feel rested!"

  "Oh, I haven't been asleep!" explained Elizabeth Ann. "I was waiting forsomebody to tell me to get up."

  "Oh," said Cousin Ann, opening her black eyes a little. "WERE you?" Shesaid no more than this, but Elizabeth Ann decided hastily that she wouldnot add, as she had been about to, that she was also waiting forsomebody to help her dress and do her hair. As a matter of fact, she hadgreatly enjoyed doing her own hair--the first time she had ever triedit. It had never occurred to Aunt Frances that her little baby-girl hadgrown up enough to be her own hairdresser, nor had it occurred toElizabeth Ann that this might be possible. But as she struggled with thesnarls she had had a sudden wild idea of doing it a different way fromthe pretty fashion Aunt Frances always followed. Elizabeth Ann hadalways secretly envied a girl in her class whose hair was all tied backfrom her face, with one big knot in her ribbon at the back of her neck.It looked so grown-up. And this morning she had done hers that way,turning her neck till it ached, so that she could see the coveted tighteffect at the back. And still--aren't little girls queer?--although shehad enjoyed doing her own hair, she was very much inclined to feel hurtbecause Cousin Ann had not come to do it for her.

  She had greatly enjoyed doing her own hair.]

  Cousin Ann set her iron down with the soft thump which Elizabeth Ann hadheard upstairs. She began folding a napkin, and said: "Now reachyourself a bowl off the shelf yonder. The oatmeal's in that kettle onthe stove and the milk is in the blue pitcher. If you want a piece ofbread and butter, here's a new loaf just out of the oven, and thebutter's in that brown crock."

  Elizabeth Ann followed these instructions and sat down before thisquickly assembled breakfast in a very much surprised silence. At home ittook the girl more than half an hour to get breakfast and set the table,and then she had to wait on them besides. She began to pour the milk outof the pitcher and stopped suddenly. "Oh, I'm afraid I've taken morethan my share!" she said apologetically.

  Cousin Ann looked up from her rapidly moving iron, and said, in anastonished voice: "Your share? What do you mean?"

  "My share of the quart," explained Elizabeth Ann. At home they bought aquart of milk and a cup of cream every day, and they were all veryconscientious about not taking more than their due share.

  "Good land, child, take all the MILK you want!" said Cousin Ann, asthough she found something shocking in what the little girl had justsaid. Elizabeth Ann thought to herself that she spoke as though milk ranout of a faucet, like water.

  She was very fond of milk, and she made a very good breakfast as she satlooking about the low-ceilinged room. It was unlike any room she hadever seen.

  It was, of course, the kitchen, and yet it didn't seem possible that thesame word could be applied to that room and the small, dark cubby-holewhich had been Grace's asthmatical kingdom. This room was very long andnarrow, and all along one side were windows with white, ruffled curtainsdrawn back at the sides, and with small, shining panes of glass, throughwhich the sun poured a golden flood of light on a long shelf of pottedplants that took the place of a window-sill. The shelf was covered withshining white oil-cloth, the pots were of clean reddish brown, thesturdy, stocky plants of bright green with clear red-and-white flowers.Elizabeth Ann's eyes wandered all over the kitchen from the low, whiteceiling to the clean, bare wooden floor, but they always came back tothose sunny windows. Once, back in the big brick school-building, as shehad sat drooping her thin shoulders over her desk, some sort of aprocession had gone by with a brass band playing a lively air. For somequeer reason, every time she now glanced at that sheet of sunlight andthe bright flowers she had a little of the same thrill which hadstraightened her back and gone up and down her spine while the band wasplaying. Possibly Aunt Frances was right, after all, and Elizabeth AnnWAS a very impressionable child. I wonder, by the way, if anybody eversaw a child who wasn't.

  At one end, the end where Cousin Ann was ironing, stood the kitchenstove, gleaming black, with a tea-kettle humming away on it, a bighot-water boiler near it, and a large kitchen cabinet with lots ofdrawers and shelves and hooks and things. Beyond that, in the middle ofthe room, was the table where they had had supper last night, and atwhich the little girl now sat eating her very late breakfast; and beyondthat, at the other end of the room, was another table with an olddark-red cashmere shawl on it for a cover. A large lamp stood in themiddle of this, a bookcase near it, two or three rocking-chairs aroundit, and back of it, against the wall, was a wide sofa covered withbright cretonne, with three bright pillows. Something big and black andwoolly was lying on this sofa, snoring loudly. As Cousin Ann saw thelittle girl's fearful glance alight on this she explained: "That's Step,our old dog. Doesn't he make an awful noise! Mother says, when shehappens to be alone here in the evening, it's real company to hear Shepsnore--as good as having a man in the house."

  Although this did not seem at all a sensible remark to Elizabeth Ann,who thought soberly to herself that she didn't see why snoring made adog as good as a man, still she was acute enough (for she was reallyquite an intelligent little girl) to feel that it belonged in the sameclass of remarks as one or two others she had noted as "queer" in thetalk at Putney Farm last night. This variety of talk was entirely new toher, nobody in Aunt Harriet's conscientious household ever makinganything but plain statements of fact. It was one of the "queer Putneyways" which Aunt Harriet had forgotten to mention. It is possible thatAunt Harriet had never noticed it.

  When Elizabeth Ann finished her breakfast, Cousin Ann made threesuggestions, using exactly the same accent for them all. She said:"Wouldn't you better wash your dishes up now before they get sticky? Anddon't you want one of those red apples from the dish on the side table?And then maybe you'd like to look around the house so's to know whereyou are." Elizabeth Ann had never washed a dish in all her life, and shehad always thought that nobody but poor, ignorant people, who couldn'tafford to hire girls, did such things. And yet (it was odd) she did notfeel like saying this to Cousin Ann, who stood there so straight in hergingham dress and apron, with her clear, bright eyes and red cheeks.Besides this feeling, Elizabeth Ann was overcome with embarrassment atthe idea of undertaking a new task in that casual way. How in the worldDID you wash dishes? She stood rooted to the spot, irresolute, horriblyshy, and looking, though she did not know it, very clouded and sullen.Cousin Ann said briskly, holding an iron up to her cheek to see if itwas hot enough: "Just take them over to the sink there and hold themunder the hot-water faucet. They'll be clean in no time
. The dish-towelsare those hanging on the rack over the stove."

  Elizabeth Ann moved promptly over to the sink, as though Cousin Ann'swords had shoved her there, and before she knew it, her saucer, cup, andspoon were clean and she was wiping them on a dry checked towel. "Thespoon goes in the side-table drawer with the other silver, and thesaucer and cup in those shelves there behind the glass doors where thechina belongs," continued Cousin Ann, thumping hard with her iron on anapkin and not looking up at all, "and don't forget your apple as you goout. Those Northern Spies are just getting to be good about now. Whenthey first come off the tree in October you could shoot them through anoak plank."

  Now Elizabeth Ann knew that this was a foolish thing to say, since ofcourse an apple never could go through a board; but something that hadalways been sound asleep in her brain woke up a little, little bit andopened one eye. For it occurred dimly to Elizabeth Ann that this was arather funny way of saying that Northern Spies were very hard when youfirst pick them in the autumn. She had to figure it out for herself veryslowly, because it was a new idea to her, and she was half-way throughher tour of inspection of the house before there glimmered on her lips,in a faint smile, the first recognition of humor in all her life. Shefelt a momentary impulse to call down to Cousin Ann that she saw thepoint, but before she had taken a single step toward the head of thestairs she had decided not to do this. Cousin Ann, with her bright, darkeyes, and her straight back, and her long arms, and her way of speakingas though it never occurred to her that you wouldn't do just as shesaid--Elizabeth Ann was not very sure that she liked Cousin Ann, and shewas very sure that she was afraid of her.

  So she went on, walking from one room to another, industriously eatingthe red apple, the biggest she had ever seen. It was the best, too, withits crisp, white flesh and the delicious, sour-sweet juice which madeElizabeth Ann feel with each mouthful like hurrying to take another. Shedid not think much more of the other rooms in the house than she had ofthe kitchen. There were no draped "throws" over anything; there were nolace curtains at the windows, just dotted Swiss like the kitchen; allthe ceilings were very low; the furniture was all of dark wood and veryold-looking; what few rugs there were were of bright-colored rags; themirrors were queer and old, with funny old pictures at the top; therewasn't a brass bed in any of the bedrooms, just old wooden ones withposts, and curtains round the tops; and there was not a single plushportiere in the parlor, whereas at Aunt Harriet's there had been twosets for that one room.

  She was relieved at the absence of a piano and secretly rejoiced thatshe would not need to practice. In her heart she had not liked her musiclessons at all, but she had never dreamed of not accepting them fromAunt Frances as she accepted everything else. Also she had liked to hearAunt Frances boast about how much better she could play than otherchildren of her age.

  She was downstairs by this time, and, opening a door out of the parlor,found herself back in the kitchen, the long line of sunny windows andthe bright flowers giving her that quick little thrill again. Cousin Annlooked up from her ironing, nodded, and said: "All through? You'd bettercome in and get warmed up. Those rooms get awfully cold these Januarydays. Winters we mostly use this room so's to get the good of thekitchen stove." She added after a moment, during which Elizabeth Annstood by the stove, warming her hands: "There's one place you haven'tseen yet--the milk-room. Mother's down there now, churning. That's thedoor--the middle one."

  Elizabeth Ann had been wondering and wondering where in the world AuntAbigail was. So she stepped quickly to the door, and went dawn the colddark stairs she found there. At the bottom was a door, lockedapparently, for she could find no fastening. She heard steps inside, thedoor was briskly cast open, and she almost fell into the arms of AuntAbigail, who caught her as she stumbled forward, saying: "Well, I'vebeen expectin' you down here for a long time. I never saw a little girlyet who didn't like to watch butter-making. Don't you love to run thebutter-worker over it? I do, myself, for all I'm seventy-two!"

  "I don't know anything about it," said Elizabeth Ann. "I don't know whatyou make butter out of. We always bought ours."

  "Well, FOR GOODNESS' SAKES!" said Aunt Abigail. She turned and calledacross the room, "Henry, did you ever! Here's Betsy saying she don'tknow what we make butter out of! She actually never saw anybody makingbutter!"

  Uncle Henry was sitting down, near the window, turning the handle to asmall barrel swung between two uprights. He stopped for a moment andconsidered Aunt Abigail's remark with the same serious attention he hadgiven to Elizabeth Ann's discovery about left and right. Then he beganto turn the churn over and over again and said, peaceably: "Well,Mother, you never saw anybody laying asphalt pavement, I'll warrant you!And I suppose Betsy knows all about that."

  Elizabeth Ann's spirits rose. She felt very superior indeed. "Oh, yes,"she assured them, "I know ALL about that! Didn't you ever see anybodydoing that? Why, I've seen them HUNDREDS of times! Every day as we wentto school they were doing over the whole pavement for blocks alongthere."

  Aunt Abigail and Uncle Henry looked at her with interest, and AuntAbigail said: "Well, now, think of that! Tell us all about it!"

  "Why, there's a big black sort of wagon," began Elizabeth Ann, "and theyrun it up and down and pour out the black stuff on the road. And that'sall there is to it." She stopped, rather abruptly, looking uneasy. UncleHenry inquired: "Now there's one thing I've always wanted to know. Howdo they keep that stuff from hardening on them? How do they keep ithot?"

  The little girl looked blank. "Why, a fire, I suppose," she faltered,searching her memory desperately and finding there only a dimrecollection of a red glow somewhere connected with the familiar sceneat which she had so often looked with unseeing eyes.

  "Of course a fire," agreed Uncle Henry. "But what do they burn in it,coke or coal or wood or charcoal? And how do they get any draft to keepit going?"

  Elizabeth Ann shook her head. "I never noticed," she said.

  Aunt Abigail asked her now, "What do they do to the road before theypour it on?"

  "Do?" said Elizabeth Ann. "I didn't know they did anything."

  "Well, they can't pour it right on a dirt road, can they?" asked AuntAbigail. "Don't they put down cracked stone or something?"

  Elizabeth Ann looked down at her toes. "I never noticed," she said.

  "I wonder how long it takes for it to harden?" said Uncle Henry.

  "I never noticed," said Elizabeth Ann, in a small voice.

  Uncle Henry said, "Oh!" and stopped asking questions. Aunt Abigailturned away and put a stick of wood in the stove. Elizabeth Ann did notfeel very superior now, and when Aunt Abigail said, "Now the butter'sbeginning to come. Don't you want to watch and see everything I do, so'syou can answer if anybody asks you how butter is made?" Elizabeth Annunderstood perfectly what was in Aunt's Abigail's mind, and gave to theprocess of butter-making a more alert and aroused attention than she hadever before given to anything. It was so interesting, too, that in notime she forgot why she was watching, and was absorbed in thefascinations of the dairy for their own sake.

  She looked in the churn as Aunt Abigail unscrewed the top, and saw thethick, sour cream separating into buttermilk and tiny golden particles."It's gathering," said Aunt Abigail, screwing the lid back on."Father'll churn it a little more till it really comes. And you and Iwill scald the wooden butter things and get everything ready. You'dbetter take that apron there to keep your dress clean."

  Wouldn't Aunt Frances have been astonished if she could have looked inon Elizabeth Ann that very first morning of her stay at the hatefulPutney Farm and have seen her wrapped in a gingham apron, her facebright with interest, trotting here and there in the stone-flooredmilk-room! She was allowed the excitement of pulling out the plug fromthe bottom of the churn, and dodged back hastily to escape the gush ofbuttermilk spouting into the pail held by Aunt Abigail. And she pouredthe water in to wash the butter, and screwed on the top herself, and,again all herself (for Uncle Henry had gone off as soon as the butterhad "come"), swung
the barrel back and forth six or seven times to swishthe water all through the particles of butter. She even helped AuntAbigail scoop out the great yellow lumps--her imagination had neverconceived of so much butter in all the world! Then Aunt Abigail let herrun the curiously shaped wooden butter-worker back and forth over thebutter, squeezing out the water, and then pile it up again with herwooden paddle into a mound of gold. She weighed out the salt needed onthe scales, and was very much surprised to find that there really issuch a thing as an ounce. She had never met it before outside the pagesof her arithmetic book and she didn't know it lived anywhere else.

  After the salt was worked in she watched Aunt Abigail's deft, wrinkledold hands make pats and rolls. It looked like the greatest fun, and tooeasy for anything; and when Aunt Abigail asked her if she wouldn't liketo make up the last half-pound into a pat for dinner, she took up thewooden paddle confidently. And then she got one of the surprises thatPutney Farm seemed to have for her. She discovered that her hands didn'tseem to belong to her at all, that her fingers were all thumbs, that shedidn't seem to know in the least beforehand how hard a stroke she wasgoing to give nor which way her fingers were going to go. It was, as amatter of fact, the first time Elizabeth Ann had tried to do anythingwith her hands except to write and figure and play on the piano, andnaturally she wasn't very well acquainted with them. She stopped indismay, looking at the shapeless, battered heap of butter before her andholding out her hands as though they were not part of her.

  Aunt Abigail laughed, took up the paddle, and after three or four passesthe butter was a smooth, yellow ball. "Well, that brings it all back tome!" she said? "when _I_ was a little girl, when my grandmother firstlet me try to make a pat. I was about five years old--my! what a mess Imade of it! And I remember? doesn't it seem funny--that SHE laughed andsaid her Great-aunt Elmira had taught her how to handle butter righthere in this very milk-room. Let's see, Grandmother was born the yearthe Declaration of Independence was signed. That's quite a while ago,isn't it? But butter hasn't changed much, I guess, nor little girlseither."

  Elizabeth Ann listened to this statement with a very queer, startledexpression on her face, as though she hadn't understood the words. Nowfor a moment she stood staring up in Aunt Abigail's face, and yet notseeing her at all, because she was thinking so hard. She was thinking!"Why! There were real people living when the Declaration of Independencewas signed--real people, not just history people--old women teachinglittle girls how to do things--right in this very room, on this veryfloor--and the Declaration of Independence just signed!"

  To tell the honest truth, although she had passed a very goodexamination in the little book on American history they had studied inschool, Elizabeth Ann had never to that moment had any notion that thereever had been really and truly any Declaration of Independence at all.It had been like the ounce, living exclusively inside her schoolbooksfor little girls to be examined about. And now here Aunt Abigail,talking about a butter-pat, had brought it to life!

  Of course all this only lasted a moment, because it was such a new idea!She soon lost track of what she was thinking of; she rubbed her eyes asthough she were coming out of a dream, she thought, confusedly: "Whatdid butter have to do with the Declaration of Independence? Nothing, ofcourse! It couldn't!" and the whole impression seemed to pass out of hermind. But it was an impression which was to come again and again duringthe next few months.