Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher (recommended ebook reader TXT) 📕

impatiently, to Cousin Ann, “Hand me that handkerchief, Ann!” And as she

blew her nose, she said, “Oh, what an old fool I am!”

Then, all of a sudden, it was as though a great, fresh breeze had blown

through the house. They all drew a long breath and began to talk loudly

and cheerfully about the weather and Aunt Frances’s trip and how Aunt

Harriet was and which room Aunt Frances was to have and would she leave

her wraps down in the hall or take them upstairs—and, in the midst of

this, Betsy, her heart ready to burst, dashed out of doors, followed by

Shep. She ran madly toward the barn. She did not know where she was

going. She only knew that she must run and jump and shout, or she would

explode.

Shep ran and jumped because Betsy did.

To these two wild creatures, careering through the air like bright-blown

autumn leaves, appeared little Molly in the barn door.

“Oh, I’m going to stay! I’m going to stay!” screamed Betsy.

But as Molly had not had any notion of the contrary, she only said, “Of

course, why not?” and went on to something really important, saying, in

a very much capitalized statement, “My kitten can WALK! It took THREE

STEPS just now.”

After Aunt Frances got her wraps off, Betsy took her for a tour of

inspection. They went all over the house first, with special emphasis

laid on the living-room. “Isn’t this the loveliest place?” said Betsy,

fervently, looking about her at the white curtains, the bright flowers,

the southern sunshine, the bookcases, and the bright cooking utensils.

It was all full to the brim to her eyes with happiness, and she forgot

entirely that she had thought it a very poor, common kind of room when

she had first seen it. Nor did she notice that Aunt Frances showed no

enthusiasm over it now.

She stopped for a few moments to wash some potatoes and put them into

the oven for dinner. Aunt Frances opened her eyes at this. “I always see

to the potatoes and the apples, the cooking of them, I mean,” explained

Betsy proudly. “I’ve just learned to make apple-pie and brown betty.”

Then down into the stone-floored milk-room, where Aunt Abigail was

working over butter, and where Betsy, swelling with pride, showed Aunt

Frances how deftly and smoothly she could manipulate the wooden paddle

and make rolls of butter that weighed within an ounce or two of a pound.

“Mercy, child! Think of your being able to do such things!” said Aunt

Frances, more and more astonished.

They went out of doors now, Shep bounding by their side. Betsy was

amazed to see that Aunt Frances drew back, quite nervously, whenever the

big dog frisked near her. Out in the barn Betsy had a disappointment.

Aunt Frances just balked absolutely at those ladder-like stairs—“Oh, I

COULDN’T! I couldn’t, dear. Do YOU go up there? Is it quite safe?”

“Why, AUNT ABIGAIL went up there to see the kittens!” cried Betsy, on

the edge of exasperation. But her heart softened at the sight of Aunt

Frances’s evident distress of mind at the very idea of climbing into the

loft, and she brought the kittens down for inspection, Eleanor mewing

anxiously at the top of the stairs.

On the way back to the house they had an adventure, a sort of adventure,

and it brought home to Betsy once for all how much she loved dear, sweet

Aunt Frances, and just what kind of love it was.

As they crossed the barnyard the calf approached them playfully, leaping

stiff-legged into the air, and making a pretense of butting at them with

its hornless young head.

Betsy and Shep often played with the calf in this way by the half-hour,

and she thought nothing of it now; hardly noticed it, in fact.

But Aunt Frances gave a loud, piercing shriek, as though she were being

cut into pieces. “Help! HELP!” she screamed. “Betsy! Oh, Betsy!”

She had turned as white as a sheet and could not take a single step

forward. “It’s nothing! It’s nothing!” said Betsy, rather impatiently.

“He’s just playing. We often play with him, Shep and I.”

The calf came a little nearer, with lowered head. “GET away!” said Betsy

indifferently, kicking at him.

At this hint of masterfulness on Betsy’s part, Aunt Frances cried out,

“Oh, yes, Betsy, DO make him go away! Do make him go away!”

It came over Betsy that Aunt Frances was really frightened, yes, really;

and all at once her impatience disappeared, never to come back again.

She felt toward Aunt Frances just as she did toward little Molly, and

she acted accordingly. She stepped in front of Aunt Frances, picked up a

stick, and hit the calf a blow on the neck with it. He moved away,

startled and injured, looking at his playfellow with reproachful eyes.

But Betsy was relentless. Aunt Frances must not be frightened!

“Here, Shep! Here, Shep!” she called loudly, and when the big dog came

bounding to her she pointed to the calf and said sternly, “Take him into

the barn! Drive him into the barn, sir!”

Shep asked nothing better than this command, and charged forward,

barking furiously and leaping into the air as though he intended to eat

the calf up alive. The two swept across the barnyard and into the lower

regions of the barn. In a moment Shep reappeared, his tongue hanging

out, his tail wagging, his eyes glistening, very proud of himself, and

mounted guard at the door.

Aunt Frances hurried along desperately through the gate of the barnyard.

As it fell to behind her she sank down on a rock, breathless, still pale

and agitated. Betsy threw her arms around her in a transport of

affection. She felt that she UNDERSTOOD Aunt Frances as nobody else

could, the dear, sweet, gentle, timid aunt! She took the thin, nervous

white fingers in her strong brown hands. “Oh, Aunt Frances, dear,

darling Aunt Frances!” she cried, “how I wish I could ALWAYS take care

of you.”

The last of the red and gold leaves were slowly drifting to the ground

as Betsy and Uncle Henry drove back from the station after seeing Aunt

Frances off. They were not silent this time, as when they had gone to

meet her. They were talking cheerfully together, laying their plans for

the winter which was so near. “I must begin to bank the house tomorrow,”

mused Uncle Henry. “And those apples have got to go to the cider-mill,

right off. Don’t you want to ride over on top of them, Betsy, and see

‘em made into cider?”

“Oh, my, yes!” said Betsy, “that will be fine! And I must put away

Deborah’s summer clothes and get Cousin Ann to help me make some warm

ones, if I’m going to take her to school in cold weather.”

As they drove into the yard, they saw Eleanor coming from the direction

of the barn with something big and heavy in her mouth. She held her head

as high as she could, but even so, her burden dragged on the ground,

bumping softly against the rough places on the path. “Look!” said Betsy.

“Just see that great rat Eleanor has caught!”

Uncle Henry squinted his old eyes toward the cat for a moment and

laughed. “We’re not the only ones that are getting ready for winter,” he

remarked.

Betsy did not know what he meant and climbed hastily over the wheel and

ran to see. As she approached Eleanor, the cat laid her burden down with

an air of relief and looked trustfully into her little mistress’s face.

Why, it was one of the kittens! Eleanor was bringing it to the house.

Oh, of course! they mustn’t stay out there in that cold hayloft now the

cold weather was drawing near. Betsy picked up the little sprawling

thing, trying with weak legs to get around over the rough ground. She

carried it carefully toward the house, Eleanor walking sinuously by her

side and “talking” in little singing, purring MIAUWS to explain her

ideas of kitten-comfort. Betsy felt that she quite understood her. “Yes,

Eleanor, a nice little basket behind the stove with a warm piece of an

old blanket in it. Yes, I’ll fix it for you. It’ll be lovely to have the

whole family there. And I’ll bring the other one in for you.”

But evidently Eleanor did not understand little-girl talk as well as

Betsy understood cat-talk, for a little later, as Betsy turned from the

nest she was making in the corner behind the stove, Eleanor was missing;

and when she ran out toward the barn she met her again, her head

strained painfully back, dragging another fat, heavy kitten, who curled

his pink feet up as high as he could in a vain effort not to have them

knock against the stones. “Now, Eleanor,” said Betsy, a little put out,

“you don’t trust me enough! I was going to get it all right!”

“Well,” said Aunt Abigail, as they came into the kitchen, “now you must

begin to teach them to drink.”

“Goodness!” said Betsy, “don’t they know how to drink already?”

“You try them and see,” said Aunt Abigail with a mysterious smile.

So when Uncle Henry brought the pails full of fragrant, warm milk into

the house, Betsy poured out some in a saucer and put the kittens up to

it. She and Molly squatted down on their heels to watch, and before long

they were laughing so that they were rolling on the kitchen floor. At

first the kittens looked every way but at the milk, seeming to see

everything but what was under their noses. Then Graykin (that was

Betsy’s) absent-mindedly walked right through the saucer, emerging with

very wet feet and a very much aggrieved and astonished expression. Molly

screamed with laughter to see him shake his little pink toes and finally

sit down seriously to lick them clean. Then White-bib (Molly’s) put his

head down to the saucer.

“There! Mine is smarter than yours!” said Molly. But White-bib went on

putting his head down, down, down, clear into the milk nearly up to his

eyes, although he looked very frightened and miserable. Then he jerked

it up quickly and sneezed and sneezed and sneezed, such deliriously

funny little baby sneezes! He pawed and pawed at his little pink nose

with his little pink paw until Eleanor took pity on him and came to wash

him off. In the midst of this process she saw the milk, and left off to

lap it up eagerly; and in a jiffy she had drunk every drop and was

licking the saucer loudly with her raspy tongue. And that was the end of

the kittens’ first lesson.

That evening, as they sat around the lamp, Eleanor came and got up in

Betsy’s lap just like old times. Betsy was playing checkers with Uncle

Henry and interrupted the game to welcome the cat back delightedly. But

Eleanor was uneasy, and kept stopping her toilet to prick up her ears

and look restlessly toward the basket, where the kittens lay curled so

closely together that they looked like one soft ball of gray fur. By and

by Eleanor jumped down heavily and went back to the basket. She stayed

there only a moment, standing over the kittens and licking them

convulsively, and then she came back and got up in Betsy’s lap again.

“What ails that cat?” said Cousin Ann, noting this pacing and

restlessness.

“Maybe she wants Betsy to hold her kittens, too,” suggested Aunt

Abigail.

“Oh, I’d love to!” said Betsy, spreading