Betty's Battles Part 13

"No, indeed; we read about Dorcas, and the poor widows, and their coats, in the Bible itself. Now, why don't you two girls invite two or three of your school friends in one afternoon, and pretend to be Dorcas and her neighbours? I'll be Dorcas, if you like, and we'll make little garments for poor widows and fatherless children, and chat together, just as Dorcas and her friends did, hundreds and hundreds of years ago."

"Who'll be the widows?" asked Jennie, much interested.

"Oh, real widows and orphans; just like those Dorcas worked for. Then, perhaps, we could have tea out of doors, and I'll mix some of those nice buns which Grannie showed me how to make. We would drink our tea out of mugs, because, in the days when Dorcas lived, no one had cups and saucers."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" cry the girls. "Who shall we ask to come, Betty?" adds Jennie alone.

"Anyone you like--that is, any nice girl."

"Millie and Ida Davis are both nice as nice. Then there's Flo----"

"We mustn't have too many at first. Suppose we each invite one friend? I choose Minnie White for mine."

"Oh, Minnie White's always so prim and proper; just because she's an Army girl; not a bit of fun in her."

"You're quite wrong, Jennie. Minnie is as full of real fun as she can be. She doesn't like rough ways, and senseless jokes; but I only wish you looked one-half as happy as she does! Well, dears, choose the best and most unselfish girls you know; this is to be a very special kind of meeting, you see."

"Oh, of course; _we_ don't want any nasty, horrid girls like Kitty and Lena!"

"Now, Jennie, do you think that Dorcas would _ever_ have been put in the Bible, if she had talked like that about her friends? Why, girls, you'll spoil the whole thing if you don't try to be like her! You're going to copy her, aren't you?"

"Course we are!" a.s.sents Pollie.

Betty mixes the cakes that very evening. She is not a good cook--does not like cooking, in fact; but somehow she is feeling very happy.

"The cakes must be as nice as I can make them. Ah! I must be sure to take a peep to-night into that book of father's, about G.o.d's brave Soldiers, in the far-off days when Dorcas really lived; then I shall be able to talk about it all to the girls to-morrow and interest them.

"If I could only help Jennie and Pollie to understand; if I could really bring them nearer to the Lord; Oh, what a happy, what a truly blessed thing that would be!"

The next afternoon is hot again, but there is shade in the dingy garden.

A semicircle of chairs has been arranged, and Jennie and Pollie, looking unusually clean and tidy, with sweet-faced Minnie White, and Millie and Ida Davis, are industriously st.i.tching away. It is a critical moment, for "Dorcas," that is, Betty, has just left them alone.

"What horrid clumsy st.i.tches you are putting in that handkerchief, Pollie," cries Jennie.

"They're quite as good as yours!" snaps Pollie.

"They're not!"

"They are! I'm sure they are!"

"Oh, dear, please don't!" pleads little Minnie White. "Jennie's st.i.tches are the best, but then Pollie's are quite as good for her age. And we must all be very loving and kind, mustn't we? or we shouldn't be the least bit like Dorcas and her friends."

Wise Betty to include little Minnie in her first back-yard meeting!

"Oh, look, here's Betty, I mean Dorcas, with the tea! How good the cakes smell--how thirsty I am! Oh, isn't it just lovely to have it out here?"

cry the girls.

And Jennie and Pollie clap their hands too, and are as happy as the rest.

CHAPTER X

A QUARREL

"It has been much easier than I thought," says Betty to herself, a week or two after her first back-yard meeting. The fourth has just been held, and the girls have taken to it wonderfully.

"Jennie and Pollie are improving steadily. How blind I have been! They were naughty and rough just for want of some interest in life--for the need of something to do. Jennie has hemmed two little pinafores already, and Pollie one; and the other girls have all done well--especially Minnie White. Ah, Minnie is a darling, a true Junior Soldier! Her example is just splendid for my sisters, and I am glad to see they are getting quite fond of her. This was a good idea of mine. I must tell Captain Scott about it. How pleased she will be! I really am managing much better. I really am beginning to make home happy and nice. What's that? Seven o'clock, and the accounts not touched yet! Mr. Duncan does work me hard. Oh, how glad I shall be when dear father comes home again!

His leg is really getting stronger now, that's one comfort. What a grand day it will be when he leaves the hospital!"

Betty opens the account-books, and sighs as she looks down the long columns of figures.

"I only wish Bob would help me as he did at first. Where does he spend his evenings? I must say I do think it selfish of him to be from home so much, considering everything. Why, I believe that's his knock now!

Perhaps he means to help me this evening, after all."

And she runs to open the door.

"O Bob, do come and look over the accounts!" she begins; then, catching sight of a long black case in his hand, "Why, Bob, what have you there?"

"Violin," says Bob, briefly, but with an air of great importance.

"A violin! Dear me, what use can that be to you?"

"I can learn to play like other people, I suppose?" answers Bob, tartly.

"There, I haven't time to stand chattering! I am to try this violin to-night, and let the fellow it belongs to know if it suits me."

"Let what fellow know? O Bob, you surely haven't promised to _buy_ that old fiddle?"

"Old fiddle, indeed! Mind your own business, miss, and leave me to mind mine!"

"I've enough to do, that's certain; and I suppose now you don't mean to help me with the accounts one bit?"

Bob only replies to this with a kind of grunt, and turns into the little front parlour, where the family generally sit now that the weather has grown so much hotter.

Betty follows, and sits down wearily to the account-books. Bob is evidently in an unreasonable frame of mind. Where did he get that violin? Has he promised to pay for it? If so, how will he obtain the money?

Meantime, Bob unrolls a sheet of music, marked, "Exercises for the Violin," props it upright on the table with the help of a few books, draws the violin and bow from the case, and places the instrument in position under his chin with what he considers quite a professional air.

Then he takes up the bow and draws it lightly across the strings.

A horrible squeak is the result. Bob looks rather blank; Betty shudders.

She has a keen ear for music, and such a discord gives her real pain.

"Out of tune," mutters Bob, and he screws up one of the little pegs to tighten the string; then he tries again. Another squeak, louder and more utterly jarring than before.

He repeats this process several times. Betty is tired and worried; she endures in silence for awhile, but suddenly her patience gives way altogether.

"Bob, what _are_ you trying to do?" she cries sharply.