BETTY LEE, FRESHMAN

By

HARRIET PYNE GROVE

THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.

Cleveland, Ohio –– New York City

Copyright, 1931

by

THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents



[CHAPTER I: BETTY LEE’S MOST MOVING ADVENTURE]

Betty Lee, aged almost fourteen, was dressing for travel. She both dreaded and anticipated the day and smiled at her reflection in the mirror as it looked at her with eyes as bright as stars, cheeks pink from excitement and lips a little apart. That was a pretty and becoming suit, “ducky,” her chum had called it. Now for the new hat, to be put on over short, sunny, wavy locks that didn’t have to have anything done to them to make them so. That again was what Janet Light said, pretending to be envious.

Betty’s hands trembled a little as she adjusted the hat. She could not help hurrying, though her aunt, Mrs. Royce, had told her to take her time now. “Don’t get all fussed and excited before you start,” Aunt Jo had said.

The twins, Dick and Doris, aged twelve, were already downstairs eating breakfast. Betty had helped Dick with his tie and rounded up several articles for Doris before she could finish her own toilet, but it was a comfort to be alone for a little.

From the bathroom came the sounds of splashing and the merry laugh of Amy Louise, the little four-year-old. With the promise of “going to see Mamma,” Amy Lou would let anybody do anything this morning, though she had been insisting upon Betty’s dressing her as a rule, in this trying interim.

The cause of all this early morning excitement was that Betty Lee’s family was moving from the home and town in which they had lived ever since Betty could remember. A new home was being established in the city where an unexpected business opportunity had developed for her father.

Mrs. Lee had hurried to join her husband as soon as the goods were ready to be moved by truck. She must give the final word about such locations as Mr. Lee was able to find. With breath-taking swiftness, it seemed to Betty, her old home had been stripped of its furniture and seemed like a different place. Temporary headquarters were made with Aunt Jo Royce, Mr. Lee’s sister, and at her home the children were staying in the absence of their mother.

But word had come by telegram. Mrs. Royce could not accompany them to the city. It was Betty’s responsibility to manage the most important transfer of all, that of the Lee children; and it loomed rather large to her, as she managed to swallow the soft-boiled egg, all fixed for her by Lucy Baxter, who lived with her aunt. But she wished that Lucy would not say again what she had said more than once already, with a mournful air.

“It’s just as well that your house ain’t sold yet, I say. Cities don’t always pan out, as I’ve told your ma. You remember when Mel Haswell went to Noo York, how quick he come back, don’t you?”

“Yes, Lucy,” Betty replied pleasantly, though she wished again that Lucy would not always appeal to somebody for the truth of her remarks. You had to say something. That was expected of you. As if her father were anything like Mel Haswell!

But Lucy’s cup of cocoa was just right and the toast was golden. Betty felt ashamed of her annoyance and told Lucy that she was a dear to get them such a good breakfast at that unearthly hour. “I ’spect we’ll be back in Buxton many times, Lucy. You may get tired of us.” Hurriedly she finished her breakfast, saying that she had “promised to stop for the girls;” and with rapid steps she ran upstairs again, to gather up her coat, umbrella and pocketbook, and to see if the last articles were packed.

“Run along, Betty,” said Aunt Jo, as Betty ran in to see if she were needed. “We’ll bring the luggage. Amy Lou was such a good girl and is almost ready. See, sister, I’m putting on the dress she likes best!”

This was for the benefit of Amy Louise, who might insist on accompanying Betty unless diverted.

“Ought I?” asked Betty, hesitating. She did not want her aunt to have it too hard at the last. But Amy Lou was having the dress put over her head and it was a good time to vanish. Vanish Betty did at a nod from her aunt. Stopping to say goodbye to Lucy, and seeing that Dick and Doris were out for a farewell to Aunt Jo’s private menagerie of a few chickens and two handsome dogs, Betty ran out of the front door to the street.

People at Buxton rose early. Milk bottles were being taken in and screen doors were opening or closing; but Betty met no one, as she sped toward Janet’s home, except a boy driving an old grocery wagon. Somebody might want something for breakfast. Bill was on his way to open up and start things at the store.

The faithful old horse was pulled up suddenly. “Hello, Betty, going to leave this morning?”

Betty halted, though still moving slowly. “Yes; the rest of us are going on the morning train, Bill.” She smiled up at the big lad, who was a junior in high school. Betty did not know him very well, though to be sure all the high school and grade pupils knew each other and each other’s families more or less.

“Sorry you’re going, Betty. I s’pose you’re in a hurry, though. So long, Betty. Don’t forget the old town.” Bill started the horse with a flap of the reins as he spoke.

“Never,” returned Betty, nodding a farewell and hurrying on. Was she really going to leave–forever? She looked down the quiet street ahead of her. Trees beautiful and green allowed their branches to meet over the unpaved road. Homes with large yards displayed trees, shrubbery and flowers, though so late for many of them. It was all so familiar that she had forgotten how it did look!

Betty almost felt like taking a turn around the block for a last look at their own home; but she thought of the curtainless windows, the desolate yard and the empty swing under the elm trees. No, thank you! Betty sniffed and fumbled in her pocketbook for a handkerchief. Was she going to cry now? Not a bit of it! She had to keep up before the girls. Bounding a corner, there she was at Janet’s. Janet had cried last night. It wasn’t real. She was in a dream!

And Betty had had her dreams, like all girls of her age. The little town of Buxton was not a rich one. It was not even in a good farming center, nor was it a county seat. Two good school buildings and some churches were its chief ornaments, architecturally. Among the people, as always, there were the good element and the bad or shiftless element. Yet some very fine people had found a home there and among them were the friends of Betty Lee’s family. It was quiet. It was fairly safe. Betty, protected by the oversight of a sensible yet idealistic mother, was a happy girl, interested in everything and ambitious in school, whose activities were always prominent and whose teachers held the respect of the community. Betty would probably marry one of the boys some day, as she had seen older girls do, and settle down. Perhaps she could go away to school for a year or two. If she couldn’t, there were always books and music and friends, nice things to do and dear people to love. Vague thoughts like this about the future were in her mind when she thought about it at all. Her father and mother were her standards of excellence; and therein lay much safety, since those two were wise and self-controlled.

And now, so unexpectedly, there was this bewildering change to city life. It was exciting to think about it and yet Betty could not foresee the changes it was going to make in her whole adventure of living. For in the new and in many ways very superior school to which she was going, new friends, with work, play, perplexity, even mystery, perhaps, and a wider choice of opportunity waited for this wholesome, attractive Betty Lee. To say the least, life was not going to be dull, and this Betty felt.

“No, there’s something about Betty Lee.” Janet Light was saying to Sue Miller. “I don’t believe that she ‘will be lost in the multitude,’ as she says. Her teachers will notice her at least. I’d pick Betty out in a thousand!”

“Oh, that’s natural. You’re her chum. But isn’t she sort of scared to go to such a big school?”

“No, I don’t think Betty’s scared. Of course–you know Betty. She wouldn’t want to show it if she were. I think that she’s really crazy about going; but you can imagine how she’d feel, dread it a little. I only wish I could go–that is, if I could take everybody along!”

“Yes. It’s wonderful even to travel to a city; but to live there!”

“Oh, I don’t know,” remarked Janet, taking a new tack. “You couldn’t get into the country so much.”

“You could if you had a car.”

“If is a big word, Sue. Betty said her father had to have something different from the old machine now, but he’ll be in business most of the time.”

The two girls were sitting on the Light porch, waiting for Betty and talking as fast as girls can when there is some interesting subject. To Janet the departure of her dearest chum was more or less upsetting. Sue was not so intimate and Betty had never had any suspicion of the admiration with which Sue regarded her. She was really surprised that Sue wanted to see her off, with Janet.

“It’s pretty cool this morning,” Sue inserted, throwing her light coat around her shoulders. “I nearly melted yesterday when I came on the train from Grandma’s. But it wasn’t much of a ride.” Sue was thinking that her little trip was nothing in comparison with Betty’s coming day of travel.

“It was that big rain and the wind yesterday that changed things. I was over with Betty till late because it rained so hard all evening. That’s why I could hardly wake up this morning. It’s a good thing you were to stop for me, for Mother didn’t call me. She forgot.”

“I just happened to telephone you before I started, thought maybe you’d rather go down to Mrs. Royce’s.”

“Lucky you did. But no, I thought there would be so much confusion with everybody hurrying perhaps, and Betty said she would be sure to stop. It’s right on the way to the station anyhow.” With this, Janet ran in for the second time, to see if it were getting anywhere near train time. “No, there’s loads of time,” she reported.

“The rain was why I didn’t get to see Betty at all,” Sue explained. “I had a headache and lay down after I came home; and at supper–at supper, mind you, Mother happened to tell me about how the Lees were moving to the city! It had all gone on while I was at Grandma’s and nobody ever told me a word! Of course, I wasn’t writing to anybody, not even Mother but once. She and Grandma exchange letters every week, though.”

“It was in the paper and I suppose everybody thought you knew. Betty was in too much of a whirl. Her mother’s only written cards, and just a telegram came, saying which train they were to take. Betty does not even know the address of where she’s going!”

“How could the goods go down, then? Somebody had to know.”

“I think the truckman was to telephone the boarding house or office or some place after he reached the city, to find out where to take the goods.”

“I should think that Mrs. Lee would have wanted Betty to help get settled.”

“She was going to hire some one to put it through, in a hurry. Besides, Mrs. Royce couldn’t manage Amy Louise without Betty. As it was, she made a dreadful fuss.”

“I suppose so. But Betty spoils her, too.”

“Not so much. When Betty says, ‘Amy Louise Lee’, in that way of hers. Amy Lou pays attention.”

“How old is Betty anyway?”

“She’ll be fourteen in December. Don’t you remember her birthday party last year?”

“That’s so. Oh, here’s Betty! ’Lo there, Betty Lee!”

Sue ran down to meet Betty, who walked briskly around the corner and to the open gate; for Janet’s home, like Betty’s, actually had a fence! With a little squeeze and kiss, Sue led Betty to the porch, where Janet, smiling, waited. “I would have felt awful, Betty,” cried Sue, “not to have had a glimpse of you! I never knew a word about it.”

“It was a shame, Sue; but you can just imagine how it’s been. I haven’t known whether I was on my head or my feet.”

“Of course. What a pretty suit you have, all blue, your color, Betty, and hat to match and everything–even gloves, Janet!”

Betty laughed at that. “I’ll probably not have them on much, with Amy Lou to take care of. I’m glad you like my things. Auntie drove me clear to Columbus to shop. You see I’ve had to get ready for school, too, for it begins almost as soon as I get there. Won’t it be terrible to learn what street cars to take and everything, unless Father can drive me to school?”

“Aren’t you awfully excited, Betty?”

“I suppose I am. But all I can think of right now is getting through this trip with Amy Lou. She never was on a train before, if she is four years old; so I don’t know what she will do. But I’m hoping that she will be shy, the way she is when strangers are around, and she may sleep since we’ve been up so early. I think we’d better walk along, girls. I’ll go in and say goodbye to the folks, Janet.”

Betty was in the house a few minutes only. Then they strolled toward the little railroad station, only a short distance of a few blocks. Several people came along, to see Betty and stop, shaking hands and saying goodbye. Ahead of them walked Aunt Jo with the littlest Lee, while Doris was accompanied by three girls of about her own age, and a freckled-faced boy scampered on in advance, with Dick. “I wondered what had become of Billy,” said Janet, recognizing her brother.

Soon they stood in partly separated groups on the small platform. Amy Lou started back after the cat, but was rescued in time by her aunt’s restraining hand. To permit Betty and the other children last words with their friend, capable Aunt Jo walked up and down now with the child, showing her what little there was to see and making up a story about the rails. Distracted as Betty was, she kept in mind a picture of these last details.

“Oh, dear, Betty,” said Sue, as train time drew near at hand, “you are not going to forget us, are you?”

“Forget you–I should say not! Forget the girls I’ve been with since the first grade in school!” Betty held out a warm hand to each, as they stood closely now. She and Janet exchanged a smiling look. They had been all over that phase the night before.

“But it can never be the same,” mourned Sue.

“Maybe it will be better!” brightly suggested Betty. “You’ll both come down to visit me in vacations and I’ll take you all around–that is, if I ever learn to get around everywhere myself.”

“That would be wonderful–if it could happen. Maybe I wouldn’t be allowed to go, though.”

“Oh, yes! We get older every year, you know.”

Sue looked doubtful. Money was scarce in Sue’s home. It did not roll in at the village store which her father kept.

“Brace up, Susie,” laughingly said Janet. “We must send Betty off with nothing but good wishes. Let’s not begin to mourn now. That’s what Mother told me last night, and I pass it on to you.”

“All right, Janet. You’re right. Good luck and a grand time, Betty. Mercy! There’s the train tooting now and I haven’t said goodbye to the rest!”

Betty made a dash for Amy Louise, to hold her hand firmly. Last goodbyes were said. Dick and Doris gathered up the bags while the train rounded the curve at a little distance. The freckled lad soberly regarded Dick as he said, “Well, so long, Dick. So long, Doris;” and Doris was being embraced by the excited little girls, who followed the travelers and tried not to get in the way of various small trucks.

“Help Betty all you can, Dick,” advised Mrs. Royce, handing an extra piece of baggage up to Dick, who was last to board the train. “Remember that I shall want a card mailed at once to make sure of your safety. If anything goes wrong, send a telegram.”

Dick, grinning, feeling not a little important with his manly duties, nodded and disappeared after his sisters. The group on the platform, watching the windows, were presently rewarded by seeing smiling faces. Dick was trying to put up a window, but without success; or possibly the others were too impatient to wait for him to find out how to do it.

Amy Louise, her light hair and childish face framed in a hat that was now pushed back in the effort to see, smiled and threw kisses. She had no regrets. She was on her way to her mother. Betty’s face looked brightly out above Amy Louise, and there were Doris and Dick, the blessed twins! Aunt Jo tried not to show the anxiety she felt. But Betty would see it through!

There went the clanging bell. Now the train started. Now they were gone; and the small group on the platform turned away with that odd, lost feeling that comes when something is over.

The freckle-faced lad scampered away alone. Mrs. Royce, after exchanging pleasant words with the girls, hurried homeward with her thoughts. The rest scattered. School was opening for them, too. There would be plenty of activities to take up their time and interest. Janet and Sue would report to the other girls how they saw Betty Lee off that early morning. And they all would laugh over one quoted speech of Betty’s when she said, “I imagine, girls, that this is my most moving adventure!”

[CHAPTER II: BETTY MEETS RESPONSIBILITY AND A TRIAL OF PATIENCE]

Whatever puns, good or bad, Betty might make on this unaccustomed adventure of hers, she was more accustomed to the little responsibilities that fall to the eldest child in a normal family than only children could be; and these in a measure had prepared her for this trip. As soon as they were settled in their seats, it all seemed natural enough. Proper conduct in public was a matter of natural pride with this family, with the possible exception of Amy Louise, who had not reached the age of entire self control! Dick was hoping that she would not do anything to embarrass them, for she sometimes howled when she could not do what she wanted to do.

Betty, across the aisle from Dick and Doris, gave Dick an understanding look and a smile when he gave Doris the seat next to the window. Dick appeared not to notice this, but he felt that he was a pretty good protector of the girls when necessary. Betty need not think that she was the only one who could do things. And Betty was thinking that Dick was going to be a great help. The worst would be changing cars at the first city.

Clutching the tickets, Betty had them ready when the conductor came along. He lived in their town and knew her father. It had been a blow to the little town when a railroad line took off all but one passenger train each way, with a few freight trains.

“Oh, yes,” cheerily said the conductor, “you’re going away for good now. Your father told me to look after you when you came along.” The tickets were being punched and given back to Betty.

“Don’t lose your tickets and you’ll be all right. No you don’t change stations. Anything you want to know you can ask about at the window marked ‘information.’ But outside you’ll find the train notices, and a light come on when the train is in. When you get off, you’d better get a red-cap to take your bags up for you.”

Betty had a hazy notion of what was meant, though she had visited the city where they were to change cars, it was very different, however, to follow some one else without noticing how it was managed. She determined to keep her eyes open on future trips. Well, there was no use in worrying, but she wasn’t going to trust the bags to any porter. They could carry what they had. Also, they would stay together, as Aunt Jo had advised, with no expeditions here and there while they waited for their second train. In this case ignorance was not bliss, for what would have been perfectly simple to an experienced traveler was a matter for serious consideration to Betty.

Fortunately, Amy Lou was angelic. Fascinated by the kaleidoscope of scenery, she watched it happily; and when they left the train she willingly clung to Betty’s hand, saying, “I don’t want to get losted, do I?” She nearly went to sleep in the station during their long wait, but Dick came to the rescue with some entertainment, just as Betty was having visions of having to carry a heavy Amy Lou to the train.

At last they were established on the right train for the city for which, they were bound and Betty breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing but a wreck could keep them from home now, she told Dick.

“‘Home!’” repeated Dick, pursing his lips.

“Well,” argued Doris, “Betty’s right. It’ll be home, even if we’ve never seen it.”

“Wherever Mother and Father are, it’s home, isn’t it?” and Betty’s dimples showed as she spoke.

“You win,” grinned Dick, suggesting that Aunt Jo’s lunch be served.

They all did their best, but the last hours were trying after little naps were over and time was dragging for them all, unaccustomed as they were to long train rides. When they were feeling that they could not stand it any longer and Amy Lou was beginning to be fractious, they drew into the suburbs of the “city of our dreams,” as Doris sarcastically remarked. But interest revived and Dick told the youngest sister to watch for the place where they would find their mother. It was a happy suggestion, particularly for Betty, who was thinking that patience would cease to be a virtue pretty soon, if she had to keep the child in check much longer.

At last the crowds were in the aisles. The train stopped with its accustomed jerk. The tiresome day was almost over.

Which way should they go? The direction of the crowd settled that question for them, but where would they find Father? They avoided little baggage trucks that ran about and looked like hand-cars off the track. Here were iron gates where Dick, at Betty’s suggestion, inquired the way to the waiting room, where they found “Information” again. By this time Betty was worried. Where could her father be?

For the sake of the rest, she made herself keep calm and cheerful and Dick suggested that it was not easy to get around in a city. Probably they would be there pretty soon.

“I hope they know the train we’re coming on,” said Doris. “I told you, Betty, that we ought to telegraph.”

“They told us the day and the train, Doris,” firmly said Betty. But Betty looked apprehensively at some of the people in the room. There was a much better room upstairs, but Betty did not know that and there was no one to tell her.

Finally Amy Lou began to cry. That was the last straw. Betty hunted for what addresses she had and made her way again to “Information.” She wondered if she had enough money to pay for a taxi. And did you pay for everyone, or was it some other way? Dick was scouting around outside now. He could find out things. Boys always could.

Then all at once darkness changed to light, figuratively speaking. Before she had made an inquiry, she heard a squeal from Amy Lou and turned to see if Doris were having trouble with her. But it had been a happy squeal, not a cross one. There was Father, with his baby in his arms and Doris holding to one hand! A very thankful girl ran back to her family.

“I’m so sorry, Betty,” said Mr. Lee, “that you have had this wait and worry. I had expected to meet you right at the train and take you to our own car. Come on. We’ll talk after we get started. It was an important business conference and I could not leave early. Then traffic was heavy and it was farther to the station from our office that I thought. That was all.”

Watching for trucks, street-cars and machines of all sorts, they made their way to where the new car was parked. Exclamations of delight pleased Mr. Lee. Dick wanted to know all about it. It was not of a highly expensive make, but as their father said, it would hold them all. “I almost need a smaller one, too,” said he, explaining, “though I’m not on the sales end of affairs. They’ve done me the honor to put me among the executives, kiddies, and ask me to tell how I managed to do so well in my little factory. I told the president, that it was nothing, only quality of goods and good management; but he had me discuss products and management at this conference.”

“Good for you, Pop!” said Dick.

“But I’m going to ask you all to help me, children. To make this change and to live in a city is going to draw heavily on what I had saved. In fact, there isn’t any too much left, except some property in the home town. So don’t get any big ideas of what we can do here in the way of living like some of the people you will see.”

“Aren’t there any folks just like us, Papa?” asked Doris, rather bewildered. They had started now and slowly Mr. Lee was driving the car, up a hill and behind an immense truck.

“Plenty of them, Doris, and thousands not half so well off.”

The children were now too much interested in their surroundings to ask questions. Their father explained a little about some of the streets through which they passed, and pointed out some of the buildings, though he was not yet familiar with the city and was compelled to keep to well-known thoroughfares on his way out to the suburb where they were to live. “This is what they call ‘downtown,’” said he. “When your mother and I considered locations near we found nothing suitable. So we are out where we can have a few flowers in the yard at least.”

Betty looked with “all her eyes,” as she said. Streams of cars filled the streets. Her father watched the lights carefully and was prepared to get out of the way when a reckless driver shot in front of him, almost shaving a street car. “Hey, you!” exclaimed Dick, but the man could not hear. “Why, if you hadn’t swerved to the right that fellow would have hit us!”

“Yes, Dick. He was either intoxicated, or just reckless. There are many such in the city.”

But in spite of what tired Betty considered several narrow escapes, they successfully reached the suburb desired, where rows of houses, some of brick, some of frame, some of stone, had a bit of yard in front and behind; and on the porch of one there stood a slender and familiar figure.

“Mamma!” cried Amy Lou, wiggling down from between Betty and Doris. But Betty kept a stout hold upon her little sister until the car stopped in front. “I’ll let you girls out here,” said Mr. Lee, “but Dick may come with me to the garage.”

Amy Louise flew to her mother, while the other two girls walked briskly up the short distance from the barberry hedge to the porch. The house was of brick, well-built and attractive. “Why, this is real nice, Mother!” exclaimed Betty, the last to be embraced, but as warmly welcomed. Betty was trying to remember to call her parents Father and Mother, since some one had told her it was more dignified.

They entered a hall of fair size, then a large front room with a big window in it, the piano in the right spot, a fireplace–why, it would be home after all! Familiar rugs and furniture met Betty’s eyes. Of them her last view had been what Betty called “ghastly,” all done up ready to be moved in that horrid truck. But the “horrid truck” had brought them unmarred to their present position. Here were all of their treasures–and each other.

“I don’t believe, after all, Mother,” said she, looking around, “that walls make so, so much difference!”

“Not with our own pictures on them,” replied Mother, understanding. “I wish that all you could have helped me decide where to put things; but if you girls think of any good changes, we shall make them.”

“Did you have a very dreadful time to find a place?” asked Doris.

“It was not easy. An apartment house did not seem to be the best place for children. This is not one of the most modern houses, but there are enough bedrooms, hard to find, and something of a kitchen. I could not imagine myself cooking for this family in some of the tiny kitchenettes we saw. We shall be comfortable, I think.

“We have the whole first floor. It is just a big house made into two apartments or flats. Only two people are above us. There are two furnaces and we have our own gas and electricity. We are to look after the yard. Running the lawn mower will be Dick’s job.” Mrs. Lee looked teasingly at Dick as she spoke.

“I thought I’d get out of that in a city,” returned Dick; but he did not seem to mind the proposition very much. He was still thinking of the new car, though he had been content to leave more detailed examinations until the next day. “The thing that’s most like home,” continued Dick, “is that good smell of cooking in an oven somewhere. Is it a roast, Mother? Yes, and I smell cookies!”

“Right, son,” and Mrs. Lee led the way to the kitchen, where cookies still warm from the baking were to be nibbled by hungry travelers. They would still have things to eat in the city!

Still further investigation disclosed a “den,” which had become a sleeping room for Dick; a dressing room off the main bedroom, making a safe and cosy place for Amy Lou’s bed, and a good bedroom for Doris and Betty. A large bathroom was at the end of the hall. “You haven’t any idea, children, how thankful I was to find this, with enough room, all on one floor, and nice and clean, with new plumbing!”

Betty looked thoughtfully at her mother. It was new to her to think about homes, which, so far as she had ever thought, grew upon bushes. And that rent was terrible. Wouldn’t it take more than Papa earned? Her mother assured her that it would not, but remarked that the increase in income did not amount to as much as they had supposed, because of increased expenses.

“Let’s go back,” said Betty, reacting to her first lesson in economic lines. But she was laughing.

“You know you wouldn’t do it for anything, Betty Lee,” cried Doris. “I’m just as glad as I can be. Won’t it be great to go to all these wonderful places?” This was after their mother had suddenly left them in their room, to answer a call from her husband.

“Yes,” sighed Betty, “but now listen, Doris–please don’t begin by throwing your things all around. We’ve a big closet, anyhow; but do let’s keep things straight as we can!”

“You can, if you want to. I’m getting into my bathrobe the quickest I can,” and Doris kicked a shoe under the bed.

“I suppose you are tired,” and Betty sighed again. “I don’t really care, either. It’s certainly good to pass Amy Lou over to Mother.”

“She could have been worse coming down, but I’m glad I’m not the oldest. She always gets stubborn when I try to do anything with her.”

Betty felt like telling Doris that she did not try the right way; but did not want to start further argument and realized that her own disposition was not in its best state after her day of being “chief boss,” as Dick had put it several times. Doris might take her hot bath first. Then it would be tub for her and bed as soon as possible after supper, which would be called dinner now, Mother said. Happily it was the week-end. There would be Saturday and Sunday for getting settled, seeing the city and hearing church music of the best. Then would come Monday and school. What a vista for Betty Lee! The future, though unknown, was enticing.

[CHAPTER III: “THE FATEFUL DAY”]

The “fateful day,” as Betty’s father jokingly called it, had arrived. On Monday morning there were great stirrings in the Lee menage. Betty’s mother was up early, getting everybody else up on time, seeing that the school credentials were at hand, ready to be taken by the children and presented at the schools. Amy Lou, fortunately, slept on, not waking until everybody else was at the breakfast table.

Betty started to get up when a mournful wail came from the bedroom. Amy Lou had been Betty’s responsibility and she could not quite realize that in school days now her first concern was to be her lessons, as her mother’s custom desired it to be, though in moments of stress, Betty knew well, she was to be on the “relief corps,” another of her father’s expressions.

“Not you this time, daughter,” said Mrs. Lee, rising. “Finish your breakfast and be ready when your father goes. You’d better take charge of all the grades and give Doris and Dick their papers when they get there.”

It was very exciting. What would the new big school be like? Dick and Doris talked steadily during breakfast. “If old Bill was just here,” said Dick, “I’d give him the Merry Ha-ha about our going to a junior high school!”

Doris settled her beads about her neck, looked down at her neat frock, chosen as suitable by her mother, then thrusting her napkin by her plate, she scampered, unexcused, from the table, to do last things.

Betty exchanged an amused glance with her father, who rose and went out to bring up the car. Betty hastily carried a few dishes, from their places, to the kitchen, as Mrs. Lee came out with a cross Amy Lou, and then ran off herself to get ready.

It seemed no time at all before they were in the car, driving to the school, which they had seen only in passing. The morning traffic was heavy and swift. Cars were making their rapid way in the direction of “town.” Street cars clattered. Trucks and buses avoided them by inches only. Overhead there was the occasional roar of a plane from the flying field.

At last they had reached the green campus of the school. “I’m glad we go here,” said Doris, “instead of to that school we saw where the grounds are all gravel.”

“That was a new building, Doris,” said her Dad, “the grounds are probably not finished.”

“I don’t think so, Papa,” returned Doris. “You know how the school board man at home said that there was no use in sodding our new school grounds because the boys would spoil it all playing ball and things. And they put gravel on it, and every time you fell down running it hurt like everything.”

Doris had no reply to this, for Mr. Lee was stopping before the concrete sidewalk that bordered the school grounds. “Hop out, children,” said he. “I’m sorry that I can’t stop with you. You know what the buildings are, however. Inquire your way to the office of the principal, you know. Sure you know what cars to take to get home?”

“Yes, Father,” Betty answered. “Dick promised to wait for Doris; so if they can’t find me they’ll go home together. My, what a crowd!”

Mr. Lee glanced with some fatherly pride at the little group of three that walked from the car to the entrance of the grounds. There a long walk, paved and lined with beautiful shrubbery, led to the impressive front of the building that spread so widely with its wings and corners. Then he detached himself from the rest of the cars that were either drawing up to discharge pupils or were parked in a long row along the curb. The Lee children were already lost in the kaleidoscope of moving boys and girls, of all ages, heights, and costumes, most of them very nice-looking, Betty’s father thought. He hoped that there would be no trouble about their entrance papers. Mrs. Lee could scarcely risk taking Amy Lou to the school, and he had told her that the children might just as well begin to depend on themselves, even if the city was new to them.

Nevertheless, it would have been better if it had been possible for a parent to accompany them, and no one knew that better than Mr. Lee. The hurry of their becoming settled had not been easy for any of them and a city offered many dangers, especially those of traffic. But as the fever of hurry had not yet infected them, it was likely that they would be careful in crossing streets and would observe the traffic regulations. He was glad to see that a traffic officer had been stationed at the school crossing.

“We look as well as most of them,” said Doris, though rather doubtfully, as she looked admiringly at a tall girl who was strolling by with a youth as tall as she. They were laughing and talking and the girl was wearing a silk dress as pretty and stylish, as light in color and as good, as Betty’s “Sunday frock,” Doris said.

“Yes,” said Betty, “but there’s every sort, and our pretty summer dresses that Mother made look all right. There–see that awfully pretty girl, Doris. Her green dress is trimmed with white organdy exactly like your blue one!”

The two younger children left Betty to go around to the entrance of their own separate building. Betty handed each of them the envelope with the respective credits and grades and then went up the steps with her own in her hand. Mercy, what a babel of voices! Betty stopped still and looked around. Good! There were all sorts of notices posted. She read them. That long line of boys and girls must lead to the “office.”

“Freshmen go to Assembly Hall,” she read. Now where was the “Assembly Hall?” Oh, that must be it, where all those younger looking boys and girls were going. She followed, joining the stream of boys and girls that in groups or singly entered the wide doors.

Oh, what a fine, big hall! Was this really a public school? Facing her was the wide stage with its handsome velvet curtains, and my, all those pipes must be of a big pipe organ! Yes, there was the place for the organist at the side.

Betty slipped into a seat. Some one was reading names and telling them what to do. She would sit there and listen. It was pleasantly cool in the immense hall. Although it was morning, the September day was already warm. Betty felt a little confused, but soon concentrated her attention upon what was going on. Girls and boys were leaving the hall at times.

Finally she bethought herself of the fact that her name could not possibly be read out, since they had never heard of her. A girl who sat beside her looked friendly. She would ask. Yes, these were the names of all the freshmen who were coming in from other schools or the junior high right here. They had turned in their credits and were assigned to “home rooms and so forth.”

Now what were “home rooms,” and what did “and so forth” include? She could not ask the person who was reading the names. She hated to ask questions of any other pupil near her. She would seem like such a “dummy.” But she must find out what to do. She would go out and see if she should go to the “office” first.

Quietly Betty slipped out of the seat and went out into the noisy hall. She went near the door and peeped into the office. Some one in the line thought that she was going to get by and nodded in the direction of the rear. It was a “snippy” sort of a look, Betty thought, that this girl directed toward her. Betty merely looked at her with a contemplative gaze and nodded in understanding. She would not say anything either. She could see what was going on. That was the principal, she supposed, busy with students. There were several teachers or assistants of some sort there. Yes, this must be what she must do; besides, her father had told her to go to the office. It was that sign that mislead her. My, what a long line. Would she ever get any attention from the principal? But Betty walked back and took her place in line, intending to ask some one in it what this line was “supposed to be waiting for.”

But there were two or three boys, perfectly strange to her, of course, just ahead of her. And behold, two very tall lads walked up and took their places behind her. The first one was such a fine-looking boy, with a good face, indeed, rather striking features, clear grey eyes, “almost blue,” Betty thought, as she gave him a quick glance. He was dressed suitably and neatly, yet looked “very stylish,” Betty thought, and a silk handkerchief peeped from his pocket. The conversation of the two boys helped Betty through the first part of her wearisome wait.

“Going in for athletics this year, Ted?” asked the “other boy,” who was not quite so interesting, Betty thought, though he had a pleasant boyish, face, too. He was coatless and had his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows. But a neat tie finished his soft collar and he looked as fresh and clean as possible.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Harry, swimming, of course, and the usual gym work, perhaps. But Mother wants me to be in the orchestra this year and that takes a lot of time. To tell the truth, I’d like to have a little time for my lessons!”

“I’ve got to have,” assented Harry. “I worked my freshman year, but last year wasn’t so good, and Dad says he won’t stand for it. My grades weren’t so bad, but you should have heard the razzing I got! Dad took the card and went through the grades out loud.

“‘That grade in English from the son of a teacher!’

“‘Eighty in Latin, when you ought to have had ninety at least!’

“I mustered up grit enough to tell him that Latin was hard and that eighty was a pretty good grade and that I hadn’t failed in anything. But did that stop him? It did not.

“‘Fail! Fail? Hum! Mathematics, not so bad. Pretty respectable showing in science,’–‘well, make a better showing next year or I might have to put you to work.’ He gave me a quizzical smile, at least that is what Mother called it, and handed me back my card. Gee, sometimes I wish he would put me to work, but after all, if you can get by with, your lessons, the old place here looks pretty good.”

“I’ll say it does today. How long do you suppose we’ll have to stand here?”

“Until after lunch time, that’s what.”

Betty, who had scarcely been able to keep from laughing out when “Harry” had been impersonating his father, so good and funny a performance he had made of it, now sighed. She was tired already. It was worse than waiting in line at the one moving picture house that their little town had boasted. She changed her weight, a light one, from one foot to the other. She fiddled with the long white envelope in her hand and once opened it to peep inside and make sure that its contents were still there.

But that was just the beginning. She held her place in line, wondering what the two boys to whose conversation she had listened were there to do. Perhaps there had to be some change in their work. But they talked about everything else. Finally Betty thought she would “just have to go and sit down somewhere to rest,” but she kept standing in spite of her real fatigue. She was toward the end of the line and only two or three persons had followed the boys at first; then a few scattered additions had been made. A few in front had dropped out.

Finally some one came from the office to make an announcement to the line. Only a few more would be interviewed before lunch; and after lunch, those who were new would be seen first. Others need not take their place in line until later, as all changes of schedule would be handled later in the day.

Immediately the line ceased to be one, as its components vanished. Betty again went into the auditorium and sank into a seat to rest. What was it that tired her so standing in line? She was probably just sort of tired from everything, all the change and excitement and the responsibility of getting Amy Lou down on the train, though, that hadn’t turned out to be so bad. Luckily some one near her was discussing lunch; for Betty was hungry and did not enjoy the thought of going without what had always been the family dinner. It had been easy enough in the village for her father to come home from his business and for the children to come from school, returning in plenty of time for the afternoon session. Now it would be different indeed. Mother had said that dinner would be at night, as Father would have his lunch down town; and on the street car it would take the children almost half an hour to reach home, to say nothing of extra street-car fare. There was to be lunch served at the school, they understood, but would there be any today?

“No,” the girl behind her was saying in a low tone, though the names had long since been read out and the freshmen dismissed to the “home rooms.” Only scattered groups of resting pupils were here and there in the seats. Betty was in the next to the last row and three girls had just entered the last row together.

“I’m a wreck from standing in that line,” said the first one, as she dropped into a seat. “Aren’t they going to serve lunch today?”

Then came the answer, for which Betty listened. “No; don’t you remember that we never have lunch at first?”

“Well, I’ve only one year to remember, May, and I never did get anything straight when I was a freshman, at first anyhow.”

Betty’s heart warmed with a fellow feeling.

“I certainly wish that we could have one of those good lunches, but I suppose it won’t kill us to starve for once. Let’s go down to you know where and get a Swiss chocolate sundae. We can get back in time.”

“I’d rather not, May; besides I’ve only got my street-car fare and ten cents, I think.”

“I’ll lend you some more,” suggested May.

“Can’t possible this time; too tired, besides. There used to be a place opposite the school. What’s become of that? I used to get chocolate bars and sandwiches there.”

“New building across the street. Well, if you aren’t going, I am. Shall I bring you something? Maybe I’ll have a sandwich, too.”

“If you can get one for ten cents–no, here are some coppers. Hurrah!”

Evidently the girl behind Betty was emptying her store of small funds into the hand of the other girl. There was giggling and a scrambling after a copper that had dropped and rolled. Then one girl left and the other strolled over to join a group of girls by a window.

Betty wished that she had brought a chocolate bar which by the irony of fate she had taken out of her bag to leave it home! But she could go without a meal if she had to do it. She could get something to eat as soon as she reached home.

Rested now, she thought she would go over to the building which housed the junior high school and see if Doris and Dick were also waiting around. It was quite a little walk, or seemed so to Betty, but it was interesting when she reached the place and entered it. Scarcely any children were to be seen. She walked through vacant halls and decided that Doris and Dick had already gone home. She hoped that her mother would not be worried about her. There was no way of getting her word, though she had seen a telephone in the office. But of course she could not use that.

Time slipped by in some fashion. She went back to the auditorium, now about deserted. She watched the time, determined to be one of the first at the office door, and as all things come to an end at last, she found herself talking to a sober, dignified, yet kindly man in the office, arranging her schedule or, more properly, answering questions about the work she had covered, and receiving a “slip” to present to her “home room teacher” the next day.

It was all more or less puzzling to the young freshman from away; but she understood the next step and where she was to report on the following day. That would have to be enough. A somewhat breathless, excited, and very hungry Betty reached home at about two o’clock in the afternoon, welcomed by her mother as a returning prodigal and directed to where she would find the “fatted calf” or a more attractive substitute.

[CHAPTER IV: A REAL FRESHMAN AT LAST]

Mother suggested putting up a lunch for the children on the second morning of school, but Dick said that they would not need any. “One of the kids said that we get out the same time tomorrow,” said he. And Betty corroborated Dick’s statement.

“I’ll not have to wait in line today, Mother,” said Betty. “That’s all attended to. I know just what to do. You go to your home room, do whatever you are told to do and I guess you report to your different teachers. We get out at twelve-thirty. After we really have classes and two sessions there will be a place to get lunches, somewhere upstairs.”

Back again in the echoing halls of the school building, Betty felt that the worst was over, yet she was both lonely and a little timid in regard to what was still before her. Oh for Janet or some one of the girls she knew! Other girls, who must have been in the eighth grade together, were walking arm in arm, or with arms around each other’s waist as they approached the door of the same home room to which Betty’s feet were carrying her. She wondered if poor little Doris felt the same way. She went into the school room with the others, finding its back seats well filled already. Accordingly she dropped into the nearest front seat, which was on the outside row near the door.

As it was not polite to stare, she believed, she did not look at the girls sitting around her except for glances here and there; but it was perfectly legitimate to gaze forward at the home room teacher. Was she going to like her?

Two teachers were standing, near the large desk in front and before the blackboard, which covered its appropriate space on three walls. The fourth side of the room was devoted to windows. The teachers were laughing and talking together, apparently in the best of spirits. Then a gong rang, or something made a sound in the halls and a corresponding ring in the room. Immediately one of the ladies departed and the other turned to face the class with a great change of countenance, not exactly stern, Betty thought, but it was quite obvious that her home room teacher was ready to handle any obstreperous little freshman who did not want to keep order.

But no one was disorderly this morning. It was an event to enter high school. The expectant faces met the dignified survey of the teacher. In due time she explained what was to be done. Cards were there from the office. Schedules had been made out for each one. They were to report to their respective teachers at the rooms whose numbers were given. Lockers could not be given for some time. They would be obliged to carry their books and take them home, but it was remarked that they would want to study at home in any event. Books would be given out on the next day.

“Oh, then, you didn’t have to buy any books,” Betty thought. She wondered if her mother would like that. They would never buy any second hand books and her mother had ideas on germs. There were a number of questions that Betty would have liked to ask as the teacher talked, but she did not dare interrupt. There seemed to be too many things to remember. Of course, it was easier for the girls and boys that lived in the city all the time.

“And now,” the teacher was saying, “I want you to give your whole attention to one thing. On these cards that I am giving you, you will see what you are to write; and while I know that this is all rather new to you, that fact is not going to excuse you for making mistakes in what is really important. Pay attention and do not write until you are sure you know what to write down.

“Perhaps you wonder why I am saying this, but if you saw some of the cards that we have had in past years, you would not wonder at all. When you read that line saying the year of your birth, don’t put down the present year. Girls less than a year old are not admitted to the freshman class!”

There was a subdued ripple of laughter at this, though it was just possible that some of the girls did not understand the joke. A few looked worried. But Betty had never been really afraid of teachers, having had no cause to be afraid, and she did not intend to begin now. Very carefully she read over the list of what she was supposed to record; and then, after the teacher was through with her explanation, she started in. There was nothing very bad about this. Of course they wanted to know your address and who your father and mother were and everything.

“Elizabeth Virginia Lee,” she wrote, her name “in full,” in careful round and legible hand. Writing was not hard for Betty, which was fortunate and would make her entire school life easier for her. Betty had been named for two grandmothers. At present she “rather hated it,” the long names, but she always added that they were good, sensible names and that her mother like them.

Betty remembered the year of her birth and was not obliged to count back, as the teacher had suggested might be necessary. Indeed, the teacher had grown a little sarcastic while remarking that “they” were “not particularly interested in mere birthdays,” and that “birthday presents were not given.”

A colored girl across the aisle from Betty looked at the teacher with such a blank stare at this that Betty’s amusement was increased. My, the teacher was funny. She wasn’t so bad and was rather pretty, too. Once Betty’s intelligent and understanding look had caught the eye of her teacher as she was in the midst of one of the funny speeches and Betty was sure that the twinkle and comical raising of the eyebrows was for her.

“She shan’t have any reason to make fun of my card,” thought Betty. “She looked at me as if she thought I had some sense, anyhow.” But teachers were accustomed to find response in Betty Lee’s eyes and the mind back of them. At this stage, however, and particularly when the girls were dismissed, to find their respective teachers and the rooms where they were to recite, Betty was sure that she had no mind at all. If she had only known some one! But every one was busy with her own affairs, or went off with some other girls. And that building! Would she ever learn where to go? Luckily her home room teacher taught one of the freshman classes in which she had been placed and in the same room. That was one off the list very shortly.

The halls were full of wandering pupils on the same errands that concerned Betty; but her mind was too set upon her purpose to see them individually until once, when she was almost run over by a tall lad who came flying around the corner from a run down a stairway, she recognized the boy who had stood back of her in line the day before.

“Oh, pardon me, please!” exclaimed the boy. “I had no business to do that. I knocked your purse out of your hand and everything!” Stooping to pick up Betty’s purse and scattered notes and slips, he added “I believe you were standing in line just ahead of me yesterday. Did you get all fixed up?”

“Yes; and I’m just finding my class rooms now.”

“That’s fine. You’re not from one of our schools–at least I couldn’t help seeing that the envelope you had didn’t have a city address.”

“No; we just moved here and everything is new.”

“Well, I hope you like it. This is a great school.”

“Oh, isn’t it! I suppose you’re a senior and know all about everything.”

The boy laughed. “Not exactly ‘everything,’” said he, “and I’m a junior. I hope I meet you again, but not to pretty nearly knock you over.”

“Oh, that was all right,” replied Betty. “You didn’t hurt me any.”

The boy started on, then stopped. “By the way, where are you living?”

Betty named the suburb and the street.

“I thought I saw you on the car yesterday. I live out that way, too, and maybe I’ll come around some time–that is, if it’s all right.”

“We should be glad to get acquainted,” said Betty, who felt sure that she could safely be friendly with this kind of a boy, who had looked so distressed at the results of his haste and had clutched her just in time to keep her from falling. “We don’t know much of anybody yet, for Mother and Father came down in a hurry to find a house.”

“Oh, there’s the girl I was hurrying to catch,” suddenly said the boy called Ted, as a girl came from the direction from which Betty had been coming. “Louise, come here and meet one of the new freshmen. Probably I’d better know your name, if I am to introduce you. Mine is Ted Dorrance.”

“I am Betty Lee,” smiled Betty, looking up at a tall, handsome girl whom she remembered to have noticed before in the hall and whom she found to be Louise Madison.

“Lou has a lot to do with one of the school clubs and is always looking for good material,” joked Ted. “I had my eye on this young lady for you yesterday. Any relation to Robert E. Lee?”

Betty shook her head. “We’re from the New England Lees, but I suppose back in England the two families were connected.”

“Well, the name Lee won’t hurt you any with the Southern families in this town, and there are a good many of them. But we’re keeping you and I’ve got to see you, Lou, about a matter of business.”

“All right,” said the older girl. “I’ll see you again, Betty, and I’m real glad to have met you.”

That was interesting, thought Betty, as she climbed the same stairs down which Ted Dorrance had been running. Louise Madison must be a wonderful girl. She seemed to be perfectly at home–perhaps she was a senior. Betty wondered what sort of a club it could be that freshmen could join. Louise had passed her a few moments before Ted had come dashing down. She must have finished whatever errand she had and started back very soon. Well, she now knew two pupils in this school, but not a freshman!

This time Betty was ready at twelve-thirty to start home with the rest. She just made the same street-car with Dick and Doris and listened to their accounts on the way home. Like Betty, Doris did not know any one in her class, though Doris said that they “smiled at each other;” but Dick knew several of the boys and had found out all sorts of facts, particularly those relating to athletics. “There was a bunch of us talking together,” said he, “and we’re going to have some great gym work and everything. The eighth grade boys said that they have great games at Lyon High School. Did you take in the size of that stadium, Betty? And a fellow they called Joe said that he helped with a stunt the junior high had at the faculty and senior basketball game last winter. That’s a sort of funny affair and the senior team usually beats, though when the athletic teachers play with the rest of the faculty it isn’t so dead easy, I guess, from what they said. But first they have a sort of athletic or gym show. I’d like to be on it.”

“Yes, and break your neck,” remarked Doris with sisterly lack of being impressed.

“Never you mind. The girls do something or other, too. Maybe you’ll have to, so far as I know.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, I’ll never do a thing! Couldn’t you get excused, Betty?”

“Don’t worry, Doris. It isn’t likely that you’d have to do anything too hard for you. And there’s always Mother, and Father, to decide what is best for us.”

“But they always stand by anything school does.”

“Of course, because there’s never anything out of the way. But they wouldn’t let anything happen to us if there were anything that wasn’t fair or right. Gracious me, if I hadn’t anything more to worry about than what may happen next winter I’d be thankful. What are your teachers like?”

That started the children on a new track and Betty had amusing and detailed descriptions of what had happened and what this teacher and another were like. Doris was in a home room for girls and Dick in one for boys. “There are a great many of us boys,” said Dick with much dignity. “I don’t know just how many but I shall find out. Then when you write to Janet, be sure to have her tell Bill.”

“Can’t you write to Bill yourself?”

“I don’t like to write letters,” calmly replied Dick. “Besides, Bill might think I was getting stuck up telling him such big stories as I’d have to tell.”

“And I suppose Janet won’t think I’m stuck up?”

“Janet will think that everything you do is perfect, just as she always has.”

“That is news to me, Dick. Why we’ve had some of the most–well, disagreeing arguments over things that you ever heard of.”

“Of course. Janet has a mind of her own. But all the same you needn’t worry over what Janet would think. I know. Bill’s told me.”

“Then you think I’d dare write Janet everything about Lyon High, do you? Of course, I’m going to risk it, Dickie, anyway. And I think it was nice of Bill to tell you that.”

“Oh, Bill didn’t do it to be nice. He thought Janet was silly.”

This was not so flattering, but Betty laughed. She had brought it out herself.

[CHAPTER V: JANET HEARS FROM BETTY]

“Hello, hello; that you, Sue?”

“Yes–Janet?”

“Nobody else. Going to be at home for a while?”

“Yes; can you come over?”

“That is what I’d like to do, for what do you think?”

“Anything exciting going on?”

“Not exactly, but I’ve a letter from Betty Lee at last!”

“Oh, then you will bring it over with you, won’t you?”

“Of course. That’s what I’m coming for, although we might just as well make plans for the Sunday-school picnic while I’m over. This is a real good long letter. I thought she’d never write as she promised, to tell me about everything. I’d almost begun to thing Betty had forgotten us! But she hasn’t, at least she says she hasn’t, and she’s been so busy, of course, and everything new. She wrote this at several different times. But there, I’d better let her letter speak for itself. She said to tell you all the news, and sent you her love and everything, so I’ll just let you read all of it, even the more or less private part if you want to. I’ll not get to your house for a little while, for I have to go down street for Mother first. She has to have some soap and starch and other groceries. She’s been doing up something extra. But I thought I’d better call you up to see if you’d be there.”

In due season Janet Light appeared at the home of her friend, where the two girls repaired to the big swing in the back yard. There an old apple tree spread wide branches over them and let the sunshine of late September come through its leaves in fitful fashion, dancing with their shadows on and about the slightly swaying lassies. It was Saturday morning, hence their leisure after early morning tasks were over.

“And see what I have to show you,” said Janet, drawing from the envelope the letter and something with it that fell on the floor of the swing, almost going through its slats.

“Oh, a new picture of Betty!” exclaimed Sue, reaching down carefully to pick up the unmounted photograph, a small one. “Isn’t that cute? And it’s good of Betty, too. Why, it doesn’t look like a snap-shot.” Sue turned it over to examine it.

“It isn’t. It was taken at some shop. Betty tells about it in the letter.”

“That’s Betty’s smile, and what a good light on her hair. Betty’s hair is a real gold, just like what you read about in books. I always wished I had hair like Betty’s. And I never saw such dark blue eyes as Betty has. They look straight at you here. I think Betty is a real pretty girl, don’t you?”

“Yes, but she’s no doll. And I think Betty’s ‘gold’ on the inside, too. That letter didn’t sound as if she’d forgotten us this soon. Read it.” Janet held out the thick packet of folded sheets.

“Oh, you read it to me. It will sound twice as well in your ‘mellifluous’ tones. Kate had to put ‘mellifluous’ in a sentence at school yesterday.”

Janet laughed. “I may leave out the messages to me, then, but I’ll read it if you want me to. Thank fortune, Betty writes so a body can read it. And she says that we simply must come down to see her at the Thanksgiving vacation. I can’t wait to read you that. Her mother says so, too, she wrote. Do you suppose we could? I haven’t said anything to Mother yet.”

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful? But–clothes and everything–I’m afraid not.”

“We have as good things as Betty has.”

“I haven’t anything that would do to travel in, though, and I’m afraid I can’t have a new winter coat. My old one’s a sight!”

“Why it looked good enough to me last winter. But listen now. I’ll begin.”

“Dear Janet,” the letter commenced. “I’ll have to begin with apologies, of course, and I’m hoping that you’ve received the two picture post cards I sent. I meant to send some to all the girls and haven’t. But honestly, I’ve been so busy and it’s all been so mixy, if you know what I mean by that, that I just haven’t gotten at a letter that would give you any idea of how things are. It looks sort of hopeless now, to tell the truth, but I’m going to start in anyhow, even if I have to write at several different times. The longer I put it off the more there will be to tell. You haven’t any idea how much I’ve missed you and how I’ve almost started to tell you things; that is, I’d think ‘I must tell Janet that,’ and then I’d think again that you weren’t anywhere around!

“Talk about being lonesome! Of course I’ve had the family, but not a single girl at first. I have several friends now that I know more or less, but nobody that takes the place of the girls at home. You see I still call it home. I’m not sure that the city will ever seem like home, but it is very interesting and the place where we live is ever so nice. It is all on one floor, which makes it easy for Mother, and we have enough room, though we wouldn’t have if we hadn’t gotten rid of so much stuff before we moved. Still, there is a little room on the third floor where we can store some things, like our trunks and boxes. Mother likes it, though she has been lonesome, too, for all the friends. But of course Mother and Father used to live in a city, so it doesn’t seem so strange to them. Two people live on the floor above us, but there is a separate entrance and stairs and everything separate in the basement.

“There is a good church near enough to walk to it and Mother has been to some of the missionary meetings and suppers and all, and we have, too–to the suppers! So Mother and Father are beginning to be acquainted. I’m in a Sunday school class, but I haven’t had time to go to anything besides just Sunday morning, for there are too many lessons and school things that take my time. I just have to get a good start. But I’ll have time pretty soon. The class has monthly meetings. They wanted me to be in some kind of a pageant, but Mother said I’d better not try it, for I wouldn’t have time to practice.

“And now about the school. Honestly, girls, I don’t know where to begin. Not all the high schools are as fine as ours, for ours isn’t as old as some of them and Father says it is modern in every respect. They are so crowded that they simply have to build new schools, which Father says is a good thing. In some old schools they’ve been actually heating with stoves, not even a furnace. So Father said.

“Well, the building is big and the grounds are gorgeous, full of beautiful trees and shrubbery. I’m no architect, so I can’t tell you about the building except that it spreads out and up three stories, besides the basement floor, and Mother says we need wings! The basement floor isn’t under the ground or anything, and all the freshmen have their lockers there. We put our wraps and books there when we do not need them and get them out when we do. We have a ‘home room’ and a teacher in charge of it, and we go there the first thing in the morning and the last thing before we go home. She tells us things, the teacher, I mean. Some days we don’t do the same things. Sometimes we go to the ‘auditorium’ and hear somebody speak, or something happens there, but not much yet.

“At first I simply felt lost. Just imagine. Girls, there are twenty-eight hundred boys and girls that attend our high school and I don’t think that counts the pupils in the junior high. That is more than half as many people as are in our home town!

“Dick and Doris are very much set up over being in a ‘junior high school’–though I don’t mean that unkindly. But they think it as wonderful as possible and like their teachers. Dick is more interested in athletics than he is in his lessons and Father has to keep him at his lessons a while in the evenings after he has been outdoors enough, as Father thinks. Doris is working away to make good grades. She has her eye on things that the other girls do and wear but that is only natural, and I imagine that we need all the good advice Father and Mother give us. Mother says not to join anything until we get a good start in our lessons and learn more about living here. Oh, yes, I was to send some message to Billy, but I told Dick he could just as well write himself, and it may be possible that Billy will hear from him, though I couldn’t say positively. You know how much the boys like to write!

“By the way, I’m putting in a little picture of myself. Mother let me go down town with, one of the girls that lives not so very far from us; at least we take the same street car home from school. So we went down one day right after school. She invited me, and took me to a real good moving picture, and we stopped in at a cute little place where they take cheap photographs. We also had a grand sundae at a wonderful place and came home not a bit hungry for dinner. And that makes me think–we have dinner at night, for Father can’t come home very well, it is so far, and has a noon lunch down town. We children have one at school, and my, what grand lunches we do have! They give it to us at about what it costs, so it doesn’t quite break us up to buy it, enough for the time we have to eat it. But everything, street-car fare and all, costs more in a city. Father drives us to school, mostly, and then goes on down to his business.

“I think that I shall have to stop, though I’ve been scribbling as fast as I could, and I believe I’ll just send this right off, though I’m not half through with all there is to tell. I’ll try to write something about the folks we have met when I write again. More things will have happened, too, I suppose, but I’ve got to stop now. Give Sue my love and now I want you both to plan to come here for your Thanksgiving vacation. Mother invites you, too. She said it would do me good to see some of you. Auntie can’t come for she’s going to some family reunion or other, and we can make room for you. Please try to do it!”

But the letter was not finished with this. A dash and a new date began the next part in which Betty said that since she had been interrupted she might as well add something more to her “book” she was writing to Janet. There followed more details with a comical description of “her trip down in charge of the family,” her arriving to find no one, and the “time she had the first day of school.”

The “private messages” to Janet were only some loving remarks with which she closed and those Janet let Sue read herself.

“I’m sure she does miss you, Janet, just as I have missed my cousin Moira. I don’t see why Uncle had to move ’way out to California. I’m afraid I never will see her again.”

“Oh, yes you will–and wouldn’t it be a great place to go to visit her?”

“Y-yes, if I ever could. I’m glad I have you left, Janet. I know why you and Betty have liked each other so much. You’re both so cheerful and stout-hearted some way.”

“Why, whatever made you think that?” asked Janet, surprised.

“Mother said that about Betty, and I’ve noticed it about you, only I hadn’t put it into those words.”

“It’s very nice of you to think it about me. I’m just as glad to have you, Sue, and we’d better see a great deal of each other, just as we have since Betty left. And if Mrs. Lee herself invites us to come, let’s try as hard as we can to go to visit Betty at Thanksgiving. We’d not need much in the clothes line for such a few days, our school dress and our Sunday dress, a change of underclothing, I suppose, and our wraps. Betty would never be ashamed of us if we didn’t have new and stylish hats and coats.”

“I believe Betty did say that her old coat would have to do this winter, though I’m not sure. Perhaps it was you that mentioned it. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go if I can, Janet, and be sure to give Betty my love when you write to her. I hope she’ll write to me.”

“Oh, she will, Sue. Of course Betty will, if she is inviting you. But you can see what a rush she’s in. It must take a lot of time just to get to places on the street cars. Mother said it would take over half an hour to get down town from some of the suburbs. And maybe it’s more than that. I believe I’d rather live here, where you can walk to church and school and to the groceries and picture show and everything.”

“I can imagine that Betty is pretty lonesome sometimes,” added Sue, gravely looking at the letter which she still held. “But it seems just like a nice adventure that you read about, and if we can go, we’ll have a share in some of it.”

[CHAPTER VI: FRIENDS AND FUN]

Had Betty Lee imagined any faintly romantic attraction to her dainty self on the part of Ted Dorrance, she would have been disappointed during these first weeks in the new school. He always spoke when they met in the halls provided he saw her; but he was usually with other boys and very much engrossed in whatever he was discussing with them. Hurrying crowds on the way to classes had little interest for Betty as well. She, too, was absorbed by the busy and interesting life, and soon had friends among the girls in her classes.

Betty, though friendly, was by nature not inclined to make close friends immediately. But girls that recite together and have the same lessons will find much in common. Betty’s good recitations and her hand that went up often to answer the questions of different teachers were sufficient introduction to her classmates, who heard her name, as she heard theirs, when she was called upon to recite. She cheerfully lent a pencil or pen for a moment, or answered some question before class about the lesson, or sat upon her desk, opposite some similarly perched girl, to chat about coming events. There were “hundreds of freshmen” and that literally; but they resolved themselves into the comparative few with whom she recited in her different classes.

Long before the Thanksgiving visit, which she anticipated from her old home chum, she was accustomed to school and work and thoroughly liked many of the girls, especially a few who were “very chummy” with her, she told her mother, and sat with her at lunch, or waited for her after class, or planned their work or recreation together.

Louise Madison, she found to be a senior, president of the Girls’ Athletic Club, a large association, indeed, consisting of all the girls who “went in” for athletics. A certain amount of gym work was required, but one could take more, to be sure. Yet Betty’s parents were a little hesitant just yet; and not knowing the wisdom of the teachers in charge, preferred that Betty wait a little, except in swimming, which her father said she ought to know as well as possible, so that she could “swim to Europe” in case something happened to the ship before it reached port.

At that remark, soberly delivered, the family had laughed, but Doris asked in good earnest, “When are we going, Papa?”

“Aw, Dodie,” said Dick, “can’t you tell a joke when you hear one?”

“Well, we probably shall go some day,” airily said Doris, provoked at herself for having spoken too soon, and none too well pleased with her twin. “You think you’re very smart!”

“Doris,” quietly said her mother with a reproving shake of her head, and trouble was avoided.

The freshman to whom Betty was most attracted, and that very soon, was Carolyn Gwynne, a bright, warm-hearted, generous girl, alive to everything and enthusiastic about many things, yet with a certain poise that Betty decided was due to the fact that she had always lived in the city. Her pretty brown head often bobbed along by Betty’s fair one and her face was alight with various expressions as she told Betty “all she knew and more,” as she herself said.

“Everybody likes Carolyn,” said Peggy Pollard, who had seen the grades through with Carolyn. “It’s because Carolyn goes out of her way to do things for people. She has a lovely family, too, and that makes a difference, don’t you think, Betty?”

“Oh, yes. Wouldn’t it be terrible not to be happy at home?”

“It certainly would.”

Peggy herself was a “darling girl,” Betty thought, prettily plump, like Carolyn, though shorter than either Carolyn or Betty. Her locks that fell around her shoulders just now, being allowed to grow and variously trained on different days, were of that dark brown red that belongs with what seems to be the same color of eyes and a pinky complexion. But Peggy did not go without a hat as much as the other girls, since freckles “were one thing she wasn’t going to have!” If she could only tan decently now! “You have a dimple on one cheek, Betty Lee,” said Peggy, “and Carolyn has one on the other. Those cheeks ought to be on one person!”

“Oh, aren’t you funny, Peggy Pollard!” exclaimed Betty. “Carolyn’s cheek added to my cheek,”–then they both laughed, thinking of another meaning for “cheek.” They were in a mood for silliness anyhow, Peggy said, for they were on their way to the auditorium for a “pep” meeting. The occasion, of course, was fall foot, ball. Enthusiasm must be aroused for the “Lions,” soon to fight their first battles on the gridirons of various schools in the city and suburbs. But Betty did have two dimples.

In common with the rest of the scholars of Lyon High, Betty and her friends were delighted to have an auditorium session, not only for what usually went on, but for the cutting of recitation hours!

“Carolyn’s going to have a garden party, Betty,” Peggy continued. “Has she told you about it?”

“No–I hope I’ll be invited, though,” laughed Betty, climbing the stairs now for the recitation room and her freshman locker, just secured in the last few days. “My, isn’t it nice not to have to carry your books around any more!”

“Yes,” and Peggy slid her hand up along the brass railing of the stairs. “But I imagine Carolyn just decided about it last night. All their fall flowers are so beautiful now. They have a wonderful big place, you know. Have you anything else to do Saturday?”