Betty Leicester: A Story For Girls

by Harriet Pyne Grove

  IX.

  BETTY'S REFLECTIONS.

  AS Betty shut the gate behind her one day and walked down the mainstreet of Tideshead she felt more than ever as if the past four yearshad been a dream, and as if she were exactly the same girl who had paidthat last visit when she was eleven years old. Yet she seemed to herselfto have clearer eyes than before; her years of travel had taught her toobserve, the best gift that traveling can bestow. She saw new beautiesin the gardens and the queer-shaped porches over the front doors, andnoticed particularly the cupolas of one or two barns that were clear andsharp in their good outlines. More than all, she was astonished at thebeauty of the old trees. Tideshead was not a forest of maples, like manyother New England towns, but there were oaks along the village streets,and ash-trees, and willows, beside great elms in stately rows, andsilver poplars, and mountain ashes, and even some fruit-trees along theroadsides outside the village. Betty remembered a story that she hadoften heard with great interest about one of the old Tideshead ministerswho had been much beloved, and whose influence was still felt. Everyyear he had brought ten trees from the woods and planted them either onthe streets or in his neighbor's yards; one year he chose one sort oftree and the next another, and at last, when he grew older and could notgo far afield in his search he asked his friends for fruit-trees andplanted them for the benefit of wayfarers. These had made a delightfulmemorial of the good old man, but many of the trees had fallen by thistime, and though everybody said that they ought to be replaced, andcomplained of such shiftless neglect, as usual what was everybody'sbusiness was nobody's business, and Tideshead looked as if it were sorryto be forgotten. Betty had been used to the thrifty English and Frenchcare of woodlands, and felt as if it were a great pity not to takebetter care of the precious legacy. Aunt Barbara sometimes sent Jonathanand Seth Pond to care for the trees that needed pruning or covering atthe roots, but hardly any one else in Tideshead did anything but chopthem up and clear them away when they blew down.

  It seemed very strange that all the old houses were so handsome and allthe new ones so ugly. A stranger might wonder, why, with the goodproportions, and even a touch of simple elegance that the house buildersof the last century almost always gave, their successors seemed to haveno idea of either, and to take no lessons from the good models beforetheir eyes. "Makeshifts o' splendor," sensible old Serena called some ofthe new houses which had run much to cheap decoration and irregularroofs and fancy colors of paint. But the old minister's elms and willowshung their green boughs before some of these architectural failures asif to kindly screen them from the passers-by. They looked likeimitations of houses, one or two of them, and as if they were put downto fill spaces, and not meant to live in, as the old plain-roofed andwide-roomed dwellings are. The sober old village looked here and thereas if it were a placid elderly lady upon whom a child had put it's owngay raiment. People do not consider the becomingness of a building toits surroundings as they should, but Betty did not make this clear toherself exactly, though she was sorry at the change in the familiarstreets. She was more delighted than she knew because she felt socomplete a sense of belongingness; as if she were indeed made of thevery dust of Tideshead, and were a part of it. It was much better thangetting used to new places, though even in the dullest ones she hadknown there was some charm and some attaching quality ever to beremembered. She liked dearly to think of some of the places where sheand papa had made their home, but after all there was the temporaryfeeling about every one. She could bear transplanting from most of themwith equanimity, no matter how deep her roots had seemed to strike.

  After she had posted her letters there was a question of what to donext. She had really come out for a walk, but Mary Beck's mother had adressmaker that day and Becky was not at liberty; and Nelly Foster wasbusy, too. The Grants were away for a few days on a visit; it was alonely morning with our friend, who felt a hearty wish for one of herusual companions. She strayed out toward the fields and seated herselfin the shade of Becky's favorite tree, looking off toward the hills. Thecountry was very green and fresh-looking after a long rain, and thefarmers were out cutting the later hay in the lower meadows. She couldhear the mowing-machines like the whirr of great locusts, and the men'svoices as they shouted to each other and the horses. On the field sideof the fence, in the field corner, she and Becky had made a comfortableseat by putting a piece of board across the angle of the two fences, andthere was a black cherry-tree thicket near, so that the two girls couldnot be seen from the road as they sat there. As Betty perched herselfhere alone she could look along the road, but not be discovered easily.She wished for Becky more than ever after the first few minutes, but herthoughts were very busy. She had had a misunderstanding with both theaunts that morning, and was still moved by a little pity for herself.They had grown used to their own orderly habits, and it seemed to be notrouble to them to keep their possessions in order, and Betty had foundthem standing before an open bureau drawer in her room quite aghast withthe general disarray, and also with the buttonless and be-rippedcondition of different articles of her underclothing. They had laughedgood-naturedly and were not so hard upon Betty as they meant to be, whenthey saw her shame-stricken face, and Betty herself tried to laugh. Shedid not mind Aunt Barbara's seeing the things so much as Aunt Mary'saggravating assumption that it was a perfectly hopeless case, andnothing could be done about it.

  "Nobody knows how or where they were washed," Aunt Barbara said in herbrisk way; and though she looked very stern, Betty knew that she meantit partly for an excuse.

  "You certainly ought to have been looking them over in this rainyweather," complained Aunt Mary. "A young lady of your age is expected tokeep her clothing in exquisite order."

  Betty hated being called a young lady of her age.

  "I hope that you take better care of your father's wardrobe than this:why, there isn't a whole thing here, and they are most expensive newthings, one can see; unmended and spoiled." Aunt Mary held up a prettyunderwaist and sighed deeply.

  "Mrs. Duncan chose them with me; one doesn't have to give so much forsuch things in London," explained Betty somewhat hotly. "It is no use topick out ugly things to wear."

  "Dear, dear!" said Aunt Barbara, "don't fret about it, either of you!We'll look them over by and by, Betty, and see what can be done;" andshe shut the drawer upon the pathetic relics. "You must be ready to meetyour responsibilities better than this," she said sharply to her niece,but Betty was already hurrying out of the door. She did not mind AuntBarbara, but Aunt Mary in the distressing silk wrapper that belonged tocross days was too much for one to bear. They had no business to belooking over her bureau drawer; then Betty was sorry for having been soill-natured about it. Letty had told her, earlier, that some of herclothes could not be worn again until they were mended, and Aunt Barbarahad, no doubt, been consulted also, and was wondering what was best tobe done. Betty's great pride had been in being able to take care ofpapa, and she had almost boasted of her skill, and of her management ofhousekeeping affairs when they were in lodgings. She was too old now tobe treated like a child, and hated being what Serena called "stoodover."

  Betty's temper was usually very good, and such provocations could notmake her miserable very long. As she sat under the oak-tree she evenlaughed at the remembrance of Aunt Mary's expression of perfecthopelessness as she held up the underwaist. Aunt Barbara's favoritemaxim that there was "nothing so inconvenient as disorder" seemed tohave deeper reason and wisdom than ever. Betty considered the proprietyof throwing away all her subterfuges of pins, so that a proper stitchmust be inevitably taken when it was needed. Pins in underclothes arenot always comfortable, but our heroine was apt to be in a hurry, and tosuffer the consequences in more ways than one. She made some braveresolutions now, and promised herself to look over her belongings, andto mend all that could be mended and throw away the remainder rags thatvery day after dinner. Betty was fond of making good resolutions, andit seemed to help her much about keeping them if she wrote them down.She had learned lately from
Aunt Barbara, who complained of forgettingthings over night, to make little lists of things to be done, and itappeared a good deal easier to mark off the items on the list one byone, than to carry them in one's mind and wonder what should be donenext. Our friend liked to make notes about life in general and her ownresponsibilities, and had many serious thoughts now that she was growingolder.

  She made her lead pencil as pointed as possible with a knife newlysharpened by Jonathan, and wrote at the end of her slip of paper, whichhad come out much crumpled from her pocket: "Look over my clothes andevery one of my stockings, and put them in as good order as possible."Then she smoothed out another larger piece of paper on her knee and readit. One day she had copied some scattered sentences from a book, andprefaced them with some things that her father often had said: "Learnthe right way to do things. Do everything that you can for yourself. Tryto make yourself fit to live with other people. Try to avoid makingother people wait upon you. Remember that every person stands in adifferent place from every other and so sees life from a different pointof view. Remember that nobody likes to be proved in the wrong, and becareful in what manner you say things to people that they do not wish tohear."

  Betty read slowly with great approval at first, but the end seemeddisturbing. "That's just what Aunt Mary likes!" she reflected, withsuddenly rising wrath. "She says things over twice, for fear I don'thear them the first time. I wish she would let me alone!" but Betty'sconscience smote her at this point. She really was beginning to wishmost heartily that she were good, and like every one else wished for theapproval of others as well as for the peace of her own conscience. Thiswas a black-mark day when she had neither, and she thought about herlife more intently than usual. When she liked herself everybody likedher, but when she was on bad terms with herself everybody else seemedready to join in the stern disapproval. Papa was always ready to lend ahelping hand at such times, but papa was far away. Nothing was sopleasant as usual that morning, and a fog of discouragement seemed toshut out all the sunshine in Betty Leicester's heart. She did not oftenget low-spirited, but for that hour all the excitement of coming toTideshead and being liked and befriended by her old friends had vanishedand left only a miserable hopelessness in its place. The road of lifeappeared to lead nowhere, and perhaps our friend missed the constantchange and excitement of interest brought to her by living alongsidesuch a busy, inspiriting life as her father's. Here in Tideshead she hadto provide her own motive power instead of being tributary to a strongercurrent.

  "I don't seem to have anything to do," thought Betty. "I used to be sobusy all the time last spring in London and never had half time enough,and now everything is raveling out instead of knitting up. I pokethrough the days hoping something nice will happen, just like theTideshead girls." This thought came with a curious flash ofself-recognition such as rarely comes, and always is the minute ofinspiration. "I must think and think what to do," Betty went on, leaningher cheek on her hand and looking off at the blue mountains far to thenorthward. There was a tuft of rudbeckias in bloom near by, and justthen the breeze made them bow at her as if they were watching andapproved her serious thoughts. They had indeed a friendly and cheeringlook, as if there were still much hope in life, and Betty forgot herselffor a minute as she was suddenly conscious of their companionship. Sheeven gave the gay yellow flowers a friendly nod, and resolved to carrysome of them home to the aunts. It would be a good thing to make a rulefor devoting the first half hour after breakfast to the care of herclothes and that sort of thing: then she could take the next hour forher writing. But it was often very pleasant to scurry down into thegarden or to the yard for a word with Jonathan or Seth. Aunt Barbara wasalways busy housekeeping with Serena just after breakfast, and Betty wasleft to herself for a while; it would take stern principle to settle atonce to the day's work, but to-morrow morning the plan should be tried.Betty had offered, soon after she came, to take care of the flowers inthe house, to pick fresh ones or to put fresh water in the vases, butshe had forgotten to do it regularly of late, though Aunt Barbara hadbeen so pleased in the beginning. "I ought to do my part in the house,"she thought, and again the gay "rude beckies" nodded approval, and acatbird overhead said a great deal on the subject which was difficult tounderstand but very insistent. Betty was beginning to be cheerful again;in truth, nothing gets a girl out of a tangle of provocations andbewilderments and regrets like going out into the fields alone.

  Nobody had driven by in all the time that Betty had sat in the fencecorner until now there was a noise of wheels in the distance. It seemedsuddenly as if the session were over, and Betty, quite restored to herusual serenity, said good-by to her solitary self and the cheerfulwild-flowers. "I am going to be good, papa," she thought with a warmlove in her hopeful heart, as she looked out through the young blackcherry-trees to see who was going by in the road. "Seth! Seth Pond!" shecalled, "Where are you going?" for it proved to be that important memberof the aunts' household, with the old wagon and Jimmy, the old blackhorse.

  "Goin' to mill," answered Seth, recognizing the voice and looking abouthim, much pleased. "Want to come? be pleased to have ye," and Betty wasover the fence in a minute and appeared to his view from behind thethicket. I dare say the flowers waved a farewell and looked fondly afterher as she drove away.

  Seth was not in the least vexed by his thoughts. He was much gratifiedby Betty's company and behaved with great dignity, giving her muchinformation about the hay crop, and how many tons were likely to be cutin this field and the next. They could not drive very fast because thewagon was well loaded with bags of corn, and so they jogged on at aneven pace, though Seth flourished his whip a good deal, strikingsometimes at the old horse, and sometimes at the bushes by the roadside.

  "Do you expect I shall ever get to be much of a hand to play theviolin?" he inquired with much earnestness.

  "I don't know, Seth," answered Betty, a little distressed by theresponsibility of answering. "Do you mean to be a musician and donothing else?"

  "I used to count on it when I was little," said Seth humbly. "I heard afellow play splendid in a show once, and I just used to lay awake nightsan' be good for nothin' days, wonderin' how I could learn; but I canplay now 'bout's good's he could, I s'pose, an' it don't seem to benothin'. Them tunes in the book you give me let in some light on me asto what playin' was. I mean them tough ones over in the back part."

  "I suppose you would have to go away and study; teachers cost a greatdeal. That is, the best ones do."

  "They're wuth it; I don't grudge 'em the best they get," said Seth,honorably. "I've got to think o' marm, you see, up-country. She couldn'tget along nohow without my wages comin' in. You see I send her the mostpart. I ain't to no expense myself while I live there to MissLeicester's. If there was only me I'd fetch it to live somehow up insomebody's garret, and go to one o' them crack teachers after I'd savedup consid'able. Then I'd go to work again an' practice them lessons tillI earnt some more. But I ain't never goin' to pinch marm; she worked an'slaved an' picked huckleberries and went out nussin' and tailorin' an'any work she could git, slick or rough, an' give me everything she couldtill I got a little schoolin' together and was big enough to work. She'skind o' slim now; I think she worked too hard. I was awful homesick whenI was first to your aunts', but Jonathan he used me real good. He comethere a boy from up to our place just the same, an' used to know marm.Miss Leicester she lets me go up and spend Sunday consid'able often.Marm's all alone except what use she gets of the neighbors comin' in.But seems if I'd lived for nothin', if I can't learn to play a fiddlebetter than I can now," and Seth struck hard with his whip at anunoffending thistle.

  "Then you're sure to do it," said Betty. "I believe you _must_ learn,Seth. Where there's a will there's a way."

  "Why, that's just what Sereny says," exclaimed Seth with surprise."Well, they say 't was the little dog that kep' runnin' that got thereSaturday night."

  "Should you play in concerts, do you suppose?" asked Betty, withreverence for such overpowering ambition in the
rough lad.

  "You bet, an' travel with shows an' things," responded Seth. "But if Ikep' to work on somethin' else that give mother an' me a good livin',I'd like to be the one they sent for all round this part of the countrywhen they wanted first-rate playin'; an' I'd be ready, you know, andjust make the old fiddle squeak lovely for dancin' or set pieces forweddings an' any occasions that might rise. I'd like to be _the_ player,an' I tell ye I'm goin' to be 'fore I die. Marm she knows I can, but onespell she used to expect 't would draw me into bad company."

  "Oh you wouldn't let it, I'm sure, Seth," agreed Betty, with pleasingconfidence. "I like to hear you play now," she said. "I wish we couldget you a teacher. Perhaps papa can tell you, and--well, we'll see."

  "I'd just like to have you see marm," said Seth shyly as they drove tothe mill door. "She'd like you an' you'd like her. I don't suppose youraunts would let you go up-country, would they? It's pretty up there;mountains, an' cleared pastur's way up their sides higher 'n you'd gitin an afternoon. You can see way down here right from our house," hewhispered, as they stopped before the mill, door.

  Betty thought it was very pleasant in the old mill. While Seth and themiller were transacting their business, she went to one of the littlewindows on the side next the swift rushing mill-stream and looked outawhile, and watched some swallows and the clear water and the house onthe other side where the miller lived. Then she was shown how the cornwas ground and tasted the hot meal as it came sifting down from thelittle boxes on the band, and the miller even had the big wheel stoppedin its dripping dark closet where it seemed to labor hard to keep themill going. "Something works hard for us in our lives to make them allcome right," she thought with wistful gratitude, and looked with newinterest at the busy maze of wheels and hoppers and rude machinery thatjoggled on steadily from the touch of the hidden wheel and the plash ofits live water. She wandered out into the sunshine and down the riverside a little way. There was a clean yellow sandy bottom in one placewith shoals of frisky little minnows and a small green island only alittle way out, and Betty was much tempted to take off her shoes andstockings and wade across. Her toes curled themselves in their shoeswith pleased anticipation, but she thought with a sigh that she was tootall to go wading now, that is, near a public place like the mill. Itwas impossible not to give a heavy sigh over such lost delights. Thenshe looked up at the mill and discovered that there were only one or twohigh and dusty windows at that end, and down she sat on the short greenturf to pull off the shoes and stockings as fast as she could, lestsecond thoughts might again hinder this last wade. She gathered herpetticoats and over to the island she splashed, causing awfulapprehension of disaster among the minnows.

  The green island was a delightful place indeed; the upper end was nearthe roaring dam, and the water plashed and dashed as it ran away oneither side. There were two or three young elms and some alders on theisland, and the alders were full of clematis just coming into bloom. Thelower end of this strip of island-ground was much less noisy, and Bettywent down to sit there after she had seen two or three turtles slideinto the water, and more minnows slip away into deeper pools out ofsight. There was a pleasant damp smell of cool water, and a ripple oflight went dancing up the high stone foundation of the old mill. Bettycould still hear the great wet wheel lumbering round. She thought thatshe never had found a more delightful place, so much business was goingon all about her and yet it was so quiet there, and as she looked undera young alder what should she see but a wild duck on its nest. Even ifthe shy thing had fluttered off at her approach, it had gone back again,and now watched her steadily as if to be ready to fly, yet not reallyfrightened. It was a dear kind of relationship to be in this wild littleplace with another living creature, and Betty settled herself on thesoft turf, against the straight young elm trunk, determined not to giveanother glance in the duck's direction. It would be great fun to comeand see it go away with its ducklings when they were hatched, if oneonly knew the proper minute. She wished that she could paint a pictureof the mill and the river, or could write a song about it, even if shecould not sing it, so many girls had such gifts and did not care halfso much for them as Betty herself would. Dear Betty! she did not knowwhat a rare gift she had in being able to enjoy so many things, and tounderstand the pictures and songs of every day.

  Then it was time to wade back to shore, and so she rose and left theduck to her peaceful seclusion, not knowing how often she would think ofthis pretty place in years to come. The best thing about such pleasuresis that they seem more and more delightful, as years go on. Seth wasjust coming to tell Betty that the meal was all ground and ready whenshe appeared discreetly from behind the willows that grew at the millend, and so they drove home without anything exciting to mark the way.

  Betty had taken many music lessons, but she was by no means a musician,and seldom played for the pleasure of it. For some reason, after tea wasover that evening she opened Aunt Barbara's piano and began to play agay military march which she had toilsomely learned from one of thefamiliar English operas. She played it once or twice, and played itvery well; in fact, an old gentleman who was going slowly along thestreet stopped and leaned on the fence to listen. He had been a captainin the militia in the days of the old New England trainings, and nowthough he walked with two canes and was quite decrepit, he liked to bereminded of his military service, and the march gave him a greatpleasure and made him young again while he stood there beating time onthe front fence, and nodding his head. One may often give pleasurewithout knowing it, if one does pleasant things.

  Next morning, early after breakfast, Betty appeared at Miss MaryLeicester's door with an armful of mending. Aunt Mary waked up early andhad her breakfast in bed, and liked very much to be called uponafterward and to hear something pleasant. One of the windows of her roomlooked down into the garden and it was cool and shady there at this timeof the day, so Betty seated herself with a dutiful and sober feeling notunmixed with enjoyment.

  "I have thought ever since yesterday that I was too severe, my dear,"said Aunt Mary somewhat wistfully from her three pillows. "But you see,Betty, I am so conscious of the mistakes of my own life that I wish tohelp you to avoid them. It is a terrible thing to become dependent uponother people,--especially if they are busy people," she addedplaintively.

  "Oh, I ought to have managed everything better," responded Betty,looking at the ends of two fingers that had poked directly through astocking toe. "I don't mean to let things get so bad again. I never dowhen I am with papa, because--I know better. But it has been such fun toplay since I came to Tideshead! I don't feel a bit grown up here."

  Aunt Mary looked at little Betty with an affectionate smile.

  "I think fifteen is such a funny age," Betty went on; "you seem to justperch there between being a little girl and a young lady, and first youthink you are one and then you think you are the other. I feel like abird on a bough, or as if I were living in a railway station, waitingfor a train to come in before I could do anything."

  Betty said this gravely, and then felt a little shy and self-conscious.Aunt Mary watched her as she sat by the window sewing, and was wiseenough not to answer, but she could not help thinking that Betty was adear girl. It was one of Aunt Mary's very best days, and there were somethings one could say more easily to her than to Aunt Barbara, thoughAunt Barbara was what Betty was pleased to irreverently call her pal.

  "I do wish that I had a talent for something," said Betty. "I can'tsing: if I could, I am sure that I would sing for everybody who askedme. I don't see what makes people so silly about it; hear that old robinnow!" and they both laughed. "Nobody asks me to play who knows anythingabout music. I wish I had Aunt Barbara's fingers; I don't believe I canever learn. I told papa it was just throwing money away, and he said itwas good to know how to play even a little, and good for my hands, tomake them quick and clever."

  "You played that march very well last night," said Aunt Mary kindly.

  "Oh, that sort of thing! But I mean other music, the hard things thatpapa lik
es. There is one of the Chopin nocturnes that Mrs. Duncanplays, oh, it is so beautiful! I wish you and Aunt Barbara knew it."

  "You must ask Aunt Barbara to practice it. I like to have her keep onplaying. We used to hear a great deal of music when I was well enough togo to Boston in the winter, years ago," and Aunt Mary sighed. "I thinkit is a great thing to have a gift for home life, as you really have,Betty dear."

  "Papa and I have been in such queer holes," laughed Betty. "Mrs. Duncanand some of our friends are never tired of hearing about them. But youknow we always try to do the same things. If I hadn't any other teacherwhen we were just flying about, papa always heard my lessons and made mekeep lesson hours; and he goes on with his affairs and we are quiteorderly, indeed we are, so it doesn't make much difference where wehappen to be. Then I have been whole winters in London, and Mrs. Duncanlooks after us a good deal."

  "Mary Duncan is a wise and charming woman," said Aunt Mary.

  "All the big Duncans are so nice to the little ones!" said Betty; "butpapa and I can be old or young just as we choose, and we try to make upfor not being a large family," which seemed to amuse both Aunt Mary andLetty, who had just come in.

  The hour soon slipped by and Betty's needle had done great execution,but a little heap was laid aside for the rag-bag as too hopeless a wreckfor any mending. It was plain that too much trust had been reposed instrange washerwomen, for one could put a finger through the underwaistsanywhere, such damaging soap had evidently been used to make them clean.Betty had heard that paper clothes were coming into fashion from Japan,and informed her aunt of this probable change for the better with greatglee. Then she went away to the garden to cut some flowers for thehouse, and found Aunt Barbara there before her, tying up the hollyhockstalks to some stakes that Seth Pond was driving down. Aunt Barbara hada shallow basket and was going to cut the sweet-clover flowers thatmorning, to dry and put on her linen shelves along with some sprigs oflavender, and this pleasant employment took another half hour.

  "Aunt Mary was so dear this morning!" said Betty, as they stood onopposite sides of a tall sweet-clover top.

  "She feels pretty well, then," answered Miss Leicester, much pleased.

  "Yes," said Betty, snipping away industriously; "she didn't wish to bepitied one bit. Don't you think we could give her some chloroform, AuntBab, and put her on the steamer and take her to England? She would getso excited and have such a good time and be well forever after."

  "I really have thought so," acknowledged Aunt Barbara, smiling atBetty's audacity. "But your Aunt Mary has suffered many things, and haslost her motive power. She cannot rouse herself when she wishes to,nowadays, but must take life as it comes. I can see that it was amistake to yield years ago to her nervous illness, but I was not so wisethen, and now it is too late. You know, Betty, she had a great sorrow,and has never been the same person since."

  "So had papa when mamma died," said Betty gravely, and trying hard tounderstand; "but he cured himself by just living for other people, andthinking whether _they_ were happy."

  "It is the only way, dear," said Aunt Barbara, "but when you are olderyou will know better how it has been with my poor sister."

  Betty said no more, but she had many thoughts. Something that had beensaid about losing one's motive power had struck very deep. She had saidsomething herself about waiting for her train in the station, and shehad a sudden vision of the aimlessness of it, and of even the trainbills and advertisements on the wall. She was eager, as all girls are,for one single controlling fate or fortune to call out all her growingenergies, but she was aware at this moment that she herself must chooseand provide; she must learn to throw herself heartily into her life justas it was. It was a moment of clear vision to Betty Leicester, and hercheeks flushed with bright color. It wasn't the thing one had to do, butthe way one learned to do it, that distinguished one's life. Perhaps shecould be famous for every-day homely things and have a real genius forsomething so simple that nobody else had thought of it. That night whenBetty said her prayers one new thing came into her mind to be asked for,and was a great help, so that she often remembered it afterward. "Helpme to have a good time doing every-day things, and to make my work mypleasure."