That Little Girl of Miss Eliza's: A Story for Young People

by Jean K. Baird

  CHAPTER X.

  Before the year had passed, Beth had learned many things which were notin books. The first was that school and clothes cost money. She gave nohint to Adee that she had grown wise in this respect. What was the useof discussing matters and worrying oneself when no good could come ofit? She could keep her eyes open and look about her, to see in what wayshe could help her foster-mother. She saw, for the first time, a greatdeal. Adee's shoes were patched and her gloves shiny. Having her eyesopened, Beth saw a great deal. At the first opening of spring, she hadhad new shoes and a new school-dress. The walk was hard on footwear. Apair of shoes had lasted her but a month.

  She looked at her new shoes and decided that they must last her untilthe last of summer. Thereafter when she set out for school, she slippedaround to the front stoop, and when she set forth again, she had abundle under her arm. A month passed. Beth had come home from school.Adee had met her at the foot of the slope. By some strange chance,Adee's eyes fell upon the shoes the little girl was wearing.

  "It's wonderful how your shoes are lasting. They are not even scuffedand you have worn them five weeks. That has been about as long as a pairlasts you."

  "Yes," said Beth. Her face grew crimson, and she turned her eyes awaythat she might not meet Adee's glance.

  "Did you bring home a library book?" asked Eliza, reaching forth for thebooks under Beth's arm. "I hope it is something worth while. We can readit aloud." For the first time, she saw the other bundle under Beth'sarm.

  "What is it, Beth?" she asked.

  Beth burst into tears. Then with a sudden impulse she opened the bundleand forced it into Eliza's hands. It was nothing at allformidable--nothing to shed tears over.

  "Your old shoes! What are you crying about them for, and what everpossessed you to carry them with you? Were they too valuable to leave athome?"

  "I'm crying because I didn't wish you to know about it, and now you'vefound out." Beth dried her tears. "I saw how many shoes I was wearingout, and that I always had new ones and you had old patched ones. Ithought I'd save. I put on these old ones when I get out of sight of thehouse and just at the edge of town I put on the good ones again. I'vealways looked nice in school, Adee, and I didn't wear out the good shoeson the rough road."

  "It's all right," said Adee. "But what did you do with your old shoeswhile you were in school? I do hope you did not set them up on your deskas a decoration."

  Beth knew her own Adee, and accepted this remark as a humorous sort ofpleasantry. She laughed, "You know I did not. I hid them under an oldlog alongside the road. You're not vexed, Adee?"

  Eliza put her arm around the child and drew her close to her as theywalked up the hill. "No, I think I'm pleased. Indeed, I am quite sure Iam. I'm glad that you think of some one else. But don't worry about yourshoes, I want you to look well in school. If you stand well in yourclass, and behave yourself nicely, I shall be satisfied. Somehow, Ithink this is all a little girl need do."

  "It's all right though to save my shoes this way?"

  "Yes, if you wish to. I'll leave that to you. You may do as you please.It will save me buying a new pair for some time."

  So Beth continued this. Her shoes lasted through the school term whichclosed the last of May.

  The high school at Farwell was only a district one of the third class.There was a three years' course, and the average age for graduation wassixteen. Beth entered when she was twelve--or, rather when Eliza thoughtshe was that age. She may have been eleven or thirteen for all either ofthem knew.

  The freshman class was made up of pupils from three grammar grades fromdifferent sections of the town, so that at least two-thirds of herclass-mates were strangers to Beth. She and Helen had been put indifferent divisions, and Beth found herself virtually alone as far asany friends were concerned.

  Several days passed before the girl back of her spoke to her. Bethalready knew her name, having seen it on the wall slate. It was TillyJones. She was a fat, fair-haired girl--the senior of Beth by severalyears. She was rather stupid about books, and her movements slow andponderous. Her father was an ignorant, uneducated man, yet with acertain skill about molding, so that he was able to make the sandpattern by simply having the blue-print before him, and taking nomeasurements. He was a genius in this one line. He was a valuable man inthe foundry and made "big money." Tilly had ribbons and furbelows. Herfat, pudgy fingers were covered with rings; she wore a bracelet and anecklace.

  Friday morning, she leaned forward and asked, "What are you going towear this afternoon?"

  "Wear? Why, this--" replied Beth.

  "But it's Friday afternoon," was the reply. Beth could see no reason whythis day of the week would make any difference. Tilly enlightened her."Literary society, you know. Everybody fixed up for that. I'm going towear a net gown over a blue lining. It looks just like silk. You'd nevertell until you touched it. My mother paid Miss Foster six dollars tomake it. My dress cost almost twenty dollars."

  Beth had nothing to say to this. She could not have said it, had she thewords in her mouth, for the teacher had moved down the aisle and had hereyes upon the corner from which the sound of whispering came.

  At noon Tilly came up to her in the cloak-room and explained the customsof the school. She had failed in her examinations, consequently this washer second year in the freshman class and she knew all about the "ins"and "outs."

  "Everybody who is anything dresses up for Friday afternoon," she said.

  "I can't," said Beth. "I don't go home for dinner. I bring my lunch."

  "It's too bad. You'll feel so embarrassed. Your hair ribbons are oldones, too. This is the first time I've worn mine. They cost fifty centsa yard."

  She talked for some minutes, at the end of which Beth knew how muchevery article she wore cost. They were interrupted by the appearance oftwo other classmates. Beth knew them only by name. Carrie Laire wasslight, with dark hair and eyes. Sally Monroe was very fair. She wasslender and wiry. Her hair was drawn loosely and hung in a thick braiddown her back.

  "I'm the chairman of the Program Committee," began Sally. "Do you reciteor write poetry? I want you to be on the program for two weeks fromto-day. You can select your own work. You see, I cannot tell what eachone does best."

  "I'll write a story," said Beth. "A fairy-tale; will that do?"

  "It would be lovely. You're a perfect dear to help me out." She waswriting Beth's name in her note-book.

  "Don't you live in town?" asked Carrie Laire. Beth told her where shelived.

  "Is Miss Wells your aunt?" was the next question. Beth had never thoughtof that.

  "No, she isn't," she replied and was about to move away, but Carriefollowed her. The question had made Beth uneasy. Adee was not her aunt.Why did she live with her then, and why did she not have a home withbrothers and sisters like other girls?

  "Is your father dead?" Carrie continued. "I suppose he must be, and yourmother too, or you wouldn't be living with some one who isn't even youraunt."

  Sally overheard the questions. She had always been in Carrie's classesand knew how prone that young lady was to ask impertinent questionsabout matters which were really none of her business. She came to therescue now.

  "I'm glad you can write fairy-stories, Beth. It is so hard to get anyoneto do anything of that sort. The girls will recite and sing, but essaysand stories make them nervous." Slipping her arm within Beth's she ledher away, ignoring alike Carrie's presence and her impertinentquestions.

  "I'll bring my lunch with me, too," continued Sally. "I believe you andI could get along very well. Let us eat together. I haven't anyparticular friend. Mabel Reynolds was, but she is away. I'd dearly loveto have you for a friend."

  "I'd love to be your dearest friend. I never had a real intimate friend,except Helen Reed, and she's in the other division."

  In the joy of these friendly overtures, Beth forgot Carrie and herquestions.

  Just before the afternoon session, Tilly came in breathless. Her fatbody was palpitating like jelly. She wo
re a net dress made over a liningof blue near-silk. Her ribbons were new and crisp; her shoes andstockings white.

  "I've heard a piece of news," she began the instant her eyes fell uponthe girls. "There's a whole party planning to motor over from PointBreeze to visit school. They'll be here for our program. They're swellseveryone of them. Mrs. Laurens is one of them. I've seen her. They'vebeen all the summer at the Point Breeze Hotel. Her room costs twentydollars a week. I'm glad I'm dressed up. I'm awful sorry for you, Beth.If I were you I'd sit back so they wouldn't see me. They may nevernotice that you're in the room. It's a good thing that I sit in front ofyou and that I could go home and dress. I'm glad I wore this sash. Mymother bought it in New York. It's imported. She paid ten dollars forit."

  "Perhaps the visitors will be looking at your sash and not see us," saidBeth dryly. "Thank you for your suggestion; but I'll not sit back awayfrom your view. If Mrs. Laurens and her friends do not like my looks,they can turn their eyes some other way. It is my school and my seat andmy dress. If anything about it doesn't suit them, they know what theycan do."

  It was rather a fiery speech for Beth. Sally squeezed her arm to giveher a sort of moral support. Harvey Lackard, the freckle-faced boy withthe crimson topknot, chuckled aloud.

  "Give it to her, Beth," he encouraged. "I never knew you had so muchspunk. You don't strike often, but when you do, you give it to themunder the belt."

  Tilly took no offense. She had a good disposition even though the pricemark was attached to everything she said. She turned toward Harvey andsmiled blandly.

  Carrie Laire was quite as excited as Tilly.

  "Did you know that Mrs. Laurens is coming and Judge Creswell and ColonelEvans? Why, but I'm all worked up over it. I have a piano solo, and Ijust know I'll break down. Do you know any of them? You may thank yourstars that you're not on the program. Judge Creswell is awful famous.Have you any judge in your family? What did your father do?"

  Just an instant, Beth's face flushed. She did not wish to make an enemyof Carrie, yet she could not put up with these questions. She stiffenedher quivering lip and said lightly, "Are you merely curious, Carrie, ordo you wish the information?" Her companion turned to look at her. Bethcontinued, "I'll take a tablet and write out all the information aboutme that you may ever need--age, height, weight, and everything else."

  "Why, Beth Wells, you are just as hateful as you can be. You know that Ionly ask you because I'm interested in you, and then you turn on me andsay such sharp things."

  The conversation was interrupted by the gong. The girls moved slowlytoward the assembly room, and were taking their time, when Miss Hanscomrapped sharply with her ruler. She was a rigid disciplinarian, who couldnot discriminate between the magnitude of offense. She had been in theFarwell schools for five years. Her work had been strenuous. She hadfought her own way, against heavy odds. The result was that she was hardin manner, self-sufficient and not a little aggressive.

  Pupils always spoke of how well she had taught them, but not one hadever said that she had awakened sympathy. She was nervous now and spokesharply, for from her window she had seen two touring cars slow up atthe curb, and she knew that visitors were "upon them."