Betty of the Wilderness

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 17, 28 April 1906, Page 56

Betty of the Wilderness

By

Lilian Turner (Mrs. F. Lindsay Thompson)

Author of “An Australian Lassie,” “Sights of Sydney,” etc. DEDICATION: To my Husband.

CHAPTER I. AN UNIDEAL TO-DAY. BETTY, Betty, w here ver are you!" “Oh, dear!” said Betty, and. her eyes went distressedly over her paper-strewn table; “ why can't 1 Ik- left alone. - ’ Without replying she bent over her writing again and the worried lines went away from her forehead, the absorbed look returned to her face. ‘• Betty. Oh, Betty, do come.” ■ But Betty did not move. She just closed her ears to the cry and went deeper and deeper into her work—the work she loved: the work that made her pulses tingle and her cheeks burn, that lifted her into all the glories and beauties of another world, away from the troubles and petty cares of this threadbare, every-day one. And now there was that old, old cry beating all over the house. ‘•Betty, oh Betty, do come!'* ; “ I won't go,” said Betty angrily. “ They can do without me. Surely I ean leave an hour of my own life to do As I like with!” The door handle turned and a small girl in a shabby cotton frock peeped into the room. A little girl with wonderful hazel eyes and a tumbled mass of golden hair. “Ob. Betty!” she said. “Oh Betty; there yon are! I’ve been calling everywhere for you. Dick ” Betty waved her hand wildly. “I know,” she said, “Dick has smashed his nose or yours, or Pepper's. I don't care. Why do you come to me every time these things happen?” “ But. Dick’s not broken his nose,” Baid the little girl earnestly. “Go away.” commanded Betty, and her eyes were fierce. But the child stood still. Her rosebud mouth was twitching. her eyes were brimming, her cheeks scarlet. She was trying very hard not to burst into a Storm of tears. “Dick wouldn't give Pepper his train,” she said, “ and Pepper scratched Dick's cheek, so then Dick hit Pepper very hard, and now they're both crying and crying, and I can’t stop them.” “Oh dear!" said Betty, sighing. She. gathered together the loose sheets of

her writing, and put the soap-dish on them. “I suppose I'll have to come; it's no matter what I’m doing. 1 must Ire at the beck and call of everyone. No one ever considers me.” The last sentence was only muttered. Indeed, most of her words were. but the waiting child caught much of her speech and saw her frowning forehead and angry eyes. “ Where's Mary?” Betty, still hovering around her beloved table. “In the kitchen, Betty dear,” said the child. “ I don't believe Dick could help it. because Pepper was wanting everything he got—and it wasn’t quite Pepper’s fault, because Dick had really got one of the carriages of bis train—and ” “Oh, be quiet, do!" ordered Betty impatiently. " I’m tired of you all! One of these days I’ll run away and I'll never come back any more.” After which fearful threat she angrily pushed the child ingfiont of her and went out of the i*>oin, slamming the door behind her. Down the narrow passage she went, into the wider oue. stepping briskly, her head up. her eyes indignant. A whole dictionary of hot words was running riot in her mind, but perhaps they were too chaotic to be put into speech, for when they reached the dining-room door she only pressed her lips together and turned an angry face to the room. Four-year-old Dick was pushing a big Look and a smaller one steadily upon a line on the linoleum, the pattern being so marked as to allow -an unlimited supply of “ railway lines.” Under the table " Pepper.” lying on hi- side, was disconsolately working a solitary and coverless book up and down, up and down, sobbing “ Sho—sho •—sho,” as he worked. “They're not crying!” said Betty, turning angrily upon the little girl. “ What do you mean by coming and disturbing me for nothing, Joan!” “Oh!” said Joan, “they were screaming ever so—and I couldn't stop them.” “ Sho —sho—sho,” sobbed Pepper. Dick raised a serene face and a pair of tear-wet blue eyes. “ Pepper wanted my tender,” he said, “and my line and engine.” Pepper continued his solitary game, sobbingly attempting a whistle. “ Come here. Pepper,” ordered Betty. But he took no notice. He knew very well what that big elder sister of his looked like, when that tone was in her voice. “ Come here, Diek, And come here Pepper at once.” Diek looked at Betty, gathered up his books and went towards her.

“ Every time I go to get my passengers into my train, Pepper takes my tender,” he said, and his wet eyes were eloquent: " and he takes my Katoomba station, and my Sydney station, and my Strathfield station.” Two shades of blackness faded from Betty's face, one of her arms went round the little injured boy.” " Come here. Pepper,” she said softly. " Come, darling.” He eame instantly then, hugging his book ami sobbing in a heartbroken way. .the next minute he was in Betty’s arms and her check was wet with his tears. Joan climbed into the back of the chair and her little arms went round her sister's neck, so that the four heads were al! elose together and Betty seemed to be kissing the three little faces at once. “ It's dreadful when you go away, Betty." whispered .loan. " Darling, dear Betty.” ’■ Now. was it fair of Pepper?” queried Diek. stroking her cheek. " Want all the puffers.” sobbed Pepper. clinging closer. For a -pace Betty just gave out comfort. “Poor little Joan.” she said. “I won’t write any more to-day: I’ll be your very own Betty. No! my precious Dick, Pepper is a little cheat. He oughtn’t to take your puffers and stations. There, Pep]>er darling. Betty will make you a beautiful train and three stations. Yes, and a tender and four trucks.” Then when calmness came, and Dick and Pepper had kissed each other and examined each other - trains in quite a friendly spirit, Bcttv proceeded to inculcate wisdom after her fashion. "Dick, you mustn’t forget how very old you are,” .she said. "You are growing a big. big boy.” Diek held back his head and smiled benignly upon his little brother. "Four is very old,” continued Betty, “and you should be gentle with Pepper and help him to make his trains, because he is only three. And I'm sure you could build him a few nice stations. You're so good at stations.” Then she looked at Pepper and her eyes grew still softer. “And Pepper must never, never take Dick's things, because that isn’t fair: and if Pepper isn't fair he'll have to give up playing trains altogether. Wouldn’t that be dreadful? Now, let us make some more stations.” In a little while the wrong was righted. Dick had two lengthy trains plying between three stations—and Pepper's two trains were just as lengthy. And so deftly did Betty arrange the quarrel that they ran their trains upon adjoining lines, and used the same stations, making the game the keener. “Dear Dick!” said Pepper, in a burst of enthusiasm, kissing his brother as they paused together at Strathfield to allow their passengers to alight. “Poor - little Pepper!” said Dick, benevolently returning the kiss. Betty turned away. Her manuscript was in her room, and she had promised to write no more to-day. Her eyes fell on her little sister's face. “Joan will help me,” she said. “We’ll make everything nice for daddie. Fresh flowers in the vases and a pretty- table.”

A sudden feeling of virtue swept over her. “Where are the vases’” asked Joan. “Ah!” .-aid Betty, and a little cloud came over the new brightness of her face. “We've forgotten all about flowers and prettinesses for weeks, haven’t we? Never mind, we’ll make up, for weeks and weeks of to-morrows.” “Oh, Betty,” said Joan rapturously, “may I get any flowers I like —whatever colours?” “Just what you like,” said Betty. “Take a basket and the kitchen scissors, and I'll wash the vases.” Life to Betty wos a very troublesome, disorderly affair—a perpetual striving to make the path of beauty and the path of duty identical. A year ago, when she was little more than 16, she had been brought suddenly home from school, to be elder daughter to her delicate mother. There was Dorothea, pretty, graceful Dorothea, who was four years older than Betty: but no one for an instant considered sending for her. To begin with, Dot had never been a home daughter at all. Until she was 16 her education and accomplishments-had been matters of the first importance with her parents. Dorothea must lie “finished” properly —there were years and years coming in which to consider the twins, Elizabeth and Cyril. ■So Dorothea was “finished.” And, like many and many another daughter, when this mysterious process was completed. when she could play and sing, and dance, and paint, and do fancy work, she was a little too good for her home. Her mother, who was always weak where Dot was concerned, shrank from immersing her in the routine of life iu • their weatherboard home in the North Sydney bush. She quite leapt at an offer that c-ame shortly after school days had ended for Dot to be companion to one of her school-mates, a wealthy squatter's daughter. And then Betty was given her chance. But Cyril, her twin, was having his, too; so Betty’s list of accomplishments vja* necessarily curtailed. Besides two new members were added to the familv in

the tune —Die*. aud Goruoa < popular .y known .is Pepper, ou account, ol me quieiuiess oi ins temper;. sjo Betty unlx uau Sinking a» am extra. tier scliuol career was a somewuat elieqaerexl one, and at tue eud ol it sUt had not a single good -conduct prize to put beside Out s 11, aituougu she certainly invariably earned on the essay and the English prizes, and lour times the French. VV itn one consent it was isettj who was wanted when the Bark Shadow’ leU on the small home. Inere were tour babies to be cared lor when the mother ceased irom caring and sapped into the shadow-less nigut, where were neitner troubles nor tears, tire-year-oid Joan, turee year-old liic-K, and Pepper, who was two. and had to be heiped over the latter part ot his teeming troubles, and mat terrible personage—a new baby: nut that was all six months ago now. Ihe baby had east aside her long garments, and stepped into short babyisu dresses and piuaiores, and Betty s young shoulders were growing accustomed to their pack. Nancy, the next in age to the twins, was near.y 11, and delicate. She was only as tall as an ordinary child of seven. Her face was white, despite the gumtree laden air, and nearly always wore a peevish frown, and her mouth was thin and querulous. Cyril was kept at school for six months longer than Betty. Not that he was clever, or qualifying for anything in particular, but simply because it was difficult to know what to do with him 1 inal.y his father had been able, upon the payment of a small premium, to article him to a elever young architect. But the family stilt felt the pinch of that premium. CHAPTER 11. THE PATH OF DUTY. The next morning Betty arose, brimming over with excellent resolutions. ->he had made them the previous night and had, moreover, committed them to paper, and daylight found her determined and eager to begin to put them into practice. -She desired to be a good daughter to her father. For the last year she had been to a certain limited extent his confidante and companion. But now- she resolved to be more, to look eloser after his comforts, to be his right-hand, his help-mate. Then she must, as ever, be special sister, and helpe- to Cyril. That office had devolved upon her as a matter or course from their days of bib and pinafore. She must be mother to the babies —Joan. Dick, Pepper and baby. She had been verv negligent of them of late. Nancy required "leading" and - training," she sa>d vaguely, and Mary, dirty, slip-shod, good-hearted maid-of-all-work required a domesticated mistress continually a» her side. The home called out for its keeper and guide, the garden for its lover and worker. Betty was wide-visioned and earnestpurposed, but she was only 17, and her heart was the heart of the poet ami dreamer. She made her list when the household slumbered—near midnight by the flickering light of a candle. Behind her was her own bed, and little Pepper sleeping the;ein. The six-months-old baby was in a dress-basket raised on two chairs between the bed and the wall, and upon the other side of the bed, near Pepper, was Dick in his cot. As Betty wrote and ruled her list her eyes went again and again to the three baby heads. All of them given into her keeping—her own. And in her heart, young as it was, blithe, dreamloving there was yet the mysterious spirit of true womanhood. So she made her list. It dealt with eacn hour of the day from six in the morning until the hour before midnight. At the top of it she wrote — MY DAY’S WORK and then came, underneath it. lines and cross-lines, making pigeon-holes for the hours—ti a.m. to 7.30 a.m.—Rise; bath: dress: prayers: bath Joan, Dick. Pepper, superintend Nancy. 7.30 to 8 a.m. —Feed baby, eook break fast and overlook table; pack Cyril's lunch. 8 to 9.30 a.m. —Make beds, bath baby; garden.

9.30 to 11 a.m.—Cook; settle children to play; feed baby. 11 a.m. to 1 p.m.—Bolt and bar my door aud write. 1 pan. to 2 p.m. —Dinner. 2 pan. to 3 pan.—Write. 3 pan. to 4 pan. —Sew. 4 p.m. to 3 p.m.—Children's hour. 5 p.m. to 6 pan.—C ook dinner, etc. 0 p.m. to 9 p.m. —Dinner; father; children to bed; Cyril; sewing. 9 pan. to 11 pan.—Silence and writing. The morning following the making of the list saw Betty, shining-eyed and purposeful, fresh from her morning bath, blue-aproned and sweet, bathing Joan at seven by the clock. At half-past seven three clean happy-faced little euildren were playing in the summer garden, and baby was examining in wonderment her complement ot fingers and toes, as she swung in the old hammock under the apple tree; and Betty, blueaproned still, was nending over tue kitchen fire grilling chops and issuing orders to Mary, surprised at the beginning of the new order of things. Eight o clock saw the family of Bruces sitting down in comfort to the first meal of the day. A marvellous achievement 1 There was even a breakfast bell to summon people to their chairs. At nine o’clock baby was bathed and fed, and put to kick on the grass, and Betty, the two little boys and Joan were working in the gaiden, while Cyril and his father had set off for the citv well-fed and breathing easily. "Mell have a garden each,’ said Betty blithely, "and we'll work in it every morning.” "Oh, isn't it beautiful!” said little Joan rapturously pausing with a pansy in her hand to look at her brightfaced elder sister. A our pansy ? Let me see,” said Betty. "Oh, no, no; not the pansy. 1 mean having you! Oh. Betty, darling, it is so lovely.” "Can 1 have my garden close to yours, Betty J” asked Dick; "’cause I'll be wanting to say something to you all the time.” Little Pepper went close and rubbed his face on Betty’s apron. "Let me be ’losest Betty,” he said; “let mine garden be on le top of yours.” Betty laughed, hut their delight in her touched her. Poor little motherless babies, how she had pushed tnem aside! She gave Dick one corner of the long bed she had energetically commenced upon. Pepper another, and Joan a little piece beside Dick. And how importantly busy they were! How great were their intentions; how miseroscopic the number of weeds they in reality uprooted. Look at this tree in my garden,’’ said big Dick; "I'm going to get it out bv the root.” He pointed to a luxurious dandelion plant. In a second. Pepper's jealousy was in arms. "Mine lee’s as big as yours, Dick,’ he said. He pointed to a miniature dandelion plant. "Just listen to him!” said Dick, smiling and beginning to "chip" ground in the true workmanlike style. "He really thinks his little tree is as big as mine. ’ "They're both so big," said Betty, laughing, "that I'm afraid to work between them. I might get crushed. Oh. inis poor overcrowded beautiful wallflower!” "1 would like two gardens," said Joan, wistfully, “one for only pansies and violets and daisies, and one for all sorts of flowers.” Down the path came Naney, holding a handkerchief to her cheek. "Nancy, I thought you were at school by now! What is the matter?” asked Betty. "Oh," said Nancy, sobbing, "I've got such a miserable toothache.” "Go and ask Mary for a clove, and run off. You will be late.” “And my head’s beginning to aehe, and I believe I’m getting a sore throat.” "Oh, I see,” said Betty, laughing. “School fever. Well, it won't answer this time, my little lady, so off von trot.” Nancy's thin lips curved angrily. “No. it isn’t school fever, so there!” she said. "I’m longing to go to school. Only I don’t feel I eould go that long walk.” “Rubbish!” said Betty. “Come, hurry

off. You ate a good break!ast, aud look very well. You needn’t worry your little heart because you think we il be laughing the garden all day. I’m going in, in live minutes.” Nancy went away, sobbing bitterly. “1 don’t love Betty a bit. Uh, she is a ugly girl! Oh. she’s always horrid to me. Uh, 1 wish my beautiful, lovely Dot was at home, and Betty away! And she took her bruised little heart to school. L'pon the dining-room wall at home was a picture of Dorothea, Dorothea at seventeen. Her golden hair was as a crown upon her shapely head, her eyes were mild and winsome and smiling, her young mouth was tender. Such a lovely face, alway s smiling, always serene, always seeming to say, “1 love you.” Poor, wayward, fretful Nancy almost worshipped at Dot’s picture. That such a perfect and perfectly-dressed being could be her very own sister was difficult to be believed. But in her treasure box were little notes —always upon pretty notepaper, always beautifully written. Some of them began: “My little one Nance,” some “Little sweet Nancy.” Some ended: “Your own Dot.” some. ”Your very special sister. Dot.’’ So that Dot really lived, and really was her own sister her misunderstood

Little heart insisted, when calm reason spoke in favour of Dot being a fairy or a nymph. At half-past nine Mary put her head out o! the kitchen window. “You said aa 1 was to tell you when it was half past nine, Miss Betty,” she >aid, looking as amused a* if Betty had been tr\ing to swim on the garden path. “Look out!** cried Dick, excitedly, “mine’s an iron-bark, and it’s falling your way. 1 can’t stop it —it’ll crash you.” The tears rushed into Joan's eyes. “Oh! not yet, Betty! I’ll be good for ever and ever if you’ll stay a little longer.” she said. But Betty was mindful of her list. “1 can’t.’’ she said, “not a minute.” She stooped and whispered: “You shall (Ollie with me, ami help me make « pudding. And. oh. th? beds!” “1 can’t stop vet.” >aid Dick, raising a heated face. “I’d like to play, but 1 must get this tier down first—it’s dangerous.” “So’s mine dangerous, too.” said PepI>er. working vigorously. "I can’t play till I’ve got it done.*’ Betty and Joan went inside together —tb“ little girl ami the big supremely happy. And to Betty’s credit. In* it spoken.

civwu ucjutk did lilt: bctla made; inc pudding made and 111 luc pauiry; lilt uauj ltd and pul lu sleepj JumU ‘Uppn-u aiiu paper and pencil lu a it tier, aiiu tat nine ix»v & uitu men HU4U3 uuu mica *iuu siaiivUs settled ou the verandah. Hetty, nils Hess ol Herself and circumstauces, sal serenely Ueiuud U-T dosed door, and luted the soap uish uoiu uer luanuseiipt. she liad uuue her dull, and now her hues Had fallen into pleasant places. But . I’ue relueiubiano.ol Her duly perloruied uuug over Her. sue read Uer list lurougu, and louna not one thing leil undone, she thougui quite proudly ol the success her based custard was, and the stewed iruit. Again she saw her lather's pleased smile as he looked round th* order,; breakfast table. She thought ol the UUiereiicv her nah-hour's work had made in the garden, and a sense ol smoothness possessed Ivl. But here, under Uer hand, were the people ol her oilier world, the gay, oral e-iieaited soldier, her hero; the beautilul hospital nurse; the sham patient, her villain. Here was her new world, w aitmg lor her to say wnether the sun was to shine or darkness prevail; whether lite was to be the issue ol the threatening conflict, or death. There was her pen, there the ink, and the door behind her was closed, while soft silence reigned. Yet at the end of an hour all that she had writv-n stood scored out, condemned under one long Xas worthless. And Betty’s elbows were on the table, and her head rested oh her hands, while her eyes stared despairingly at the wall. "1 can t get hold of them," she said, -I’ve lost them all. Why can’t 1 write 7 1 believe they never lived. Why can t 1 write? What is the matter witn me? Afar of! the dinner bell sounded. Betty had showed Joan where the clock hands must stand before she rang it. ••Dinner," said Betty, and she rose with alacrity. "How the children will enjoy the pudding. Let me see. 1 write from two to three o’clock, and then 1 belong to the family till nine tonight. Betty Bruce, you are expected to do your duty. CHAPTER HI. THE PATH OF IEAUTY. So ran life for three days; three whole davs of beauty and goodliness to the children and household generally. Betty lived, loved, and worked in her home world, ami gave only a slow hand and cold heart to that wonderful world of romance wherein it had been her delight to live. But the morning and the evening of the fourth day came also. It was after seven o’clock, and Friday. and Betty was still dutiful, and wore her blue apron. Outside on the path the three bathed and brushed children payed. The baby was in the hammock: the kitchen fire and Maryawaited Betty. When all at once through the cottage came Mr Bruce’s voice excitedly : — “Betty. Betty, come here!" and Betty, in wonderment, went. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom with a sheet of MS. in his hand. “Who did this?” he asked. "Whose is this?” ■What? Where? show me," said Betty, and stood a-tiptoe to see. "It’s v our writing." said her father. -It —it must have blown out of my room—one of the children must have brought it,” said Betty. "But who did it? Wiiose is it?" “Mine,’ said Betty, and turned a flushing face aside. Her Either smiled. "Um!” he said. He read on a few lines. Then he sat down on the edge of the bath and read a little more—and smiled again. "Where’s the rest?” he asked. Then

be looked up and &aw the di»livi*a signals iu her lace. "It's lirst-rate/* he said frankly. “I’m not humbugging you, child. But you ve surprised me.” "Uiiy!’ asked Belly, leaning back on a damp towel lo survey him in astonishment. “I’m not surprised at your writing. l*d be surprised if you didn t, seeing you're seventeen ana a girl. Dot, did i remember. They all do. I’m surprised at what you ve written. Let me see a bit more of it to-night.' Betty looked at her lather incredulously. "'Really?* she said. "Really,’* he said, and folded up the page ana handed it to her. ’"Now, who me dickens has been putting earth ana |»ebbles into the bath? its very rough on one's skin, this sort of thing (lie began to clean it out). “1 haven t time,' he said, stopping short; **l'll have to do with a shower.’’ Betty went kitchen wards in a dream. There the gridiron and the lire awaited her, and she looked at both dazedly. Her father had been pleased—pleased and surprised—at her work. And he was not like ordinary fathers—not even tlie ordinary well-read fathers. He had been an euitor for months now. lie wrote innumerable stories, skits, and sketches. He was the author of a book. What wonder his opinion counted with her as one of the first in the world! "’Ain t the lire good enough for you?’ asked Mary at last. "I'm.” said Betty, slowly; ""it's iirstrate. I’m not humbugging you. child. Ihe lines that served the kitchenmaid for eyebrows climbed far up on her forehead. " Eli?” she gasped. ••<>h!’* said Betty. "What? What do you say? Chops—steak? <»h. yes. steak. Give it to me. Where’s tiie gridiron. What do you want, Xanc\. imthering me when you know 1 m so husv ? Go out of the kitchen at once. Breakfast was ready at last, but was something of a scramble, this, the fourth morning. And no bell had been rung. That in itself was the merest detail, but taken with other things, to wit Cyril’s forgotten lunch, and the burning of baby s milk, it had its meaning to those who running read. Bet tv’s eyes wandered often to her fathers face throughout that meal. He seemed to have forgotten all about her once more, or only remembered that she poured out coffee. His thin, intellectual lace. pallid as ever, was bent over some papers beside him: now and again his lingers wandered through his black hair, still damp from his shower bath, and made it look odd—a pity- l>eity thought, dreamily, so early in the day. Once or twice his dark eyes looked through her, but of course he did not see her; no one at the table would have accused him of seeing. And then he got up. rolled his MS. together, asked Nancv where his hat was, and -Joan if she had seen his bag, and when these were put into his hand by each little daughter, he was for stepping to the verandah briskly, when Joan said: — "You’ve only* got your slippers on, daddie. I’ll get your boots.” He was vexed with himself, and looked so. but he patted Joan’s rosy cheeks, put on his boots, and went away without remembering to look at anyone else, even authoress Betty. And on the fourth morning Betty gave up her half-hour in the garden, •loan wept with disappointment, and the little boys coaxed and pleaded. but Bet tv had deaf ears, and bribed them with loaf sugar to "be good. By economising that half-hour and hurrying over the cooking, she was able to settle to her writing by ten o’clock instead of eleven. She was very anxious to read over the pasres to be submitted to her father in the evening. At one o'clock sharp Joan rang the bell. and she repeated the process every live minutes until half-past, when one little girl and two little boys rattled and banged at Betty’s door and implored her to “come out.” And she came, with scarlet cheeks and luminous eyes, for she had dipped into her world of romance again, and lost herself in its glories. “You’re the noisiest, most dreadful children on earth/’ she burst out. when she saw the eager trio in the hall. “What do you want now?” “We want you to comp. Betty, dear.” said Joan.

“Well, 1 can't. Run away and play at once. Didn’t 1 start you at your play? Didn't 1 give you everything you wanted? Go away! You're getting abominably spoilt—that's what it is." Pepper began to cry. "Want my pudding?’ he said. "Well, you can t have your pudding yet. Go and play trains with Dick.” Joan's eyes widened in distress, and Dick’s mouth corners fell. "Can’t we have our dinner first?” thev asked. "It's not dinner-time ye;." said Betty. "Yes ’tis, Betty.’ Betty darted into her room to consult her little clock, stared ai it. shook it, listened to it, and then turned to Joan: "It’s nearly a-qnarter to two,’ she said. “Why didn’t you ring file bell, as 1 showed you?” "1 did. I’ve been ringing, ami ringing, hundred of times, haven’t I, Dick?" "Yes; hundreds!” said Dick, eagerly. "Ou,” said Betty, and her face grew ere-tfallen. Then it flushed, and h r eyes looked hoi rifled. Baby!" she said ami darted past the children and down the passage. Mary was pacing up and down the din-ing-room. hu iiing the wailing baby. "I’m -ure 1 don’t know- wuatever’s the matter with her." she said: "she' ben yellin’ and yellin' all the morning—enough to send anyone mad." "Oh, dear, oh. dear!” said Betty: “1 forgo her nine o’clock bottle: and her nex. one is an hour or more late. Oh, t .<■ selfish thing 1 am—she’s starving!” Everyone was impressed and horrified, ami baby wep* louder than ever. "Keep her a minute, said Betty, an ran off to the pantry for the bottle. Fresh disaster awaited her—the fire was out. and -he had io gather chip- to kindle enoug.i flam to warm the cup of milk and water that stood for the Breid of Life to the six-months-old infant. Betty was crying her-elf as she fed the baby. Never befoie had she forgotten her in so culpable a manner. "If it would do any good.” she confessed to the we -eyed baby. "I’d burn everything I’ve ever written. Darling! darling! I do hate my-elf!”

It was half-past two before baby's hunger was appeased, for long-drawn sobs continually interrupted the meal. Then the little eyelids fell to, the breath came more evenly, the lip grew more peaceful —and baby slept. Then Betty, having settled her in the hammock, teturne.l io the house—and there was Joan fractious (rare event; and Dick and Pepper were crying. The poor authoress was woebegone exceedingly. It was one hour and a-haif past the children’s dinner-time, the kitchen tire was once more a thing of dead embers. The grilled chop- weie merely burnt pieces of meat and bone, the potatoes (baked in their jackets) were nard and cold. Betty rang for the pudding, too ashamed to utter a word of reproach to Mary, or a word of consolation to the children. And Mary carried in a burnt sago pudding, with a black, black skin on the top of it. That pudding was Betty’s last straw. Seeing it, she burst into tears—and was joined loudly by the children. "It was all right at one o’clock,” said Mary, in self-defence; "but you wouldn’t come, and then baby cried, and 1 had to pick her up, and I clean forgot the pudding.” ’’lt’s my fault.” said Betty ti igically; "everything's all my fault. Bring in bread and butter and jam: ana milk to drink.” Then, seeing Mary's hesitation —"don’t tell me the milk’s spilled and the bread's new and we've no butter.” The girl grinned. "We’re out of butter.” she said: "but, out the milk’- all right and the bread ain’t new.” So Betty went back to her blue apron in the afternoon ai d tried to become a housewife again. She strove to make up to tne four babies for her neglect by extra and exceeding gentleness and care for the rest of the day. But her heart was heavy and her spirit sore. The impossibility of belonging even for -eparate hours to the two worhb the world of romance and the world of reality—struck iter tragically. Surely hardly le-s possible was it to reconcile the role- of servitor to God and Mammon. (To be continued.i