  “Oh, Betty, I’m so upset!” exclaimed Dorothy Bates, as she came into the McGuire library one afternoon in early May. “What’s the matter, Dotty?” asked Betty. “The party isn’t off, is it?” “No; we’re to go, all right; but Jeanette can’t go. She has such a cold, her mother won’t let her go away from home. And I’ve just come from there. She really is ill; isn’t it too bad?” “Yes, indeed it is! We would have had such a lovely time, all together.” “Well, we’ll go, anyhow. And, Betty, as Irene expects three of us, I think it would be nice to ask some one to go in Jeanette’s place. I’d like to ask Constance Harper, but I know you don’t like her very much.” “Oh, I like Constance well enough, but she doesn’t like me.” “Well, whichever way it is, you two never seem to get along very well together. But who else is there?” Betty hesitated a minute, then she said: “I’d like to ask Martha Taylor.” “Martha! Why, Betty, nobody likes Martha. And well—you know Martha, poor girl, has to count every penny, and—and she never seems quite at her ease—not that that’s anything against her, but she wouldn’t have pretty dresses and hats, and the people at Halstead House are often dressy and gay.” “I know it; but if Martha doesn’t mind that, we needn’t. And, Dorothy, you don’t know Martha as well as I do. She never has any good times, and it’s that that makes her shy and awkward. Oh, do ask her to go with us, if only for my sake.” “Betty, what a queer girl you are! I like Martha well enough, but I don’t believe she’ll go with us. I’ll ask her, though, as you’re so set upon it.” “What’s this enthusiastic discussion all about?” asked Mrs. McGuire, pausing at the library door, as she was passing through the hall. “Oh, Mother, come in!” cried Betty. “What do you think? Jeanette is quite ill and she can’t go with us to the house-party at Irene Halstead’s.” “That is too bad; I’m very sorry. Shall you ask any one in her place, Dorothy?” “That’s just what we’re talking about, Mrs. McGuire. Betty thinks it would be nice to ask Martha Taylor, but I don’t think she quite fits in.” “But think how she’d enjoy it! Martha almost never gets invited to a lovely outing like this one you have in prospect. Why, she’d be overjoyed to go.” “Yes’m, I s’pose she would,” admitted Dorothy; “but she’s—she’s so bashful, you know.” “That’s mostly because you girls slight her. Now you’ve a fine opportunity to give her a pleasure, do it, and do it heartily and kindly. Let her feel that you really want her to go with you.” “Yes, do,” said Betty; “and, truly, Dot, if you ask her as if you wanted her, and if you treat her cordially, you’ll be surprised to see how gay and jolly Martha will be.” “All right,” said Dorothy, agreeably; “I really do like her, and I’ll do my best. Come on, Betty, let’s go and ask her now.” Betty whisked away, and returned in a few minutes with her hat on, ready to start. It was but a short walk through the bright May sunshine to Martha’s house, and they found her in the garden, watering some flower seeds she had just planted. “Hello, Martha!” called the two girls, and she came running to meet them. “Come, sit on the veranda,” she said; “it’s so pleasant there. I’m glad you came to see me.” “We’ve come to invite you to a party,” said Dorothy, plunging into the subject at once. “A party!” exclaimed Martha. “Where?” “Oh, Martha,” cried Betty, “it’s more than a party—it’s a house-party! At a lovely country place,—Dorothy’s cousin’s,—and we’re to stay from Wednesday till Saturday! Isn’t that grand?” It was so grand that Martha could scarcely realize it. “I go?” she said. “For three whole days! Oh! what a party!” “Yes, it’s going to be lovely,” said Dorothy. “A May party on Friday, and lots of picnics and things on the other days. Will you go with us, Martha?” “Indeed, I will! I’m sure Mother’ll let me. But, girls, I don’t know if my clothes are good enough for such a grand place.” “Oh, pshaw!” said Betty. “Don’t think about that. Just come on and have a good time, and never mind what you wear.” Mrs. Taylor was delighted to have Martha go with the other girls, and at once set about furbishing up her wardrobe as best she could. And, indeed, when at last the day came to start, Martha, in her trim, neat traveling-suit, looked almost as well dressed as the other two. They were to travel in charge of Mr. Halstead, Dorothy’s uncle, who was returning to his country home after a short business trip to Boston. He was a genial, affable sort of man, but after a little kindly conversation he left the girls to entertain themselves, and became absorbed in his paper. Martha was as happy as a bird. The prospect of the good time coming seemed to transform her, and she was so gay and merry that Dorothy concluded she had misjudged her, and that Betty was right about her. When they at last reached Halstead House, Irene was on the veranda to greet them. She kissed her cousin Dorothy and greeted her warmly, and then welcomed the other two as Dorothy introduced them. Neither Betty nor Martha had ever met Irene before, but Mrs. Halstead had written for Dorothy to bring two friends with her, and so the girls were at once made welcome. Two other girls were visiting Irene, so the house-party numbered six young people, and a gay flock they were. Maude Miller and Ethel Caswell were from New York, and proved to be pleasant and kindly, so Martha was not shy or embarrassed, and soon the half-dozen were chatting away like old friends. Halstead House was a large colonial mansion with innumerable rooms and wide porches and gardens. Irene was the eldest child, and there were also a small boy and a baby girl of three. The little Daisy reminded Betty of Baby Polly, and she made friends with her at once. Friday was Irene’s birthday, and in honor of it there was to be a May party, with a May-queen, May-pole, and all the traditional features. Of course this was the principal event of their visit, but the six girls managed to have a lot of fun besides. There was a lake on which to row, a pony-cart to drive, tennis-courts, croquet-grounds, and everything that could make country life pleasant. On Thursday afternoon the girls decided to walk down to the village. It was a pleasant walk along shady roads, and in a short time they found themselves in the tiny hamlet, with its little post-office and two or three small shops. Martha had been in especially gay spirits all the way. She had laughed and joked until Dorothy began to feel she had reason to be proud of her merry friend instead of ashamed of her. But Betty looked at Martha curiously. She couldn’t quite understand her to-day. Several times Martha had started to say something to Betty, and then stopped, as if afraid the others would hear. “What is it, Martha?” asked Betty, at last, dropping a little behind the others. “What are you trying to say?” “Oh, nothing,” said Martha, turning red and looking embarrassed. Then, as if with a sudden determined effort, she turned to the whole group and said: “Will you—won’t you—all come in and have ice-cream with me?” It was a pleasant invitation, but Martha stammered so and seemed so nervous about it that Irene hesitated before replying. Betty hesitated, too, for she knew that Martha had little, if any, spending-money, and she wondered at this unexpected hospitality. But Martha turned pleading eyes upon her. “Make them come, Betty!” she said. “I’d be so glad if they would.” “Come on, girls,” said Betty. “Indeed, Martha, we’re very glad to accept your invitation; it’s so warm and dusty.” Dorothy, though mystified at Martha’s sudden rÔle of Lady Bountiful, took her cue from Betty and said: “Oh, how lovely! I’m just famishing for ice-cream.” The others accepted gracefully, too, and they all went into the latticed inclosure where ice-cream was sold. There were many little tables and chairs, and pushing two tables together, the girls all sat round, and Martha asked each one to choose her favorite flavor. Martha looked very happy and a little excited; her cheeks were red and her eyes bright, and Betty thought she had never seen her look so pretty. “Aren’t we having a good time?” said Ethel Caswell, as they slowly ate the refreshing dainty. “Yes, indeed,” said Maude Miller. “It’s my turn to treat next. Let’s come down here again to-morrow morning, and I’ll buy the ice-cream.” “All right,” agreed the others, and Betty and Dorothy secretly resolved to find some pleasant way to do their share of the “treating.” Martha beamed with pleasure to think she had been the one to start a round of merry times, and, as an additional touch to their present feast, she ordered some small cakes. Betty and Dorothy looked frankly astonished, for it was an expensive little place, and they wondered if Martha knew how much her “spread” would cost. But Martha smiled so gaily that they couldn’t offer any remonstrance, and the pretty cakes were brought and enjoyed by all. When at last the little feast was over, the check was brought and handed to Martha. Betty didn’t see the amount, but she saw that again Martha turned scarlet and looked embarrassed. But, with an air of endeavoring to look unconcerned, she drew a crisp, new five-dollar bill from her purse, and then, receiving her change, she put it away with the same elaborate carelessness, not stopping to separate the notes from the silver. “Whatever is the matter with Martha?” thought Betty. “She’s trying to act a part, I think.” Back walked the merry half-dozen girls to beautiful Halstead House, and grouped themselves on the veranda to wait for dinner-time. “Let’s build air-castles,” said Irene. “What would yours be, Betty?” “Do you mean that could be real, or couldn’t?” “Yes, that could be real, but aren’t likely to be, you know.” “Yes, I know,” said Betty, promptly. “Well, I’d be a princess, with golden hair all twined with pearls; and a long white satin train, with little page-boys holding it; and slaves fanning me with long peacock-feather fans.” “My, how fine!” said Dorothy, “but it’s too story-booky for me. My air-castle is just to travel all over the world—not by any magic, but just travel in real cars and boats, and see all the countries there are.” “I think that’s a nice air-castle,” commented Irene. “What’s yours, Ethel?” “Oh, I’d like to be famous; a great celebrity, you know. I don’t care whether it’s in the musical or artistic or literary line. But I’d like to feel, and to have other people feel, that I’d done something grand.” “I don’t believe you ever will,” said Maude, laughing. “Now, my air-castle is awfully prosaic. I’d like to be a nurse.” “Oh, what a funny air-castle!” exclaimed Martha. “How can you like to be mixed up with sickness and medicines and such things?” “That’s just what I should like. And then to feel that I was helping to make people well! Oh, I think that’s fine!” “Yes, I s’pose it is,” said Martha. “Mine isn’t so noble; I’d just like to be at the head of a big house—about like this—and have a lot of money. Not a great fortune, but just enough to entertain my friends and give them good times—just as Mrs. Halstead does.” “That’s very pretty, my dear,” said Mrs. Halstead herself, who had just stepped out on the veranda to summon the young people to dinner. And again Martha became embarrassed and blushed rosy red, as Mrs. Halstead smiled at her kindly. The next day was fair and beautiful, a perfect day for a May party. “It’s a few days past the first of May, which is the real May-day,” said Mrs. Halstead, at breakfast, “but as it’s Irene’s birthday, we thought we’d celebrate it by a May party. So it’s an afternoon affair, from four to seven, and we’ll have a May-pole dance to wind up with.” “And a May-queen?” asked Betty. “Queen Irene, of course.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Halstead, “Irene will be queen, as it’s her party. And all you girls must be ladies-in-waiting. You may make wreaths for yourselves and trim your dresses with flowers or garlands any way you choose. Now, scamper, and don’t bother me, for I’ve lots of things to attend to.” “Mayn’t we help you, Mrs. Halstead?” asked Betty. “No, my dear. There’s really nothing you could do to help. Indeed, you’ll assist me most by entertaining yourselves.” “All right,” said Ethel. “As Maude has invited us to go to town with her, we’ll have that to entertain us this morning.” But as they walked out of the dining-room and through the broad hall, Maude said: “I’ll have to take back my invitation, girls. I’m not going to take you to get ice-cream this morning.” “Why not?” cried Ethel, impulsively, and then, as they all saw that Maude did not smile, they felt rather uncomfortable. For a few moments nobody spoke, and then Betty, to change the subject, said: “All right; let’s play tennis, then.” But there was a constraint over them all, and no one knew exactly why. To be sure, it was strange for Maude to invite them to go for ice-cream, and then to recall her invitation so suddenly. But they each felt there was more than that in the air, and Maude looked so disturbed that it seemed there must be something serious the matter. So strong was the conviction that it would prove embarrassing, that Betty repressed her inclination to invite the girls to take ice-cream with her instead of Maude. Instinctively she felt she had better not do this, and so she proposed tennis instead. Half-heartedly they went for their rackets, and as they went toward the courts, Irene and Maude fell behind and talked in whispers. Then they turned and went back to the house. The other four went on, and had nearly finished a set of tennis when the two rejoined them. Maude looked angry, and Irene looked as if she had been crying, but no questions were asked, and no information was offered as to the cause. “Take my racket,” said Betty to Maude, “and play a set with Martha. I’d just as lief sit and watch you.” “No, thank you,” said Maude. “I don’t care to play.” Betty looked up suddenly at this, and saw Maude give Martha a contemptuous glance and turn away. Martha turned red and looked dismayed, as she well might at such a speech. “What do you mean?” exclaimed Betty, ready to take up the cudgels for Martha, if need be. “Never you mind,” said Maude. “Martha knows what I mean!” “I don’t!” stammered Martha, choking with mortification at being thus spoken to. “Oh, yes, you do!” said Maude. “I’m very much obliged for your ice-cream!” “Betty, what does she mean?” cried Martha, turning helplessly toward her friend. “She doesn’t mean anything,” said Irene, looking angrily at Maude. “Mother told you to wait.” Maude turned sullen, and refused to say anything. Betty looked mystified, but wasn’t sure whether she ought to insist on an explanation or not. She had been responsible for bringing Martha, and if Maude didn’t like her, it was unfortunate, but to discuss it might only make matters worse. Dorothy, with her ready tact, came to the rescue. “You four play,” she said, throwing down her racket, “and Maude and I will go for a row on the lake.” Maude brightened up at this, and Betty concluded that she had been merely ill-tempered over nothing, after all. “TAKE MY RACKET,” SAID BETTY, “AND PLAY A SET WITH MARTHA” “I’m going to tell you,” said Maude to Dorothy, as they pushed out on the lake, “but I promised Mrs. Halstead I wouldn’t say anything to Martha about it. I’ve lost five dollars, and I can’t help thinking she took it.” “Who? Mrs. Halstead?” “Mercy, no! Martha.” “Never! I don’t believe it!” “Well, didn’t you notice that new five-dollar bill she paid for the ice-cream with?” “Yes.” “It was exactly like mine. You see, I had a new, crisp bill that Father gave me to spend while I was here. And when we went to town yesterday, I thought I wouldn’t take it for fear I’d lose it. And Martha, or somebody, must have taken it, for when I got home it was gone.” “I don’t believe Martha took it.” “Who else could have done it? Mrs. Halstead says she knows her servants didn’t take it. She’s had them for years, and they’re perfectly honest. And you know how queerly Martha acted while she was paying for the ice-cream. She doesn’t have much money, does she?” “No,” said Dorothy, reluctantly. “Then how would she happen to have a new five-dollar bill just like mine, all of a sudden? And why would she act so embarrassed and queer about treating us to ice-cream?” “Martha loves to treat,” said Dorothy, a little lamely. “But I’m sure she never took it,” she added doggedly. “I’m going to ask her.” “No, you mustn’t. Mrs. Halstead said she’d make up the loss to me, but we must not speak to Martha about it. Of course I won’t take five dollars from Mrs. Halstead, but I promised I wouldn’t tell Martha that she took it.” “You were very ‘uppish’ to her, though!” “Well, who wouldn’t be? That bill was on the table in my bedroom, and Martha was in the room after I was. And when I came home, it was gone.” “You were very careless to leave it on the table.” “No, I wasn’t. I didn’t want to take it with me, so I stuck it behind a picture that stands on the table. Nobody would have seen it, but Martha knew it was there; she was in the room when I put it there.” “Maybe it blew off the table.” “It might have, but I’ve looked all over the room everywhere.” Dorothy sat silent. She hadn’t wanted Martha to come, but Betty had coaxed her into it, and this was the result. “Well,” she said at last, “I’m going to tell Betty about it, anyway. I know she’ll think as I do, that Martha couldn’t have done such a thing.” “No, don’t tell Betty.” “Yes, you will tell Betty, too!” said a voice, and looking up, the two girls saw Betty looking at them. The boat had drifted near shore, and Betty beckoned to them to come in. “Now, you tell me what it’s all about,” she said, as they landed. “I’m not going to be kept out of it any longer.” When Betty spoke like that, her comrades usually obeyed her. Half scared at Betty’s frowning face, Maude told her story. “What foolishness!” said Betty, as she finished. “Martha could no more take a penny that didn’t belong to her than I could!” “Then what made her act so flustered when she invited us to have ice-cream and when she paid for it?” demanded Maude. “I don’t know,” said Betty. “And where would she get a new five-dollar bill all of a sudden?” “I don’t know,” said Betty. “And where is my bill?” wound up Maude, triumphantly, and again Betty was forced to reply, “I don’t know.” “But all the same,” she went on, “Martha didn’t take it! And I’ll prove it somehow!” “You can’t prove it unless you find my bill.” “Then I’ll find your bill!” “You can’t; I’ve hunted everywhere for it.” “Well, I will find it, and I’ll make you take back all you’ve said about Martha.” “I’m sure I’d be glad to,” said Maude, staring at Betty’s angry face; “I’ve no wish to make her seem dishonest if she isn’t.” “I’ll clear this matter up!” exclaimed Betty, “and then you’ll feel sorry for what you’ve said. And first I’ll go and tell Martha, and let her speak for herself.” “No, you mustn’t do that! Mrs. Halstead forbade us to mention it to Martha.” “All right; then I’ll take Martha and go straight to Mrs. Halstead and let her tell her.” “But you can’t now, for Mrs. Halstead is superintending the May-pole. The carpenters are putting it up, and she asked us to keep away.” “Well, I’ve got to do something! I can’t rest till Martha is cleared. Poor Martha! I don’t see how anybody could think such a thing of her!” Betty put her arm through Dorothy’s, and they went on ahead, leaving Maude to follow alone. “Betty,” said Dorothy, “we know Martha never has spending-money. And for that to be a new bill that she had yesterday does look queer. And she did act awfully funny about it all.” “I know it, Dorothy,” said Betty, in a tone of despair; “I think it looks awfully queer. But I wouldn’t own up to Maude that I thought so. And, even if it does look queer, I won’t believe Martha took Maude’s money unless she tells me so herself—so there, now!” Betty had unconsciously raised her voice in her indignation, and as they turned a corner of the path, they came upon the other girls, sitting on a settee, waiting for them. “What are you saying, Betty?” asked Martha, her face perfectly white. There was no blushing embarrassment now; Martha looked horrified, and even incredulous, but she was calm and self-possessed. Betty quite forgot what Maude had said of Mrs. Halstead’s orders, and spoke right out to Martha. “Martha,” she said, “did you see Maude take some money out of her purse and lay it on her table yesterday?” “Yes, I did,” said Martha. “Did you take it from the table—to—to put it in a safer place—or anything?” “No, of course I didn’t! Why should I?” “Well, it wasn’t a very safe place,” began Betty. “I should say it wasn’t!” exclaimed Maude. “Well, I didn’t touch it!” said Martha. “What are you talking about, Betty?” “Then where did you get that new five-dollar bill you spent yesterday?” burst out Maude, unable to control her tongue. Martha looked at her. “Do you mean to say that you’ve been thinking that was your money?” she said, in a low, scared sort of voice. “Yes, I do!” declared Maude. “Oh, oh! I didn’t, didn’t! Betty, Betty, what shall I do!” and Martha burst into a fit of crying which nothing could stop. “Now, you see,” said Betty, as she caressed her weeping friend. “Please all leave her to me.” The others went away a little shamefacedly, while Betty remained with Martha. She waited until the first bursts of sobs were over, and then she said: “Now, Martha, brace up. I know and you know you didn’t take her old bill, but we’ve got to prove it.” “How can we prove it?” asked Martha, between her sobs, as she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh, Betty, I wish I hadn’t come!” “So shall I, if you act like this. Cheer up, I tell you, and help me, and we’ll fix this matter right yet.” “How brave you are!” said Martha, looking up at Betty’s determined face. “Somebody’s got to be, and you won’t,” said Betty, smiling. “Now tell me everything you know about Maude’s money.” BETTY FOUND BOBBY IN HIS NURSERY BETTY FOUND BOBBY IN HIS NURSERY “I don’t know anything, except what she told you. I was sitting by the table when she stuck it behind the picture. I thought it was a funny place to put it, but I didn’t say so. I wouldn’t have been so careless with my bill.” “Where did you get your bill, Martha?” “Uncle Fred gave it to me on Christmas. He said to save it until I was sure I’d thought of the thing I’d like best to buy with it. And I was sure I’d rather treat you all to ice-cream than to buy anything for myself. Oh, Betty, I do love to be hospitable to people, and I never have a chance! And when the chance really came, I was so glad and so happy about it, that it made me rather fidgety and embarrassed.” “You dear thing!” cried Betty, kissing her. “And then to think of how they’ve spoiled your little ice-cream party! Well, go on; then did you stay in Maude’s room after she left it?” “Only a minute, to say good-by to little Bobby Halstead. He was playing around there, and he’s such a cunning little chap.” “Bobby! I’ve an idea! Now you stay right here till I come back! Don’t you move!” Betty flew into the house and went in search of four-year-old Bobby. She found him in his nursery, mounted upon his black hobby-horse. “Tell me, deary,” she said, “when you were in Maude’s room yesterday, did you see any money around?” “Pennies?” asked Bobby. “No, not pennies. Paper money. Green money.” “Ess, green paper, but not moneys. I cutted out a paper dolly; see! It’s not vewey good ’cause my sissiz was dull.” Bobby dived down into a box, and produced a queer-shaped paper doll which was surely cut from a five-dollar bill! Betty’s eyes danced, but she only said quietly: “Where did you find the green paper, deary?” “In ve was’e-bastick,” said the child; “I can always have what’s in ve was’e-basticks. Muvver said I could.” “Yes, of course you can. That’s all right. But lend this dolly to Betty, won’t you? Just for a little while?” “Ess, I will,” and the child gave it up willingly enough. Back ran Betty with her prize. “There!” she cried, triumphantly waving the five-dollar doll above her head. “I told you Martha didn’t know anything about Maude’s money. It must have blown from the table into the waste-basket, and Bobby picked it out.” “Oh—I do—remember!” said Maude, slowly, “the waste-basket was upset when I came home! So I looked through all the scraps carefully, but of course I didn’t find it. I’m awfully sorry, Martha,—truly I am,—more sorry than I can say! I don’t suppose you can ever forgive me.” “Oh, yes, I can,” said Martha, smiling through her tears. “I’m going to forgive you, too, Maude,” said Betty; “but it will take me a little while. I am afraid it will be half an hour before I can feel toward you as if you hadn’t done this.” “I don’t wonder,” said Maude, contritely; “but, Betty, I didn’t know Martha as you did, and it did look queer.” “Yes, that’s so,” conceded Betty. “I think I’ll get over it in a quarter of an hour.” She did, and when it was time for the May party, the late unpleasantness was ignored by all, if not entirely forgotten. Mr. Halstead gave Maude a five-dollar bill to replace the one his son had spoiled, and he then also presented her with the green paper doll, as a reminder not to trust too much to appearances. |
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