Betsy and Tacy Go Over the Big Hill Read online

  They found her standing face to face with a little girl so strange that she seemed to have stepped out of one of Betsy’s stories. Her dress had a long skirt, like a woman’s, very full, made of faded flowered cloth. She wore earrings like a woman’s too. A scarf was tied over her head. From a rosy-brown face very bright brown eyes darted from Tib to Betsy and Tacy.

  Waving a stick in her hand, she began to talk excitedly. Not Betsy nor Tacy nor Tib could understand a word she said. She ran to the goat which had come to a standstill near by and shook her stick at it. She ran to the basket which he had dropped and then to some sandwiches which lay on the grass and began to pick them up swiftly. When she turned her back, Betsy, Tacy, and Tib could see that her hair hung in long black braids tied in red at the ends. Her shoes were red too, and under her dress she wore bloomers down to her ankles.

  All this time she continued to pour forth a torrent of loud, strange words. Betsy, Tacy, and Tib could not understand one of them but they knew what the little girl was trying to say. She was trying to tell them she was sorry that her goat had spilled their basket.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Betsy.

  “We don’t care a bit,” said Tacy.

  “We don’t mind sandwiches being a little mussed. We often eat them that way,” Tib explained.

  The little girl kept right on saying loudly … they didn’t know what.

  She kept on picking up sandwiches and cookies and hard-boiled eggs, and finally Betsy and Tacy and Tib did the same. At last the lunch was restored to the basket, except one sandwich which the goat had gulped.

  The goat now was as meek as Grandpa Williams’ cow, nibbling the grass and paying no attention to them. The little girl pointed from the goat to the basket and shook her head until her braids swung out.

  “She’s the excitedest person I ever saw,” said Betsy.

  “She can’t speak any English,” Tacy said.

  “Or understand it,” said Tib.

  All three stared at her, and unexpectedly she smiled. She showed white teeth, and dimples flashed in her round rosy-brown face.

  “Isn’t she darling?” cried Betsy. “Let’s invite her to our picnic.”

  “How can we,” asked Tib, “when she can’t understand our language?”

  “I know,” said Tacy.

  She shook out the red and white fringed cloth which she had just rescued and spread it on the grass. Betsy and Tacy took sandwiches and cookies and hard-boiled eggs and arranged them invitingly upon it. Then all three sat down, leaving one side of the cloth empty; and all three pointed from the little girl to the vacant place and back to the little girl again.

  “Have a sandwich,” said Tib, picking up the cleanest one she could find (it wasn’t very clean) and offering it.

  The little girl’s smile gleamed whiter, her dimples flashed deeper than ever. She shook her head. Reaching into her girdle she brought out a chunk of cheese and a piece of a flat round loaf of bread. She sat down at the vacant place, her wide skirts billowing about her.

  They had a picnic.

  Betsy and Tacy had started picnicking when they were five years old, and Tib joined them soon after. They were all ten now, and they had had scores of picnics in the years between. But this was the most adventurous, the strangest, the funniest one they had ever had.

  Trying to find a way to talk with their visitor, Betsy, Tacy, and Tib pointed to the goat.

  “Goat,” they said. “Goat. Goat.”

  The little girl pointed to the goat. She said one word too, and they knew it meant “goat” in her language.

  Betsy, Tacy, and Tib pointed to their sandwiches and to the thin loaf the little girl was eating.

  “Bread,” they said. “Bread. Bread.”

  The little girl pointed to their bread and hers. She said, they were sure, her word for bread.

  A little yellow bird flew out of the white plum blossoms.

  “Bird,” said Betsy, Tacy, and Tib. “Bird. Bird.”

  The little girl said her word for bird. She laughed out loud, and they all laughed. They kept on saying words for a long time.

  “Now we’ll try something hard,” said Betsy. And she jumped up. She pointed to herself. “Betsy,” she said.

  Tacy jumped up and pointed to herself.

  “Tacy,” she said.

  Tib jumped up and pointed to herself.

  “Tib,” she said.

  They did this two or three times.

  Then the little girl got up. She bobbed a small bow. She pointed to herself, and her teeth and dimples flashed.

  “Naifi,” she said. Perhaps Betsy and Tacy and Tib were getting used to the sound of her strange language, but they understood the word. “Naifi,” she repeated. They knew it was her name.

  “Hello, Naifi,” cried Betsy.

  “Hello, Naifi,” cried Tacy, clapping her hands.

  “Hello, Naifi,” cried Tib, jumping up and down.

  “Hel-lo?” said the little girl, as though she were asking a question. She repeated the word several times. “Hel-lo? Hel-lo?”

  Betsy pointed to herself.

  “Say, ‘Hello, Betsy.”’

  “Say, hel-lo, Bett-see,” Naifi said.

  Betsy shook her head. She tried again.

  “Hello, Betsy,” she said, leaving out the “say.”

  This time Naifi got it right.

  “Hel-lo, Bett-see,” she repeated.

  Tacy pointed to herself.

  “Hello, Tacy.”

  “Hel-lo, Ta-cee,” Naifi said.

  “Hello, Tib,” cried Tib.

  “Hel-lo, Tib,” said Naifi, looking very much pleased with herself.

  Betsy and Tacy and Tib shouted, “That’s fine!” And “Good for you, Naifi!”

  “Hel-lo, hel-lo, hel-lo,” said Naifi, as though she were practicing.

  They had a lovely time, but at last Naifi sprang up, shaking out her skirts. She pointed to the goat and to the valley, with a stream of her strange, loud words.

  “She means she must go home,” said Betsy. “And we must too. Goodness! Look at the sun!”

  While they were picnicking, the sun had gone halfway down the sky. That meant they must hurry for they were not allowed to stay up on the Big Hill after dark.

  Naifi bobbed her little bob, showing her white teeth and dimples. She picked up her stick and waved it and called to her goat.

  “Hel-lo,” she called in farewell.

  “You mean ‘good-by,’” cried Betsy.

  “Good-by!” “Good-by!” cried Tacy and Tib.

  They stuffed the red and white fringed cloth hurriedly into their basket and started up the hill, talking about Naifi.

  “Is she a Syrian?” asked Tib.

  “She must be,” said Betsy. “She lives in Little Syria.”

  “She must have just come to America,” said Tacy. “The other Syrians all know a little English and they don’t dress like that.”

  “The women wear scarves on their heads when they come selling lace, though,” Betsy said.

  “Did you see her earrings?”

  “And her red shoes?”

  “They were beautiful.”

  “Why doesn’t she come to our school, I wonder,” Betsy asked.

  “The Syrian children go to the Catholic School at the other end of town,” Tacy replied.

  They turned for a last look at the small gay figure, dimmed now by distance. A shadow lay on the valley. Mr. Meecham’s Mansion led the row of little houses like a mother hen leading her chicks … safe home at dusk.

  “We’ve got to hurry,” said Tib. They started climbing again. And presently something drove Naifi out of their minds.

  Fluttering down the hill to meet them came a multitude of newspapers. They came like tumble-weed, blowing lightly about in all directions. With a shock Betsy and Tacy and Tib remembered the King of Spain.

  Again they all had the same thought in the same instant.

  “Our letter!”

  “What became
of it?”

  “What did we do with it when we ran after the goat?”

  Nobody remembered. Running up to the rocks, they began to search frantically but they could not find the envelope. Their high ridge had been swept bare by the wind.

  “It was all addressed. Maybe someone will find it and mail it,” Betsy suggested hopefully.

  “It didn’t have a stamp on it, though,” said Tib. “And you said it cost a lot of money to send a letter to Spain.”

  “That’s right,” said Betsy. She stopped still. “Gee whiz!” she said.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Tacy.

  “I hope the wind won’t blow that letter where Julia and Katie can find it.”

  “We’d certainly never hear the last of it,” said Tib.

  Again dread like a cloud darkened the day.

  It was darkening too from other causes. The sun, already low in the west, had dropped into a cloud-made pocket. The hilltop was windy and cold.

  “I’ve got to get home,” said Tib. “I get scolded if I’m not home on time.”

  “I get a pretty hard talking to,” said Betsy.

  “So do I,” said Tacy.

  They ran down the Secret Lane.

  Halfway through it, they met Mrs. Ekstrom with an apron thrown over her head.

  “I was looking for you,” she said. “I was sure I hadn’t seen you come past. Don’t you know it’s time you went home?”

  “We’re hurrying, Mrs. Ekstrom,” Betsy said.

  As they jogged down the Big Hill, they talked again about Naifi.

  “Let’s keep her a secret,” Betsy said.

  “Let’s,” said Tacy.

  “And let’s take the King of Spain’s pictures out of our underwaists,” said Tib, “as long as I can’t be queen.”

  “You can’t be his queen, but you’re going to be a queen,” said Betsy. “Tacy and I are planning it; aren’t we, Tacy? Good-by,” she panted, as their road met the path which led down to her home.

  She raced past the barn and buggy shed where her father was unharnessing Old Mag. She darted among slim young fruit trees which looked chilly now in their pale pink and white finery, and skipped down the brown path dividing the kitchen garden. In the woodshed she paused to catch her breath.

  She went into the kitchen softly, hoping that her late return would go unnoticed. As a matter of fact, it did. Her mother was busy, frying potatoes and listening to Julia rehearse the piece she was going to recite at the School Entertainment.

  Julia loved to recite. Her loose dark hair scattered on her shoulders, her face glowing, she went through her piece as though she were standing on a stage. She even made gestures.

  Betsy sat down on the edge of a chair and listened. Secretly she admired Julia’s reciting. It sent an icy trickle down her spine when Julia recited “Little Orphan Annie” and “The Raggedy Man.” This new piece was different; it wasn’t scary; but for Betsy it had a special value. Thinking of Tib she listened with pricked ears:

  “You must wake and call me early,

  call me early, Mother dear,

  Tomorrow’ll be the happiest time of all the

  glad New-year,

  Of all the glad New-year, Mother

  the maddest merriest day,

  For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, Mother,

  I’m to be Queen o’ the May!”

  5

  The School Entertainment

  BEFORE THE day of the School Entertainment it turned cold again. For a week rains drenched the hills, the terraced lawns, the sloping road of Hill Street. After the rains stopped, the skies were still overcast. It was pleasanter indoors than out and this was just as well, for everyone was busy getting ready for the School Entertainment.

  Julia went about murmuring sweetly:

  “For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, Mother;

  I’m to be Queen o’ the May.”

  Julia could hardly wait for the great day. Her feet loved a platform as Betsy’s loved a grassy hill. Whether she was playing the piano, singing, or reciting, Julia was happy so long as she had an audience.

  She was different in this from Katie who despised performing. For the Entertainment Katie was reciting Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. She knew every word of it; she could be depended upon not to make a single mistake. But she would not put in expression, no matter how much the teacher urged or coaxed.

  Betsy and Tacy were singing a duet made up entirely of “meows.” They were going to wear cat costumes cut from shiny black cambric, with cat ears and tails. Mrs. Ray and Mrs. Kelly were busy making the costumes and Mrs. Ray was busy too rehearsing Betsy and Tacy. They ran into difficulties for Betsy was singing alto. It was altogether too easy for her to slide up into the soprano part and sing along with Tacy.

  When she did that, Tacy gave her a nudge which meant, “Get back to your alto!” Betsy’s mother sounded the right note hard and Betsy got back to her alto as quickly as she could.

  At almost any time or place Tib might practice her Baby Dance. She would pick her skirt up by the edges and run and make a pirouette. This was the opening of her dance. There were five different steps and she did each one thirty-two times … a slide, a kick, a double slide, a jump step, and then a Russian step which was done in a squatting position kicking out first one foot and then the other. It was hard but Tib could do it.

  Betsy and Tacy had seen her practice her dance on hill, lawn, and sidewalk, but they had not yet seen the accordion-pleated dress.

  “It’s done,” said Tib, the day before the Entertainment. “I’ll be wearing it tomorrow when you call for me.”

  “We’ll be there early,” Betsy and Tacy said.

  And next morning early they stopped at Tib’s back door carrying their cat costumes in big cardboard boxes.

  They wiped their feet hard on the mat and Matilda let them in. They ran into the back parlor and there stood Tib in her accordion-pleated dress. It was made of fine white organdie trimmed with rows of insertion and lace. A sash of pale blue satin was tied high in princess style. She wore a soft blue bow on her yellow curls.

  Mrs. Muller, looking proud, turned her about for Betsy and Tacy to see.

  “How do you like it?” she asked.

  “It’s beautiful,” said Betsy.

  Tacy only gazed, but with luminous eyes.

  Tib lifted her skirt by the edges. She could hold it out wide because of the accordion pleats. She ran and made a pirouette.

  “It’s fine for my dance,” she said, looking pleased.

  “You can’t put your grubby jacket on over that dress,” Mrs. Muller said. “I’ll let you wear my cape.” And she left the room and came back with her best cape which was made of black lace trimmed with ribbons and rosebuds. “Take good care of it,” she said, “and of the dress too. I’ll see you at the Entertainment.”

  Betsy, Tacy, and Tib walked to school proudly. Betsy walked on one side of Tib and Tacy on the other.

  The sun had come out in honor of the day. Snowball bushes nodded from the lawns, pansies and tulips in gardens looked festive with the sunshine on them, as though they knew about the Entertainment. The school steps were full of boys and girls looking unusually clean and dressed up. The upper grades were giving the Entertainment in the Seventh Grade Room, which was the largest in the building. But all the rooms were open and ready for visiting mothers.

  Betsy, Tacy, and Tib went first into their own Fourth Grade Room. It looked as dressed up as themselves. On Miss Dooley’s desk was a bouquet of lady’s slippers which one of the boys had brought. Samples of the children’s work were pinned up on the walls. There were arithmetic papers and spelling papers, maps, charcoal drawings of cups and saucers, and paintings of oranges and apples.

  Miss Dooley looked as dressed up as the room. Instead of her usual shirt waist and skirt, she wore a flowing purple dress with large bell sleeves. Her hair was curled and her face was bright and anxious.

  The class stayed in the Fourth Grade Room only long enough
for prayer and roll call. Then Miss Dooley’s bell tapped.

  “Position! Rise! Turn! March!”

  Someone was playing a march on the piano out in the hall. The Fourth Graders joined the other grades and they all marched into the Seventh Grade Room.

  It was crowded but that made the occasion all the gayer. Children sat double in the seats. Folding chairs had been brought in and mothers sat or stood around the walls. Betsy found her own mother sitting among the others. Betsy glanced at her, trying not to smile, and glanced away quickly, trying to act busy and important. Tacy and Tib were looking at their mothers and trying not to smile, too. All the mothers were dressed up and looked nice.

  To open the Entertainment, all the children sang together. They sang “Men of Harlech” and it was fine. Then there was a play, and then Julia gave her recitation. Her recitation was different from other children’s recitations; it always was. She did not seem like Julia at all as she stood up in front of the room. She looked frail and wistful, with her long hair full of flowers. She smiled and yet she seemed ready to cry. Her hands moved appealingly. Her voice was like spring rain:

  “Tomorrow’ll be of all the year

  the maddest merriest day,

  For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, Mother,

  I’m to be Queen o’ the May.”

  “That child is certainly going to be an actress,” Betsy heard one of the visiting mothers say to another visiting mother.

  Betsy felt embarrassed and proud.

  Soon after came Katie’s turn. Square on her sturdy feet, her face scornful, she rattled without a mistake through the Gettysburg Address. She walked back to her seat and sat down hard. When she had to take bad medicine, Katie knew how to take it.

  About that time Betsy and Tacy sneaked out to the cloak room. Betsy’s mother came too. While some other children sang songs and spoke pieces and the boy named Tom played a solo on his violin, Betsy and Tacy put on their cat costumes. Mrs. Ray tied perky red bows behind their tall cat ears.

  Tom’s solo ended and two large black cats jumped out on the stage. Betsy’s mother began to play the piano and Betsy and Tacy began to sing:

  “Mee-ee-ow! Mee-ee-ee-ow!”