Rensselaer Union, Volume 11, Number 11, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 November 1878 — BETTY’S TRAMPS. [ARTICLE]

BETTY’S TRAMPS.

Betty was singing, but Betty was not at all nghtPhearted. How could she be, shut up in a farmhouse on a rainy October day, all alone, the rainy fall weeks and the winter imprisonment near at hand, her mamma over in Europe and lust married to a gentleman she might not fancy for father, and her throat sore with a bad cold, and her luDgs so tired of barking? Though a little lady bom and bred, she felt restless in every bone of her little body; and she had got to rocking in such a nervous, noisy way, that it (is a question whether she knew she was singing at all. .Words and music were her own: “ Lone&ie —lonerio -lonesome—lone! Lonesie -lone! Lonnie—lone! > Lonesome! lonesome—loner* I wonder if Step-Uncle Tom really did hear the little plaintive shriek across the sea! Anyway, at that very moment, he g)t upon his feet—ho was in an inn at eneva—aud brought his brown fist down on the table with a force that made the coffee-cups ring. “ See here, Mrs. Sister Elizabeth,’” said he, I’m Rto send ’em over home! They’ll „ -top company fOr Betty. She’s a bright child, I gather, and they’ll amuse amuse a saint —and she must be moped to death by this time. I shan’t want ’em in Pans. If she’s the girl I take her to be, she’ll be delighted! What say, Mrs. Sister Elizabeth?” —" : ~ *• 1 think Betty would be delighted,” said “Mrs. Sister Elizabeth,” after a little thought. By the way, “Mrs. Sister Elizabeth” was Betty’s mother. So “they” were sent. But it was a lot of trouble to do it, I assure you. There had to be a contract about it, some way, that there should be so many pounds of beef a day, “ a good solid roast, mind you!” saidTonPto the Captain. And there was “ Baby” inp articular. “Mind, now,” said Tom, “Baby is to be combed and brushed every day—forty strokes with the brushes every blessed day!” And there were new collars, with a world of fussing about the engraving and the buckles. And then, when all was ready, and they were on board, they didn’t want to go! Tom shed a tear or two himself on his way back to the hotel. Then he sat down and wrote a letter to the young American step-niece he had never seen, in which he told ner he knew she was “ a little brick,” and that “Hamlet the Dane,” “Edward” and “Harry Hotspur,” were three as fine, trusty fellows as ever lived. As for “ Baby,” he added, “you’ll love Baby*! Ana I’ll pay the beef-bill.” I Little American Betty got the letter from Geneva in due time. She <#nay have been “ a little brick'’—and I suppose her slangy young Step-Uncle Tom meant no worse by that than that she wasn’t afraid to do anything that she considered itgood to-do—but she looked anything rather than a bold, rash young creature, as she walked down to the big gate to meet Charlie Higham, who she knew would bring the mail on his home from the village. She was simply a nice-looking, brown-eyed girl of fourteen, with refined features, her brown hair hanging in a soft, silken, curly mass, her dress plain and substantial, though her pretty lace bib was dainty enough to please a Princess. She got only one letter, though it was the day for the foreign mail and her mamma’s weekly epistle, and she turned back dreadfully disappointed, wondering who had been writing to her in that mg, sprawly hand. But the name at the bottom of the letter told,

for her mamma had frequently mentioned her husband’s brother, Tom Dent. “My dear niece,” read Betty. “I suppose he thinks he’s my Uncle Tom,” said she, spitefully, “but he’ll find he isn’t!” She read on, with big eyes, about “ Hamlet the Dane,” and “ Harry Hotspur,” and “Edward” and “Baby!” Who woro they? And coming to her! “ They must be his little boys—his sons,” she said at last, with a little scowl. “ Mercy on me!” From that point the rest was clear, even the “beef-bill.” “ Well,” said she, finally, “if they were coming to America I suppose it’s natural they should come here—mamma, of course, would wish it. But mercy! three boys and a baby! though I dare say,” she sagely added, “that’s only the youngest, and he may be seven or eight years old—he probably is, or he wouldn’t be traveling.} I shall have to have somebody to help Janet—l must tell her right off. I should think mamma would have spoken of them in her letters. Perhaps they were at school, though. Anyway, I shan’t be as lonesome nere this winter—if they’re nice they will seem like cousins, I suppose. I don’t believe Janet will like four boys here very mnoh—but of course mamma will write; she must have thought it best, or Bhe wouldn’t have permitted it.” She was about to run up to the house with the letter, when the express-wagon from the village turned the corner and drove up to the gate. It was a large covered vehicle, and she Juaew the driver. He nodded to her ui ireWunped down. “That’s Miss Betty'Brunson herself,” he said to the seilor-dressed lad on the seat. .......-x... “ That isP I supposed she was some old aunty! What’s she going to do with four of ’em!” Betty might naturally have paused to see what the express was bringing to the farm; and, hearing this, she stopped short, her eyes growing as Mg as tea-sauoers. ‘ * Have you something forme P” she asked. “ I should say we had, rather,” said the driver, with a smile. The sailor-boy got up, and together they drew out some traps which formed a sort of lattice behind the seat; there was a great rustle of straw back in the wagon, and then three big dogs leaped over the seat; one after another, and down to the ground, While a little one tumbled after. Betty thought it Junny, but was looking for the driver to produce her parcel, when a flash of sunshine on the collar of one of the dogs—a handsome morocco, with gold buckle and plate -revealed the whole; “ Hamlet the Dane!” Yes! Four dogs!'- After one blank look at them, ana another at the hxf pressman, she burst into a merry augh. And then they all laughed together—dogs and all— that is, the dogs wagged their tails and trotted up close. The instinctive movement of Betty’s little wTiTte hand, caressing, reassuring. winning, completed the subjugation.

“ Bather a joke, isn’t it?” said the expressman. 1 V “No,” said Betty. “I Hke Jem,” She stopped again to read their names. Ye* “Hamlet the Dane,*’ the great, black, somber, elegant creature; "Harry Hotspur,” lithe, bounding, eager; “Edward,” shaggy, and with calm, warm, faithful eyes; and here, standing on bpr very feet, was “ Baby,”' his plump little body so brown and silky, his eyes so bright and pleading, his wee tail wagging like a pendulum—nice fallows, every one. She Ufted “ Baby" to her choek. “ I understand,” she said to the driver. “It’s all right” “1 guess you won’t have any trouble,” said the sailor boy. “Iwas to stop and see. Just whistle, and let’s see if they’ll follow. Maybe you can’t, though?” Betty pursed up her rosy little lips at him, gave him a bar of Yankee Doodle, sweet as a flute, and then, with a genuine boy’s call to a dog, she was off. As she disappeared at the front door, dogs and all, the men drove off, laughing. “ I guess Janet would rather it had been tne boys,” Betty said, as she went on to the kitohon, a big nose thrusting itself into either hand, “but I shall like it ever so much better.” And it was the end of moping indoors. Such frolics! She “took to them” like any English girl. Her weak chest grew strong doing the work they made. She chose to regard them as her guests, and her notions of hospitality were nrice ; She “basted” their roast as though*it were for the table, and served their meals herself, and she swept their room and aired their rugs —she had really given them an apartment on the ground floor; and not only “ Baby’s" brown hair shone, but she brushed the big. fellows . too, untilthey were that wild and lithe with good health they were fit to jump over the moon. It was an,'extra good bed Betty made for “her guests” the night before Thanksgiving. It had been snowing all day, and at sundown the wind rose, and it grew cold fast. By nine o’clock it blew so furiously that, as Betty said, “yon couldn’t hear yourself think!” Such a blast down the chimney, such a clatter of window-sashes, such a mighty roar in the trees outside!

Janet was sorry she hadn’t asked Robert to stay. Robert, the man, had a family of his own, and always went home after the night chores were done. “Pshaw!” sai(fßetty. “The storm can’t hurt anything, anyway. And if it could, his own folks want him. And we have the dogs, you know.” “ Do just hear it!” said Janet. They were in the cosey south sittingroom, but even there the storm made itself both heard and felt. The dogs were lying before the open fire. Tne clock had struck ten, but Betty couldn’t bear to send them away. It wasn’t likely they could sleep, any more than she or Janet could, with such a clatter and roar. Every now and then a brick fell from the chimney and rolled sharply over the roof. As still another fell, and then two or three in succession, “Baby” got up, whined, and leaped into Betty’s lap. The big ones, too. changed their positions and got nearer her. Suddenly, just as Janet was beginning to dose in her chair, “Harry Hotspur” lifted his nose, then pricked up his ears. Betty put oat her hand, but he withdrew nis head—he plainly wished to listen. I ~ * At that mqment a knock sounded on the hall-door plainly to be heard even in all the stormy uproar. Bettjy got up, Janet opened her eyes, the dogs rose. “Somebody’s”— Yes, knock-ock-ock! went the rap. “ Somobody’s knocking at the naildoor,” continued Betty. “ I’ll go let them in, sha’n’t I?” Old Janet caught at her arm—the dogs were barking now. “Are you crazy? It’s for no good anybody’s knocking this time of night! I’ll tell you who it is—it’s a tramp!” Betty hesitated, looked thoughtful—it might be a tramp, really. Tne dogs had surrounded the door that opened into the hall and were making a great fuss, pawing and leaping as well as barking. “ Baby,” still in her arms, was trembling, but trying to get down. Knock! knock!. Rattle—rattle!—on one of the sitting-room window-blinds! Betty thought she heard a voice -two voices. i “Janet,” she said, in a low tone, What shall we do?” “That's no neighbor’s voice,” answered Janet “It’s a tramp, I tell you,' amd he’ll get in, too, if he goes to the west bedroom window, for the shutter’s off, you know, and the fastener don’t catch. We’ll just be murdered in our beds, child!” “Pshaw!” said Betty. But she looked sober. She tried to listen, but the dogs were barking and tearing so at the door she comdn’t hear any tiling. Hark! they are around at that west bedroom window.

Poor little Betty shook as badly as Janet for a moment or so. Suddenly a light came into ’ her brown eyes. She leaped like a little oat to the dogs. “ You blessed old boys! you shall go out if you want to!” Noiselessly she unclosed the sittingroom door, and, almost trodden under foot among the eager animals, she reached the hall door, swiftly drew the bolt, and the dogs rushed out, pell-mell, barking, toward— She had a glimpse of figures coming round the corner of the house that ten hardly strength enough to push the door shut and shove the bolt; but she accomplished it, just as a great melee of barks 1 and shouts, ana raps broke against the solid panels, and then she got back somehow, at last, into the sitting-room to Janet's side. “Cover my head up with vour apron, oh, do, Janet, tight!" she shuddered. “The dogs have got ’em down, and I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it!” How long they sat there, they didn’t know. Wfien they uncovered their heads at'last, nothnig was to be heard. “ Do you think it was wrong, JanetP’’ Betty asked, after a while. “No,” said Janet. “But, why don’t the dogs come back, do you suppose P” Betty began again, presently. Not a bark, not a whine, not a single scratch on the door bad been heard. The storm had gone down, it was about o'dock. Janet was fast asleep in her chair when she was aroused by BTshake of the arm. “Janet,”- said Betty, «go fasten yourself in somewhere, and then I'm going to open the door and call the loes*’ f ’ Janet was aghast. “ Yqu’ll surely be shot down,” she said. “ 1 know them were tramps.” ~ “ Tramps or no tramps. I aur gbiug.to oalf my dogs*" said Betty. “Go into the kitchen bedroom, there’s a goodlock on that door, and you can take the poker you, beside.” |

Janet wasn’t quite such a coward. She trembled and shivered, but she wenA to the door with Betty. All was dark, cold and still. “Hamlet! Hamlet!” . Betty called. “ Har-ree! Har-ree!” HUtt Was that a bark? She called again. Then she whistled. Again there seemed to be barking somewhere, far-off and stifled. But no dogs came. For half an hour, or more, sne called mn| whistled, - Jaunt shivering andglancing about, at her side, and sometimes, as at first, they seemed to faintly hear the dogs somewhere. At last, hdwever, they shut the door and went in, and then Betty began to cry, a nervous, uncontrollable sort of sobbing, and Janet could do nothing with her. Janet's own spirits rose as it grew nearer day. “Sho, sho!" said she, lightly. “The dogs’ll be back fast enough when it comos light. They’re off gambolling in the now snow, somewhere, or else they’re chasing them tramps clean out of the country. They've saved onr lives, anyhow, and I’ll roast ’em a turkey apiece for their Thanksgiving, dinner, see if I donUp—that’s the way I’ll thanksgive! I wouldn’t cry so, so nearmornin’ seems to me, after I’d stuck it out so brave all night as you have!” But Betty did. She was crying still when Robert came. To him tne night’s experience was duly related. He laughed incredulously. “Tramps!” said he. “ Tramps don’t prowl suoh nights as last night was! Nervous as witches, that’s all!” he*added, as he went plowing through the drifts out to the bam. Noyv the bam was at some distance, bat still in plain view of the kitchen window, where Betty sat, her bosom still heaving with a dry sob now and then. So she saw it all—when Robert oame tearing out at him. “ Why, why!” cried she springing up, “ how did they come to be in tne barn P” But by the rime Janet had reached the window they had disappeared within, and Robert with them. There was evidently something unusual going on. “I heard ’em, I thou—” * “Mamma! mamma!” shrieked Betty, nearly overturning Janet in her rush. Three persons stood in the barn door, with Robert and the dogs—a lady and two men. “My sakes!” said Janet. “It is! I’ll bet they come over from the village last night—l’ll bet they did and Couldn’t get in! I’ll bet anything it was them!” And Janet sat down and laughed hysterically. It seemed to be a laughing matter ont at the barn, too. Mrs. Dent stood there, smiling and waving her handkerchief across the big waste of snow-drift, the gentleman in the fur overcoat beside her was bowing and nodding and laughing and a younger gentleman, whom the dogs were frolicking about, was laughing and throwing Icisses to Betty in the baok door—indeed, all this merry gesticulation was for Betty,while she, poor little dear, wasn’t laughing at all, but crying just as hard as ever she could. “Odear!” she sobbed. “O, Janet! what did we do last night? Just think of what we did! Such an awful storm, and mamma, my mamma, to have to go to sleep in the barn!” Janet was busy rearranging her calculations for breakfast. She smiled to ficrself with grim humor. “They don’t act as if they suffered any great,” she said, dryly. Meantime, Robert was shoveling away, and would have got a path made through the drifts sometime, probably; but that the forlorn littl6 gin in the back yard should cry all that length of time was not to be thought of, for all at once the two gentleman “ made a chair” of their four hands, and offered it to the lady, and in about two minutes after Mrs. Dent had her daughter in her arms; and I don’t know but the two might have cried until now, if the dogs hadn’t rushed between, feeling they had a right to kiss Betty too; ana Betty, once made to laugh, kept on ever so long, just for looking at the hay-seed in her new papa’s hair, and at the long straws dragging after her mamma’s trail —indeed, tne general tramp-like aspect of the whole party was rather striking. “A pretty reception, I must say!” said Uncle Tom. He was walking about and making himself very much at home, even to kissing his swolleneyed young niece at last, as he came up and took her hand. “I set your own dogs on you, didn’t I?” said Betty with a hysteric-y little laugh, but blushing hotly, too. “We thought you were tramps, you know.” Bhe heard all about it at breakfast — how business had called Mr. Dent suddenly to New York, and so they all came; and, Mrs. Dent being eager to see her home and her little girl that very night, they had come on, and then faced tne appalling storm in an open sleigh for two miles only to sleep in the earn, and Wait until morning. The driver had g6ne with the team before they found they were not to be admited, and thus there had been really no other way to do. “When you let the dogs out on us,” laughed Uncle Tom, “ Harry knocked me flat into the snow the first leap, and the other's all came a-top of him, or I should have got in before you closed the door, spry as you were.” “How I did shriek at you!” said Mrs. Dent. “My knuckles are just skinned, too.”

“It was rather exasperating,” said Mr. Dent. “ And then such a time as there was when we went into the ham!” “Yes,” said Mrs. Dent, “I begged to go there, for i knew you and Janet were just frightened to death. The dogs almost tore us to pieces’ getting there through the snow, they were so wild with joy at seeing us, and then the neighing and snorting and cackling that we aroused! They thought out there, too, that we were tramps, I dare say. I had to go and pat the horses and speak to them before they would settle down. And then we heard you calling the dogs after awhile, and they barked and ran about, but wouldn’t go, though, and altogether we didn’t sleep muon, though we were very eomfortable indeed on the hay. I moused around till I found the buffalo robes, and we had our furs and wraps, you know A- ; — === So, after all, no real harm was done. The dogs got their Thanksgiving turkey, and it was a happy day for everybody, although Betty, so red-eyed and so sleepy ana so headache-y, had to go to bed : directly after dinner, and be petted and soothed and reassured a great deal by her mother before sho could forgive herself for her eight’s work; and I must add that everybody else was very, very glad to go to bed, too, when nine o’clock oame. —Ella Forman, in Wide Awake. Few are aware of the importance of checkintra cough or common coldtn lteflrrt stage. That which tn the beginning would yield to a mild remedy, if neglected, soon preys, upon the Lung?. Dr. Bull’a Cough Syrup affords I instant relief. Price, 25 cents. \ t