CHAPTER I
An Innocent Plan
"THIS," said Bettie Tucker, one morning, with approving glances at theofferings heaped about her, "is certainly a pretty fine world. I'm gladI stayed in it, even if I haven't feet enough for eleven pairs of pinkbed socks."
For an alarming number of weeks, Bettie's friends had feared that thismost lovable of little girls might _not_ remain in it; but now that alldanger was past, she was able to sit for long hours by the window thatafforded the best view of the Tuckers' front gate.
Ordinarily it was not much of a gate. So many little Tuckers hadclimbed upon it and tumbled off that it had grown shaky as to hingesand bald as to paint; though, if one used rope enough, it was stilluseful as a barrier between the world and the adventuresome Tuckerbabies.
But now this gate--or rather this gateway--had become a mostinteresting spot. Through it, at delightfully frequent intervals, camebaskets, boxes, and bundles. Most of them contained offerings, more orless enjoyable, for convalescent Bettie; for all the members of DoctorTucker's church loved the gentle, kindly, absent-minded clergyman. Nowthat a member of his household was recovering from a serious illness,it seemed, as Doctor Bennett, the family physician said, as if theparish were bent on making her ill again by sending her more things toeat than any one small Bettie-girl could possibly hold. Everything fromsoup to dessert flowed in at that gate, for Lakeville was a kindly townand everybody knew that overworked Mrs. Tucker had quite enough to dowithout the extra work of preparing dainty food.
Moreover, to add very seriously to Bettie's danger from promiscuousdonations, Doctor Bennett's own warm-hearted but decidedlyinexperienced young daughter Mabel was laboriously cooking things outof a large number of cook-books to carry triumphantly or despondently,according to her degree of success, to her very dearest friend Bettie.
"This," explained Mabel, one morning, displaying a dull purple, mostuninviting object that quivered uncannily when one shook the bowl, "is'Ambrosial Delight.'"
"Where--where did you get it?" asked Bettie, eying the strange mixturedistrustfully.
"Out of an advertising cook-book that somebody left on our doorstep.It said 'Ambrosial Delight' under the picture, but someway the puddinglooks--different."
"What makes it such a very queer color?" demanded interested Bettie.
"Grape juice and eggs," explained Mabel, tenderly clasping herhandiwork to her breast. "You see, according to the picture, it oughtto be in even purple and yellow stripes and standing up in a stiffpara--parachute--those things in Egypt----"
"Pyramid. Go on," assisted Bettie, accustomed to Mabel's difficultiesof speech.
"Pyramid, but someway the custard part and the jelly part all rantogether and sat down. But it tastes a lot better than it looks."
"Bettie mustn't eat anything more for two hours," interposed Mrs.Tucker. "She's just had a big piece of strawberry shortcake. I'll setthis pudding in the ice-box--that'll harden the jelly."
"I'm ever so much obliged," beamed Bettie, suspecting that Mabel wouldhave enjoyed seeing her eat the "Ambrosial Delight." "It's nice of youto cook things for me."
"Even if they do turn out wrong most every time," supplemented Mabel."Yes, I think it is nice, because I sort of hate to cook anyway, andeverybody in our house just hates to have me. I'm so untidy, they say.I always have to do it when Bridget isn't looking and it makes menervous to have to hurry. Can you think of anything else you'd like meto make?" continued this martyr. "Because I'd _do_ it, if I had to getup before daylight."
"I don't know of anything unless somebody invents a dish that will goright straight to my knees. They wabble. I feel as if I'd like to run amile, but by the time I've tottered to the gate I'm glad it isn't morethan a dozen steps. There's your father coming--I'm going to ask himwhy my knees wabble so awfully."
Impulsive Mabel, at this news, instinctively scrambled under the bed.Then, remembering that she had really been pretty good all day, shesheepishly crawled out, to Bettie's amusement, to greet her surprisedfather.
"I'm on my way home," said she.
"So I notice," returned Doctor Bennett, his mouth stern, his eyestwinkling. "Don't let me detain you."
"I want to know," demanded Bettie, "why I haven't any knees?"
"I think," replied Doctor Bennett, "that we ought to get you outdoorsa great deal more than we do. You're not getting air enough. Where'syour jacket? I'll take you for a drive this minute--I'm going to SouthLakeville by the shore road to see a patient. Think you're good for abuggy ride?"
"I'm sure of it," laughed Bettie, "but I'm afraid my bones will scratchall the varnish off your nice bright buggy. I've twice as many ribs asI used to have--perhaps my knees have turned into ribs!"
Bettie returned an hour later; none the worse for her drive and hungryenough to eat even Mabel's unsightly pudding, after finishing a largebowl of broth.
"It tastes fine," she confided to Doctor Bennett, who had insisted oncarrying the slender invalid upstairs, "if you eat it with your eyesshut. My! I'm hungry as a bear--wasn't it lucky that mother had mylunch ready?"
"I guess you'll have to have another ride to-morrow," laughed thepleased doctor. "Fresh air is all the medicine you need--you ought to_live_ outdoors."
There was danger, however, of Bettie's getting more fresh air than anyone little maid could ever hope to breathe, for, the next morning,there was an item in Lakeville's daily paper that brought curious andalmost instantaneous results. The paragraph read:
"Miss Bettie Tucker, who has been seriously ill for several weeks, enjoyed her first outing yesterday."
It wasn't a very big item, Bettie thought, for so momentous an event,but it was quite large enough for kind-hearted Lakeville. Immediately,everybody with anything one _could_ ride in wanted to take Bettiedriving. Mr. Black placed his automobile at her disposal. HenriettaBedford's grandmother, Mrs. Slater, laid her horses, the grandest ofher carriages, and her only coachman at Bettie's bedroom-slipperedfeet; Jean and Marjory laboriously collected sufficient money to hirea sad old horse, more or less attached to a dilapidated cab, fromthe very cheapest livery stable for a whole expensive hour. Nearlyall the members of Doctor Tucker's congregation took turns invitingBettie to ride in anything from a buckboard to an omnibus. Even JuliusMuhlhauser, the milkman, insisted on carrying her, in his flamingscarlet cart, over three-fourths of his milk-route, one morning.
"That," laughed Bettie, after the milkman had delivered her safely ather own door, "was something different. It isn't everybody who has achance to drive down the milky way."
"Are you hungry?" asked her mother, meeting her at the door, with abowl of broth.
"Not so very," returned Bettie, nevertheless accepting the broth andeating it eagerly. "I drank a whole pint of the milk-wagon milk."
Next, all Bettie's friends began to invite the little girl to visitthem. She had to spend whole days or pieces of days with Jean, withMarjory, with Henrietta, with Mabel (who nursed her so devotedly thatshe almost suffered a relapse), and with Mrs. Crane and Mr. Black. But,as yet, she had not returned to her old footing with her comrades; shewas not yet sufficiently strong for the old rough-and-tumble play, thehappy-go-lucky hours in Dandelion Cottage. She was a new variety ofBettie, a fragile Bettie, to be handled with the utmost tenderness.
Mr. Black and his stout sister, Mrs. Crane, than whom Bettie had nostauncher friends, had swung the largest and most gorgeous hammock thatLakeville could furnish, under their trees for her--they were onlysorry that she couldn't use _two_ hammocks.
"Peter," said Mrs. Crane (they were sitting on the porch to keep an eyeon Bettie, who, in spite of the gorgeousness of her swaying couch, hadfallen asleep), "that child ought to stay outdoors all the time. Thatrectory is a stuffy place, crowded up against the church and right inthe smoke of two factories. As soon as she's strong enough to stand it,she ought to go camping--some place on the lake shore where the air ispure."
"Of course she ought," agreed Mr. Black, heartily. "It's the best tonicin the
world for growing children--there's nothing like it in bottles."
"Isn't there any way we could manage it? If we only had a camp----"
"We'll have one," promised Mr. Black, promptly.
"But we haven't any land----"
"Yes, we have; a lot of it. About four years ago I bought forty acresfrom an Indian, forty more from his brother, and then, just to beobliging, forty more from his friend, all for a few dollars an acre.Afterwards somebody suggested that it was all the same forty, but itwasn't; I looked it up to see. It's seventeen miles from here on theshore of the biggest and wettest lake there is, with the cleanest,sweetest air that ever was made. Just the finest spot in the world fora camp--I saw it once.
"When? Oh, six or seven years ago. I tell you what, Sarah! Suppose wetake a run up there in the automobile and have a look at it. There usedto be a road--it's probably there yet."
"Why couldn't we make a picnic of it and take Bettie and the girls?"asked good Mrs. Crane, instantly falling in with her brother's plan."Seventeen miles is no distance at all for the car--I'm sure Bettiecould stand it because she could get a nap there as well as at home."
"We could," agreed Mr. Black, "and I guess there'd be room forHenrietta, too--she'll want to go."
"I always did enjoy a picnic," confessed Mrs. Crane, a littlesheepishly. "I guess I haven't quite grown up, in some ways."
"I like 'em myself," owned Mr. Black. "Besides, I've been thinking forsome time that I'd like a look at that land--haven't seen it since Ibought it. This is Monday, isn't it? Suppose we go there day afterto-morrow if the weather stays right--that'll give us a day to cook in.We'll ask the girls to-night."
So, in this commonplace fashion, was planned the picnic that provedutterly unlike any picnic that this good, elderly couple had everattended; for this particular outing behaved in a most extraordinaryway. Mr. Black supposed that this innocent excursion was his, thatit belonged to him, that it was subservient to his will; instead ofwhich--but you shall hear what happened.