Betty's Battles: An Everyday Story Page 4

  CHAPTER III

  THE BATTLES BEGIN

  The morning is bright and clear, and just one glint of sunshine hasactually found its way into the room. Betty sits up in bed. She hasslept soundly all night, and feels thoroughly refreshed.

  Grannie's daffodils and wallflowers, carefully placed in a large glasson the little toilet-table, have lifted their drooping heads, and lookalmost as bright as they did yesterday morning in their far-away countryhome.

  "The battle is to begin to-day," Betty thinks, as she springs lightlyout of bed. "Yes, to-day I am to begin to change everything in thisuntidy, stuffy old house--to-day I must commence the fight that is notto end until I have made it a really bright, cosy home.

  "Half-past six! I shouldn't wonder if Clara hasn't got up yet; she'ssuch a lazy girl in the mornings. Never mind, I'll soon shame her outof that. One of the very first things I have to do is to make every onein this house understand that they _must_ get up early in the morning."

  Betty's mind is so full of this grand idea that she quite forgets to askthe Lord for His blessing and guidance during the day.

  Lucy is sleeping peacefully on her pillow by the side of the bed thatBetty has just left. This will never do.

  "Come, Lucy, wake up!" and she shakes her by the arm.

  Lucy opens her blue eyes, and blinks at her sleepily. "It isn't time toget up yet; it can't be," she murmurs.

  "Yes, it is. You've all got into fearfully lazy habits in this house.While I was with Grannie I always got up at half-past six."

  "Oh, dear!" sighs Lucy, ruefully.

  "Now, make haste. Those children are going to be _properly_ washed andcombed before they go to school this morning; it's a disgrace to seethem sometimes."

  "Well, I suppose it is," admits Lucy. "But aren't you dreadfully tired,Betty, after yesterday?"

  "If I am, I'm not going to let that stand in the way of doing my duty,"answers Betty loftily.

  "Oh, dear!" sighs Lucy, feeling quite guilty because she would so muchrather stay in bed one extra half-hour.

  But the stern resolution in Betty's face shows no signs of relenting,and she begins to dress.

  Betty splashes vigorously in the cold water, combs her hair back untilnot a single hair is out of place, and runs downstairs.

  Clara, the little maid-of-all-work, is sleepily laying the kitchen fire.Her dirty apron has a great "jag" all across the front, and her tumbledcap is set all askew on her mass of dusty-looking hair.

  "What, the fire not alight yet? Really, Clara, this is too bad. How canyou expect to get through your day's work well when you begin it sobadly! Now just get that kettle to boil as soon as possible, and I'llprepare the porridge and haddock.

  "And, Clara, your face is as smutty as anything. Why don't you wash itproperly? And your hair's just dreadful."

  Clara tosses her head indignantly, and mutters something about "neverhaving time for anything in this house."

  "There's plenty of time for everything; it's all because you manage sobadly," says Betty severely. "Where's the porridge-pot? Not cleaned; howshameful! And here's the frying-pan with all the fat in it. How can youexpect to be ready in time at this rate?"

  Clara mutters that "Everything would be right enough if some folks wouldlet her alone."

  Betty takes no notice of this just now, for Lucy appearing at thismoment, she orders her off upstairs to wash and dress the youngerchildren.

  By dint of a great deal of most energetic bustling on Betty's part, andsulky help from Clara, the breakfast is actually ready by eight o'clock,and the boys and younger girls sent off to school in good time. Bettyfeels greatly elated. "What a difference already!" she thinks.

  And father, coming in for breakfast, she hurries down to the kitchen forhis fish and tea.

  Returning with the tray, she meets her mother coming downstairs.

  "What, Betty, up already? I made sure you would like to lie in bed a bitand hurried down early on purpose."

  "_Hurried_ down, mother! Why, I've been up since half-past six, and justsent the children off to school."

  "Dear me. Is it really so late? I made sure the clock struck eight onlya few minutes ago."

  "Half an hour, at least, mother," answers Betty, sharply.

  "You're going by the kitchen clock--that's always wrong, you know."

  "Everything _is_ in this house, it seems to me," snaps Betty, and shecarries father's breakfast into the sitting-room. Mother follows her.

  "Where's your father? Why, you don't mean to say you've finishedbreakfast? Good gracious me, Betty, the idea of having the window open!What a shocking draught, enough to blow one away, and I've had theface-ache all this week. Shut it down directly!"

  "It's a lovely fresh morning for this place, and air's better thananything. Grannie always has _her_ windows open," answers Betty in quitea hard voice.

  "Oh, I daresay; the country's different, and your Grannie is one of thestrongest people I ever saw." And Mrs. Langdale glances nervously at thewindow.

  "But, mother, the room was horribly stuffy, and Grannie says----"

  "How dare you set your Grannie up against me in this way? If that's allyou learned by being with her you'd far better have stayed at home."

  "But _any_ doctor would tell you----"

  "Look here, Betty, unless you close that window at once I won't stay inthe room!" cries Mrs. Langdale, red with anger.

  Betty's face flushes also, and she bangs the window down in a fury.

  "There! And anybody who knows anything will tell you that's thoroughlywrong!" she cries.

  Perhaps so, Betty. But is there nothing wrong about your method oftrying to put the mistake right?

  * * * * *

  Betty sits down hopelessly.

  She has been home just a week now, and things have gone from bad toworse.

  She has tried hard--in her own fashion, of course--she has been up earlyevery morning, and bustled about all day. Yet all her grand ideas haveresulted in nothing. It seems to her, as she sits there on the shabbylittle sofa, surrounded with piles of unmended stockings, that themembers of her family are determined to fight against any kind ofimprovement.

  "They won't have the windows wide open; they won't get up early, or tryto be tidy," she thinks, and her heart grows sore and bitter as sheremembers the fruitless struggles of the past two or three days.

  "What _is_ the use of trying when no one seems to care whether thingsare properly done or not?"

  She glances round the room. The carpet is worn and frayed; thebook-shelves dusty, the curtains faded and torn. Her eyes rest on thepiles of unmended stockings. They have been there more than a weekalready.

  "How horrid it all is--how perfectly horrid! Why can't mother see thatthe whole house is a regular disgrace, and the children too--with theirdirty hands and rough hair, and rude, noisy ways? But they won't obeyme, though I scold them ever so--and no wonder, with mother always readyto take their part, and tell me not to be hard on them! Of course, theygo away and forget everything directly. If mother would only leave themto me, I'd _make_ them mind!

  "Eleven o'clock striking, and mother hasn't been down to the kitchen toarrange about the dinner yet! There'll be nothing ready for the childrenagain when they come in from school; and Clara will just muddle throughher work as usual. Oh, dear, how sick I am of the whole thing!

  "If I could only live with Grannie--or even go out all day, and earn myliving like other girls. I'm quick at figures. If I could be a clerk inthe City, or something; at least, I should be away from this muddle mostof the day. I should be independent, too, and able to buy things for thehouse when I see they're wanted--and that would help father. Nobodyreally understands me here, except father.

  "Bob was cruel to speak to me as he did this morning; and what I saidwas perfectly true--his hands _did_ look as though he hadn't washed themfor a week. It was my duty to tell him that, and he had no right to flyin a rage, and say I was nagging. Nagging, indeed! Just because I toldhim t
hat it was disgraceful and disgusting for a big boy to go aboutwith dirty hands!

  "They make a good heap, don't they?"]

  "A quarter past, and mother still over the newspaper--and she told meshe wouldn't be ten minutes! It's too bad. I know just what willhappen. There'll be nothing ready, and Clara will be sent out for sometinned salmon or something at the last minute. No, I won't have it!"

  And Betty jumps up, all aglow with anger, and running down the passage,flings open the little front parlour door.

  "Mother!"--very sharply--"don't you know how late it is?"

  Mrs. Langdale looks up rather vacantly. "Late? how can you say so? I'msure I haven't been here over a quarter of an hour."

  "You've been here a whole hour, and if you don't make the pudding atonce the children will have to do without altogether!"

  "How you do hurry and flurry one, Betty. Well, I'll see to it."

  Betty goes back to the sitting-room.

  "I suppose I must begin at something," she sighs wearily--"not that itmakes much difference."

  Again her eyes fall on the stockings. Hours of hard work would not getrid of that hopeless pile.

  On the first evening after her return home, whilst as yet all her goodresolutions were hot in her, she had mended and put away all father'ssocks; but since then there has seemed no time for anything.

  "I must mend all those stockings to-morrow," mother has said each night;but there the matter has ended.

  Shall she mend some now? or dust? or wash the curtains? or----

  The door is flung open, and Clara comes in with a fresh armful of socksand stockings, barely dry from the kitchen.

  "Missis says I'm to put these with the rest," she giggles, in herirritating way. "They make a good heap, don't they?"

  That is the last straw. Betty waits until she is out of the room, andthen gives way altogether.

  "I can't bear it--I just can't!" she whispers, tapping her foot on thefloor. "Grannie didn't know what it would be like when she said all thatabout loving one's home. I must get away from it--I must!"

  The door opens again. "Oh, Betty, I just want you to--why, child, whatis the matter? Are you going to be ill again?"

  "No, of course not!" Betty's heart had grown softer as she thought ofher Grannie; but she hardens it directly she hears her mother's voice.

  "No, only everything's so horrid at home that I mean to ask father tolet me learn typing."

  "Betty, how can you be so ungrateful! Just because things are a bitbehindhand--and that through your being away so long! There, I didn'tthink it of you!" And Mrs. Langdale goes angrily out of the room.

  Betty had certainly not thought of it in this light. Indeed, she hasbeen thinking of little lately, save how to get things done in her ownway.

  "What could Grannie mean by talking as though I could become a realpower for good in my home?" she thinks bitterly. "I've tried, and tried,and things only get worse and worse; and I've made Bob angry, and thechildren cross, and vexed mother besides. Grannie must have been wrongafter all!"

  Was Grannie wrong? Or is it just possible there is still something wrongwith Betty herself?