Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm | Page 5

Arnold relented at the transformation and proceeded to
pile two plates high with samples of her culinary skill.
"Betty," said Mr. Gordon suddenly, "is there a garage here where we
can hire a car?"
"There isn't a garage in Pineville," answered Betty. "You see we're off
the state road where the automobile traffic goes. There are only two or
three cars in town, and they're for business. . But we can get a horse
and buggy, Uncle Dick."
"Guess that's better, after all," said Mr. Gordon contentedly. "I want to

talk to you about that plan I spoke of, and we'll stand a better chance of
having our talk if we travel behind a horse. I wonder--" his eyes
twinkled--"if there's a young man about who would care to earn a
quarter by running down to the livery stable and seeing about a horse
and buggy for the afternoon?"
Ted and George grinned above their respective dishes of ice-cold rice
pudding.
"I'll go," offered Ted.
"I'll go, too," promised George. "Can we drive the rig back to the
house?"
Mr. Gordon said they could, and the two boys dispatched their dessert
in double quick time. While they went down to the town livery stable,
Betty hurried to put on a cool, white frock, but, to Mrs. Arnold's
disappointment, she refused to wear a hat.
"The buggy top will be up, so my complexion will be safe," Betty
declared merrily, giving Mrs. Arnold a hearty squeeze as that lady
followed her downstairs to the porch where Mr. Gordon was waiting.
"What's that? Go without a hat?" he repeated, when Betty consulted
him. "I should say so! You're fifty times prettier with those smooth
braids than with any hat, I don't care how fine it is. This must be our
turnout approaching."
As he guessed, it was their horse and buggy coming toward the house.
Ted was driving, assisted by George, and the patient horse was
galloping like mad as they urged it on.
"Never knew a boy of that age who could be trusted to drive alone,"
muttered Mr. Gordon, going down to the gate to meet them.
The boys beamed at him and Betty, sure that they had pleased with
their haste. They then watched Betty step in, followed by her uncle, and
drive away with something like envy.

"Are you used to driving, Betty?" asked Mr. Gordon, as he chirped
lightly to the horse that obediently quickened its lagging pace.
"Why, I've driven some," replied Betty hesitatingly. "But I wouldn't
know what to do if he should be frightened at anything. Do you like to
drive, Uncle?"
"I'm more used to horseback riding," was the answer. "I hope you'll
have a chance to learn that this summer, Betty. I must have you
measured for a habit and have it sent up to you from the city. There's no
better sport for a man or a woman, to my way of thinking, than can be
found in the saddle."
"Where am I going?" asked the girl timidly. "Who'll teach me to ride?"
"Oh, there'll be some one," said her uncle easily. "I never knew a ranch
yet where there were not good horsemen. The idea came to me that you
might like to spend the summer with Mrs. Peabody, Betty."
"Mrs. Peabody?" repeated Betty, puzzled. "Does she live on a ranch?
I'd love to go out West, Uncle Dick."
CHAPTER III
DINING OUT
FOR a moment Mr. Gordon stared at his niece, a puzzled look in his
eyes. Then his face cleared.
"Oh, I see. You've made a natural mistake," he said. "Mrs. Peabody
doesn't live out West, Betty, but up-state--about one hundred and fifty
miles north of Pineville. I've picked up that word ranch in California.
Everything outside the town limits, from a quarter of an acre to a
thousand, is called a ranch. I should have said farm."
Betty settled back in the buggy, momentarily disappointed. A farm
sounded so tame and--and ordinary.

"The plan came to me while I was sitting out on the porch waiting for
dinner," pursued her uncle, unconscious that he had dashed her hopes.
"Your father and I had such a happy childhood on a farm that I'm sure
he would want you to know something about such a life first-hand. But
of course I intend to talk it over with you before writing to Agatha."
"Agatha?" repeated Betty.
"Mrs. Peabody," explained Mr. Gordon. "She and I went to school
together. Last year I happened to run across her brother out in the
mines. He told me that Agatha had married, rather well, I understood,
and was living on a fine, large farm. What did he say they called their
place? 'Bramble Farm'--yes, that's it."
"Bramble Farm," echoed Betty. "It sounds like wild roses, doesn't it,