Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm | Page 6

Uncle Dick? But suppose Mrs. Peabody doesn't want me to come to
live with her?"
"Bless your heart, child, this is no permanent arrangement'" exclaimed
her uncle vigorously. "You're my girl, and mighty proud I am to have
such a bonny creature claiming kin with me. I've knocked about a good
bit, and sometimes the going has been right lonesome."
He seemed to have forgotten the subject of Bramble Farm for the
moment, and something in his voice made Betty put out a timid hand
and stroke his coat sleeve silently.
"All right, dear," he declared suddenly, throwing off the serious mood
with the quick shift that Betty was to learn was characteristic of him.
"If your old bachelor uncle had the slightest idea where he would be
two weeks from now, he'd take you with him and not let you out of his
sight. But I don't know; though I strongly suspect, and it's no place to
take a young lady to. However, if we can fix it up with Agatha for you
to spend the summer with her, perhaps matters will shape up better in
the fall. I'll tell her to get you fattened up a bit; she ought to have plenty
of fresh eggs and milk."
Betty made a wry face.

"I don't want to be fat, Uncle Dick," she protested. "I remember a fat
girl in school, and she had an awful time. Is Mrs. Peabody old?" Mr.
Gordon laughed.
"That's a delicate question," he admitted. "She's some three or four
years younger than I, I believe, and I'm forty-two. Figure it out to suit
yourself."
The bay horse had had its own sweet way so far, and now stopped short,
the road barred by a wide gate. It turned its head and looked
reproachfully at the occupants of the buggy.
"Bless me, I never noticed where we were going," said Mr. Gordon,
surprised. "What's this we're in, Betty, a private lane? Where does it
lead?"
"Let me open the gate," cried Betty, one foot on the step. "We're in Mr.
Bradway's meadow. Uncle Dick. We can keep right on and come out
on the turnpike. He doesn't care as long as the gates are kept closed."
"I'll open the gate," said Mr. Gordon decidedly. "Take the reins and
drive on through."
Betty obeyed, and Mr. Gordon swung the heavy gate into place again
and fastened it.
"Is Mrs. Peabody pretty?" asked Betty, as he took his place beside her
and gathered up the lines. "Has she any children?"
The blue eyes surveyed her quizzically.
"A real girl, aren't you?" teased her uncle.
"Why, child, I couldn't tell you to save me, whether Agatha is pretty or
not. I haven't seen her for years. But she has no children. Her brother,
Lem, told me that. She was a pretty girl." Mr. Gordon added
reflectively: "I recollect she had long yellow braids and very blue eyes.
Yes, she's probably a pretty woman."

To reach the turnpike they had to pass through another barred gate, and
then when they did turn into the main road, Mr. Gordon, glancing at his
watch, uttered an exclamation.
"Four o'clock," he announced. "Why, it must have been later than I
thought when we started. The horse has taken its own sweet time. Look,
Betty, is there a place around here where we can get some ice-cream?"
Betty's eyes danced. Like most twelve-year-old girls, she regarded
ice-cream as a treat.
"There's a place in Pineville; but let's not go there--the whole town goes
to the drug-store in the afternoons," she answered. "Couldn't we go as
far as Harburton and stop at the ice-cream parlor? The horse isn't very
tired, is it, Uncle Dick?"
"Considering the pace he has been going, I doubt it." responded her
uncle. "What's the matter with you and me having a regular lark, Betty?
Let's not go back for supper--we'll have it at the hotel. They can put up
the horse, and we'll drive back when it's cooler."
Betty was thrilled at the idea of eating supper at the Harburton Hotel;
certainly that would be what she called "exciting." But since her
mother's death she had learned to think not only for herself but for
others.
"Mrs. Arnold would be so worried," she objected, trying to keep the
longing out of her voice. "She'd think we'd been struck at the grade
crossing. And, Uncle Dick, I don't believe this dress is good enough."
But Mr. Gordon was not accustomed to being balked by objections. He
swept Betty's aside with a half-dozen words. They would telephone to
Mrs. Arnold. Well, then, if she had no telephone, they would telephone
a near neighbor and get her to carry the message. As for the dress --here
he glanced contentedly at Betty--he didn't see but