Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm | Page 7

that she looked fine
enough to attend the King's wedding. She could wash and freshen up a
little when they reached the hotel.

Betty's face glowed.
"You're just like Daddy," she said happily. "Mother used to say she
never had to worry about anything when he was at home. Mrs. Arnold
doesn't either, when her husband's home. Do all husbands do the
deciding, Uncle Dick?"
Mr. Gordon submitted, amusedly, that as he was not a husband, he
could not give accurate information on that point. But Betty's active
mind was turning over something.
"Mrs. Arnold says Mr. Arnold makes the boys stand round," she
confided. "I notice they mind him ten times as quick as they do their
mother. But they love him more. Do you make people stand round,
Uncle Dick?"
Mr. Gordon smiled down into the serious little face tilted to meet his
glance.
"I haven't much patience with disobedience, I'm afraid," he replied. "I
suppose some of the men I've bossed would consider me a Tartar. Why,
Betty? Are you thinking of going on strike against my authority? I don't
advise you to try it."
Betty blushed.
"It isn't that," she said hastily. "But--but-- well, I have a temper, Uncle
Dick. I get so raging mad! If I don't tell you, some one else will, or else
you'll see me 'acting up,' as Mrs. Arnold says, before you go. So I
thought I'd better tell you."
Mr. Gordon's lips twitched.
"A temper, out of control, is a mighty useless possession," he said
solemnly. "But as long as you know you've got a spark of fire in you,
Betty, you can watch out for it. Afraid of going on the rampage while
you're at Bramble Farm? Is that what's worrying you?"

"Some," confessed his niece, with scarlet cheeks.
"I'll tell you what to do," counseled Mr. Gordon, and his even, rather
slow voice soothed Betty inexpressibly. "When you get a 'mad fit,' you
fly out to the wood pile and chop kindling as hard as you can. You can't
talk and chop wood, and the tongue does most of the mischief when our
tempers get the best of us. You'll remember that little trick, won't you?"
Betty promised she would, and, as they were now driving into the
thriving county seat of Harburton, she began to point out the few places
of interest.
The hotel was opposite the court house, and as they stopped before the
curb and Betty saw the porch well filled with men, with here and there
a woman in a pretty summer dress, she felt extremely shy. A boy ran up
to take their horse and lead it around to the stables for a rub-down and a
comfortable supper. Mr. Gordon tucked his niece's hand under his arm
and marched unconcernedly up the hotel steps.
"I suppose he's used to hotels," thought Betty, sinking into one of the
stuffed red velvet chairs at her uncle's bidding and looking interestedly
about her as he went in search of the proprietor. "I wonder if it's fun to
live in a hotel all the time instead of a house."
Her uncle came back in a few moments with a pleasant-faced, matronly
woman, whom he introduced as the sister of the proprietor. She was to
take Betty upstairs and let her make herself neat for supper, which
would, so the woman said, be ready in twenty minutes.
"I'll wait for you right here," promised Mr. Gordon, divining in Betty's
anxious glance a fear that she would have to search for him on the
crowded piazza.
"You drove in, didn't you?" asked Mrs. Holmes, leading the way
upstairs and ushering Betty into a pretty, chintz-hung room. "You'll
find fresh water in the pitcher, dear. Didn't your father say you were
from Pineville?"

Betty, pouring the clear, cool water into the basin, explained that Mr.
Gordon was her uncle and said that they had driven over from Pineville
that afternoon.
"Well, you want to be careful driving back," cautioned Mrs. Holmes.
"The flag man goes off duty at six o'clock, and that crossing lies right
in a bad cut. There was a nasty accident there last week."
Betty had read of it in the Pineville Post, and thanked Mrs. Holmes for
her warning. When that kind woman had ascertained that Betty needed
nothing more, she excused herself and went down to superintend the
two waitresses.
Betty managed to smooth her hair nicely with the aid of a convenient
sidecomb, and after bathing her face and hands felt quite refreshed and
neat again. She found her uncle reading a magazine.
"Well, you look first rate," he greeted her. "I picked this up off the table
without glancing at it; it's a fashion magazine. It reminds me, Betty,
you'll need some new clothes this summer,