Betty Gordon in Washington | Page 2

Bob is always so
furious when he catches him at that!"
She crossed the puttering little brook by the simple expedient of
jumping from one bank to the other and scrambled through the willow
trees, emerging, flushed and anxious-eyed, to confront a boy about
fourteen years old in a torn straw hat and faded overalls and a tall, lean
middle-aged man with a pitchfork in his hands.
"Well?" the latter grunted, as Betty glanced fearfully at him. "What did
you come for? I suppose you think two rows of corn down flat is
something to snicker at?"
They stood on the edge of a flourishing field of corn, and, following the

direction of Mr. Peabody's accusing finger, Betty Gordon saw that two
fine rows had been partially eaten and trampled.
"Oh, that's too bad!" she said impulsively, "What did it--a stray cow?"
"Keppler's black and white heifer," answered Mr. Peabody grimly.
"Bob here is finding fault with me because I didn't let it eat its head
off."
"No such thing!" Bob Henderson was stung into speech. "Because the
poor creature didn't get out fast enough to suit you--and you bewildered
her with your shouting till she didn't know which way to turn--you
jabbed her with the pitchfork. I saw the blood! And I say nobody but an
out and out coward would do a thing like that to a dumb animal."
"Oh!" breathed Betty again, softly. "How could you!"
"Now I've heard about enough of that!" retorted Mr. Peabody angrily.
"If you'd both attend to your own business and leave me to mind mine,
we'd save a lot of time. You, Bob, go let down the bars and turn that
critter into the road. Maybe Keppler will wake up and repair his fences
after all his stock runs off. You'd better help him, Betty. He might step
on a grub-worm if you don't go along to watch him!"
Bob strode off, kicking stones as he went, and Betty followed silently.
She helped him lower the bars and drive the cow into the road, then put
the bars in place again.
"Where are you going?" she ventured in surprise, as Bob moodily
trudged after the animal wending an erratic way down the road.
"Going to take her home," snapped Bob, "Peabody would like to see
Keppler have to get her out of the pound, but I'll save him that trouble.
You can go on back and read your book."
"Just because you're mad at Mr. Peabody is no reason why you should
be cross to me," said Betty with spirit. "I wasn't reading a book, and I'm
coming with you. So there!"

Bob laughed and told her to "come on." He was seldom out of sorts
long. Indeed, of the two, Betty had the quicker temper and cherished a
grudge more enduringly.
"Just the same, Betty," Bob announced, as he skillfully persuaded the
cow to forego the delights of a section of particularly sweet grass and
proceed on her course, "I'm about through. I can't stand it much longer;
and lately I've been afraid that in a rage I might strike Mr. Peabody
with something and either kill him or hurt him badly. Of course, I
wouldn't do it if I stopped to think, but when he gets me furious as he
did to-day, I don't stop to think."
"Well, for mercy's sake, Bob Henderson," ejaculated Betty in an instant
alarm, "don't kill him, whatever you do. Then you'd be put in prison for
life!"
"All right," agreed Bob equably, "I won't kill him--just nick him in a
few places--how will that do?"
"But I'm really serious," insisted Betty. "Don't let the cow turn up that
lane. Think how awful you would feel if you were sent to prison, Bob."
Bob took refuge in a masculine stronghold.
"If that isn't just like a girl!" he said scornfully. "Who said I was going
to prison? I merely say I don't want to lose my temper and do
something rash, and you have me convicted and sentenced for life. Gee,
Betty, have a little mercy!"
Betty's lips trembled.
"I can't bear to think of you going away and leaving me here," she
faltered. "I'm not going to stay either, Bob, not one minute after I hear
from Uncle Dick. I'm sure if the Benders knew how things were going,
they would think we had a right to leave. I had the loveliest letter from
Mrs. Bender this morning--but it had been opened."
Bob switched an unoffending flower head savagely.

"You come out of that!" he shouted to the perverse cow that seemed
determined to turn to the left when she was plainly asked to turn to the
right. "Wait a minute, Betty; here's Fred Keppler."
The half-grown boy who accosted them with "What are you doing