Australian Lassie Read online

  CHAPTER XII

  BETTY IN THE LION'S DEN

  So that it was John who showed Betty the thing in all its beauty. It washe, who, so to speak, called her to the mountain top, and pointed out toher the cities of the world to be climbed above. And it seemed to littleindependent-hearted Betty to be the most glorious thing in the world toclimb upon one's own feet, pulling oneself upwards with one's own hands.

  She wondered how she could have ever wanted such a very ordinaryhappening as for her grandfather to _adopt_ them and give them _his_money. Here was this wonderful John Brown actually longing to give upher grandfather--his grandfather. For he had soon convinced her thatCaptain Carew was his grandfather too, and while allowing that he mightbe hers, he showed her how very little in the eyes of the world _her_relationship counted for. He, he said, was the son of his grandfather'seldest son--that their names were different was solely owing to the factthat his father had changed his name for private reasons. She and Cyriland all the rest of them were merely the children of his grandfather's_daughter_. And, as he impressed upon Betty, women didn't count for muchin the world's eyes.

  Yet Betty was very earnest in her intention to be somethinggreat--something self-made, and John was willing enough not to stand inher way. He himself was going to start at once; _he_ was not going towaste any more time over going to school and doing lessons. He pointedto his grandfather as a fine example of a man who had risen _because_ hehad not wasted time in learning. He told Betty they could not begintheir "career" too early.

  It was Betty who suggested waiting till the Christmas holidays, and itwas John who said--

  "Perhaps you'd better wait till the next Christmas. I will have got abit of a start by then and will be able to help you."

  But Betty was indignant at that.

  "I won't be helped!" she said. "I won't be helped by you, John Brown.Stay at home till Christmas yourself--I'm going _now_!"

  Her career had to be decided upon, and very little time remained inwhich to decide. John intended beginning life as an errand boy. In hisspare time, he said, he would go on with his drawing, and if anopportunity occurred, he would work his passage out somewhere in someship. He was rather vague about all but the errand running; that he sawto be the first step towards greatness.

  Betty was not long before she decided he was keeping some part of hisdesign from her. And every afternoon when they had left school and eachother, she was nervous lest he should have gone by morning--gone andleft her to find her way into the world alone!

  And here was she unable to decide upon her career! She even askedquestions about Joan of Arc and Grace Darling, and set herself to findout if there were any other women in the history book.

  "It isn't fair!" she said at last to the thoughtful John Brown. "You'dnever have known about being an errand boy and an artist only for yourbooks. You've got a lot of books to help you."

  But John told her how he had been decided upon his "career" all hislife, ever since his father had left him alone on the station in thecountry which time was, as the reader will be aware, situated somewhereabout his first birthday. But he magnanimously proposed to place hisgrandfather's library at her feet, or rather to place her feet withinhis grandfather's library.

  "You can come and take your pick," he said.

  At this period of her life Betty was not troubled with pride--the prideof the slighted and poor relation.

  She accepted his offer rapturously, only adding, "You'd better keep mygrandfather out of the way when I come."

  "Come when he's having his afternoon sleep," said John.

  So Betty was smuggled into her grandfather's library.

  It was Saturday afternoon when she went to the great house. She had toslip away from Dot, who was making elaborate alterations to a prettyblue muslin frock (she was invited to spend the next Saturday and Sundaywith Alma Montague, the doctor's daughter); her mother was calling"Betty, come here," in the front garden as she reached the track throughthe bush, and Cyril and Nancy had implored her to "come and playsomething."

  But Betty had a "career" to think of. She ran through the bush andarrived breathless at that part of her grandfather's fence which ranpast their coral islands. At a certain hour every afternoon, John said,his grandfather went to sleep. It was during this sleep time that Bettywas to search the shelves of his library for a book that shouldenlighten her as to the best way to become a "self-made woman."

  She slipped under the fence, and into the little belt of bush thatbounded the emu run, and where she, as a ghost, had waited.

  John's signal came very soon, and Betty immediately took off her bonnetand rolled it up under her arm--the better to hear--and marched boldlyacross the gravel paths to the library window where John stood.

  "Where is he?" asked Betty.

  "Asleep on the little verandah," said John; "he always sleeps a longtime after dinner."

  Betty stepped into the room and looked around her curiously.

  It was such a room as she had never seen yet, and it pleased hergreatly. Two enormous bookcases full of books stood side by side againstone wall. Another wall was book-lined for about eight feet of its heightand ten of its length. The centre-table had a dark blue cloth upon itand bore magazines, books and newspapers and writing materials.

  Betty's feet rested pleasurably on the thick rich carpet and her eyeswent from easy chair to easy chair.

  "My father ought to have this room," she said, "he writes the mostbeautiful books, and I know he'd write ever so many more if he livedhere."

  "Here's the book I got myself from," said John, advancing to abookcase.

  But Betty was oblivious of her errand. She lingered by the table,turning over the covers of the magazines, and picture after picturecaught her eye.

  One in particular she lingered over. It represented a bric-a-brac strewnroom.

  "The boudoir of Madam S----," it said.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Betty, and dropped her sun-bonnet into her grandfather'schair. "Oh, John, when I've made myself, I'll have a room like _this_!"

  She began to read and her eyes smiled. Then she sank down on the floor,carrying the book with her, and leaning her back against a table-leg shelost herself in an interview with Madam S----.

  Madam replied to several searching questions blithely. She told a littlestory about her large family of brothers and sisters, their extremepoverty and her own inordinate love of music. Then there was a pathetictouch when sickness, poverty and hunger darkened the poor little home,and she, a mite of eight, had stood at a street corner in a foreigncity and sung a simple song. A crowd had soon collected, and akeen-eyed, bent-shouldered man had been passing by hurriedly, and hadstopped, caught by a "something" in the little singer's voice, and face,and attitude. He had finally pushed his way through the crowd and stoodbeside the little girl in the tattered frock.

  _That_ song and _that_ interview had been the beginning of a greatcareer. Hard work and small pay had intervened, but success had followedsuccess, and now not one of her concerts to-day meant less to her thanhundreds of pounds. Dukes threw flowers at her feet, Princes loaded herwith diamond brooches, tiaras, necklaces, bangles; kings and queens andemperors "commanded her to sing before them," and gave her beautifulmementos.

  Betty was breathing quickly as she came to this stage of Madam S----'scareer. She turned a leaf, and a face smiling under a coronet looked ather.

  "Madame S----, present day," the words below said.

  A neighbouring photograph showed a mite with a pinched face and atattered frock.

  "Madame S----, at eight years old!" was the inscription.

  "And I'm twelve," said Betty. "Twelve and a bit."

  She turned her head, then raised it sharply. There standing beside herwas her grandfather.

  The two looked at each other.

  What Betty saw at first--it must be confessed--was the keen-eyed,bent-shouldered individual who had appeared to the little street singer,and the silly little imaginative maiden waited for him to speak.
/>   What the grandfather saw was a small girl of "twelve and a bit," in apink print frock; a small girl with a brown shining face, golden-brownhair and brown eyes, and parted red lips, a little person in every waydifferent from the pale-faced ghost who had visited him awhile back--sodifferent that he did not know her.

  He simply took her for a little school-girl and no more.

  Then Betty remembered who he was--who she was--where she was--and a fewother matters of similar importance, and a red, red flush spread overher face and to the tips of her small pink ears.

  The sea-captain opened his mouth in a jocular roar.

  "Who's been sitting in my room?" he demanded. "Why, here she is!"

  Betty's lip quivered. She _was_ beginning to be afraid--or rather shewas afraid.

  "I--I just wanted to see a book," she said.

  "And what book did you _just_ want to see?"

  He took the magazine from her and noticed two things--how her hand shookand how bravely her eyes met his.

  His glance wandered over the open page, and a wonderment came to himwhat there was here to interest such a child.

  The next second the fatal question was on his lips.

  "And what is your name?" he asked.

  Betty's lips moved, but no sound left them. She just sat dumbly theregazing into her grandsire's face.

  The old man sat down on the pink bonnet. He was not in the leastanxious over her name. She was a schoolmate of John's, of course; he hadoften stumbled over these active eager little creatures in the backyard, in the near paddock, by the emus' run, near the pigeon-boxes, onthe staircase. _Only_ hitherto they had been of John's own sex. Thispretty little nervous girl interested him.

  He drew her magazine towards him.

  "We're waiting for the name--aren't we, Jack?" he said.

  Then Betty realized that her hour was indeed come. She rose to her feetand stood in front of him gulping down a few hard breaths.

  "I--I didn't come to get us adopted this time," she quavered.

  "Eh?" said Captain Carew. He spoke dully, yet the faintest glimmeringsof light were beginning to break on him. Her attitude, somethingfamiliar in her voice, her height and shining curly head brought thatevening to his mind, when she had owned to an intention of wishing tofrighten him. A slow anger stirred him, anger against this child, herparents, and himself.

  "Your name!" he said harshly.

  And at the sound of his own voice his anger grew. His lip thrust itselfout when he had spoken, and his whole face wore its hardest, mostunlovely look.

  "Your name, girl?"

  And Betty hesitated no longer. Her only point of pride at this age layin assuming bravery whether she had it or not. "We Bruces are afraid ofno one," being her favourite speech, and as inspiriting to her as thesound of the war-drum to a warrior bold.

  She stood straight and her brown eyes looked straight into his browneyes.

  "Elizabeth Bruce," she said.

  The old man's anger blazed fiercely.

  "Look here my girl," he said, "you can tell your father it's a bit latein the day for these games. Tell him I've got the only grandchild herethat ever I want. Now--go."

  But Betty stood her ground.

  "My father didn't send me," she said, and her face went from red towhite. "He didn't know I was coming at all--and--sure's death! he neverknew anything about the ghosts. I came to get Cyril adopted because he'sgetting tired of cutting wood an' only getting a penny a week."

  The old man broke into a hoarse laugh.

  "And this time to get yourself adopted," he said.

  But Betty shook her head vigorously.

  "No, I only wanted to see what sort of woman to be," she said. Shewalked to the open window.

  "I'm not going to adopt you," said the old man, "so go--GO! Never let mesee you inside my gates again--by day or by night. Go!"

  And once more Betty took a swift departure by way of the balcony door.And again she left a bonnet behind her.