Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm; Or, The Mystery of a Nobody

  Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net

  "TAKE YOUR OLD BUTTER!" SHE STORMED AT THE ASTONISHEDMR. PEABODY.

  "Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm." Page 63]

  Betty Gordon at Bramble Farm

  OR

  The Mystery of a Nobody

  BY

  ALICE B. EMERSON

  AUTHOR OF "BETTY GORDON IN WASHINGTON," "BETTY GORDON IN THE LAND OF OIL," "THE RUTH FIELDING SERIES," ETC.

  _ILLUSTRATED_

  NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY PUBLISHERS

  Books for Girls

  BY ALICE B. EMERSON

  12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.

  BETTY GORDON SERIES

  BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARM BETTY GORDON IN WASHINGTON BETTY GORDON IN THE LAND OF OIL

  RUTH FIELDING SERIES

  RUTH FIELDING OF THE RED MILL RUTH FIELDING AT BRIARWOOD HALL RUTH FIELDING AT SNOW CAMP RUTH FIELDING AT LIGHTHOUSE POINT RUTH FIELDING AT SILVER RANCH RUTH FIELDING ON CLIFF ISLAND RUTH FIELDING AT SUNRISE FARM RUTH FIELDING AND THE GYPSIES RUTH FIELDING IN MOVING PICTURES RUTH FIELDING DOWN IN DIXIE RUTH FIELDING AT COLLEGE RUTH FIELDING IN THE SADDLE RUTH FIELDING IN THE RED CROSS RUTH FIELDING AT THE WAR FRONT RUTH FIELDING HOMEWARD BOUND RUTH FIELDING DOWN EAST

  CUPPLES & LEON CO., PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.

  COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

  BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARM

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER PAGE I WAITING FOR WORD 1 II UNCLE DICK'S PLAN 10 III DINING OUT 19 IV AT THE CROSSING 28 V MRS. PEABODY WRITES 37 VI THE POORHOUSE RAT 46 VII BRAMBLE FARM 55 VIII BETTY MAKES UP HER MIND 64 IX ONE ON BOB 72 X ROAD COURTESY 80 XI A KEEN DISAPPOINTMENT 89 XII BETTY DEFENDS HERSELF 96 XIII FOLLOWING THE PRESCRIPTION 105 XIV WINNING NEW FRIENDS 114 X NURSE AND PATIENT 123 XVI A MIDNIGHT CALL 132 XVII AN OMINOUS QUARREL 141 XVIII IN THE NAME OF DISCIPLINE 149 XIX THE ESCAPE 157 XX STORMBOUND ON THE WAY 165 XXI THE CHICKEN THIEVES 174 XXII SPREADING THE NET 181 XXIII IN AMIABLE CONFERENCE 188 XXIV A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 197 XXV THEIR MUTUAL SECRETS 204

  BETTY GORDON AT BRAMBLE FARM

  CHAPTER I

  WAITING FOR WORD

  "I DO wish you'd wear a sunbonnet, Betty," said Mrs. Arnold, glancingup from her ironing board as Betty Gordon came into the kitchen."You're getting old enough now to think a little about your complexion."

  Betty's brown eyes laughed over the rim of the glass of water she haddrawn at the sink.

  "I can't stand a sunbonnet," she declared vehemently, returning theglass to the nickel holder under the shelf. "I know just how a horsefeels with blinders on. You know you wouldn't like it, Mrs. Arnold,if I pulled up half your onion sets in mistake for weeds because Icouldn't see what I was doing."

  Mrs. Arnold shook her head over the white ruffle she was fluting withnervous, skillful fingers.

  "There's no call for you to go grubbing in that onion bed," she said."I'd like you to have nice hands and not be burnt black as an Indianwhen your uncle comes. But then, nobody pays any attention to what Isay."

  There was more truth in this statement than Mrs. Arnold herselfsuspected. She was one of these patient, anxious women whounconsciously nag every one about them and whose stream of complaintnever rises above a constant murmur. Her family were so used to Mrs.Arnold's monotonous fault-finding that they rarely if ever knew whatshe was complaining about. They did not mean to be disrespectful, butthey had fallen into the habit of not listening.

  "Uncle Dick won't mind if I'm as black as an Indian," said Bettyconfidently, spreading out her strong little brown right hand andeyeing it critically. "With all the traveling he's done, I guess he'sseen people more tanned than I am. You're sure there wasn't a letterthis morning?"

  "The young ones said there wasn't," returned Mrs. Arnold, changing hercool iron for a hot one, and testing it by holding it close to herflushed face. "But I don't know that Ted and George would know a letterif they saw it, their heads are so full of fishing."

  "I thought Uncle Dick would write again," observed Betty wistfully."But perhaps there wasn't time. He said he might come any day."

  "I don't know what he'll say," worried Mrs. Arnold, her eyes surveyingthe slender figure leaning against the sink. "Your not being inmourning will certainly seem queer to him. I hope you'll tell him SallyPettit and I offered to make you black frocks."

  Betty smiled, her peculiarly vivid, rich smile.

  "Dear Mrs. Arnold!" she said, affection warm in her voice. "Of courseI'll tell him. He will understand, and not blame you. And now I'm goingto tackle those weeds."

  The screen door banged behind her.

  Betty Gordon was an orphan, her mother having died in March (it was nowJune) and her father two years before. The twelve-year-old girl had toher knowledge but one single living relative in the world, her father'sbrother, Richard Gordon. Betty had never seen this uncle. For years hehad traveled about the country, wherever his work called him, sometimesspending months in large cities, sometimes living for weeks in thedesert. Mr. Gordon was a promoter of various industrial enterprises andwas frequently sent for to investigate new mines, oil wells and otherlarge developments.

  "I'd love to travel," thought Betty, pulling at an especially stubbornweed. "I hope Uncle Dick will like me and take me with him wherever hegoes. Wouldn't it be just like a fairy story if he should come hereand scoop me out of Pineville and take me hundreds of miles away tobeautiful and exciting adventures!"

  This enchanting prospect so thrilled the energetic young gardenerthat she sat down comfortably in the middle of the row to dream alittle more. While her father lived, Betty's home had been in a small,bustling city where she had gone to school in the winter. The familyhad always gone to the seashore in the summer; but the only excitingadventure she could recall had been a tedious attack of the measleswhen she was six years old. Mrs. Gordon, upon her husband's suddendeath, had taken her little daughter and come back to Pineville, theonly home she had known as a lonely young orphan girl. She had manykind friends in the sleepy country town, and when she died these samefriends had taken loving charge of Betty.

  The girl's grief for the loss of her mother baffled the villagers whowould have known how to deal with sorrow that expressed itself in wordsor flowed out in tears. Betty's long silences, her desire to be leftquite alone in her mother's room, above all her determination not towear mourning, puzzled them. That she had sustained a great shock noone could doubt. White and miserable, she went about, the shadow ofher former gay-hearted self. For the first time in her life she wasexperiencing a real bereavement.

  When Betty's father had died, the girl's grieving was principallyfor her mother's evident pain. She had always been her mother'sconfidante and chum, and the bond between them, naturally close, hadbeen strengthened by Mr. Gordon's frequent absences on the road as asalesman. It was Betty and her mother who locked up the house at night,Betty and her mother who discussed household finances and planned tosurprise the husband and father. The daughter felt his death keenly,but she could never miss his actual presence as she did that of themother from whom she had never been separated for one night from thetime she was born.

>   The neighbors took turns staying with the stricken girl in the littlebrown house that had been home for the two weeks following Mrs.Gordon's death. Then, as Betty seemed to be recovering her naturalpoise, a discussion of her affairs was instigated. The house had beena rented one and Betty owned practically nothing in the world exceptthe simple articles of furniture that had been her mother's householdeffects. These Mrs. Arnold stored for her in a vacant loft over astore, and Mrs. Arnold, her mother's closest friend, bore the lonelychild off to stay with them till Richard Gordon could be heard from andsome arrangement made for the future.

  Communication with Mr. Gordon was necessarily slow, since he movedabout so frequently, but when the news of his sister-in-law's deathreached him, he wrote immediately to Betty, promising to come toPineville as soon as he could plan his business affairs to release him.

  "Betty!" a shrill whisper, apparently in the lilac bushes down by thefence, startled Betty from her day dreams.

  "Betty!" came the whisper again.

  "Is that you, Ted?" called Betty, standing up and looking expectantlytoward the bushes.

  "Sh! don't let ma hear you." Ted Arnold parted the lilac bushessufficiently to show his round, perspiring face. "George and me's goingfishing, and we hid the can of worms under the wheelbarrow. Hand 'em tous, will you, Betty? If ma sees us, she'll want something done."

  "Did you go to the post-office this morning?" demanded Betty severely.

  "Sure I did. There wasn't anything but a postal from pa," came theanswer from the bushes. "He's coming home next week, and then it'll benothing but work in the garden all day long. Hand us the can of worms,like a good sport, won't you?"

  "Where did you hide them?" asked Betty absently.

  "Under the wheelbarrow, there at the end of the arbor," directed Ted."Thanks awfully, Betty."

  "Where's George?" she asked. "Isn't there another mail at eleven, Ted?"

  "Oh, Betty, how you do harp on one subject," complained Ted, pokingabout in his can of worms with a stick, but keeping carefully out ofsight of the kitchen window and the maternal eye. "Hardly anything evercomes in that eleven o'clock mail. Anyway, didn't mother say your unclewould probably come without bothering to write again?"

  "I suppose he will," sighed Betty. "Only it seems so long to wait.Where did you say George was?"

  Ted answered reluctantly.

  "He's in swimming."

  "Well I must say! You wait till your father comes home," said Bettyominously.

  The boys had been forbidden to go swimming in the treacherous creekhole, and George was where he had no business to be.

  "You needn't tell everything you know," muttered Ted uncomfortably,picking up his treasured can and preparing to depart.

  "Oh, I won't tell," promised Betty quickly.

  She went back to her weeding, and Ted scuffled off to fish.

  "Goodness!" Betty pushed the hair from her forehead with a grimy hand."I do believe this is the warmest day we've had! I'll be glad when Iget down to the other end where the arbor makes a little shade."

  She had reached the end of the long row and had stood up to rest herback when she saw some one leaning over the white picket fence.

  "Probably wants a drink of water," thought Betty, crossing the strip ofgarden and grass to ask him, after the friendly fashion of Pinevillefolk. "I've never seen him before."

  The stranger was leaning over the fence, staring abstractedly at aborder of sweet alyssum which straggled down one side of the sunkenbrick walk. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his straw hatpushed slightly back on his head revealed a keen, tanned face andclose-cropped iron gray hair. He did not look up as Betty drew near andsuddenly she felt shy.

  "I--I beg your pardon," she faltered, "were you looking for anyparticular house?"

  The stranger lifted his hat, and a pair of sharp blue eyes smiledpleasantly into Betty's brown ones.

  "I was looking, not for a particular house, but for a particularperson," admitted the man, gazing at her intently. "I shouldn't wonderif I had found her, too. Can you guess who I am?"

  Betty's mind was so full of one subject that it would have beenstrange indeed if she had failed to guess correctly.

  "You're Uncle Dick!" she cried, throwing her arms around his neckand running the risk of spiking herself on the sharp pickets. "Oh, Ithought you'd never come!"

  Uncle Dick, for it really was Mr. Gordon, hurdled the low fence lightlyand stood smiling down on his niece.

  "I don't believe in wasting time writing letters," he declaredcheerfully, "especially as I seldom know my plans three days ahead.You're the image of your father, child. I should have known youanywhere."

  Betty put her hands behind her, suddenly conscious that they could notbe very clean.

  "I'm afraid I mussed your collar," she apologized contritely. "Mrs.Arnold was hoping you'd write so she could have me all scrubbed up foryou;" and here Betty's dimple would flicker out.

  Mr. Gordon put an arm about the little figure in the grass-stainedrose-colored smock.

  "I'd rather find you a garden girl," he announced contentedly. "Isn'tthere a place where you and I can have a little talk before we go in tosee Mrs. Arnold and make our explanations?"

  Betty drew him toward the arbor. She knew they would be undisturbedthere.