Betsy had begun to make overtures to her first best. She well knew her aunt would not permit her to adopt the new fashion of arranging her hair and she also knew it was far from becoming. Betsy’s little dark face, overshadowed by her dusky locks, looked like some small animal’s; still she wanted to prove that she could follow the style if she wanted to. Not only little girls, but the world in general, will take pattern after a flock of sheep; let one jump over a fence, the rest will jump after it. Betsy had made the jump to show that she could, but she was ready to return to her familiar field, the more especially as she missed the companionship of Elizabeth.
At recess a flock of girls gathered around Corinne to examine her corals, to borrow her ring for a moment, to see how it would look on another hand, to hear her recount the number of parties and teas which she had attended. The schoolhouse porch was by no means deserted that day, for Corinne preferred it to any outside spot. Elizabeth with her older friends sat on a bench by the gate, a row of boys perched like crows on the fence above them. Betsy uncertainly hovered between the two places.
“Come here, Betsy,” called Corinne. “See if my ring will fit your third finger; it is too small for Bess. Flo says it will be too big for you, but I don’t believe it. I know my hand is smaller than yours.”
Betsy paused in taking a second bite of her big red apple, and looked uncertainly toward the group by the fence.
“Your hair looks real nice,” continued Corinne. “Bess says she didn’t believe you would dare to change it.”
“I don’t think it looks very nice,” replied Betsy doubtfully; “I just tried it for today to see how it would look. I am going back to the old way tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t,” Corinne went on. “It mightn’t look nice if you had red hair like some people we know. Nobody can be good-looking with red hair, and they must always expect to be made fun of.” This was spoken quite nonchalantly and with a little laugh.
Then all Betsy’s loyalty arose. She knew how sensitive Elizabeth was about her auburn locks, and that she had heard every word Corinne said, as it was intended she should. “Real red hair, of course,” responded Betsy. “But there is nothing in the world so beautiful as auburn hair. True auburn hair is very rare, my uncle says. All the artists rave over it, and anyone who has it doesn’t have to wear it like common folks.” Then, having flung forth her defiance, Betsy turned and ran to where Elizabeth sat on the end of the bench, snuggling up close to her, putting her hand in hers, and whispering, “I just hate that Corinne Barker. I wish she had stayed at home.”
Elizabeth gave the little hand a squeeze and Maria Black remarked, “I think Elizabeth Hollins has the prettiest hair I ever saw. I am glad she has sense enough to wear it as she does. I wish you could have heard my brother make fun of me this morning. I almost was ashamed to be seen after what he said about my hair. I’ll not dare to wear it so another day, I can tell you.” As Maria was the oldest girl in school her words carried weight and Elizabeth looked at her with grateful eyes.
So peace was once more restored between Elizabeth and Betsy. But Bess still hung off; she could not forget that Elizabeth had called her fat, but she was soon almost the only one who sought out Corinne. The older girls avoided her, the boys would have nothing to do with her. Boys despise a girl who makes mean little pin-pricking remarks about other girls. When they have a grievance they fight it out with their fists and have done with it.