As Betty opened the door shrieks of mirth floated out to them from the matron’s rooms.
“Excuse me one minute, Mrs. Post,” she said hastily, “while I see if everything is ready for you.”
The whole company of “Settlers,” as Madeline called them, not excepting the under-janitor and the night-watchman, were gathered in Mrs. Post’s cozy sitting-room.
“Where is she?” demanded Jim eagerly, when Betty appeared.
“Didn’t she come after all?” asked Georgia disappointedly.
“We’ve got ready the loveliest chorus of welcome,” explained Madeline, with a complacent wave of the hand at her fellow workers. “A Settlers’ Chorus, with solos by some of the most distinguished Settlers. Now, Betty, don’t look so horrified. Any sensible matron will be tremendously flattered by such a unique attention.”
“It’s perfectly respectable, Betty,” Mary Brooks Hinsdale assured her, “and Mr. Morton and Mr. Watson and the night-watchman will never have another chance to be in a Harding show.”
“What’s that?” demanded Mr. Morton, who had been so engrossed in studying his part that he had not noticed Betty’s arrival. “I’ve heard a great deal about Harding shows, but I certainly never expected to be in a troupe. Bring on your audience, Miss B. A., or I shall forget my lines.”
There was no use arguing. “All right,” agreed Betty, “only please remember that she’s a stranger to Harding ways, and don’t do anything to shock her too much. While the entertainment is going on, I’ll make us all some tea.”
But nobody would listen to that proposition for a minute. Betty, being herself chief Settler, must hear the Settlers’ Chorus. It ended by Mr. Morton’s summoning Jonas to make the tea—each Settler having unselfishly insisted upon being the one to do it. But Jonas was so entranced by the sight of his master singing a doggerel stanza in praise of the Admirable Architect, to a tune that he fondly supposed to be “A Hot Time,” that he let the water boil over to begin with, and then steeped the tea until it was bitter and had to be thrown away.