CHAPTER XI
WITH SYBIL, IN THE WOOD
Betty had never spent such a day. It had been bad enough to have to blurt out before everybody the fact that she herself must certainly have been the last girl to have seen the Cup. It was worse to see the frank and absolute amazement in Sybil’s face at her words.
“You—Betty?”
“I—” began Betty nervously. Her fingers were flying by this time; she could hardly bring out the words; and the sight of Sybil standing quietly before her made her somehow feel all the more what a harum-scarum helter-skelter she was.
“I only meant—I mean, I didn’t mean—” she floundered. Oh, if Sybil would only let her explain the matter all by herself instead of standing, as she was, in the midst of a group of junior Guides all staring incredulously at her.
But the head of the Daisies did not make the matter easier for her in that way. Her eyes were grave and quiet; but the blue of them looked stern, Betty thought. “Speak slowly; there is no hurry. Why did you touch the Cup at all without leave?” said Sybil.
“It was to help. I mean—I was cleaning it. I took it out in the gardens. I put it back. I know I did,” began Betty in a quivery voice.
At this juncture, on account of the quiver, Dad would have put his arm round her and called her “Bet, pet,” and she would have felt better at once. Sybil, who could be kind and sweet, as Betty knew, did none of these things.
“You took the Guide Cup, then, from the shelf without asking, Betty? And cleaned it in the garden without leave? It did not occur to you, then, that the Cup is the property of every one of the Guides, and that we are the patrol responsible for it this year. As I am head of that patrol, you should have asked me.”