Now, whenever Father said that,—“I’m afraid she won’t like it,”—Betsey’s present was sure to be very large and wonderful. Once it had been her shiny bicycle, once her new blue playroom, and once her darling black pony. So Betsey finished her breakfast in great excitement, hurried upstairs to the playroom and pushed open the door. And there it stood in the center of the room,—the dear little house, painted snow-white inside and pale green outside,—with four rooms and six windows and tiny window-sashes, and the cunningest threshold!
Betsey rushed over to the dainty little cottage, put her head in the little dining-room and looked through the double doors into the drawing-room. “Just to see how it would seem to live here,” she thought. And then her eyes fell on a square white card dangling from one of the little window-sashes.
“THE HOUSE OF DELIGHT” said the card. “To Betsey, from Father and Mother.”
“I’ll say thank you before I begin to play,” decided Betsey, tossing back her curls and clattering down-stairs at a great rate.
“Here’s that child!” exclaimed Father. “I was afraid she wouldn’t like it!”
“O but she does!” shouted Betsey, whirling around in the middle of the room. “Mr. Delight has wanted to move for the longest while!”
“What do you say, Mother,” said Father with a twinkle, “if we excuse Betsey today from doing any hard work?”
“Betsey can simply make her bed,” agreed Mother.
So Betsey whisked the white covers over her little brass bed as smoothly as she could (with a perfectly new doll-house waiting), and hurried back to the House of Delight.
Little Mr. Delight was sitting in his law office behind the radiator. Betsey picked him up, put on his gray derby hat, and walked him rapidly across the room to the Morris chair.