Betty's Virginia Christmas

by Molly Elliot Seawell

“But I don’t mean to desert you, granddaddy,” she said firmly. “I don’t know how it is coming out, and neither does Jack”—for by that time Fortescue had become “Jack” to Betty—“but I hate a deserter, you know.”

“It wouldn’t be desertion, my dear,” said the Colonel. “And it would be a base thing of me to spoil your life, my little Betty. But, as you say, a way will be found. Don’t let us trouble about it until Christmas, then, as you say, Fortescue will try to get a leave that will give him a week at Rosehill, and we shall see. I think perhaps I could get on pretty well at Holly Lodge with Cesar and Tulip and Kettle.”

“Do you mean,” cried Betty indignantly, “that you could get on pretty well without me? Oh, what a wicked old grandfather you are!”

“But if you will come to see me sometimes,” said the Colonel, anxious to find a way.

In due time the letter to the Colonel came from Fortescue, and the Colonel answered it in his dignified, old-fashioned manner. He did not wish and would not permit himself to be a bar to his granddaughter’s happiness. After a time, when their affection had been tested, he would give his consent to the marriage.

The officers came, and the camp was pitched, and much work was done. Likewise, much eating, drinking, dancing, riding, boating, and picnicing with the county people. It was the old story of Christmas week transferred to spring. Betty appeared to be as keen over the lieutenants as Sally Carteret or any girl in the county, nor did she feel any qualms of conscience when two second lieutenants each told her at different times that he could not live without her. Betty was a little unfeeling toward her admirers, and her tears were but crocodile tears when she told the lieutenants that she could not leave her grandfather—except for that—— Here Betty broke down prettily, and the lieutenants were in despair. But they speedily recovered from their disappointment and found other outlets for their affections. Betty, the trifler, was serious enough, however, where Fortescue was concerned.

The spring melted into summer and on a day black for Sally Carteret and the other gay young things in the county the camp was broken and the officers departed. Luckily, though, it was at the season when the University students returned to the county, bringing many of their fellow students with them, so that there was balm in Gilead. As for Betty, she was quite willing to play with the University students, as she had with the second lieutenants. But deep down in her heart they mattered little. There was only one man for her, and that was Lieutenant John Hope Fortescue.

The earth seemed brightening for all at Holly Lodge. The Colonel had learned more and more to accommodate himself to the little house and the simple surroundings, and, free from debts and duns, had great peace. Betty, whose heart had flown about like the larks and thrushes from bough to bough, had at last made its nest, and she too had great peace. Kettle turned out to be not only a solid addition to their comfort, but almost to their happiness. His sturdy little bow-legs waddled about, bringing wood and water, and doing errands. He was always cheery and helpful, but with the faults which are necessary to the typical boy. He would occasionally neglect his work for the sake of his adored fiddle, and when sent down to the river shore to catch crabs for dinner would become so absorbed in the sport that he would forget that it was merely a means to an end. One day, however, he incurred the wrath of the whole establishment at Holly Lodge. Among Betty’s treasures was a great tall glass bottle of attar of roses, of which a single drop perfumed a room. Kettle, passing Betty’s open door, the room being empty, saw on the dressing table the beautiful bottle in which was stored the perfume he loved. The devil tempted him, and Kettle yielded. He slipped into the room, and, opening the bottle, rubbed its contents, a gill or two of attar of rose, into his wool.

Downstairs, a pungent odor, so strong that it was almost asphyxiating, penetrated, and as Kettle’s steps were heard approaching the perfume became overpowering. The Colonel began to sneeze, and even Aunt Tulip and Uncle Cesar in the kitchen had to run out into the open air. Betty, with her handkerchief to her face, rushed into the little hall, where Kettle stood, his eyes bulging out of his head, as he too gasped and sneezed.