September was almost school time again. There seemed to be a long, hard thing in the September pocket that was not the story pocket. Marjorie said it felt as if it were a stick of candy. She had wanted to open the surprise long before September 13th, the date set, had come. But at last it was September 13th and she tore open the seals that held that leaf of the Surprise Book’s pocket tight. There was—why, a pencil! Why hadn’t she ever guessed that! It was a pencil painted pink and it had a rubber at its end. It had a pretty card tied to it that said, “Use this when you go to school tomorrow.” The story Marjorie opened that evening after supper. It was called “Betty Crusoe.”
XI
Betty Crusoe
All summer Betty had been in the city. Then, the last day of September came an eventful invitation from a school-friend of her mother’s. “Dear Betty,” it ran, “I know your mother can’t be persuaded to leave daddy and the boys, but can’t you pack up and spend the rest of the vacation with me in my big house here at Riverby? I’m all alone for October.” So, in two days, there was Betty in Riverby!
Mrs. Roberts and she took long motor rides, but the rest of the time—and much of the time—Betty had to amuse herself. She was always longing for a boat ride on the lovely blue river that was within sight of the house, but Mrs. Roberts never seemed inclined to go out rowing. It was one day when she was lonely and wishing for somebody her own age to play with that she wandered through the grounds down toward the shore. Some magic must have been at work, for right there upon the sandy beach sat a pink gingham dress much like Betty’s own! It turned as Betty’s white shoes crunched the coarse gravel. “Hello,” she greeted. “I was just wishing I had a girl to talk to and then you came!”
Betty laughed. “I was just wishing, myself,” she smiled. “I’m staying with Mrs. Roberts. Do you live next door?”
The pink hair-ribbon bobbed. “I’m staying with my aunt,” it said. “I just came from the West. I don’t know a soul my own age here and it’s stupid. Now that you’ve come, let’s have some fun together. My name’s Lydia. What’s yours?”
It seemed to the two of them that they had known each other always and, naturally, having so begun, it appeared that the two of them were longing to go out upon the river for a row—and had been longing for that ever since they came to Riverby.
“Don’t I wish we could find a boat!”