“Good! Everything will come out right after a while, when the girls know my Betsy as well as I do.”
Betsy did not answer, but there was a soft little light in her eyes.
She continued her attendance, and Van, who had watched her weekly disappearance, dressed in her Sunday best, determined to make a closer investigation of affairs. There must be some special charm about these daytime excursions from which he was excluded.
One fine Sabbath morning he was on the lawn, sunning himself, when he saw Betsy come out of the house, book in hand, best hat on, and start down the hill toward town. Van dropped in happily behind her.
“Go back, Van!” said Betsy.
Van tossed his royal head and ran on, pretending that he was bent on his own affairs.
“I’ll get rid of him when I get on the car,” thought Betsy.
She climbed on at the trolley-station, and did not see the little brown and white streak dashing madly along behind, clear into the town. There were many stops for the church-goers, so Van was able to keep the car in sight. It stopped in front of the church just as the Sunday School bell was ringing, and all the good little Episcopalian children were walking sedately in at the door, dressed in their prettiest and cleanest Sunday-go-to-meeting frocks and coats. As Betsy mounted the steps she was greeted by a member of her class.
Just then Van ambled up, with his tongue out, and his eye lighted with the excitement of adventure.
“There’s your dog, Betsy.”