“And, Auntie Kate,” Betsy’s eyes were on the floor now, “I’m going to watch those girls, and the first thing you know I won’t be queer any more. I’ll be a real lady.”
“You’ve the makings of one in you, Betsy girl. Don’t be in a hurry, everything will come out finely. I’ll trust you.”
“Some of those girls have got too many manners. They’re silly.”
“Follow after the simpler-mannered ones; putting on airs is not good manners. How is your book coming on? I have never seen what you have written. Don’t you think I am entitled to just a glimpse?”
Without a word Betsy got the book and handed it to Mrs. Johns, who opened it with a keen appreciation of the sacredness of it, and of the little girl’s simple trust in her.
From beginning to end it was a record of struggle and victory. Aunt Kate did not smile, although many of the items were quaint, to say the least. The first one was:
“Bathe yurself good. Do not skip neck and ears.”
Following came such as these:
“Bread is not buttered all to once. You break off little chunks.”
“A mouthful is not what you can stuf in. It is very little.”