The fallen princeling apologized so abjectly that Betsy could not help laughing at him, for after all, it had been funny.
But sure enough, the nice clothes—where were they?
The necktie never came back. Some one handed Betsy the mangled remains of the shirt and collar; the overalls were missing.
One day, the following summer, Betsy saw a bit of blue calico with white polka dots sticking out from under the edge of the summer-house. She drew it out—the damp, mildewed, faded remnant of Van’s past glory and shame.
“It followed, dragging gruesomely at his side.”
CHAPTER XIII
VAN IN DISGRACE
VAN never forgot anything that he wanted to remember. Away back in the time of his puppyhood Betsy had laughed when he had chased an old hen.
When the cats were pretty well thinned out, he, in his solitary excursions, chanced on some half-grown chickens. He chased them a little, and they fluttered and scrambled awkwardly away from him. Now anything that runs is to be chased. Van always chased Betsy when she ran with him on the lawn; yes, and he would growl and shake her skirts. It would be good fun to see what these ungainly birds would do.
So he went for them, and they came right up to his expectations; they plunged across the road, squawking and crying.