Understood Betsy - Chapter 8

Chapter 8 — “Betsy Starts a Sewing Society”

Life at Putney Farm has grown full and happy for Betsy — so much so that she’s ready to take on a new project of her own. When she gathers the girls together to start a sewing society, it’s not just for stitching and talk, but for kindness and cooperation too...

It’s a cheerful, bustling chapter — a glimpse of Betsy’s growing confidence, and the gentle joy of belonging...

Join us as we explore Dorothy Canfield Fisher's delightful, classic 1916 children's story about a sensitive 9-year-old orphan girl's tale of transformation!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of Understood Betsy,

The charming,

Gently humorous,

Endearing children's novel from 1916 by American author Dorothy Canfield Fisher.

If you've been listening along you'll know we're following with the adventures of a very sensitive,

Intelligent,

Nine-year-old orphan girl called Betsy in her quest for personal growth and self-reliance on a farm in Vermont.

If you haven't heard the preceding parts of this story you can certainly look for the playlist for Understood Betsy and you'll find everything there in order.

But for now let's just take a moment here to have a nice,

Deep exhale.

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now there's nowhere else we have to go,

Nothing else we have to be doing.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the sweet tale of Understood Betsy.

Chapter 8.

Betsy starts a sewing society.

Betsy and Molly had taken Deborah to school with them.

Deborah was the old wooden doll with brown painted curls.

She had lain in a trunk almost ever since Aunt Abigail's childhood because cousin Anne had never cared for dolls when she was a little girl.

At first Betsy had not dared to ask to see her,

Much less to play with her.

But when Ellen,

As she had promised,

Came over to Putney Farm that first Saturday she had said right out as soon as she landed in the house,

Oh Mrs Putney can't we play with Deborah?

And Aunt Abigail had answered,

Why yes,

Of course,

I knew there was something I've kept forgetting.

She went up with them herself to the cold attic and opened the little hair trunk under the eaves.

There lay a doll flat on her back looking up at them brightly out of her blue eyes.

Well,

Debbie dear,

Said Aunt Abigail,

Taking her up gently.

It's a good long time since you and I played under the lilac bushes,

Isn't it?

I expect you've been pretty lonesome up here all these years.

Never you mind.

You'll have some good times again now.

She pulled down the doll's full ruffled skirt,

Straightened the lace at the neck of her dress and held her for a moment,

Looking down at her silently.

You could tell by the way she spoke,

By the way she touched Deborah,

By the way she looked at her,

That she had loved the doll very dearly,

And maybe still did a little.

When she put Deborah into Betsy's arms,

The child felt that she was receiving something very precious,

Almost something alive.

She and Ellen looked with delight at the yards and yards of picket-edged ribbon sewn on by hand to the ruffles of the skirt and lifted up the silk folds to admire the carefully made full petticoats and frilly drawers,

The pretty soft old kid shoes and white stockings.

Aunt Abigail looked at them with an absent smile on her lips,

As though she were living over old scenes.

Finally,

It's too cold to play up here,

She said,

Coming to herself with a long breath.

You'd better bring Deborah and the trunk down into the south room.

She carried the doll and Betsy and Ellen each took an end of the old trunk,

No larger than a modern suitcase.

They settled themselves on the big couch,

Back of the table with the lamp.

Old Shep was on it,

But Betsy coaxed him off by putting down some bones cousin Anne had been saving for him.

When he finished those and came back for the rest of his snooze,

He found his place occupied by the little girls,

Sitting cross-legged,

Examining the contents of the trunk all spread out around them.

Shep sighed deeply and sat down with his nose resting on the couch near Betsy's knee,

Following all their movements with his kind dark eyes.

Once in a while,

Betsy stopped hugging Deborah or exclaiming over a new dress,

Long enough to pat Shep's head and fondle his ears.

This was what he was waiting for,

And every time she did it,

He wagged his tail thumpingly against the floor.

After that,

Deborah and her trunk were kept downstairs,

Where Betsy could play with her.

And often she was taken to school.

You never heard of such a thing as taking a doll to school,

Did you?

Well,

I told you this was a queer,

Old-fashioned school that any modern school superintendent would sniff at.

As a matter of fact,

It was not only Betsy who took her doll to school,

All the little girls did,

Whenever they felt like it.

Miss Benton,

The teacher,

Had a shelf for them in the entryway,

Where the wraps were hung,

And the dolls sat on it and waited patiently,

All through lessons.

At recess time,

Or nooning,

Each little mother snatched her own child and began to play.

As soon as it grew warm enough to play outdoors without just racing around every minute to keep from freezing to death,

The dolls and their mothers went out to a great pile of rocks at one end of the bare stony field,

Which was the playground.

There they sat and played in the spring sunshine,

Warmer from day to day.

There were a great many holes and shelves and pockets and little caves in the rocks,

Which made lovely places for playing keep house.

Each little girl had her own particular cubby holes and rooms,

And they visited their dolls back and forth,

All around the pile.

And as they played,

They talked very fast about all sorts of things,

Being little girls and not boys who just yelled and howled inarticulately as they played ball or duck on a rock or prisoner's goal,

Racing and running and wrestling noisily all around the rocks.

There was one child who neither played with the girls,

Nor ran and whooped with the boys.

This was little six-year-old Laius.

One of the two boys in Molly's first grade.

At recess time,

He generally hung about the school door by himself,

Looking moodily down and knocking the toe of his ragged muddy shoe against a stone.

The little girls were talking about him one day as they played.

My,

Isn't that Laius Brewster the horridest looking child,

Said Eliza,

Who had the second grade all to herself,

Although Molly now read out of the second reader with her.

Mercy,

Yes,

So ragged,

Said Anastasia Monaghan,

Called Stashy for short.

She was a big girl,

Fourteen years old,

Who was in the seventh grade.

He doesn't look as if he ever combed his hair,

Said Betsy.

It looks just like a wisp of old hay.

And sometimes,

Little Molly proudly added her bit to the talk of the older girls,

He forgets to put on any stockings and just has his dreadful old shoes on over his dirty bare feet.

I guess he hasn't got any stockings half the time,

Said big Stashy,

Scornfully.

I guess his stepfather drinks them up.

How can he drink up stockings?

Asked Molly,

Opening her round eyes very wide.

Shh,

You mustn't ask.

Little girls shouldn't know about such things,

Should they,

Betsy?

No,

Indeed,

Said Betsy,

Looking mysterious.

As a matter of fact,

She herself had no idea what Stashy meant,

But she looked wise and said nothing.

Some of the boys had squatted down near the rocks for a game of marbles now.

Well,

Anyhow,

Said Molly,

Resentfully,

I don't care what his stepfather does to his stockings.

I wish Lias would wear them to school.

And lots of times he hasn't anything on under those horrid old overalls either.

I can see his bare skin through the torn places.

I wish he didn't have to sit so near me,

Said Betsy,

Complainingly.

He's so dirty.

Well,

I don't want him near me either,

Cried all the other little girls at once.

Ralph glanced up at them,

Frowning.

From where he knelt with his middle finger crooked behind a marble,

Ready for a shot.

He looked as he always did,

Very rough and half-threatening.

You girls make me sick,

He said.

He sent his marble straight to the mark,

Pocketed his opponents,

And stood up,

Scowling at the little mothers.

I guess if you had to live the way he does,

You'd be dirty.

Half the time he don't get anything to eat before he comes to school.

And if my mother didn't put up some extra for him in my box,

He wouldn't get any lunch either.

And then you go and jump on him.

Why doesn't his own mother put up his lunch,

Betsy challenged their critic.

He hasn't got any mother.

She's dead,

Said Ralph,

Turning away with his hands in his pocket.

He yelled to the boys,

Come on,

Fellas,

Beat you to the bridge and back,

And was off,

With the others racing at his heels.

Well,

Anyway,

I don't care.

He is dirty and horrid,

Said Stashy,

Emphatically,

Looking over at the drooping,

Battered little figure,

Leaning against the school door,

Listlessly kicking at a stone.

But Betsy did not say anything more just then.

The teacher who boarded round was staying at Putney Farm at that time.

And that evening,

As they all sat around the lamp in the south room,

Betsy looked up from her game of checkers with Uncle Henry and asked,

How can anybody drink up stockings?

Mercy,

Child,

What are you talking about?

Asked Aunt Abigail.

Betsy repeated what Anastasia Monaghan had said,

And was flattered by the instant,

Rather startled attention given her by the grown-ups.

Why,

I didn't know that Bud Walker had taken to drinking again,

Said Uncle Henry.

My,

That's too bad.

Who takes care of that child,

Anyhow,

Now that poor Susie is dead?

Aunt Abigail asked of everybody in general.

Is he just living there,

Alone,

With that good-for-nothing stepfather?

How do they get enough to eat?

Said Cousin Anne,

Looking troubled.

Apparently,

Betsy's question had brought something half-forgotten and altogether neglected into their minds.

They talked for some time after that,

About liars,

The teacher confirming what Betsy and Stashy had said.

And we,

Sitting right here,

With plenty to eat,

And never raising a hand,

Cried Aunt Abigail.

How you will let things slip out of your mind,

Said Cousin Anne,

Remorsefully.

It struck Betsy vividly that liars was not at all the one they blamed for his objectionable appearance.

She felt quite ashamed to go on with the other things she and the little girls had said,

And fell silent,

Pretending to be very much absorbed in her game of checkers.

Do you know,

Said Aunt Abigail suddenly,

As though an inspiration had just struck her,

I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that Elmore Pond might adopt liars,

If he was gone at,

The right way.

Who's Elmore Pond?

Asked the school teacher.

Why,

You must have seen him,

That great big red-faced,

Good-natured looking man that comes through here twice a year,

Buying stock.

He lives over Bigby Way,

But his wife was a Hillsborough girl,

Matey Pelham,

An awfully nice girl she was too.

They never had any children,

And Matey told me the last time she was back for a visit,

That she and her husband talked quite often about adopting a little boy.

Seems that Mr Pond has always wanted a little boy.

He's such a nice man,

It would be a lovely home for a child.

But goodness,

Said the teacher,

Nobody would want to adopt such an awful looking little ragamuffin as that liars.

He looks so meeching too.

I guess his stepfather is real mean to him when he's been drinking,

And it's got liar so he hardly dares hold his head up.

The clock struck loudly.

Well,

Hear that,

Said Cousin Anne,

Nine o'clock and the children not in bed.

Molly's most asleep this minute.

Trot along,

Will you,

Betsy?

Trot along,

Molly.

And Betsy,

Be sure Molly's nightgown is buttoned up all the way.

So it happened that although the grown-ups were evidently going on to talk about liar Sprucester,

Betsy heard no more of what they said.

She herself went on thinking about liars while she was undressing and answering absently little Molly's chatter.

She was thinking about him even after they had gone to bed,

Had put the light out and were lying snuggled up to each other,

Back to front,

Their four legs crooked at the same angle,

Fitting in together neatly like two spoons in a drawer.

She was thinking about him when she woke up.

And as soon as she could get hold of Cousin Anne,

She poured out a new plan.

She had never been afraid of Cousin Anne since the evening Molly had fallen into the wolf pit and Betsy had seen that pleased smile on Cousin Anne's firm lips.

Cousin Anne,

Couldn't we girls at school get together and sew?

You'd have to help us some.

And make some nice new clothes for little liar Sprucester and fix him up so he'll look better.

And maybe then Mr.

Pond will like him and adopt him.

Cousin Anne listened attentively and nodded her head.

Yes,

I think that would be a good idea,

She said.

We were thinking last night we ought to do something for him.

If you'll make the clothes,

Mother will knit him some stockings and father will get him some shoes.

Mr.

Pond never makes his spring trip till late May so we'll have plenty of time.

Betsy was full of importance that day at school and at recess time got the girls together on the rocks and told them all about the plan.

Cousin Anne says she'll help us and we can meet at our house every Saturday afternoon till we get them done.

It'll be fun.

Aunt Abigail telephoned down to the store right away and Mr.

Wilkin says he'll give the cloth if we'll make it up.

Betsy spoke very grandly of making it up,

Although she had hardly held a needle in her life.

And when the Saturday afternoon meetings began,

She was ashamed to see how much better Ellen and even Eliza could sew than she.

To keep her end up,

She was driven to practicing her stitches around the lamp in the evenings with Aunt Abigail keeping an eye on her.

Cousin Anne supervised the sewing on Saturday afternoons and taught those of the little girls whose legs were long enough how to use the sewing machine.

First,

They made a little pair of trousers out of an old grey woolen skirt of Aunt Abigail's.

This was for practice before they cut into the piece of new blue surge that the storekeeper had sent up.

Cousin Anne showed them how to pin the pattern on the goods and they each cut out one piece.

Those flat,

Queer-shaped pieces of cloth certainly did look less like a pair of trousers to Betsy than anything she had ever seen.

Then one of the girls read aloud very slowly the mysterious-sounding directions from the wrapper of the pattern about how to put the pieces together.

Cousin Anne helped hear a particularly just as they were about to put the sections together wrong side up.

Stashy,

As the oldest,

Did the first basting,

Putting the notches together carefully,

Just as they read the instructions aloud.

And there,

All of a sudden,

Was a rough little sketch of a pair of knee trousers.

Without any hem or any waistband,

Of course,

But just the two-legged,

Complicated shape they ought to be.

It was like a miracle to Betsy.

Then Cousin Anne helped them sew the seams on the machine and they all turned to for the basting of the facings and the finishing.

They each made one buttonhole.

It was the first one Betsy had ever made.

And when she got through,

She was as tired as though she had run all the way to school and back.

Tired,

But very proud.

Although,

When Cousin Anne inspected that buttonhole,

She covered her face with her handkerchief for a minute,

As though she were going to sneeze,

Although she didn't sneeze at all.

It took them two Saturdays to finish up that trial pair of trousers and when they showed the result to Aunt Abigail,

She was delighted.

Well,

To think of that being my old skirt,

She said,

Putting on her spectacles to examine the work.

She did not laugh either when she saw those buttonholes,

But she got up hastily and went into the next room where they soon heard her coughing.

Then they made a little blouse out of some new blue gingham.

Cousin Anne happened to have enough left over from a dress she was making.

This thin material was ever so much easier to manage than the grey flannel and they had the little garment done in no time,

Even to the buttons and buttonholes.

When it came to making the buttonholes,

Cousin Anne sat right down with each one and supervised every stitch.

You may not be surprised to know that they were a great improvement over the first batch.

Then,

Making a great ceremony of it,

They began on the store material.

Working twice a week now because May was slipping along very fast and Mr Pond might be there at any time.

They knew pretty well how to go ahead on this one after the experience of their first pair and Cousin Anne was not much needed except as advisor in hard places.

She sat there in the room with them,

Doing some sewing of her own,

So quiet that half the time they forgot she was there.

It was great fun,

Sewing all together and chattering as they sewed.

A good deal of the time,

They talked about how splendid it was of them to be so kind to little Elias.

My,

I don't believe most girls would put themselves out this way for a dirty little boy,

Said Stashy complacently.

No indeed,

Chimed in Betsy.

It's just like a story,

Isn't it?

Working and sacrificing for the poor.

I guess he'll thank us all right for sure,

Said Ellen.

He'll never forget us as long as he lives,

I don't suppose.

Betsy,

Her imagination fired by this suggestion,

Said I guess when he's grown up he'll be telling everybody about how when he was so poor and ragged,

Stashy Monaghan and Ellen Peters and Elizabeth Anne and Eliza,

Put in that little girl hastily,

Very much afraid she would not be given her due share of the glory.

Cousin Anne sewed and listened and said nothing.

Toward the end of May,

Two little blouses,

Two pairs of trousers,

Two pairs of stockings,

Two sets of underwear contributed by the teacher and the pair of shoes Uncle Henry gave were ready.

The little girls handled the pile of new garments with inexpressible pride and debated just which way of bestowing them was sufficiently grand to be worthy the occasion.

Betsy was for taking them to school and giving them to Lias one by one so that each child could have her thanks separately.

But Stashy wanted to take them to the house when Lias's stepfather would be there and shame him by showing that little girls had had to do what he ought to have done.

Cousin Anne broke into the discussion by asking in her quiet,

Firm voice,

Why do you want Lias to know where the clothes come from?

They had forgotten again that she was there and turned around quickly to stare at her.

Nobody could think of any answer to her very queer question.

It had not occurred to anyone that there could be such a question.

Cousin Anne shifted her ground and asked another,

Why did you make these clothes anyhow?

They stared again,

Speechless.

Why did she ask that?

She knew why.

Finally,

Little Molly said in her honest baby way,

Why?

You know why,

Miss Anne.

So Lias Brewster will look nice and Mr Pond will maybe adopt him.

Well,

Said Cousin Anne,

What has that got to do with Lias knowing who did it?

Why,

He wouldn't know who to be grateful to,

Cried Betsy.

Oh,

Said Cousin Anne.

Oh,

I see.

You didn't do it to help Lias.

You did it to have him grateful to you.

I see.

Molly is such a little girl,

It's no wonder she didn't really take in what you girls were up to.

She nodded her head wisely,

As though now she understood.

But if she did,

Little Molly certainly did not.

She had not the least idea what everybody was talking about.

She looked from one sober,

Downcast face to another,

Rather anxiously,

What was the matter?

Apparently,

Nothing was really the matter,

She decided,

For after a minute's silence,

Miss Anne got up with entirely her usual face of cheerful gravity and said,

Don't you think you little girls ought to top off this last afternoon with a tea party?

There's a new batch of cookies and you can make yourself some lemonade if you want to.

They had these refreshments out on the porch,

In the sunshine,

With their dolls for guests and a great deal of chatter for sauce.

Nobody said another word about how to give the clothes to Lias,

Till just as the girls were going away,

Betsy said,

Walking along with the two older ones,

Say,

Don't you think it'd be fun to go some evening after dark and leave the clothes on Lias's doorstep and knock and run away quick before anybody comes to the door?

She spoke in an uncertain voice and smoothed Debra's carved wooden curls.

Yes,

I do,

Said Ellen,

Not looking at Betsy,

But down at the weeds by the road.

I think it would be lots of fun.

Little Molly,

Playing with Annie and Eliza,

Did not hear this,

But she was allowed to go with the older girls on the great expedition.

It was a warm,

Dark evening in late May,

With the frogs piping their sweet high note and the first of the fireflies wheeling over the wet meadows near the tumble-down house where Lias lived.

The girls took turns in carrying the big paper-wrapped bundle and stole along in the shadow of the trees,

Full of excitement,

Looking over their shoulders at nothing and pressing their hands over their mouths to keep back the giggles.

There was,

Of course,

No reason on earth why they should giggle,

Which is,

Of course,

The very reason why they did.

If you've ever been a little girl,

You know about that.

One window of the small house was dimly lighted,

They found,

When they came inside of it,

And they thrilled with excitement and joyful alarm.

Suppose Lias's dreadful stepfather should come out and yell at them.

They came forward on tiptoe,

Making a great deal of noise by stepping on twigs,

Rustling bushes,

Crackling gravel under their feet and doing all the other things that make such a noise at night and never do in the daytime.

But nobody stirred inside the room with the lighted window.

They crept forward and peeped cautiously inside and stopped giggling.

The dim light coming from a little kerosene lamp with a smoky chimney fell on a dismal,

Cluttered room,

A bare,

Greasy wooden table and two broken-backed chairs with little Lias in one of them.

He had fallen asleep with his head on his arms,

His pinched,

Dirty,

Sad little figure showing in the light from the lamp.

His feet dangled high above the floor in their broken,

Muddy shoes.

One sleeve was torn to the shoulder.

A piece of dry bread had slipped from his bony little hand and a tin dipper stood beside him on the bare table.

Nobody else was in the room,

Nor evidently in the darkened,

Empty,

Fireless house.

As long as she lives,

Betsy will never forget what she saw that night through that window.

Her eyes grew very hot and her hands very cold.

Her heart thumped hard.

She reached for little Molly and gave her a great hug in the darkness.

Suppose it were little Molly asleep there,

All alone in the dirty,

Dismal house,

With no supper and nobody to put her to bed.

She found that Ellen,

Next to her,

Was crying quietly into the word.

Stashy,

Who had the bundle,

Walked around soberly to the front door,

Put it down and knocked loudly.

They all darted away noiselessly to the road,

To the shadow of the trees,

And waited until the door opened.

A square of yellow light appeared,

With Lias's figure,

Very small,

At the bottom of it.

They saw him stoop and pick up the bundle and go back into the house.

Then they went quickly and silently back,

Separating at the crossroads,

With no goodnight greetings.

Molly and Betsy began to climb the hill to Putney Farm.

It was a very warm night for May,

And little Molly began to puff for breath.

Let's sit down on this rock a while and rest,

She said.

They were halfway up the hill now.

From the rock they could see the lights in the farmhouses,

Scattered along the valley road and on the side of the mountain opposite them,

Like big stars fallen from the multitude above.

Betsy lay down on the rock and looked up at the stars.

After a silence,

Little Molly's chirping voice said,

Oh,

I thought you said we were going to march up to Lias's school and give him his clothes.

Did you forget about that?

Betsy gave a wriggle of shame as she remembered that plan.

No,

We didn't forget it,

She said.

We thought this would be a better way.

But how will Lias know who to thank,

Asked Molly.

That's no matter,

Said Betsy.

Yes,

It was Elizabeth and that was who said that,

And meant it too.

She was not even thinking of what she was saying between her and the stars thick over her in the black soft sky.

She saw again that dirty,

Disordered room and the little boy all alone,

Asleep with a piece of dry bread in his bony little fingers.

She looked hard and long at that picture,

All the time seeing the quiet stars through it.

And then she turned over and hid her face on the rock.

She had said her now I lay me every night since she could remember,

But she had never prayed till she lay there with her face on the rock saying over and over,

Oh God,

Please,

Please,

Please make Mr.

Pond adopt Lias.