Understood Betsy (Chp. 8) | Relaxing Bedtime Story For Sleep
Welcome back, sleepy friends. Tonight, we continue Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher with Chapter 8, a gentle bedtime story for sleep and relaxation. This calming narration follows young Elizabeth Ann, a timid little girl adjusting to life with her Vermont cousins. A beloved work of classic children’s literature, Understood Betsy has comforted readers for generations, and I hope this relaxing audiobook chapter brings you calm, reassurance, and a peaceful drift into sleep. Wishing you peaceful, sweet dreams! Joanne
Transcript
Hello,
And welcome back my sleep friends,
I'm your host Joanne and I'm so glad you're here with me.
Tonight we're continuing our journey with Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher and I'll be reading chapter 8.
In this chapter,
Betsy continues to grow in her new life on the farm,
Learning,
Often quietly and without much fuss,
That she is more capable than she ever imagined.
There are small moments here that matter deeply,
Moments of adjustment,
Of understanding and of finding one's place.
It's a chapter that unfolds gently,
Just as Betsy herself is beginning to do.
Before we begin,
Let's take a little time to settle in together.
Wherever you are listening,
Allow your body to rest just as it is.
There's nothing you need to change,
Nothing you need to fix.
Simply,
Notice your breathing,
Noticing the natural rise and fall,
The easy rhythm that's already there.
With each breath out,
Let your shoulders soften just a little,
Your jaw unclench,
Your brow smooth out.
Imagine a quiet countryside beginning to surround you,
Wide skies,
Open fields,
The steady reassuring stillness of farm life,
A slower,
Simpler world where time moves gently and nothing is rushed.
Let that feeling spread through you now,
Down through your arms,
Into your hands,
Through your chest and belly,
And all the way down to your legs and feet.
You don't need to follow every word of the story tonight,
You can simply let the sound of my voice keep you company,
Allowing the story to drift in and out of your awareness as you rest.
When you're ready,
Let's begin.
Chapter 8 Betsy Starts a Sewing Society Betsy and Molly had taken Debra to school with them.
Debra 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 the Putney farm that first Saturday,
She had said right out,
As soon as she landed in the house,
Oh,
Miss Putney,
Can't we play with Debra?
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 Debra,
By the way she looked at her,
That she had loved the doll very dearly,
And maybe still did a little.
When she put Debra in 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,
Sewed 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 Debra 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 Debra 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,
Debra 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 that this was a strange,
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 doll 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 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 a 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 Stacey 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 Stacey,
Scornfully.
I guess his stepfather drinks him 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 Stacey 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 Laius 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.
Oh,
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 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,
Fellers,
Beatcha to the bridge and back,
And was off,
With the others racing at his heels.
Well,
Anyhow,
I don't care.
He is dirty and horrid,
Said Stacey 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 said,
How can anybody drink up stockings?
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 Laius,
The teacher confirming what Betsy and Anastasia 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 Laius was not at all the one they blamed for his 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 Laius,
If he was gone at the right way.
Who's Elmore Pond?
Asked the schoolteacher.
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,
Mady Pelham,
An awfully nice girl she was,
Too.
They never had any children,
And Mady 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.
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 Laius.
He looks so meeching,
Too.
I guess his stepfather is real mean to him when he's been drinking,
And it's got Laius 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 with 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 Laius Brewster,
Betsy heard no more of what they said.
She herself went on thinking about Laius,
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 out the light,
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 Laius Brewster,
And fix him up so he'll look better,
And maybe that 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 Reese's 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.
Wilkins 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 Alan 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 gray woolen skirt of Aunt Abigail's.
This was for practice before they cut into the piece of new blue serge that the storekeeper had sent up.
Cousin Anne showed them how to pin the pattern on the goods,
And each cut out one piece.
Those flat,
Strange-shaped pieces of cloth certainly did look less like a pair of trousers to Betsy than anything she'd 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 here a little,
Particularly just as they were about to put the sections together the wrong side up.
Stacey,
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 a 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 the 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 Stacey 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,
Stacey Monaghan and Alan Peters and Elizabeth Anne and Eliza put in the little girl hastily,
Very much afraid she would not be given her due share of 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 Elias one by one so that each child could have her thanks separately.
But Stacey wanted to take them to the house when Elias's stepfather would be there and shame him by showing that little girls 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 Elias 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 strange 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 Elias Brewster will look nice and Mr.
Pond will maybe adopt him.
Well,
Said Cousin Anne,
What has that got to do with Elias 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 Elias.
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 Elias 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 Elias's doorstep and knock and run away quick before anybody comes to the door?
She spoke in an uncertain voice and smoothed Deborah'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 tumbledown house where Elias 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 in sight of it,
And they thrilled with excitement and joyful alarm.
Suppose Elias's dreadful father 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 Elias 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 the 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 corner of her apron.
Nobody said a word.
Stacey,
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 Elias'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 good night 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 Elias'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 Elias know who to thank?
Asked Molly.
That's no matter,
Said Betsy.
Yes,
It was Elizabeth Anne 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 hit her face on the rock.
She had said her,
Now I lay me every night and 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 Elias.
Sweet dreams,
My friend.
Sleep well.
