# The Book of Betty Barber/Chapter 1

THE BOOK OF BETTY BARBER
CHAPTER I
THE FINDING OF THE BOOK
“What is it?” said the Major.
“I think it’s a book,” said Good little Lucy.
“Pull it out, and let us have a look at it,” said Miss Crimson Lake.
And then the three pulled and tugged, scraped away dead leaves, pulled again, and at last, out of a hole at the foot of the hollow trunk of the tree came a book, quite small, rather old and torn, untidy inside and out, only a school exercise-book.
“H‘m, don’t think that is much of a find,” said Miss Crimson Lake, ”and look at my hands, I’ve made them so dirty.” She was a dainty young lady, dressed in the pinkest of pink dresses, but her cheeks were even pinker than her dress.
“It may be a great treasure,” said Lucy.
“It’s rather a stupid book, I fancy,” said the Major, “I don’t see a note of music in it.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Lucy, who had been turning over the pages, “I believe it is a very interesting book, and a sensible one too. Listen to this, ‘All grown-up people are stupid.’”
“That sounds sensible enough,” said Major C. ​ “Don’t interrupt,” said Miss Crimson Lake.
“‘I suppose I shall be stupid too when I grow up,” read Lucy, “so I mean to write down in this book the things I like, then when I am grown up, I shall know what my children will like———.’”
“But who is writing it?” asked Miss Crimson Lake. “A child, of course, but is it a boy or girl?”
“Look if the book has a name,” said Major C.
“None outside,” said Lucy examining the cover.
“Then look inside,” said Miss Crimson Lake.
“Ah, yes, here it is,” said Lucy, “on the very first page, and there are two names. How I wish I had two!” and Lucy sighed a deep, deep sigh.
“Well, what does it say?” asked Miss Crimson Lake.
“Yes, what does it say?” said Major C.
“It says, ‘This is the book of Betty Barber,’” said Lucy, “‘Betty Barber,’ what a beautiful name?”
“Hullo, Lucy, where is your work?” called a loud voice, as a boy dressed in black and white came running down one of the paths through the wood towards the tree. “Don’t we all know that you are
‘The fair little girl who sat under a tree, Sewing as long as her eyes could see———.’”
“But you seem to forget that
‘I’ve smoothed my work and folded it right, And said, “Dear work, good-night, good-night!”’
this time,” laughed Lucy.
“What have you got there?” asked the boy, and he snatched the book out of Lucy’s hands.
“What a rude fellow!” whispered Miss Crimson Lake, “who is he?”
“Only a fraction,” said Lucy. “Give me the book back, Thirteen-fourteenths.”
“A curious signature,” murmured Major C, who had been staring at the newcomer’s strange dress, which was covered with figures. His jacket was white, his knickerbockers black, a broad black sash was tied round his waist. Both jacket and knickerbockers seemed to be made of small pieces, and on each piece was worked a number. The jacket was covered with black figures, andthe knickerbockers showed white figures all over them.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the Major, “but might I ask, I don’t quite understand—Thirteen-fourteenths. Fourteen what? Would you explain?”
“Give me the book, and I’ll introduce you to the Major,” said Lucy.
“Shan’t give you the book,” said the Fraction, taking no notice of the Major, for he loved to tease small girls.
“I'll reduce you,” cried Lucy.
“You can’t,” shouted the Fraction.
“I’ll turn you into decimals,” said Lucy.
Without another word the Fraction dropped the book, and fell on his knees at Lucy’s feet.
“Don’t,” he said, “don’t. You know I want to be a whole number again so badly; I want to get my new dress.”
“Never mind, I didn’t mean it,” said Lucy. “You know I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“You wouldn’t hurt a rook, would you?” said the Fraction, “though a number did fly over your head crying, ‘Caw, caw, caw,’ on their way to bed.”
“Hurt my rooks! No, indeed!” cried Lucy.
“But tell me who this old boy, I mean this old gentleman is,” said the Fraction, picking himself up, “and I should be pleased to know the name of the charming young lady.”
“Major C, this is Thirteen-fourteenths,” said Lucy. “Major C is one of a large family much honoured in Music Land—the Scales—Major C Scale.” Major C bowed politely, and, being a stately old gentleman, he could bow very politely.
“Thirteen-fourteenths, from Sum Land,” said Lucy, “is an ​old friend of mine, and a bit of a tease, but really a very well-meaning———”
“There, there, better soon,” said the Fraction. Then he whispered quickly, “Don’t forget the young lady in pink. Is she a friend of yours from Rhyme Land? Which is her piece of poetry?”
“So sorry,” said Lucy, “this is Miss Crimson Lake, from Paint Land—Thirteen-fourteenths.”
The Fraction made his very best bow, but Miss Crimson Lake, who had picked up the book and was turning over the leaves, did not trouble to curtsey; she only gave a slight nod, and murmured something about “a vulgar fraction, I think.”
“We were reading this book, you know,” said Lucy quickly, “the Book of Betty Barber.”
“Rather a stupid book,” said the Major, “a bit dull.”
“Oh, do you think so?” said Miss Crimson Lake, smiling. “There’s something about you on this page. Listen to this: ‘I think C Major is very dull.’ I suppose she means Major C,” and Miss Lake began to giggle.
“Hoity-toity,” said the Major, getting red in the face.
Miss Lake went on reading quickly, “‘I shall let my children play C Major sometimes with sharps and flats, sometimes without sharps and flats.’”
“Did ever any one———” began the Major.
“One for you, my friend,” said the Fraction, laughing.
“Absurd! Ridiculous! Pre-pos-ter-ous!” cried the Major, getting more and more angry every minute. “Sharps and flats, indeed! Betty Barber! Stuff and rubbish! Fiddlestick-ends!”
“And here’s something about me,” said Miss Crimson Lake, who was trying to hide her smiles in the book. “What a sensible child she is!”
“Sensible child!” shouted the Major. “Pre-pos-ter-ous child!” and he began marching round and round the tree.
Lucy ran and peeped over Miss Crimson Lake’s shoulder.
​ “‘I shall let my children paint all day long,’” she read from the book.
Miss Crimson Lake was dimpling and smiling to herself. “What a bright, clever child!” she said. “How seldom one finds a child who really knows how beautiful I and my charming relatives are. I must show this book to Prussian Blue and Gamboge.”
“Stuff and rubbish! Pre-pos-ter-ous!” shouted the Major.
“I believe she says something about you,” said Miss Crimson Lake to Lucy.
“Something pleasant about ‘good little Lucy,’” said the Fraction, “and something unpleasant about me, I expect.”
“I read the first few lines,” said Miss Lake, “but I don’t think they struck me as altogether flattering.”
“Here is the page,” said the Fraction. “I’ll read it out: ‘As for pieces of poetry, I shall teach my children sense, not nonsense. I think “Good-night and Good Morning,” that piece about “Good little Lucy,” is nonsense, and there is too much of it; at least three too many verses. Who wants to know that
“The horses neighed and the oxen lowed,”
or that
“The sheep’s bleat, bleat, came over the road, All seeming to say with a quiet delight, Good little girl, good-night! good-night!”
and whoever in this world saw
“A tall pink foxglove bow his head,”
or
“A violet curtsey and go to bed?”
It is rubbish. No piece of poetry ought to have more than three verses, and I, for one, am heartily sick of “Good Little Lucy.”’”
“I thought it was not quite pleasant,” murmured Miss Crimson Lake.
​ Lucy sat down under the tree, and looked very much as if she were going to cry.
The Major stopped his march to stare at her.
“Hullo,” he said, “what’s the matter with you?”
“She says that I am nonsense, that I ought only to have three verses, and that she’s sick of me,” said Lucy faintly.
“Oh, she does, does she?” said Major C, “then that only shows she doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Indeed it does,” said the Fraction, “sick of good little Lucy, and her rooks and horses and violets———”
‘May I ask,” interrupted Miss Crimson Lake, who began to think that she was forgotten, “may I ask if anybody spoke to you?”
The Fraction was about to answer angrily, but the Major stopped him.
“The fact of the matter is,” he said, “this book of Betty Barber’s is nonsense, and it should be torn to pieces.”
“Hear, hear!” shouted the Fraction. ‘Tear it up, tear it up, I’ll help.”
He seized one cover, the Major grasped the other, and the Book of Betty Barber was nearly in two, when Lucy jumped up from the ground with a cry, and held up her hand.
“Don’t,” she said, “don’t. You mustn’t. She won’t like the book torn up. She does not think it is nonsense, or she would not have hidden it so carefully in this tree. She will be sorry if it is torn up. Please don’t tear it up.”
Thirteen-fourteenths dropped his half of the cover, but the Major still held on to his.
“It is all stuff and rubbish,” said the Major.
“It is nothing of the kind,” said Miss Crimson Lake, “it is sound good sense.”
“It is nonsense,” said the Fraction, leaning forward to seize the cover again. “The proper place for that book is Nonsense Land.”
“But don’t tear it up,” said Lucy, “please don’t.”
* “Lucy Jumped up from the Ground with a Cry” (p. 6)
​ You shall not tear it up,”’ said Miss Crimson Lake.
That would have decided the question, and the Book of Betty Barber would have been torn in bits, but at that moment from the branches of the tree overhead came peal after peal of laughter.
The Major dropped the book and looked inquiringly at the others.
“Bother,” said Thirteen-fourteenths, “what do they want? They always make mischief, and do harm. I’m off, I can’t stand them. Come along, all of you.”
Thirteen-fourteenths bounded away, but none of the others followed him.
Lucy had taken a seat upon the book to protect it. Major C was smiling pleasantly at the three charming Fairies who were peeping through the branches and smiling back at him; and Miss Crimson Lake was too busy wondering who the new arrivals could be, to think of following Thirteen-fourteenths.
“Who are they?” she whispered to Lucy.
“How do you do, how do you do?” called one of the Fairies.
“Playing at Mulberry Bush?” called another.
“Let us join in the fun,” called the third. “We love fun.”
“Rather,” said the first.
“Now then, look out everybody,” called the second.
And the three Fairies tumbled out of the tree, one on the top of the other, knocking off Major C’s hat, and pulling Miss Crimson Lake’s pretty hair.
“Don’t,” said Miss Crimson Lake crossly.
“Now, my dear young lady,” said one of the Fairies, “don’t lose your temper, and don’t get annoyed with one of your best friends. We are the Holiday Fairies. I’m Christmas, you must know, and these are my sisters, Easter and Summer.”
The Three Fairies curtseyed prettily, one after the other.
“If it were not for us,” continued Christmas, “the children would not have much time for you.”
“But I don’t like my hair pulled,” said Miss Crimson Lake.
“Only fun, my dear,” said Summer.
​ “And fun, my love, is the best thing in the world,” said Easter.
“The only thing in the world,” said Christmas.
“We love fun,” they shouted in chorus.
Then they began chasing one another round the tree, laughing all the time.
For a few moments the Major watched them quietly, then he could not keep still, and began playing too, and after a little time even Miss Crimson Lake smiled and began to think of joining in the fun. Suddenly all the Fairies stopped in front of Lucy.
“She’s at it again,” said Summer.
“Tiresome girl!” said Easter.
“Let us shake her,” said Christmas.
In spite of all the noise and laughter, Lucy, still sitting on the book, was fast asleep.
“Leave her alone,” said the Major. “Perhaps she’s tired.”
“She always does it,” said Summer.
“Always,” said Easter.
“Whenever we come near her she goes to sleep,” said Christmas.
“We will shake the bothering thing,” they cried.
But the Major placed himself in front of Lucy to protect her.
“You must leave her alone,” he said. “She isn’t quite happy to-day, she’s been hurt.”
“Broken leg, sprained ankle, bumps, bruises?” asked Christmas. “We are quite used to those, and we don’t like them. For some reason or other if they occur too often the children get tired of us.”
“No, it’s her feelings that are hurt,” said the Major. “The fact of the matter is, we found the Book of Betty Barber.”
The Fairies interrupted him with shouts of laughter.
“Betty Barber! Capital girl!” said Easter.
“So fond of fun,” said Christmas.
“Where’s the book?” asked Summer.
“Well, really,” said the Major looking round.
​ “She’s sitting on it,” said Miss Crimson Lake, “but you must see it, it is such a sensible book.”
“So pre-pos-ter-ous,” fumed the Major.
The Fairies began to laugh again.
“Somebody else’s feelings were hurt,” said Christmas slily.
“We thought you didn’t seem quite happy,” said Easter.
“Let us see the book,” said Summer.
“I can tell you all about it,” said the Major. “You need notbother to look at it.”
“You must and you shall see it,” said Miss Crimson Lake. “I’ll get it,” and before the Major could stop her, she had shaken Lucy awake, tipped her over, and taken away the book.
“What do you want? What is the matter?” said Lucy sleepily. “Oh, the Holiday Fairies are here. I’m sorry, but they always make me feel sleepy, when they come all together.” Lucy yawned, and her head began to nod again. Then she caught sight of the book in Miss Crimson Lake’s hands, and at once she was wide awake.
“Don’t let them tear up the little girl’s book,” she said.
“Tear it up?” said Summer. “Certainly not. We want to see it.”
“If you are going to read it aloud,” said the Major, “I’m going.”
“You wait a minute or two,” said Christmas. “Let us look at it. Perhaps you didn’t understand it. I’m sure Betty Barber never meant to hurt any one’s feelings.”
“Sit down, sit down,” said Easter. “We’ll all sit down, thenwe can talk the matter over quietly; only some one must see that Lucy doesn’t go to sleep,”
“I’ll do my best to keep awake,” said Lucy.
“Very well then, are you ready,” said Easter.