Betsy-Tacy and Tib (2 page)

“We’re looking for them,” Katie’s voice added.

Betsy stopped rubbing her stomach, and Tacy shut her mouth. Tib turned her round blue eyes from one to the other for instructions, and Betsy said, “Run!”

There was an open door in the kitchen which led to the front hall. Betsy and Tacy and Tib ran down the hall and out to the porch and jumped three steps into the flower garden. They ran and they ran and they ran, and they ran down the Big Hill.

They ran fast for they thought they heard Julia and Katie behind them. But they were mistaken. It was their own feet they had heard. When they got
to the bottom of the hill, Julia and Katie weren’t there at all. They weren’t even in sight.

“They’re up there eating our cookies!” said Betsy.

“They make me mad!” said Tacy.

“They make me mad too!” said Tib.

The three of them sat down to rest, breathless and panting, their legs stuck out before them.

Betsy looked at her mud-streaked legs, and after a moment she began to smile.

“But we were the ones who almost starved,” she said. “We were the ones who put mud on ourselves and went begging.”

“We had all the fun,” said Tacy. “We always do.”

“I’d have liked a cookie, though,” Tib said matter-of-factly. Tib always said things like that. But Betsy and Tacy liked her just the same.

B
ETSY AND Tacy and Tib were scolded for going begging. They weren’t surprised that they were scolded, but they were surprised at what they were scolded for. They had expected to be scolded for putting mud on themselves, for mussing up their dresses and tangling their hair. But none of the fathers and mothers seemed to mind that very much. What they minded was their asking
for something to eat.

The fathers and mothers tried to explain. It was telling a lie to pretend that they were hungry when they weren’t.

“But we were!” cried Betsy and Tacy and Tib.

“Well, even if you were, it was wrong to ask food from Mrs. Ekstrom when you had plenty at home.”

“You ought to respect yourselves too much,” said Betsy’s father, “to ask for help you don’t need.”

Betsy and Tacy and Tib tried to understand.

They understood that they had been naughty. They understood that they weren’t to go begging again. For besides being scolded they were punished. They were forbidden to go up on the Big Hill for a month.

They had never wanted so much to go up on the Big Hill as that month when they weren’t allowed to go. From Betsy’s backyard maple it looked tall and full of mystery. Julia and Katie went up and came down with their arms full of flowers … wild sweet peas and Queen Anne’s lace and white and yellow daisies.

Betsy and Tacy took care of Betsy’s baby sister, Margaret. And Tib took care of her baby brother, Hobbie; Hobson was his name. Their mothers thought it was a good thing for them to make themselves useful. Besides, they couldn’t think of anything else to do.

It was strange … when they were allowed to go up on the Big Hill they didn’t go often. Almost all their games were played down on Hill Street or up on the Hill Street Hill. Yet now that they weren’t allowed to climb the Big Hill they couldn’t think of anything else worth doing.

But one day Betsy had an idea.

It was a warm afternoon, and they were sitting under the backyard maple. They were taking care of Hobbie and Margaret, of course. Hobbie was in his carriage, and Margaret was staggering around through the grass the way a two-year-old does. Tacy’s little brother Paul was there too. He was playing with a cart. Paul was always playing with carts.

The world was so quiet, you could hear the bees buzzing over Betsy’s mother’s nasturtiums. The air was full of a nasturtium smell which matched their red and orange colors. Betsy stared up into the backyard maple, and Tib jiggled Hobbie’s carriage (hoping he would fall asleep), and Tacy chewed a piece of grass and kept her eyes on Margaret, who wasn’t supposed to go too near the terrace for fear of tumbling down.

“There ought to be something we can do,” said Betsy, staring into the tree.

“Well, what is it, I’d like to know?” asked Tacy, jumping up to pull Margaret back from the terrace.

“It will have to be something with babies in it,” said Tib, jiggling the carriage.

Betsy watched a bluebird take off from the maple on a voyage through the sunlit air.

“What
can
we do?” she murmured, watching him; and just as the bluebird melted into the sky, somewhere above Tacy’s roof, she sat up with very bright eyes.

“I know!” she said. “We’ll learn to fly.”

“To fly!” cried Tacy and Tib.

“To fly!” answered Betsy positively. “Birds can fly. Why can’t we? We’re just as smart as birds.” Tacy and Tib didn’t answer, and Betsy went on: “Smarter! Did you ever hear of birds going into the Third Grade the way we’re going to do this fall? We can fly just as well as the birds, only we have to learn how, of course. And that’s what we’re going to do right now.”

“How?” asked Tacy.

“We’ll start jumping off things. First we’ll jump off something low. And then something higher. And then something lots higher. And so on. We’ll jump off the house at last, but we prob’ly won’t get to that today.”

“What will we use for wings?” asked Tib.

“Our arms,” said Betsy. “We’ll wave them like this.” And she began to run and wave her arms, and
Tacy and Tib ran after her and waved their arms too, and Paul stopped playing with his cart and ran and waved his arms.

“No, Paul,” said Betsy. “You’re too young to fly. It’s dangerous. But you can watch us, and so can Margaret and Hobbie.”

So Paul sat down in the grass and watched, and they put Margaret into her gocart and she watched too. Hobbie had fallen asleep.

“We’ll begin with our hitching block,” said Betsy, and she ran out to the hitching block and jumped off, waving her arms. “It’s easy!” she cried.

“I’ll go next,” said Tacy, and she jumped off, waving her arms. She waved them beautifully.

Tib went last. She went as lightly as a puff of wind, but she called out, “I’m afraid I only jumped.”

“Jumping and flying are a good deal the same, just at first,” Betsy explained.

Next they tried the porch railing. And again Betsy went off first. She waved her arms, but she landed on the ground with a pretty hard thump. “It takes time to learn, of course,” she said, rubbing her feet.

Tacy went next, and she didn’t fly quite so nicely this time. Her waving wasn’t so good.

Tib stood on the railing and smiled before she flew. Tib had had dancing lessons, and besides she was light as a feather. She waved her arms as she came down
and she landed on the tips of her toes.

“Tib,” said Betsy, “you’re learning how to fly just fine. I think you’ll be the first one of us to learn.”

“It feels just like jumping,” answered Tib.

“Well, it isn’t,” said Betsy. “It’s beginning to be flying. Next we’ll try the backyard maple.”

Now the backyard maple was a very big tree. Of course they could climb it; they were all good tree climbers. But the lowest branch was a long way from the ground.

“It’s pretty high to jump from,” Tacy pointed out.

“It isn’t as high as the house will be,” said Betsy. “We’ll be flying off the house tomorrow, prob’ly.”

“I’ll go first,” said Tib, “because I fly the best.”

“All right,” said Betsy and Tacy.

Tib went up the tree in a flash. She climbed out on the lowest branch, but there wasn’t room to stand up; she had to squat. She waved her arms, though, and kept her balance too.

“What kind of a bird am I?” she called, waving her arms.

“You’re a Tibbin,” answered Betsy. “You’re a Tibbin bird.”

“Here comes the Tibbin!” cried Tib, and she waved her arms and came down. She fell on her knees, but she laughed as she dusted them off. “I like this flying game, Betsy,” she said.

“I’ll go next,” said Tacy, because Betsy didn’t say a word about going next. “That is, if Paul is all right. Are you all right, Paul?”

Paul said he was all right.

“Of course I’m sort of looking after Paul,” said Tacy. “But I’ll go next, unless you want to, Betsy.”

“Oh, you can go next if you want to,” said Betsy.

So Tacy went next.

She climbed out on the lowest branch. But she sat on it; she didn’t squat. She didn’t even try to wave.

“What kind of a bird am I?” she asked. But you could see it was only to pass the time. She didn’t look happy as Tib had looked; she looked scared.

“You’re a Tacin,” answered Betsy. “You’re a Tacin bird.”

“Oh,” said Tacy.

She waited a long time before she flew, but at last she flew. She let herself down, holding tight to the branch with her hands; then she loosened her hold and dropped.

“That’s good,” Betsy said. “That’s fine, Tacy. Well, I suppose it’s my turn.”

Nobody said it wasn’t.

Betsy got to the lowest branch and sat on it. She held on tight and swung her legs. She didn’t fly though.

“When are you going to fly?” asked Tib.

“In a minute,” answered Betsy. She sat there and swung her legs.

“What kind of a bird are you, Betsy?” Tacy asked.

“I’m a Betsin,” answered Betsy. “I’m a Betsin bird.”

She looked up into the leafy world above her, and she looked down at the ground. The ground was a long way off.

“Don’t Betsin birds like to fly?” asked Tib.

“Oh, yes,” said Betsy. “They love to fly.” But still she didn’t fly. She looked up again into the cool green branches.

“They like to fly so well,” she said at last, “that
it’s a wonder they ever stopped doing it. But they did. Do you want to know why?”

“Why?” asked Tacy and Tib.

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” said Betsy. “It’s very interesting. Maybe Paul would like to hear too.”

So Tacy and Tib sat down in the grass to listen. Paul put aside his cart and leaned against Tacy, and Tib jiggled Margaret’s gocart. Hobbie was still asleep.

“Once upon a time,” said Betsy, “there were three little birds named Tibbin, Tacin, and Betsin.

“There was something funny about these birds. They used to be little girls.

“They turned into birds one day when they were trying to learn to fly. It was only sort of a game at first, but they learned to fly just fine, and so they got turned into birds.

“Tib got turned first. She took dancing lessons and she learned to fly awfully quick. The real birds saw how pretty she flew and one of them … it was a bluebird … said, ‘Mercy, that little girl flies so pretty she ought to be a bird.’ So he turned her into a Tibbin. A Tibbin is yellow like a wild canary; and Tib had yellow curls.

“Tacy got turned next. She had long red ringlets so she got turned into a Tacin. That’s red like a robin.

“Betsy got turned last. She got turned into a Betsin, because a Betsin is brown like a wren and
Betsy had brown hair.

“Betsin, Tacin and Tibbin just loved being birds. They had all kinds of fun. They made themselves a nest right here in the backyard maple, and they lived in it together. They found wild strawberries to eat, and Julia and Katie (they were Betsy’s and Tacy’s big sisters) put out cake crumbs for them. Julia and Katie never dreamed they were giving their cake crumbs to Betsy and Tacy and Tib. You put out cake crumbs too, Paul. You put out delicious crumbs.

“Betsin and Tacin and Tibbin flew in and out of the branches; those green branches up there. They flew up to the roofs of their houses and even up to the clouds. They liked the sunset clouds, and at sunset time they each used to pick out a cloud and sit on it. The Betsin bird took a pink cloud and the Tacin bird took a purple one and the Tibbin bird took a yellow one, most always.

“One night they were sitting on their sunset clouds and Betsin heard someone crying. She said to Tacin and Tibbin, ‘Who’s that I hear crying?’ And Tacin and Tibbin said, ‘We don’t hear anything.’ And Betsin said, ‘Listen! Listen hard!’ So they listened hard, and sure enough they heard somebody crying. ‘We’d better fly down and find out who that is,’ said Betsin. So they all flew down to Hill Street.

“And when they got there, they found out that it was their mothers crying. Their mothers were crying hard like this: ‘Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!’ ‘Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!’ ‘Where are Betsy and Tacy and Tib?’ ‘Where are Betsy and Tacy and Tib?’ So then Betsin and Tacin and Tibbin knew why their mothers were crying. They knew it was on account of them. And it made them feel funny.”

Tacy interrupted.

“It makes me feel funny now,” she said, and her voice sounded all choked up.

“It makes me feel funny too,” said Tib, winking her eyes. “I never heard my mamma cry.”

“Oh, their fathers were crying too,” said Betsy. “At least they would have been crying if they hadn’t been fathers. They were feeling awfully bad. And Julia and Katie were crying. Julia said, ‘Boo! hoo! I’m sorry I used to be bossy to Betsy!’ And Katie said, ‘Boo! hoo! I’m sorry I used to be bossy to Tacy too.’ And they cried, and they cried, and they cried …”

“And I cried!” cried Paul, interrupting. “I cried!” And no sooner had he said it than he began to cry in earnest. He put his curly head into Tacy’s lap and wailed.

“But Paul!” cried Betsy. “It’s going to come out all right.”

Paul kept on crying.