A red ringleted head was rising toward her.

She had progressed no further when a scratching sound caused her to look down. Then opening the tablet she wrote:Īuthor of Her Secret Marriage, The Mystery of the Wear Queen Quality Shoes.' She took out a pencil, short and well tooth-marked, and chewed it thoughtfully. Lifting the lid of the cigar box, Betsy took out a small tablet. She was aware of the river winding through its spacious valley and of a world, yet unexplored, lying beyond. Sitting in her maple, she was aware of the town, spread out below, of Front Street where the stores were, of streets lined with the houses of people she did not know, of the Opera House, the Melborn Hotel, the skeleton of the new Carnegie Library, and the High School that her sister Julia and Tacy's sister Katie now attended.

Strictly speaking, her leaf-framed vista was of rooftops going down Hill Street like steps. It did not look toward the Big Hill where she and her friends Tacy and Tib had had so many adventurous picnics. This was closed and showed on the cover a plump coquettish lady wearing a Spanish shawl.įrom this lofty retreat Betsy had a splendid view. To her right, within easy reach, was another smaller crotch into which a cigar box had been nailed. Three branches forked to make a seat, one of them even providing a prop for her back. Betsy was sitting in the backyard maple, high among spreading branches that were clothed in rich green except at their tips where they wore the first gold of September.

Betsy and tacy go downtown