ghtful to a girl who had been used to
seeing strange places and to knowing nobody but papa at first, and only
getting acquainted by degrees with the lodgings people and the shops,
and perhaps with some new or old friends of papa's who lived out of the
town. Once or twice she had stayed for many weeks in rough places in the
north of Scotland, going from village to village and finding many queer
people, and sometimes being a little lonely when her father was away on
his scientific quests. Mr. Leicester insisted that Betty learned more
than she would from books in seeing the country and the people, and
Betty herself liked it much better than if she had been kept steadily at
her lessons. The most doleful time that she could remember was once when
papa had gone to the south of Italy late in spring and had left her at a
French convent school until his return. However, there were delightful
things to remember, especially about some of the good sisters whom Betty
learned to love dearly, and it may be imagined how brimful of stories
she was, after all these queer and pleasant experiences, and how short
she made the evenings to Aunt Barbara and Aunt Mary by recounting them.
It was no use for the ladies to worry any more about Betty's being
spoiled by such an erratic course of education, as they often used to
worry while she was away. They had blamed Betty's father for letting her
go about with him so much, but there did not seem to be any great harm
wrought after all. She knew a great many things that she never would
have known if she had stayed at school. Still, she had a great many
things to learn, and the summer in Tideshead would help to teach her
those. She was really a home-loving girl, our Betty Leicester, and the
best part of any new town was always the familiar homelike place that
she and papa at once made in it with their "kits," as Betty called their
traveling array of books and a few little pictures, and papa's special
kits and collections of the time being. Aunt Barbara could never know
upon how many different rooms her little framed photograph had looked.
She had grown older since it was taken, but when she said so Betty
insisted that it was a picture of herself and would always look exactly
like her. Betty had grown so attached to it that it was still displayed
on the dressing-table of the east bedroom, even though the original was
hourly to be seen.

In this summer quiet of the old town it seemed impossible that pa