child had put it's own
gay raiment. People do not consider the becomingness of a building to
its surroundings as they should, but Betty did not make this clear to
herself exactly, though she was sorry at the change in the familiar
streets. She was more delighted than she knew because she felt so
complete a sense of belongingness; as if she were indeed made of the
very dust of Tideshead, and were a part of it. It was much better than
getting used to new places, though even in the dullest ones she had
known there was some charm and some attaching quality ever to be
remembered. She liked dearly to think of some of the places where she
and papa had made their home, but after all there was the temporary
feeling about every one. She could bear transplanting from most of them
with equanimity, no matter how deep her roots had seemed to strike.

After she had posted her letters there was a question of what to do
next. She had really come out for a walk, but Mary Beck's mother had a
dressmaker that day and Becky was not at liberty; and Nelly Foster was
busy, too. The Grants were away for a few days on a visit; it was a
lonely morning with our friend, who felt a hearty wish for one of her
usual companions. She strayed out toward the fields and seated herself
in the shade of Becky's favorite tree, looking off toward the hills. The
country was very green and fresh-looking after a long rain, and the
farmers were out cutting the later hay in the lower meadows. She could
hear the mowing-machines like the whirr of great locusts, and the men's
voices as they shouted to each other and the horses. On the field side
of the fence, in the field corner, she and Becky had made a comfortable
seat by putting a piece of board across the angle of the two fences, and
there was a black cherry-tree thicket near, so that the two girls could
not be seen from the road as they sat there. As Betty perched herself
here alone she could look along the road, but not be discovered easily.
She wished for Becky more than ever after the first few minutes, but her
thoughts were very busy. She had had a misunderstanding with both the
aunts that morning, and was still moved by a little pity for herself.
They had grown used to their own orderly habits, and it seemed to be no
trouble to them to keep their possessions in order, and Betty had found
them standing before an open bureau drawer in her room quite aghast with
the general disarray, and also with the buttonless a