CHAPTER XI

ON THE COLLECT


"Peter, Peter," said Grandma Effingham in a tone of gentle remonstrance,
"if thee would only let the ball alone Tabitha would keep quiet."

"Stop it, Peter," said Betty, from the doorway, as the irrepressible
youngster rolled over and over on the rug, himself, the gray cat, and
the ball of gray yarn hopelessly entangled. "Much you deserve all the
stockings that grandma knits for you so perseveringly; just look at the
condition of that ball"--and by a skillful flank movement she rescued
the yarn as Tabitha's pranks and Peter's tumble came to a hasty
conclusion, and the chief culprit gained his feet and began to apologize
for his frolic, as the cat fled through the door.

"I was just waiting for you, Betty; you girls take such a long time to
put on your capes and furbelows. I'll warrant Kitty will detain us when
we stop for her, and we must hasten, for the sun will not stay up much
longer. Just let me find my muffler and my skates," and off tore Peter,
while Betty tucked up her gown preparatory to an afternoon on the
Collect Pond, whose frozen surface was the resort of all fashionable New
York, both those who joined the skaters, and others who watched them
from the surrounding banks, making a gay, bright winter scene for the
spectators as well as the participants.

It was some three weeks since Betty's eventful journey, and as the
strangeness of her new home and surroundings wore off she was beginning
to enjoy herself. First of all, the dear happiness of being once more