THE BOOK OF BETTY BARBER.
were fighting over the one page, all the others pulled the bag first one way, then the other, each trying to get at the string to untie it. The holiday fairies sat up in the tree and laughed.
When the bag began to come to pieces, and the bits of paper began to fall out, they laughed louder than ever.
But Lucy, who had spent most of her time watching the struggle, pushed her way into the middle of the group, and called out loudly:
“Stop, stop. We ought to be ashamed of ourselves.”
“We ought,” said Thirteen-fourteenths.
And the figures hung their heads, Minora covered her face with her hands, and the others stood still thinking.
“It isn’t your fault,” said Easter.
“It’s Betty Barber’s,” cried Summer.
“Listen to me for one moment,” said Lucy, as she picked Father William up from the ground.
“I always said it was a popular work,” he said, as he leant back against the tree, and prepared to go to sleep once more.
“Ellessdee, Thirteen-fourteenths, Minora, all of you,” said Lucy. “This book must be destroyed, it causes nothing but mischief.”
“Excuse me interrupting you,” said Half-term, “but to which book do you refer? It appears to me that there is no book.”
And, indeed, Half-term was right. There was no book, and the bits of it were scattered all over the ground, most of them so trampled on and dirty that they did not look like bits of paper.
“We couldn’t put the bits together again,” said Ellessdee.
“Queen Harmony won’t want to see those dirty little pieces of paper,” said Minora.
“Let us pick up all the pieces we can find, and bury them,” said the Fraction.
“No, your first plan was a good one,” said Lucy. “Let each pick up as many pieces as possible, carry them to the top of a tree, and scatter them to the winds.”
“If you want the place swept up,” said Christmas, “why, of course.”
