And Tom went down-stairs, just as Mr. Betts, the carpenter, finished his cottage, and changed into Madame Bettina, the French dressmaker.
“O Madame Bettina!” said Mrs. Delight all out of breath. “We want some bathing-suits made. We’re going to the seashore!”
“That is ver’ good,” said Betsey, with Madame Bettina’s French accent (just as Mother’s dressmaker talked). “Will you have Alice-blue suits trimmed with white braid, with charming bath caps to match?”
“That sounds very pretty,” agreed Mrs. Delight. “My sister doesn’t know yet that she’s going, so hers is a great surprise. Make hers blue and mine black, so we can tell them apart, and Dinah must have one too.”
“I shall send them tonight, surely,” said Madame Bettina, getting to work in good earnest, for it is not every dressmaker that can make five bathing-suits in one day. She cut here and snipped there, and ran her machine at a great rate.
“Betsey!” called Mother above all the noise. “Come to the head of the stairs a minute.”
Betsey stopped her noise obediently and opened the door.
“Tom and I are going to Boston at ten o’clock. Norah will take care of you. And you can ask Mary to come over to play this afternoon, if you want to.”
“I don’t need Mary, Mother!” cried Betsey laughing. “You see with Mrs. Delight’s company I have my hands full already.”
“Very well,” said Mother laughing too. “Now what do you want me to bring you? I’m going to take your gold thimble in to be straightened where the chair rocked on it.” She held up the tiny blue box.
“O Mother _dear_! If you’ll only take the thimble in something else, and give me that thimble box, you don’t have to bring me one thing.”
“What do you want it for?” asked Mother in a puzzled tone.
“A camera. It’s _just_ the size. I’ll cover it with black oilcloth and make a little, black carrying case just to fit, and Mrs. Delight can take it to the beach.”
“Here is your camera, then,” laughed Mother, tossing it up the stairs into Betsey’s two hands.
“Good-bye, Mother,” sang Betsey, bustling back into the playroom. “Ding-ling! Hello! Give me three-five-one, please.” (This in Mr. Delight’s pleasant deep voice.)
“Hello, Mr. Betts. Can you make me a camera to take with me to the beach?”
“I can, sir. I will send it up with the suit-case, and bag, and fish-pole.” And Mr. Betts hastily got out his glue and heavy paper and thin sticks of wood, and soon finished a gentleman’s hand-bag, lettered “J. D.” (for John Darling), a tiny black camera, and a long, slender fish-pole.