Why?

~ Fireside Tales ~

Betty Ann was a plump, fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl just past six. She was beginning to think things out for herself. When the teacher told her that six and three make nine, she could not believe it just because Teacher said so. She had to slowly count it out on six and three plump little fingers and thumbs. And then when the answer came–nine–she was perfectly satisfied. Best of all, she never forgot anything she had figured out in her slow, careful way.

"It's good to want to know things for yourself," said Mother one day, "but there are lots and lots of things little girls have to do without knowing why; just because Mother says so."
"Yes, I know," said Betty Ann, nodding her yellow head wisely, "like when you say, 'Hurry, Betty Ann' — not 'splaining that Jack as eaten all his ice cream and is about to start on mine."

Mother smiled. "And in bigger things, too, Mother can't always stop to "splain,'" she said. "Just keep your eyes and ears open, Betty Ann; things like that pop up 'most any time."

Just that evening, Aunt Mary and Uncle  Tom drove into the yard. Betty Ann was in the nursery making a wonderful and terrible-looking family of paper dolls. One who would do for the Giant that Jack killed was meant to be the brother of another whom you would naturally call Tiny Tim. And the little sister was so broad and short that she did not look nearly so much like a little girl as a sugar lump.

Betty Ann was just making the mother and daddy — for a wonder, they were about the same size — when Mother called.

"O Betty Ann! Come here, dear."
"Why?" called Betty Ann, a little crossly — for she was just then making the corners of Daddy's tall hat, and she did so want it nice and square.
Betty Ann half listened for a second call — but it never came. She was coloring the mother's blue-and-white checkered apron, when she heard someone coming up the stairs.

Throwing down her box of crayons, Betty Ann ran pell-mell — as she supposed, into Mother's open arms. But Mother's face was turned away, and she did not say anything.
Betty Ann caught her hand. "Did you want me, Mother?" she said, half ashamed. "I heard you call, but it's such a hard job to make a nice mother and daddy, and two brothers and a little sister. So I just kept on cutting while the scissors were working good, and thought I'd 'splain later."

"Yes, Betty Ann, I did want you," said Mother very soberly, "but I don't need you now."
"Why, Mother, what has happened?" cried Betty Ann, dragging her Mother to a chair and clambering up on her lamp.
"Only this," said Mother, looking straight into Betty Ann's eyes. "Aunt Mary and Uncle Tom drove away just a few minutes ago. They came to take you to the country for two or three days and let you go blackberrying and fishing and–"
"O Mother!" cried Betty Ann, her eyes filling with tears, "why didn't you tell me?"

"I call you, dear," said Mother sorrowfully, "and you only called back, 'Why?' I don't know what we can do about it now."
"If I'd only known!" cried Betty Ann, swallowing hard.
"You see this was one of the times when I couldn't stop to "splain'. Uncle Tom came up on business, and he couldn't stop even a minute. He just said, 'Where's Yellow-top?–let's go!' Jack came running out, and they whirled him off in your place, before you could say 'Scat!'"

It was a very sorrowful little girl that said to her puppy that night, "Puggy, dear, whenever your mother says, 'Come here, dear'–don't say, 'Why?'" A bright tear rolled on to Puggy's little black paw as his small mistress added sorrowfully, "'Cause maybe your mother can't stop to 'splain."