"Yes, it is like her," Betsy admitted, "and beautiful, too."

"She was just like that when she was young," responded the Emperor.

Although Napoleon was fond of teasing Betsy, whenever he found that he could serve her in any way he never failed to show himself a true friend.

Once Dr. O'Meara came upon Betsy alone in the garden with tears in her eyes. To his inquiry as to the cause of her sorrow, she pouted, and at first hesitated in her reply. On second thoughts she exclaimed, "It is too mean! Just because I didn't do my lessons yesterday, to keep me home from the races!"

"Were you warned?"

"Oh, yes, but I did not expect to be punished."

"Probably this isn't the first time, and your parents are bound to make you remember."

"Oh, it is my father, and it's the meanest thing! He has lent Tom to somebody. My pony is not in the stable. Who could have been so mean as to borrow the only pony that I can ride? All the others have ridden off, and there is no way for me to go."

Dr. O'Meara listened sympathetically. Probably he did not exactly understand the situation or he would hardly have encouraged a young girl to disobey her parents. It was quite natural that to Betsy, the lover of gayety, her punishment seemed greater than she deserved. Every one that she knew was going to the races, for the Deadwood races, inst.i.tuted by John Rous, were made a kind of festival by the people of the island.

Since every one she knew had gone to Deadwood, there was no horse at hand that she could borrow. For the moment Napoleon's little neighbor was troubled by no sense of duty; the only question was how to reach Deadwood.

Dr. O'Meara, after Betsy had poured out her soul to him, rode on towards Longwood at a rapid pace. Not long afterwards her heart leaped with joy when she saw Dr. O'Meara winding down the mountain, followed by a slave with a superb gray horse. At once she recognized Mameluke, one of Napoleon's stable, and, as the horses drew nearer, she saw that above his crimson saddlecloth Mameluke wore a lady's saddle. Even before Dr.

O'Meara spoke, she understood what his quick return meant.

"Here, Miss Betsy, cheer up," he cried when he drew near the little girl. "This horse is for you. When the Emperor heard of your disappointment, he ordered the quietest horse in his stable to be sent to you."

Regardless of consequences to herself, pleased by the good-natured attention of the Emperor, light-hearted Betsy on Mameluke went to the races. Perhaps she would have hesitated had she known that her father, rather than she herself, was to be the sufferer by her heedless act, for afterwards it gave her great pain to learn that Mr. Balcombe had been severely reprimanded by Governor Lowe for having committed a breach of discipline in letting his daughter borrow a horse belonging to the Longwood establishment.

But for the time Betsy had the fun of the races, and the next day she went over to Longwood to thank Napoleon.

"Aha, Mees Betsee," he said after their first greeting, "perhaps you do not know that I too saw the races."

"But I did not see you there."

"Ah, where were your eyes? You were not thinking of me; but they were amusing."

After a little more teasing, Betsy learned that Napoleon had seen the Deadwood races from an upper window of General Gorgaud's house.

"You were so amused," he added, "that you forgot to be afraid. I have told your father you should never be encouraged in foolish fears."

"I wish you had been really there!"

"Ah, gayety is not for me." Napoleon's face became grave.

Betsy, noticing this, added quickly, "But you are coming to my birthday fete."

"Surely! It will not be far away at Rous Cottage."

The day of the birthday was bright and fair, and as large numbers of guests had a.s.sembled, Rous Cottage, which had been chosen for this picnic fete, was named for the gallant flag officer of the _Northumberland_, whom Napoleon admired and called "a very brave man."

In the earlier part of the celebration, Betsy, flying among her friends, was too much absorbed to notice that Napoleon had not come, but when she missed him she began to look eagerly in the direction in which she might expect to see him appear. He had said he would come to the party, and Betsy expected him to keep his promise, though it was an unheard-of thing for him to mingle in a gay crowd.

After a while she was delighted to see him in the distance, riding along the hills. Soon she saw that he was no longer riding. His horse was at a standstill. What could this mean? Presently a messenger from the Emperor appeared to say that he would content himself by looking on.

The young hostess was not satisfied with this. Rushing off to the hill where Napoleon waited, she stood before him.

"This is not keeping your promise. You said you would come, indeed you did, and you should not disappoint me on my birthday."

Napoleon smiled at his young friend, but he spoke with decision:

"No; I won't come down to be stared at by a crowd who wish to gratify their curiosity by a sight of me."

Betsy begged and pleaded, using every effort to make him change his mind, but he was firm. Nothing could change him.

A friend in England had sent Betsy a huge birthday cake, ornamented with a large eagle. That she should have had a cake decorated with this imperial emblem occasioned much comment on the island. In fact, in the eyes of some, Mr. Balcombe and his family were under more or less of a cloud on account of their open admiration for the ill.u.s.trious prisoner of St. Helena. When Betsy found that her words made no impression on Napoleon, she left him for a few moments, only to return with a slice of the cake.

"You must eat this thick slice," she said, holding it out to him. "It is the least you can do for getting us into this disgrace. Some people think it almost treason when they see the eagle on the cake."

Napoleon ate the cake with evident appreciation. Then he pinched Betsy's ear in his usual familiar fashion, saying as he did so, "Saucy simpleton!" As he galloped away Betsy could not help smiling, as she heard him singing, or rather trying to sing in his most unmusical voice, "_Vive, Henri Quatre_."

CHAPTER XII

THOUGHTLESS BETSY

Sometimes, without intending to hurt Napoleon's feelings, heedless Betsy must often have come near wounding him. One day, for example, she showed him a toy that had lately come to St. Helena from Europe. It represented a toy emperor climbing a ladder, each rung of which was a country. When he reached the top he sat for an instant astride the world, and then went headlong down the other side, until he landed at last on St.

Helena.

Napoleon himself did not reprove Betsy for her rudeness, but Mr.

Balcombe was disturbed and angry when he heard of it. Betsy, he decided, was altogether too fond of playing foolish tricks, and he resolved to teach her a lesson that she could not forget.

Calling her to him, after he had expressed his displeasure for what she had done, "Betsy," he said in his severest tone, "you are to spend the night in the cellar, and every night for a week you shall sleep there.

You must be taught respect for your elders. It is to punish you for your rudeness to Napoleon that I am resolved to punish you in this way."

Poor Betsy shivered at her father's words. Bold though she was in the face of danger by day, darkness always had great terrors for her, and to spend the night underground was a punishment she felt she could hardly bear. Her protests, however, were useless. Her father locked her in the dark cellar and left her there. Betsy's experiences that night were terrible. Rats made the cellar their home, and, as they jumped about in the darkness, they tumbled the bottles of wine about, making a terrible noise. Betsy was so frightened that to defend herself from them she picked up bottle after bottle to hurl against them. At last they were driven away, but there was no sleep for Betsy on the bed that had been prepared for her. At dawn a faint light came through the windows, just enough to show her what havoc she had made. Broken bottles lay about her everywhere and in every direction ran rivulets of wine.

At last she fell into a heavy stupor, and in this condition a slave, who had been sent with her breakfast, found her. Alarmed at the sight of Betsy, apparently half dead, the slave ran to summon Mr. Balcombe. When he hurried to the cellar, Mr. Balcombe was naturally shocked by what he saw. He had not thought of rats, and he was only too thankful that Betsy had escaped serious injury. He not only did not reprove her for the destruction of the claret, but forgave her for her offence against Napoleon.

As to Napoleon, "It was too great a punishment," he said, "for so little an offence." Then he laughed heartily as the lively Betsy, now quite herself again, gave a vivid account of her battle with the rats. "Ah, the rats!" he added; "a big one jumped out of my hat one day, as I was about to put it on. It startled me."

Some time after this adventure in the cellar, Mr. Balcombe again had occasion to punish Betsy and again he thought of the cellar.

"No, not the cellar!" remonstrated Napoleon. But Mr. Balcombe was obdurate. He had decided that Betsy should have a week's imprisonment there, staying by day but released at night that she might sleep in her own room.

So Betsy went daily to her cell. She managed to vary the monotony of her prison life by sitting close to the grating of the open window, and while she sat there, the picture of dejection, Napoleon, approaching the window, daily expressed a half-mocking sympathy with her. For a time Betsy maintained an appearance of dignity and injured innocence, but in the end the Emperor, by mimicking her doleful expression, usually succeeded in making her laugh.

"Sewing!" he exclaimed in surprise, when he visited Betsy on the third day of her imprisonment.

"Yes," responded Betsy; "I am making a dress for myself."