I had enough to occupy me in getting
The Maples into working order, and beginning to educate Betty.
Betty was Sara's ten year-old daughter, and she had been
thoroughly spoiled. That is to say, she had been allowed her own
way in everything and, having inherited her father's outdoor
tastes, had simply run wild. She was a thorough tomboy, a thin,
scrawny little thing with a trace of Sara's beauty. Betty took
after her father's dark, tall race and, on the occasion of my
first introduction to her, seemed to be all legs and neck. There
were points about her, though, which I considered promising. She
had fine, almond-shaped, hazel eyes, the smallest and most
shapely hands and feet I ever saw, and two enormous braids of
thick, nut-brown hair.
For Jack's sake I decided to bring his daughter up properly.
Sara couldn't do it, and didn't try. I saw that, if somebody
didn't take Betty in hand, wisely and firmly, she would certainly
be ruined. There seemed to be nobody except myself at all
interested in the matter, so I determined to see what an old
bachelor could do as regards bringing up a girl in the way she
should go. I might have been her father; as it was, her father
had been my best friend. Who had a better right to watch over
his daughter? I determined to be a father to Betty, and do all
for her that the most devoted parent could do. It was,
self-evidently, my duty.
I told Sara I was going to take Betty in hand.
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