But even while she was wondering she ceased to wonder; and what was going to happen had happened, and she found herself standing in an enormous hall that was filled with countless children, of all ages and nationalities,—­and some who were not children at all,—­every one of whom was hurrying to and fro and in and out, while all the time a voice from somewhere was calling out names and dates in such rapid succession that Betty was fairly deafened with the sound.  There was a continual stir in the assembly, and people were appearing and reappearing constantly in the most perplexing manner, so that it made one quite dizzy to look on.  But Betty was not permitted to look long, for in the midst of the haranguing of the dreadful voice she seemed to distinguish something that sounded strangely familiar.

“Betty Bleecker,” it called, “began her account here when she was five years old by the World calculation.  Therefore she has the undone duties of seven years—­World count—­to perform.  Let her set about paying off her debt at once, and stop only when the account is squared;” whereupon Betty was again whisked off, and had not even time to guess where, before she found herself in a place that reminded her strangely of home and yet was not home at all.  Then a wearisome round of tasks began.

She picked up pins, she opened doors, she shut windows, she raised shades, she closed shutters, she ran errands, she delivered messages, she practised scales, she studied lessons, she set her doll-house in order and replaced her toys, she washed her face and brushed her hair, she picked currants and stoned raisins, she hung up her skipping-rope and fastened her sash; and so she went on from one thing to another until she was almost ready to cry with weariness and fatigue.  Half the things she did she had forgotten she had ever promised to do.  But she had sent them into By-and-by, and here they were to be done, and do them she must.  On and on she went, until after a while the tasks she had to perform began to gain a more familiar look, and she recognized them as being unkept promises of quite a recent date.  She dusted her room, she darned her stockings, she mended her apron, she fed her bird, she wrote a letter, she read her Bible; and at last, after an endless space and when tears of real anguish were coursing down her cheeks, she found herself amusing the baby, and discovered that she had come to the last of her long line of duties and was cancelling her debt to By-and-by.

As soon as all was finished she felt herself being hurried, still sobbing and crying, back to the place from which she had started, and on entering heard the same voice she had listened to before, say,—­

“Betty Bleecker’s account is squared.  Let a receipted bill be given her; advise her to run up no more accounts, and send her home.”

At these words Betty wept afresh, but not now from sorrow, but from gladness at the thought of returning home.  And before she could even realize it, she was standing beside Mr. Bombus again, with something in her hand which she clutched tightly and which proved to be a signed receipt for her debt to By-and-by.  Then she heard her companion say,—­