The prospect of a letter from her father was a magnet more than sufficient to draw Gipsy back to school. All fear of Miss Poppleton's wrath faded away in the excitement of this wonderful news.
"And to think that if I'd gone to South Africa I should have missed it!" she exclaimed.
Miss Poppleton received the prodigal with wonderful graciousness, and Miss Edith wept over her, upbraided her, and kissed her all at once.
"Gipsy, darling! How could you be so naughty? You might have known we were your best friends. I never slept all night for worrying about you; and I'm sure Miss Poppleton didn't either. To think that you should have run away from us! And your letter was there all the time, if we'd only known! It's locked up safely in my desk, all ready for you."
"Give it me now, please!" pleaded Gipsy.
Although Gipsy's return to Briarcroft had been a very desirable conclusion to the episode of her running away, there were several matters left which remained in a far from satisfactory condition. In the first place, though her father's letter had relieved all anxiety about her school fees and general expenses, and removed her from her former most unpleasant position, it did not give any clue to his present whereabouts. Beyond the brief information that he was going to the sources of a tributary of the Zambesi, she knew nothing. There was no address given to which she might write, or any definite date fixed for his return to civilization. The London bankers, with whom Miss Poppleton at once communicated, had no further knowledge. He seemed to have disappeared into the unexplored wilds of Central Africa, and to have left no trace. In view of the dangers to which a pioneering party, such as he had joined, would be exposed from wild beasts, hostile natives, lack of food and water, or the hardships of travelling in the interior of the continent, there was cause for considerable uneasiness on his behalf. It seemed high time that some news was received of the expedition. It was now seven months from the date of Mr. Latimer's letter, and he had apparently expected to return in three or four.
Poor Gipsy conjured up all kinds of fears for her father's safety. She imagined him ill in some inaccessible spot, without medical aid, or taken prisoner by a native chief, or—more terrible still—that he had succumbed to the dangers and difficulties of the journey. She carried his letter about as her greatest treasure, and kissed it a dozen times a day; but she felt that, while appreciating its possession, she found it a very unsatisfactory substitute for the fuller details she coveted of his present welfare.
Her second trouble was the fact that she was still supposed to be guilty of that surreptitious outing in the evening, and to have flatly told falsehoods to screen herself. Gipsy had many faults, but she was strictly truthful, and this imputation against her honour rankled sorely. Miss Poppleton had not pressed the matter, probably thinking it a secondary consideration to her greater crime of running away. In her relief at receiving a handsome cheque from Mr. Latimer's bankers, the Principal had decided to forgive Gipsy's past indiscretions, and to start afresh on a different basis. By a little rearrangement she managed to find room for Gipsy again in her old dormitory, and the manifold odd duties which had been assigned to her were entirely removed. Once back in her favourite No. 3, with a new set of summer clothes and an ample supply of pocket-money, Gipsy felt reinstated in her former position in school. With the utmost satisfaction she paid up her arrears of subscriptions to the Guild, and put straight several other little matters where she felt she owed a moral if not an actual debt.
"There's only one thing that makes me savage," she declared one evening to some of her own set who were assembled in the Juniors' room, "and that is that Poppie still believes I told those awful fibs about not going out that wet evening. On my honour I spoke the truth. Somebody else must have gone out in my waterproof."
"What does it matter, now it's all over?" asked Leonora. "Poppie's forgiven you."