“I'm afraid you'll have to kidnap me, then,” repeated Nan, with a rueful smile. “I'm very sure that my father won't be able to afford it, especially now that the mills will close.”
“Oh, Nan! I think you're too mean,” wailed her friend. “It's my pet project. You know, I've always said we should go to preparatory school together, and then to college.”
Nan's eyes sparkled; but she shook her head.
“We sat together in primary school, and we've always been in the same grade through grammar and into high,” went on Bess, who was really very faithful in her friendships. “It would just break my heart, Nan, if we were to be separated now.”
Nan put her arm about her. They had reached the corner by Bess's big house where they usually separated after school.
“Don't you cry, honey!” Nan begged her chum. “You'll find lots of nice girls at that Lakeview school, I am sure. I'd dearly love to go with you, but you might as well understand right now, dear, that my folks are poor.”
“Poor!” gasped Bess.
“Too poor to send me to Lakeview,” Nan went on steadily. “And with the mills closing as they are, we shall be poorer still. I may have to get a certificate as Bertha Pike did, and go to work. So you mustn't think any more about my going to that beautiful school with you.”
“Stop! I won't listen to you another moment, Nan Sherwood!” cried Bess, and sticking her fingers in her ears, she ran angrily away and up the walk to the front door.
Nan walked briskly away toward Amity Street. She did not turn back to wave her hand as usual at the top of the hill.