"Oh, Ruth was asleep. It seemed a pity to wake her. I didn't mind much. I never was afraid of the dark."
It was late in the afternoon that Sue Hemphill, coming into her room, found the following note pinned to her pincushion with her best hatpin:
"Dear old Roomy:
"Please forgive me for being such a silly goose last night. I couldn't help it—truly I couldn't, Sue. I have always gotten perfectly panicky over those little beasts ever since I can remember. I can't bear to have you angry with me. I know I feel worse than you do about it, for I must have seemed such an awful fool. It was all the worse because I had boasted about my courage the other day. I never will again. I am going to see if Miss North will let me take Mrs. White and the 'Lambs' to see Maude Adams next Saturday afternoon—my treat. I have a birthday check coming and I'd love to spend it that way.
"Your loving pal,
Wee."
"Dear old Wee," Sue said, as she read the note through twice and then carefully pinned it in her memory book. "She's got the biggest heart. Nobody could stay angry at her two minutes—I can't anyway. And," she added, philosophically, "I suppose if she's afraid of mice, she's afraid—and that's all there is to it."