“Oh, why didn’t we?” cried Bettie. “I do wish we had.”
“If we four had saved half our money,” said Marjory, who had been making figures with a stick in the sand, “we could have bought her a more expensive dress than any we are going to have. And shoes, too.”
“Just think of that!” said Jean. “Next year I’m going to save a few cents every week—it’s mighty useful to have money when something like this comes up.”
“Of course,” said Marjory, who had been making more sums in the sand, “thirty cents isn’t much when you put a nickel in the plate every Sunday and chip in every now and then for spreads. Anyway, it’s all gone and poor Sallie hasn’t a dress.”
At mail time the next day, the schoolroom resounded with excited and delighted squeals. Sallie had had another letter from Henrietta. It was mailed in New York; and Henrietta was coming back.
“Grandmother is going to visit an old friend in Chicago,” wrote Henrietta, “and I’m coming back to study like mad to catch up with my classes. Tell the girls to have all their note books ready for me and I can do it. And Sallie, dear, I’m bringing you a present. I have something for all my best friends but if anybody can guess what I’m bringing you I’ll give her two presents.”
Jean looked at Bettie. Bettie nudged Marjory and Mabel managed—but not without difficulty—to wink at Jean.
“It’s a dress,” whispered Marjory. “I’m sure it’s a dress.”
“That’s just what I think,” agreed Jean.
Just two weeks before the close of school, Henrietta returned. She arrived during school hours and slipped quietly into her seat in the Assembly room; but she was so fidgety and there was such a fluttering among the other girls, who declared afterwards that she looked good enough to eat, that Miss Woodruff said: “Henrietta, I’ll excuse you for today. There’s only an hour left anyway.”