“No, she was down in the kitchen. Doctor Rhodes sent for me and for Abbie to go to the office. He asked us which of us took that pocketbook and I could see that poor old Abbie was just as surprised as I was—you know you can always see just what she thinks. And, oh! Abbie thought I took it. She gave me such a suspicious look.
“And then, Doctor Rhodes asked her if she had ever known of my stealing anything before that. Oh, think of him asking that! And Abbie—well, you know Abbie is never very positive about anything. She said ‘I don’t know. I don’t guess I ever did.’ But I could just see that she thought I had taken that miserable purse. She’s so simple minded that she believes anything you tell her. She could see that those Rhodes people were accusing me, so she believes, of course, they were right.”
“But we don’t,” Jean and Bettie assured her.
“But other people will. I don’t know what to do. I’d run away if I had any place to run to.”
“If you ran away,” said Jean, wisely, “they’d be sure you had done it. It’s braver to stay right here and go on just as usual. We know you didn’t do it—why, we know you didn’t. And tomorrow when I have my drawing lesson I’ll tell Mrs. Henry Rhodes that you told me all about it and I’ll let her see that Bettie and I believe in you. And she’ll tell Doctor and Mrs. Rhodes—I’ll ask her to. Mrs. Henry understands girls; and she always helps us when we ask her to.”
“Don’t worry,” comforted Bettie. “It’ll come out all right—I know it will. Things always do if you just wait long enough.”
“I wonder,” said Isabelle’s fretful voice in the hall, “what’s happened to dinner—it’s ten minutes past the time.”
“My goodness!” cried Sallie, “I forgot all about that bell.”
“I wish,” said Jean, after Sallie had scurried away down the corridor, “that Sallie wasn’t a boarding school orphan. She’s much too nice. I like her ever so much.”
“Yes,” agreed Bettie, “she’s one of the sweetest girls in this school even if she hasn’t any clothes or pocket money or anything. And I’d believe in her even if they found a bushel of strange purses under her pin cushion.”