Then Aunty Jane unfolded her plans to the Tuckers.
"It's a beautiful idea," said pleasant Dr. Tucker, "as far as the rest of you are concerned; but you will have to leave Bettie entirely out of the scheme; we simply can't afford it. We've always hoped to be able to do something for Dick—he wants to be a physician—but even that is hopelessly beyond us at present."
"No," added Mrs. Tucker, shifting the heavy baby to her other arm and hoping that Aunty Jane would not notice the dust on the battered table, "we couldn't even think of sending Bettie. But Mrs. Slater intends letting Henrietta go some place next fall; why don't you talk it over with her?"
"I mean to," assured Aunty Jane. "You see, it will need a great deal of talking over because it may prove hard to find exactly the right kind of school. The eastern seminaries are too far away. It must be some place south of Lakeville, within a day's journey, within reach of all our pocketbooks, and in a healthful location. It mustn't be too big, too stylish, or too old-fashioned. I'm sending out postal cards every day and getting catalogues by every mail; but so far, I haven't come to any decision except that Marjory is to go some place."
At first, the older people said little about school matters to the four girls, but as winter wore on it became an understood thing that not only fortunate Henrietta but Jean, Marjory and Mabel were to go away to school the following September.
"Won't it be simply glorious," said Henrietta, who was entertaining the Cottagers in her den, "if all four of us land in the same school; and we must—I shall stand out for that. And you and I, Jean, shall room together and be chums."
"Then Marjory and I," announced Mabel, "shall room together, too, and fight just the way we always do if Jean isn't on hand to stop us."
"Won't it be perfectly fine?" breathed Marjory. "I've always loved boarding-school stories and now we'll be living right in one."
Bettie kept silence, but her eyes were big and troubled. With the girls gone she knew that her world would be sadly changed. Her close companionship with the other Cottagers—she was only three when she first began to play with Jean—had prevented her forming other friendships. Without doubt, Aunty Jane would be lonely; the Bennetts, in Germany, might miss noisy, affectionate Mabel, Mrs. Mapes might long for helpful Jean and Mrs. Slater would certainly find her big, beautiful home dull with no sparkling Henrietta but it was Bettie, poor little impecunious, uncomplaining Bettie, who would be the very loneliest of all. The others would lose only one girl apiece; Bettie's loss would be fourfold. Lovely Jean, sprightly Marjory, jolly Mabel and attractive Henrietta—how could she spare them all at once! And the glorious times the absent four would have together—how could Bettie miss all that? It seemed, to the little, overwhelmed girl, too big a trouble to talk about.