Impulsive Mr. Black, with dazed Jean at his heels, opened Bettie's door and walked in. Bettie lifted her tired eyes in very mild astonishment.
"Bad pennies," she smiled, "always come back. What's all the noise about?"
"Bettie," demanded Mr. Black, "do you want to go away to school with those other girls next September?"
Bettie opened her eyes wide. Jean said afterwards that she "pricked up her ears," too.
"Because," continued Mr. Black, keeping a sharp watch on Bettie's awakening countenance, "you're going. And if I say you're going, you surely are. Now, don't worry about it—the thing's settled. You're going with the others."
"Open the windows," pleaded Bettie, her face alight with some of the old-time eagerness. "I want to see how it smells outdoors."
"I believe we've done it," breathed Jean. "She looks a lot brighter."
And they had. No one had realized how tender, uncomplaining Bettie had dreaded losing her friends. And in her weakened state, both before and after the fever, the trouble had seemed very big. The load had almost crushed sick little Bettie. Now that it was lifted, and it was, for Mr. Black swept everything before him, there was nothing to keep the little girl from getting well with truly gratifying speed.
"Bettie," asked Dr. Bennett, the next evening, "are you sure this is your own pulse? If it is, it's behaving properly at last."