“Yes—Miss Phillips gave it away at that surprise party.”
“I thought so; she never guessed, of course. But I knew you’d put two and two together, Marj.”
“Well, I don’t mind, Ruth. I was mad at the time, but after all it didn’t hurt me. And you’d have been a second-class scout soon anyhow.”
“Perhaps,” said Ruth. “You’ve been too good to me, Marj. But wait till you hear the rest!”
“The rest?”
“Yes; that isn’t nearly all. I’m a real criminal. Oh, Marj, if you hadn’t saved me to-day, and I’d died, what would have become of me?”
Ruth suddenly burst into tears. She had been under too great a strain in the last twenty-four hours, and she lost control of herself completely. After all, she was only fifteen—and the rôle of criminal was new to her. Aside from the little white lies that most of us tell sometimes, she had up to this time been upright in character.
Marjorie jumped up and put her arms around her. She forgot about the Ruth she had known during the past year; she saw only her old playmate, as she used to cry when she was hurt.
“What is it, Ruth?” she asked with concern. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
But Ruth pushed her aside, and wiped her eyes. “Sit down, Marj,” she said, as calmly as she could, “I don’t deserve your sympathy. Listen!”