“Oh, you lucky, lucky girl,” cried Jessie. “You do certainly have the most wonderful luck. Not but what you deserve every bit of it and more,” she added, warmly.
“There’s just one thing in the world on which we both agree,” laughed Evelyn, “and that’s it!”
They looked with fond and justified pride upon the laughing recipient of their praise. From anybody’s point of view, Lucile was good to look upon. Mischief sparkled in her eyes and bubbled over from lips always curved in a merry smile. “Just to look at Lucile is enough to chase away the blues,” Jessie had once declared in a loving eulogy on her friend. “But when you need sympathy, there is no one quicker to give it than Lucy.” From her mass of wind-blown curls to the tips of her neat little tennis shoes she was the spirit incarnate of the sport-loving, fun-seeking summer girl.
Then there was their summer at camp the year before, when Lucile had led them undauntedly and as a matter 10 of course through experiences and dangers that would have dazed the other girls.
And then had come the crowning glory, the climax of their wonderful summer—the race! They felt again the straining of that moment when, with half a length to make up and scant twenty yards from the goal, she had led them in the glorious, madcap dash to victory! From that day on she had reigned supreme in the girls’ warm hearts, and there was not one of them but felt “that nothing was too good for her.”
“Let’s be thankful for small blessings,” laughed Lucile, referring to Evelyn’s last remark. “By the way, girls, have you heard about Margaret?”
“No; what is it?” They were all eager interest at once.
“Why, Judge Stillman called a consultation yesterday and the doctors pronounced Margaret absolutely cured!”
“Hurrah!” cried Jessie, springing up from the rock she had been using as a seat. “We knew she was better, but—oh, say, isn’t it great?”
“Rather; but that isn’t all,” said Lucile. “The Judge insists that we have done it all—and the camp-fire, too, of course.”