Queenie and Phil came to say good-bye before they left their home.
They had been constant in their inquiries after their little friend and companion; but Dr. Lighton had wished Bertie to be kept quiet for quite a long time, and they had not been allowed to see him.
He had been a good deal shaken by his fall, and did not get strong as fast as some children would have done; so that it was not until Sir Walter Arbuthnot and his family were just on the eve of departure that Bertie was allowed to see Queenie and Phil.
Phil was as merry and gay as ever, although his bright face grew grave for a few minutes whilst he thanked Bertie in boyish fashion for having saved his life on the cliffs that day; but Queenie was more quiet and less imperious in her speech than was at all usual, and Bertie, observing this, wondered what was the matter, and if she were sorry about going away.
“It is not that exactly,” answered the little girl, when questioned. “I think it is because I have something on my mind.”
“Have you? What sort of thing?”
“Something I want to say, only it isn’t very easy,” and Queenie got rather red, for she was a proud little maiden, and found it rather hard to own herself in the wrong. “I called you a coward, Bertie; I think I called you so a great many times. I want to tell you I’m sorry. I know now that you were just as brave as Phil or any of the boys, and I want you to say you forgive me for being so cross.”
Bertie was quite taken aback, and blushed as red as Queenie.
“Please don’t talk so. I was a coward about the boat; and I’ve forgotten all about the rest. You have always been very kind to me, Queenie. You know you made friends with me when I had nobody else.”
Queenie began to laugh now; she had got a weight off her mind, and was her merry self again.