“Why—we help when we can and where we can,” Ruth said.
“It’s lots of fun, too,” put in Agnes. “It’s nice to make friends.”
“Why—I believe it must be,” sighed Barnabetta. “But I never thought of it—just so. I never saw folks like you Corner House girls before. That’s what made me feel so mean when I had robbed you.”
“Oh, don’t let’s talk any more about that,” Ruth said, with her old kindness of tone and manner. “We’ll forget it.”
But Barnabetta said, seriously: “I never can. Don’t think it! I’m goin’ to remember it all the days of my life. And I know it’s my fault that you’ve lost all the money.”
Ruth returned the poker to its place, and Agnes swept up the chips of wood and the bits of the broken lock. Ruth carefully put away the big old book Agnes had found in the garret.
“Locking the barn after the horse is stolen,” commented Agnes.
Ruth felt that she could not finish that letter to Mr. Howbridge. There was no haste about it. She could wait to tell him all about the catastrophe when he returned to Milton. Advice now was of no value to her. The fortune was gone. Indeed, she shrank from talking about it any more. Talk would not bring the treasure back, that was sure.
She had not Agnes’ overpowering curiosity. There was a sort of dumb ache at Ruth’s heart, and she sighed whenever she remembered poor Mrs. Eland and her sister.
If Dr. Forsyth was to be believed, a long, long rest was Miss Pepperill’s only cure. News from the State Hospital had assured the friends of the unfortunate school teacher that she would soon be at liberty.