“What’s this? What’s this?” demanded the lawyer.
“Yes, sir, that’s just what I mean!” cried Neale O’Neil, rushing on. “I have just got to go with you all, Mr. Howbridge. I couldn’t bear to be left behind. And—and Agnes couldn’t bear it either.”
“Ah-ha!” cried the lawyer. “Sits the wind in that quarter? Then that is the explanation of the note I got this very day from our surprising Sister Agnes.”
“What’s that?” demanded Neale, amazed.
“She says here,” Mr. Howbridge said, reading the note which was written in Agnes’ unmistakable hand, but rather shakily, “that she thinks she doesn’t want to go with the party, but would rather go back to school and catch up with her class. And she needs the voyage just as much as Ruth does.”
“The blessed kid!” exploded Neale O’Neil, his face very red.
“Quite so, Neale,” said the lawyer soberly, and laying a hand upon the boy’s sleeve. “That is exactly what our Agnes is—‘a blessed kid.’ Don’t forget it. She is an impulsive, loving, blessed girl.”
“Never forget it,” repeated Mr. Howbridge. “But I want to tell you that I had already favorably considered taking you along. I think I can make use of you down there. Goodness! I can’t be expected to look out for four girls without any help at all, can I?”
This matter being satisfactorily settled, there was nothing left to do but to pack their trunks and otherwise prepare for the voyage into tropic climes, as Agnes, having suddenly recovered all her gayety, expressed it.