“I told Mother about it,” Betty began, “and she said that she was sorry, but she couldn’t think of asking Uncle George to spend another penny for me. You know when Papa died, Uncle George asked us to come right up here and live with him, and Mother says that it costs him ever so much to have us. Of course I’d love to go, but I—I just can’t.”
Poor little Betty found the disappointment harder than she could bear bravely, and tears splashed down her cheeks.
“You won’t be left alone, Bettykins,” Gertrude Willis said as she slipped an arm about their youngest member, “for I am not going, either.”
“Gertrude, aren’t you going?” came a chorus of protesting voices.
“Well, we simply can’t go without you, or Bettykins either,” Doris Drexel declared.
“Yes, you can,” Gertrude replied brightly, “and Betty and I shall expect long letters from you every week telling all about the good times that you are having.”
“But what will you do, Trudie, about going to school?” Bertha inquired. These two girls were always at the head of their classes and Bertha well knew that her friend did not want to have her studies interrupted.
“Father is going to teach me some of the subjects and Mother the others,” Gertrude replied. “Mother was a high school teacher before she married, and Father was graduated from the theological seminary with highest honors.”
Then, turning to the little one who was trying hard not to cry, she said kindly, “Bettykins, you may study with me, if you wish.”
“Oh, Gertrude, that would help me so much!” Betty replied gratefully, smiling through the tears that would come.