But Mrs. Royall saw that Myra looked pale and tired, and she noticed the change that came over her face as Louise spoke. A quick wave of colour swept the pale cheeks and the small head was lifted with an air that was new and strange—in Myra Karr. Mrs. Royall spoke again, laying her hand gently on the girl’s shoulder.
“Myra, how long have you been asleep? How long have you been back in camp?”
And Myra answered quietly, but with that new pride in her voice, “It was quarter of four by the kitchen clock when I came. There was nobody here—not even Katie——”
“I’d just run out a bit to see if anny of ye was comin’,” put in the cook from the kitchen door where she stood, as much interested as any one else in what was going on.
“And did you go to Kent’s Corners, my dear?” Mrs. Royall questioned gently.
It was Myra’s hour of triumph. She forgot Louise Johnson’s mocking laugh—forgot everything but her beautiful new freedom.
“O, I did—I did, Mrs. Royall!” she cried out. “I was awfully frightened at first, but coming home I wasn’t one bit afraid, and, please, you won’t let them call me Bunny any more, will you?”
“No, my child, no. You’ve won a new name and you shall have it at the next Council Fire. I’m so glad, Myra!” Mrs. Royall’s face was almost as radiant as the girl’s.
It was Louise Johnson who called out, “Three cheers for Myra Karr! She’s a trump!”
The cheers were given with a will. Tears filled Myra’s eyes, but they were happy tears, as the girls crowded around her with questions and exclamations, and Miss Grandis stood with a hand on her shoulder.