"I'm afraid to," returned Betty anxiously. "I know they're dangerous,—I saw her put a match over it. Wasn't that queer? But I'm not sure how to put it out."
"To be on the safe side," said Dell, practically, "Leave it alight. It may keep us awake a bit, but I'd just like a good talk or—"
"Or what?"
"O, I know I'll get homesick. Hurry up, Betty, talk! Just talk! I feel it coming on!"
"So do I," said Betty with quivering lips. "I don't believe I can talk—much."
That was enough.
Dell's head dived into the pillow, and her little slim figure shook with sobs.
This was too much for Betty. For a few moments she stroked the fair head of her companion, with admirable self-control, but when Dell pulled her over and hugged her close, Betty's tears came thick and fast.
At last Dell sat up in bed with determination.
"We're fine missionaries, Betty, to act like this!" she said sternly.