Although the little old lady seemed to enjoy herself immensely, the ride was never repeated. In spite of the girls’ attentions and the wholesome food they continued to supply her with, the little old lady grew paler day by day until she finally became so feeble it seemed as though a strong wind might blow her away altogether.
And because the girls had taken a profound interest in the lonesome old lady and had grown very fond of her they worried a good deal about her condition and tried hard to think of some way in which they might help her without hurting her pride.
But it seemed a problem that was almost impossible of solution and for the present, at least, they were forced to give it up.
And then Allen and Roy were with them once more, Allen still grave and thoughtful, but very, very glad to be with them, just the same.
He was relieved when the boys and girls told him there had been no sign of the tramps during his absence and it might have been noticed that he looked at Betty as though he thought it altogether too good to be true that she was still safe and happy.
“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” he told her a little later that same day. They had become separated from the others and, finding a convenient stone wall, had hoisted themselves upon it, swinging their feet and all ready for a good old “pow-wow.” “I’ve imagined all sorts of awful things happening to you,” Allen went on, while Betty demurely looked the other way. “I had you so much on my mind that I couldn’t half attend to my work.”
“I’m sorry,” said Betty, still demurely. “I tried to behave myself.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Allen, banteringly. “I’ve never seen you do it yet.”
“Well,” said Betty comfortably, “I don’t intend to argue about it. The weather’s too warm, and, besides, we never do agree.”
“I think we do—sometimes—very well,” said Allen, and at his tone, Betty hastily changed the subject.