“Never, so far as any one knows,” replied Allen, adding grimly: “I tell you Luther Weeks has had a good deal to answer for.”
“And so that is what he—Luther Weeks, that is—had on his conscience?” Betty rather stated than asked. “What about his will, Allen?”
“His will makes restitution as far as restitution is possible,” returned Allen. “He left all his money to his sister, Isabella Weeks, in case she could be found.”
Betty’s face lighted joyfully.
“Oh, Allen,” she cried, “did he leave much money?”
“It isn’t a fortune, but it’s enough. Forty thousand dollars.”
Betty drew in her breath sharply.
“Allen,” she breathed, “do you realize what that will mean to our Old Maid of the Mountains? Not a fortune! It will seem limitless wealth to her. Oh, I’m so glad—I’m so glad!”
They heard the voices of the other girls and boys directly ahead of them and, taking Allen by the hand, the Little Captain dragged him eagerly forward.
“Oh, hurry, hurry!” she begged. “I can’t wait to tell them!” She paused, eyeing Allen half doubtfully. “It will be all right to tell them, won’t it?” she asked.