They were up at her cabin one day soon after the breaking of the news. Isabella Weeks suddenly turned to the girls, a wistful expression on her sweet old face.
“I have a favor to ask of you,” she said, and paused, while the puzzled girls waited for her to go on. “I wonder,” said the old lady after a moment, “if you would take pity on an old woman and help her find a pretty little home somewhere——”
The girls did not wait for her to finish. Ardently they hugged her, assuring her that there was nothing in the world they would like better than to help her.
“We wanted to ask you to let us,” said Amy, taking one old hand in hers and patting it gently, “but we thought you might think we were interfering——”
“Oh, my dears,” the little old lady replied, with a catch in her breath, “you could never interfere. Why, everything I have, I owe to you.”
And though this statement was not quite true, the girls did not think it worth while to contradict the little lady, for they loved to see her with that soft flush of excitement on her cheeks and the light of a new found interest in her eyes.
Thus it came to pass that the girls found themselves in the agreeable position of escort to the Old Maid of the Mountains and they looked forward eagerly to their return to Deepdale and the finding of the “right kind of little home” for their friend.
“It does seem a shame,” Mollie remarked when a few days later they were clearing up the camp preparatory to leaving for Deepdale the next morning, “to go home when we still have several weeks of lovely weather before us.”
“We’ll still have lovely weather in Deepdale,” retorted Grace. “And I, for one, wouldn’t miss the fun we’re going to have for all the camping in the world.”
“Nor I,” agreed Betty, adding wistfully: “I do hope Allen can find James Barton.”