Cora was not visible when the party drove up to the bungalow, for Aunt Betty and the girls had put her to bed, with strict injunctions that she should stay there for the rest of the day. She had objected at first, but at last had yielded. And to tell the truth, she was not sorry to yield to their gentle compulsion, for although she was little the worse physically from her adventure, she had been under a terrific nervous strain that had taxed her heavily.
But she appeared at supper time, fresh and radiant, her eyes sparkling and her spirits high.
“I declare it’s almost worth being lost for the sake of being made so much of when one gets back,” she declared, with a loving look round at the circle of friends, who could scarcely take their eyes off her.
“Why shouldn’t we make much of one who comes to us straight from the skies?” said Walter.
“There’s one less angel up there now,” added Paul.
“But don’t let me catch you running away again, sis,” said Jack, with mock severity. “We’ll forgive you this time, but once is plenty. I don’t know but what I ought to put a ball and chain on you as it is.”
“You needn’t worry,” answered Cora. “I’m cured. I’ll stick to the rest of you now closer than your shadows.”
“By the way,” remarked Walter, as he passed his plate, “we met an old friend of yours on our way back from the mill this morning.”
“Who was that?” asked Cora with interest.
“Give you three guesses,” teased Paul.