They met at the station the next morning—the girls and boys. Lottie Weaver was there, in the glory of a new maroon sweater, and Ed Foster was also on time.
The express for Crystal Bay was late, and as Cora and her motor girl chums marched up and down the platform, nervously waiting, Cora saw a girl coming from the waiting room.
“Why, Freda Lewis!” she exclaimed, hurrying up and putting her arms about her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were going back to Bar Harbor for the Summer.”
“So we were! Oh, Cora! I’m so glad to see you. I had to change cars here—I got on the wrong train, it seems. I’ve been traveling all night.”
“You look it, my dear! Oh, if I had only known you were here——”
“I haven’t been waiting long. I’m to take the Shore Express.”
“That’s our train. But, Freda, you don’t look at all well—not a bit as you did at school,” for Freda was a chum Cora had made much of a year or so before, but had not seen of late.
“I’m not well, Cora,” said Freda, earnestly.
“What is the trouble?”
“Anxiety, mostly. Oh, Cora, we’ve had such a dreadful time, mother and I!”