“You ought not to have said it, Jerry,” she said, reproachfully; “Mr. and Mrs. Douaine will be very angry. There, there, Gretel darling, don’t cry. We really don’t know anything; perhaps they only put him in prison. Anyhow, Mrs. Becker and Fräulein are all right. You know it was Fräulein who gave Mr. Lippheim the Beckers’ address. Everybody was grateful to her, and Mr. Douaine gave her the money to take her aunt out to Milwaukee, where they have some relatives, who are quite well off, and will take care of them. I saw poor old Fräulein the day before they went, and she did look dreadfully. She was so worried about you, and so ashamed of what had happened. I don’t believe she will ever brag about the Fatherland again.”
“Poor Fräulein,” sighed Gretel, drying her eyes. “It was all very terrible for her, and she was always kind to me at school. I hope Percy has her address, for I should like to write to her, and tell her I understand. She never meant to do wrong.”
“I had a letter from Molly Chester yesterday,” said Geraldine, anxious to change the subject. “She knew Jerry and I were coming to Washington, and sent lots of love to you. She says Stephen Cranston is somewhere on a submarine chaser, but of course they don’t know where, because no one is allowed to tell. Jimmy Fairfax has left, too, and they think he is on his way overseas. Molly says Mrs. Godfrey and Ada are coming to Washington for a few days, so we may see them. It seems that Davenport boy is still with them, but he has behaved much better lately, and he and Paul get on quite well together.”
“I had a lovely letter from Mrs. Cranston,” said Gretel. “It was just as bright and cheerful as could be, but I know how hard it must have been for her to let Stephen go. I’ve had wonderful letters from everybody, but Barbara won’t let me answer many of them yet. She says I am not strong enough. I’ve kept some of the letters to show you, Geraldine. Miss Minton’s was the biggest surprise of all; it made me cry, it was so kind. I had no idea she liked me so much. Miss Laura wrote, too, and all the teachers.”
“Of course they did,” said Jerry. “You are a heroine, you know. People always write to heroines.”
“I’m not a heroine at all,” protested Gretel, blushing. “I didn’t do anything more than any one else would have done under the circumstances. There really wasn’t anything else to do. I had to be loyal to my country; we all do.”
“The thing that beats me,” remarked Jerry, reflectively, “is the way you used to call yourself a coward.”
“Well, and so I am,” said Gretel innocently. “I am a terrible coward, and the worst of it is, I am afraid I always shall be.”
Jerry burst into a peal of derisive laughter, and Geraldine gave her friend an ecstatic hug.
“You are a goose, Gretel,” remarked Jerry, when he had recovered himself sufficiently to speak. “You are the first person I ever heard of who didn’t even know when she had been brave.”