tened she
was, and how she had studied the picture of Red Ridinghood, printed in
colours on the border of her handkerchief, until she was afraid to speak
even to the conductor. She saw a possible wolf in every stranger.

Somehow her thoughts kept going back to that time, even in the midst of
Gay's most amusing nonsense, and Kitty's brightest repartee. Even when
Allison began to sing "O Warwick Hall," and she chimed in with the
others, "Dear Warwick Hall," she was not thinking of school, but of the
Cuckoo's Nest, and Davy, and the old weather-beaten meeting-house, in
whose window she had passed so many summer afternoons, reading the musty
dog-eared books she found in the little red bookcase.

"What are you smiling about, Betty, all to yoahself?" asked Lloyd. "You
look as if you are a thousand miles away."

Betty glanced up with a little start. "Oh, I was just thinking about the
Cuckoo's Nest, and wishing that I could see Davy's face when they open
the Christmas box I sent. There are only trifles in it, but the box will
mean a lot to them, for Cousin Hetty never has time to make anything of
Christmas."

Lloyd sat up with a sudden exclamation. "Oh, Betty, I _beg_ yoah
pah'don. There's a lettah for you in my bag from some of them that I
forgot to give you. Hawkins came up with it just as we drove off, and
there was so much excitement and confusion I nevah thought of it again
till this minute. I'm mighty sorry I forgot."

"It doesn't make any difference," Betty assured her. "Good news can
afford to wait, and, if it's bad news, it would have spoiled all the
first part of this trip."

She tore open the envelope and glanced down the page. Lloyd, looking up,
saw a distressed expression cross her face and the brown eyes fill with
tears.

"Oh, it's poor little Davy that's in trouble," said Betty, answering
Lloyd's anxious question. "He had his leg badly hurt last week, broken
in two places. He was riding one of those heavy old farm horses,
hurrying home to get out of a storm. Going down a steep, slippery hill,
it stumbled and fell on him. He'll have to lie in bed for weeks, with
his knee in plaster, and he's so tired of it already, and _so_ lonesome.
Nobody has any time to sit with him. I know how it is. I was sick myself
once at the Cuckoo's Nest. Oh, I'd give anything if I could spend my
vacation there with him."

"And give up all your good times at home?" cried Kitty. "He surely
couldn't expect such a sacrifice as tha