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Updated: May 29, 2025
If he had been less of an object of her thoughts, less of a motive for her labours, she could sooner have realized it. As it was, she followed his poor, cast-off, worn-out body as if she were borne along by some oppressive dream. If he were really dead, how could she be still alive? Libbie's mind was far less stunned, and consequently far more active, than Margaret Hall's.
These observations attracted the deluded Libbie sufficiently from her hero-worship, so that when Bob Henderson came up out of the ravine to join them a mile beyond the scene of the accident, he was perfectly safe from Libbie's romantic consideration.
Libbie, "the little dark girl," smiled dreamily as Timothy passed her suitcase to Tommy. She and Timothy Derby, ignoring the jeers of their friends, were deep in two white and gold volumes of poetry. Timothy, Libbie had discovered, had a leaning toward the romantic in fiction, though he preferred his served in rhyme. The wicked Tommy had a motive in asking for Libbie's suitcase.
Margaret Hall bent over the grave to catch one last glance she had not spoken, nor sobbed, nor done aught but shiver now and then, since the morning; but now her weight bore more heavily on Libbie's arm, and without sigh or sound she fell an unconscious heap on the piled-up gravel.
"It's a thriving trade," said Bob, as he emptied his hatful of provisions on the grass by Libbie's side. "Besides, it's tiptop, too, to live on the public. Hark! what is that?"
"Yes, it's empty," echoed Betty, stepping out from behind the bush. "And you are to give the money back to me, and Libbie's note with it." "Is that so?" said Ada contemptuously. "I have something to say about that. I intend to see that that note reaches the proper person Mrs. Eustice." Betty took a step nearer, her dark eyes blazing.
The game started merrily, and, forewarned by Libbie's story, the girls knew exactly where to find her when she hid from them and unerringly pulled her out of every chest into which she hopefully squeezed her plump self. "You never should have mentioned 'chest' to us," laughed Betty, when Libbie was "it" for the third time. "We know your line of reasoning now, you see."
"Well," said Betty, slowly, "I didn't promise I wouldn't tell only that I wouldn't tell Bobby or Mrs. Eustice. It's Libbie who has to have the money." She sketched Libbie's story for him rapidly, Bob listening in silence. At the end he asked a single question. "Have you any of those notes asking for money?" "Here's one."
Now Norma rapidly sketched the outlines for them and they listened breathlessly, for surely this true story was more thrilling than any piece of fiction, however highly colored. "I never heard of anything so romantic!" was Libbie's comment. To which Bobby retorted with cousinly severity: "Romantic? Where do you see anything romantic in a band of Indians scalping a peaceful white family?"
Has it anything to do with school?" She was totally unprepared for Libbie's next words. "I have to have some money a lot of money, Betty. I've spent my last allowance and I can't write home for more because they will ask me why I want it. I've borrowed so much from Louise that I can't ask her again! I ought to pay it back. But I've got to have twenty dollars by to-morrow night." "What for?
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