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Page 39
But her conscience kept troubling her. "Your godmother asked if she
could trust you, and she said it was important. You know you promised.
There's time yet to slip away and post that letter before the mail train
goes by."
But Betty would not listen to her conscience. She resolutely turned her
attention to the charades, until all at once she seemed to hear Miss
Allison's voice saying, "I like this little hand. It will keep a promise
to the utmost." Then Keith's conversation of the night before came back
to her about his motto and his badge. But more than all, the thought of
being worthy of her godmother's trust in her impelled her to keep her
promise.
It was a hard struggle that went on in the little girl's mind just then.
From the puzzled glances around her she was sure that she was the only
one who had guessed all the charades correctly; therefore she stood the
best chance of winning the first prize, and she wanted it--oh, how she
wanted it!--for Mrs. Sherman had said that it was a book. And yet--her
sacred promise! If she kept it, she would lose her only chance. It was
twilight in the woods, and it would be dark before she could get back to
the picnic-grounds. It wouldn't be right to ask any one else to go with
her, and miss the chance of winning the prize, too. Still, there was
that promise, and it must be kept--to the utmost. All these thoughts
went on, swaying her first to one decision and then another.
She half rose from the rug where she was sitting, then dropped down
again. It seemed hardly fair that Eugenia should not share the
responsibility, yet she knew her too well to ask her to go back to the
house with her. Several times she started up and then sank back before
she could make up her mind. Finally she walked over to a fence corner on
the other side of the bonfire, where the water-bucket stood. The ponies
were hitched below in the ravine. So intently was the group above
watching the charades, that no one saw her when she scrambled down the
steep path leading into the ravine, and began untying Lad. Climbing into
the saddle, she gave one regretful look at the party she was leaving
behind her, and resolutely turned his head toward home.
It was lighter out in the open, when they had left the shelter of the
woods, and she guided the pony down the hill, across the pasture, and
through the gate, glad that she did not have to go all the way in
darkness. Lad, knowing that he was going home, dashed down the road,
choosing his own direction when the lonely highway branched. He knew the
way better than his little rider.
She looked around her, thinking how long the way seemed when she had to
travel it all by herself. She was riding faster than she had ever ridden
before, and yet it seemed hours since she had left the mill when she at
last reached the great gate with the avenue of locusts stretching beyond
it.
Springing off the pony when it stopped at the steps, she rushed into the
hall, snatched the letter from the table, and ran out again, only
pausing for a hasty glance at the clock. Mom Beck, who had heard the
clatter of hoofs, the quick step on the porch, and the wild dash out
again, feared that something was amiss, and came running to the door.
"What undah the sun is the mattah, honey?" she called, but Betty was far
down the avenue, and never paused to look back.
Lad, turned away from home, was not so willing to run now, and Betty
could hear the train whistling up the road. It was the seven o'clock
mail train.
"Oh, Lad, hurry!" she urged. "Dear, good old Lad, _please_ hurry! I'm so
afraid we won't get there in time."
Lad looked around at her and stopped still in the road. The train
whistled nearer. Guiding the pony to the fence, Betty stood up and broke
a switch from an overhanging tree.
"I hate to do it, you poor old fellow," she said, "but I must. You
_must_ get to the post-office in time." Urged along by the switch and
her tearful pleadings, Lad broke into a run and brought up at the
post-office, just as the postmistress was locking the mail-bag. "Oh,
Miss Mattie!" sounded an anxious little voice at the delivery window,
"is it too late to send this letter? Mrs. Sherman said it must go, if
possible, on this train."
"It's a close shave, my dear," said Miss Mattie, reaching out to take
the letter eagerly thrust through the bars. "I'm a few minutes late,
anyhow, and there's barely time to stamp it and slip it in, so!" She
acted while she spoke, so that with the last word she had turned the
key. A coloured porter, who stood waiting, caught up the bag and hurried
across the road to the railroad station. The train came thundering down
the track, and he jumped across in front of the locomotive.
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