“Dear me!” exclaimed Betty. “How curious you are. I am not allowed to wear my diamond earrings that Doctor and Mrs. Guerin gave me, of course. They are the old-fashioned kind for pierced ears, and would have to be reset, and diamonds are too old for me anyway. But Uncle Dick lets me wear any thing else I own ­”

“That locket,” questioned Ida. “That pretty locket. It did fall out of your bag in the shop, didn’t it, Betty?”

“My goodness!” stammered Betty, “did you find it?”

“I picked it up,” said Ida soberly. “Mrs. Staples would not let me run after you with it. But she promised to give it to you when you came and asked for it.”

“She did? She never ­”

Then Betty hesitated a moment. She remembered clearly just what had been said in the little neighborhood shop when she and Bobby had called there to get Bobby’s blue over-blouse.

“It’s a fact, I never asked her for it,” she said slowly. “No, I never. I just asked her if she had found anything, and she said ‘No.’”

“She would! That would be like her!” cried Ida Bellethorne. “She is a person who prides herself upon being exactly honest; and I guess that means barely honest. Oh, Betty Gordon!”

“Well, now what’s the matter?” asked Betty.

“Did ­did you know you lost it in Mrs. Staples’ shop?”

“No. I didn’t know where I lost it. I only thought ­”

“That I might have picked it up and said nothing about it?” demanded Ida Bellethorne.

“Why Ida! I would not have hurt your feelings by saying anything about it for the world,” said Betty honestly. “That was why I didn’t tell you. You see, if you really had known nothing about the locket when I asked you, all the time you would be afraid that I suspected you. Isn’t that so?”

“You dear, good girl!” gasped Ida, dabbling her eyes with her handkerchief. “And I didn’t say anything because I thought you would think I wanted a reward for returning it.”

“So, you see, I couldn’t speak of it. But now, of course, we’ll get it away from Mrs. Staples. I think she’s horrid mean!”

Betty expressed her opinion of the shopwoman vigorously, but she put her arms around the English girl at the same time and kissed her warmly.

“You’re a dear!” repeated Ida.

“You’re another!” cried Betty gaily. “Now come on! Maybe those boys will eat up all the dinner, and I am so hungry!”

One of the men arrived from Cliffdale during dinner with the mail and the information that another cold rain was falling and freezing to everything it touched.

“The whole country about here will be one glare of ice in the morning,” said Mr. Canary. “You young folks will have all the sledding you care for, I fancy. I have seen the time when, after one of these ice storms, one might coast from here to Midway Junction on the railroad, and that’s a matter of twenty miles.”

“What a lark that would be,” cried Tommy Tucker. “Some slide, eh, Bob?”

“How about walking back?” asked the other boy promptly, grinning.

Letters and papers were distributed. There was at least one letter for everybody but Ida, and Betty squeezed her hand under the table in a comforting way.

When they all retired from the table and gathered in groups in the big living room where the log fire roared Uncle Dick beckoned Betty to him. He put a letter from Mrs. Eustice into the girl’s hand and at one glance she “knew the worst.”

“Oh Betty!” gasped Louise, “what’s the matter?”

For Betty had emitted a squeal of despair. She shook the paper before their eyes.

“Come on, Betty!” cried Bob. “Get it out ­if it’s a fishbone.”

“It’s all over!” wailed Betty. “Measles don’t last as long as we thought they did. Shadyside opens two days from to-morrow, and we have got to be there. That’s Monday. Oh, dear, dear, dear!”

“Say a couple more for me, Betty,” growled Teddy Tucker. “I suppose Salsette will open too. Back to Major Pater and others too murderous to mention.”

“And the Major’s got it in for you Tucker twins,” Bob reminded him wickedly.

“That’s Tom’s fault,” grumbled Teddy. “If he hadn’t sprung that snowball stunt ­Oh, well! What’s the use?”

“Life, Ted believes,” said Louise, “is just one misfortune after another. But I do hate to leave here just as we have got nicely settled. My goodness! what’s the matter with Ida? Something’s happened to her, too.”

Ida had sprung to her feet with one of the recently arrived New York papers in her hand. Actually she was pale, and it was no wonder the company stared at her when her cheeks were usually so ruddy.

“What is the matter, dear?” asked Mrs. Canary.

Betty went to the English girl at once and put an arm about her shoulders.

“Did you see something in the paper that frightened you, Ida?” she asked.

“It doesn’t frighten me,” replied the girl, with trembling lips. “See. Read it. This time I am sure it is my aunt. See!”

Uncle Dick joined the group about the excited girl. Her color had come back into her cheeks now and her eyes shone. She was usually so self-contained and quiet that Mr. Gordon now thought perhaps they had not really appreciated how much the hope of joining her aunt meant to Ida.

“Read it aloud, Betty,” said her uncle quietly.

“Oh! Here’s her name! It must be right this time!” cried Betty; and then she obeyed her uncle’s request:

“’The Toscanelli Opera Company, Salvatore Toscanelli manager, which has made a very favorable impression among the music lovers of the East and Middle West during the last few months, will sail for Rio Janeiro on Sunday on the San Salvador of the Blue Star Line. The company has been augmented by the engagement of several soloists, among them Madam Ida Bellethorne, the English soprano, who has made many friends here during the past few years.’”

“Day after to-morrow!” exclaimed Bobby, the first to speak. “Why! maybe if you can go to New York you will see her, Ida.”

“Day after to-morrow,” repeated Ida, anxiously. “Can I get to New York by that time? I ­I have a little money ­”

“Don’t worry about the money, honey,” Betty broke in. “You will have to start early in the morning, won’t she, Uncle Dick?”

“If she is to reach the steamer in time, yes,” said the gentleman rather doubtfully.

“Oh! if I don’t get there what shall I do?” cried Ida. “Rio Janeiro, why, that is in South America! It would cost hundreds of your dollars to pay my passage there. I must get to Aunt Ida before she sails. I must!”

“Now, now!” put in Mrs. Canary soothingly. “Don’t worry about it, child. That will not help. We will get you to the train to-morrow ­”

“If we can,” interrupted her husband softly.

He beckoned Uncle Dick away and they went out through the hall to look at the weather, leaving the young folks and Mrs. Canary to encourage the English girl.

Outside the two men did not find much in the appearance of the weather to encourage them. It was raining softly, for there was no wind; and it was freezing as fast as it fell.

“And that old shack-a-bones I keep here during the winter isn’t sharpened. Ought to be, I know. But he isn’t,” grumbled Jonathan Canary.

“No use to think of snowshoes if it freezes, Jack,” rejoined Mr. Gordon. “It is too far to the railroad anyway. I doubt if these children get to school on time.”

“Telephone wires are down again. I just tried to get Cliffdale before dinner. This is a wilderness up here, Dick.”

“I am sorry for that young English girl,” mused Mr. Gordon. “She is fairly eaten up with the idea of getting in touch with her aunt. Good reason, too. She has told me all about it. She carries a letter from her dead father to the woman and he begged the girl to be sure to put it into his sister’s hands. Family troubles, Jack.”

“Well, come on in. You’re here without your hat. Want to get your death of cold?” growled Mr. Canary.

The young folks did not dream at this time that nature was doing her best to make it impossible for Ida Bellethorne to reach New York by Sunday morning when the steamship San Salvador would leave her dock. It was, however, the general topic of conversation during the evening. When bed-time came they went gaily to bed, not even Betty doubting the feasibility of their getting to the train on the morrow.

Her uncle, however, put his head out of the door again when the others had gone chamberward and seeing the shining, icy waste of the Overlook, muttered with growing anxiety:

“Can it be done?”