It was almost dawn when Barbara began to dream that she heard low, suppressed sobs. No; she must be wrong, she was not dreaming. The sounds were too real. The sobs were close beside her, and Bab felt Mollie’s shoulders heaving in an effort to hold them back.

“Why, little sister,” cried Bab in a frightened tone, putting out her hand and taking hold of Mollie, “what is the matter with you! Are you ill?”

“No,” sobbed Mollie. “There is nothing the matter. Please go to sleep again, Bab, dear. I did not mean to wake you up.”

“You would not cry, Mollie, if there was nothing the matter. Tell me at once what troubles you,” pleaded Barbara, who was now wide awake. “If you are not ill, then something pretty serious is worrying you and you must tell me what it is.”

Mollie only buried her head in her pillow and sobbed harder than ever.

“Tell me,” Bab commanded.

“It’s the blue gown!” whispered Mollie under her breath.

“The gown?” queried Barbara, suddenly recalling Mollie’s wonderful costume at the President’s reception. “Oh, yes. I have not had an opportunity to ask you where you got such a beautiful frock and how you happened not to tell me about it.”

“I was ashamed,” Mollie sobbed.

Barbara did not understand what Mollie meant, but she knew her sister would tell her everything now.

“I bought the frock,” Mollie confessed after a moment’s hesitation. “That is I did not exactly buy it, for I did not have the money to pay for it. But Harriet was to pay for it and I was to give her back the money when I could.”

“How much did the gown cost, Mollie?” Bab inquired quietly, although her heart felt as heavy as lead.

“It cost fifty dollars!” Mollie returned in a tired, frightened voice.

“Oh, Mollie!” Bab exclaimed just at first. Then she repented. “Never mind, Molliekins; it can’t be helped now. The dress is a beauty, and I suppose Harriet won’t mind how long we take to pay her back. We must just save up and do some kind of work when we go home. I can coach some of the girls at school. So please don’t cry your pretty eyes out. There is an old story about not crying over spilt milk, kitten. Go to sleep. Perhaps some one will have left us a fortune by morning.”

Barbara felt more wretched about her sister’s confession than she was willing to let Mollie know. She thought if Mollie could once get to sleep, she could then puzzle out some method by which they could meet this debt. For fifty dollars did look like an immense sum to the two poor Thurston girls.

“But, Bab dear, I have not told you the worst,” Mollie added in tones of despair.

“Mollie, what do you mean?” poor Bab asked, really frightened this time.

“Harriet can’t let me owe the money to her. Something perfectly awful has happened to Harriet, too. Promise me you will never tell, not even Ruth! Well, Harriet thought she could lend me the money. But, the day after we got home from the dressmaker’s, that deceitful Madame Louise wrote poor Harriet the most awful note. She said that Harriet owed her such a dreadfully big bill, that she simply would not wait for her money any longer. She declared if Harriet did not pay her at once she would take her bill straight to Mr. Hamlin and demand the money. Now Harriet is almost frightened to death. She says her father will never forgive her, if he finds out how deeply in debt she is, and that he would not let her go out into society again this winter. Of course, Harriet went to see Madame Louise. She begged her for a little more time, and the dressmaker consented to let us have a week. But she says that at the end of that time she must have the money from me and from Harriet. Harriet is dreadfully distressed. She simply can’t advance the money to me for, even if the dividend she expects comes in time, she will have to pay the money on her own account. Oh, Bab, what can we do? I just can’t have Mr. Hamlin find out what I have done! He is so stern; he would just send me home in disgrace, and then what would Mother and Aunt Sallie and Mr. Stuart say? I shall just die of shame!”

“Mr. Hamlin must not know,” Barbara answered, when she could find her breath. Somehow her own voice sounded unfamiliar, it was so hoarse and strained. Yet Bab knew she must save Mollie. How was she to do it?

“Do you think, Bab,” Mollie asked, “that we could ask Ruth to lend us the money? I should be horribly ashamed to tell her what I have done. But Ruth is so sweet, and she could lend us the money without any trouble.”

“I have thought of that, Mollie,” Barbara answered. “But, oh, we could not ask Ruth for the money! It is because she has been so awfully good to us, that I can’t ask her. She has already done so much for us and she would be so pleased to help us now that somehow I would rather do most anything than ask her. Don’t you feel the same way, Mollie?”

“Yes, I do,” Mollie agreed. “Only I just can’t think what else we can do, Bab. I have worried and worried until I am nearly desperate. We have only one week in which to get hold of the money, Bab.”

“Yes, I know. But go to sleep now, Mollie. You are too tired to try to think any more. I will find some way out of the difficulty. Don’t worry any more about it now.” Bab kissed her sister’s burning cheeks, whereat Mollie could only throw her arms about Barbara and cry: “Oh, Bab, I am so sorry and so ashamed! I shall never forget this as long as I live.”

Bab never closed her eyes again that night. A little while later she saw the gray dawn change into rose color, and the rose to the blue of the day-time sky. She heard several families of sparrows discussing their affairs while they made their morning toilets on the bare branches of the trees.

At last an idea came to Barbara. She could pawn her jewelry and so raise the money they needed. She had the old-fashioned corals her mother had given to her on her first trip to Newport. There was also the beautiful ruby, which had been Mr. Presby’s gift to her from the rich stores of his buried treasure. And the Princess Sophia had made Bab a present of a beautiful gold star when they were at Palm Beach. Barbara’s other jewelry was marked with her initials.

Now Bab had very little knowledge of the real value of her jewelry, and she had an equally dim notion of what a pawn shop was. But she did know that at pawn shops people were able to borrow money at a high rate of interest on their valuable possessions, and this seemed to be the only way out of their embarrassment.

But how was Barbara to locate a pawn shop in Washington? And how was she to find her way there, without being found out either by Mr. Hamlin or any one of the girls?

Bab was still puzzling over these difficulties when she went down to breakfast.

“Miss Moore says she would like to see you, Barbara,” Harriet Hamlin explained, when Bab had forced down a cup of coffee and eaten a small piece of toast. “Miss Moore is much better this morning, and a carriage is to take her home in a few hours. I have just been up to inquire about her. Father,” continued Harriet, turning to Mr. Hamlin, “Miss Moore wants me to thank you for your kindness in bringing her here, and to say she hopes to be able to repay you some day. Marjorie Moore seems to think you discovered her out on the White House lawn, Barbara. However did you do it? I suppose you were out there walking with Peter Dillon. But it is against the rules.”

“Does Miss Moore happen to know how she was hurt, Daughter?” Mr. Hamlin queried. “Lieutenant Wilson declares the girl was struck a glancing blow on the head with the end of a loaded cane. And the doctor seemed to have the same idea last night.”

“Miss Moore does not understand just what did happen to her,” Harriet replied. “Or at least she won’t tell me. She declares she was out in the grounds looking for some one, when she was knocked down from behind. She never saw who struck her. How perfectly ridiculous for her to be running about the White House park alone at night! I wonder the guards permitted it. What do you suppose she was doing?”

“Attending to her business, perhaps, Daughter,” Mr. Hamlin returned dryly. “Miss Moore works exceedingly hard. It cannot always be pleasant for a refined young woman to do the work she is sometimes required to do. I hope you will be kind to her, Harriet, and help her when it is within your power.”

But Harriet only shrugged her shoulders and looked obstinate. “I should think Miss Moore would find the society news for her paper inside the reception rooms, rather than outside in the dark. It looks to me as though she went out into the grounds either to meet some one, or to find out what some one else was doing.”

None of the “Automobile Girls” or Mr. Hamlin made response to Harriet’s unkind remark and they were all glad when breakfast was over and the discussion ended.

Barbara at once went upstairs to the room that had been allotted to their wounded guest the night before. She found Marjorie Moore dressed in a shabby serge suit, lying on the bed looking pale and weak. A refined, middle-aged woman, with a sad face, sat by her daughter holding her hand. She was Marjorie’s mother. The two women were waiting for the carriage to take them home.

“I want to thank you, Miss Thurston,” Marjorie Moore spoke weakly. “I believe it was you who found me. I ought not to have asked you to come out into the yard, but I did not dream there would be any danger to either one of us. I want you to believe that I did have a real reason for persuading you to join me, a reason that I thought important to your happiness, not to mine. But I cannot tell you what it was, now; perhaps because I may have made a mistake. I must have been struck by a tramp, who had managed to hide in the White House grounds. I have no other explanation of what happened to me. But ­” Miss Moore stopped and hesitated. “I have an explanation of the reason I wanted to talk to you alone. Yet I cannot tell you what I mean to-day. I want to ask you to trust me if ever you need a friend in Washington.”

Bab thought the only friend she was likely to need was some one who could lend her fifty dollars. And Marjorie Moore was too poor to do that. She would have liked to ask the newspaper girl where she could find a pawn shop, but was ashamed to make her strange request before that gentle, sad-eyed woman, Marjorie Moore’s mother.

So Barbara only pressed the other girl’s hand affectionately, and said she was glad to know she was better, and that she appreciated her friendship.