She dashed up to Susie’s door and rang the bell. Mrs. Hale herself opened the door, and from the cold, hard expression on her face, Betty felt that she was unwelcome. “I’ve come to see Susie, Mrs. Hale,” she said pleasantly. “Isn’t she ready for the party?” “No, she isn’t!” snapped Mrs. Hale. “She isn’t going to your old party, so you can sing the solos yourself.” Then Betty understood. Susie had wanted to sing the solos! Betty remembered now that Susie was the soprano of the village choir, and she probably resented Betty’s being asked to sing the solos instead of herself. “Oh, my gracious!” exclaimed Betty, annoyed at this foolishness, and yet relieved that it could still be set right, “she can sing the solos, of course! I’d much rather she would! Tell her so, won’t you, and ask her to hurry and come.” Mrs. Hale looked mollified, but she said: “She can’t come now. She’s gone to her grandma’s to spend the afternoon.” “Oh, dear! what a goose she is! Why couldn’t she tell me sooner what she wanted? Where is her grandmother’s?” Betty was looking at her watch and getting back into the cart, and gathering up the lines, preparatory to going after the truant. “It’s pretty late,” said Mrs. Hale, glancing at the clock. “She’ll have to come back here to dress, you know.” “Never mind that!” said Betty, a little impatiently, for she was upset over it all. “Where is her grandmother’s?” “Oh, out on the Pine Hill road. The third house after you pass the mill.” Betty groaned, for the place designated was a good two miles away, and Dixie was somewhat tired. But she touched him gently with the whip, and said: “Dear old Dixie, you’ll help me out, won’t you?” And then they went spinning away toward the Pine Hill road. Susie, from the window, saw Betty coming, and went out to meet her. She didn’t look very pleasant, but Betty had no time to waste in coaxing just then. “Susie Hale,” she said, “get right in this cart. Never mind your hat; just get in this very minute!” Susie was fairly frightened at Betty’s tones, and though she was unwilling, she couldn’t help doing as she was told. Silent and a little bewildered, she climbed in beside Betty, and turning quickly, they were soon flying back over the road Betty had come. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” Betty began, for she was of no mind to spare Susie’s feelings now. “You, the president of the club, to cut up such a childish caper! You can sing the solos, of course; I don’t care a mite! But you should have told me you wanted to sing them, in the first place.” “Who told you I wanted to?” said Susie, weakly, now thoroughly ashamed of herself. “Your mother did, and I’m glad she did, for I never should have guessed what foolish thing was the matter with you. I don’t think anybody that would act like you have is fit to be president of a club!” Betty’s righteous indignation seemed to show Susie the despicableness of her own conduct, and she began to cry.