“I’m sorry,” she said; “truly I am. Can you ever forgive me?” “I can,” said Betty, “if you’ll do just as I tell you. First, stop crying. Second, jump out of this cart when we get to your house, and get into your costume like lightning! Third, come over to Denniston and take your place in the march and sing the solos, and act pleasantly and nicely about it. I’ll drive home after I leave you, and I’ll send the cart back for you. And you must be ready! Do you hear? You _must_ be _ready_!” Betty spoke almost savagely, and Susie still looked scared, as she said: “I don’t want to sing your solos now.” “But you will sing them,” said Betty. “You must sing them, and do your very best, too. You sing as well as I do, and to do as I tell you is the only way you can make up for the trouble you’ve stirred up. Now, here you are at home. Fly and dress. Don’t waste a minute. The cart will be back for you in a quarter of an hour!” Susie sprang out of the cart and ran into the house, and Betty drove rapidly away to Denniston. As she tore up the driveway among the decorated booths and lantern-hung trees, the funny side of it struck her, and smiling broadly, she reached the veranda, where a bewildered group awaited her. “Where _have_ you been?” cried Constance. “What’s the matter?” “I’ve been on an errand of mercy,” said Betty, smiling still; “and nothing’s the matter. The grand march must be delayed a little, but I’ll be ready in a jiffy. Come on, Dorothy, and help me dress. Pat, please take Dixie and go over to Mrs. Hale’s and bring Miss Susie back with you.” And so the grand march was delayed only about half an hour. Susie arrived duly, and sang the solos very prettily. Afterward, when the whole story came out, much indignation was expressed that Betty should have been so bothered, but Betty herself didn’t mind, for it had the result of making Susie her staunch friend forever after. X BETTY CRUSOE It happened most conveniently that when Betty was invited to spend a day and a night at Lena Carey’s, her mother was also just about to go for a short visit to a friend who lived only a few stations beyond, on the same railroad. “So we can start together,” said Betty, gleefully, “and then I can get off at Pleasant Hill, and you can go on to Mapleton.” “You’re sure they’ll meet you at the station?” said Mrs. McGuire. “Oh, yes, indeed. Lena wrote that they would meet me in their new motor-car. I shall take only a suitcase,—that will hold enough clothes for such a short stay,—then I won’t have to bother with a trunk.” So Betty packed a pretty organdie afternoon dress, a dainty chiffon evening frock, and her night things, and the two travelers started on an early morning train. The Careys were in their summer home at Pleasant Hill, and, after spending the night there, Betty was to go on next day and join her mother at Mapleton.