Long before the invalid was able to sit up, the girls had been admitted one by one and at different times, to take a look at her. Bettie had smiled at them. She had even made a feeble little joke about being able to count every one of her two hundred bones. After a time, Bettie could sit up in bed. A few days later, rolled in a gaily flowered quilt presented by the women of the parish; she occupied a big, pillowed chair near the window; and all four of the girls were able to throw kisses to her from Jean's porch. And now she could eat a few spoonfuls of Mrs. Crane's savory broth, a very little of Marjory's orange jelly and one or two of Mr. Black's imported grapes. But, for a long, long time, Bettie progressed no further than the chair. "I don't know what ails that child," confessed puzzled Dr. Bennett. "She's like a piece of elastic with all the stretch gone from the rubber. She seems to lack something; not exactly vitality--animation, perhaps, or ambition. Yes, she certainly lacks ambition. She ought to be outdoors by now." "Hurry and get well," urged Jean, who had been instructed to try to rouse her too-slowly-improving friend. "The weather's warmer every day and it won't be long before we can open Dandelion Cottage. And we've sworn a tremendous vow not to show Henrietta--she's crazy to see it--a single inch of that house until you're able to trot over with us. Here's the key. You're to keep it until you're ready to unlock that door yourself." "Drop it into that vase," directed Bettie. "It seems a hundred miles to that cottage, and I'll never have legs enough to walk so far." "Two are enough," encouraged Jean. "Both of mine," mourned Bettie, displaying a wrinkled stocking, "wouldn't make a whole one." "Mrs. Slater wants to take you to drive every day, just as soon as you are able to wear clothes. She told me to tell you." "It seems a fearfully long way to the stepping stone," sighed Bettie. "Go home, please. It's makes me tired to _think_ of driving." "There's certainly something amiss with Bettie," said Dr. Bennett, when told of this interview. "Some little spring in her seems broken. We must find it and mend it or we won't have any Bettie." CHAPTER XXX An April Harvest