"It's the signal--our signal!" cried Marcia. "Now what shall we do?--show that we've seen it by waving something? Here's my red silk scarf." "No," decided Janet. "Perhaps she'd rather not have us do anything that might attract attention. Let's go right down to the street, as we said we would, and see if she's there." They lost not a moment's time in reaching their front steps. But there was no sign of Cecily till they had come abreast of the Benedict gate. This they discovered ajar, and two blue eyes peeping out of a narrow crack. As they came in sight, there was a smothered exclamation, "Oh! I'm so glad!" The gate opened wider, and Cecily stood before them. "You are _so_ good!" she began at once, in a low voice, stretching out both hands to them. "I was afraid you--you wouldn't come. I left the signal there almost all day yesterday--" "We were away!" cried Marcia, promptly. "I'm _so_ sorry. We went--" "Oh, then--oh, it's all right!" breathed Cecily, in relief. "I was sure you were angry at--at the way--I acted." It was on the tip of Marcia's tongue to demand why she _had_ acted so, but she refrained. And Cecily hurried on: "I--I just had to signal for you. I--we are in great trouble--and I don't know what to do." "Oh, what _is_ it?" cried both girls together. "Miss--Miss Benedict is very ill," she continued hesitatingly. "She--she fell and hurt her ankle the other day, and--it's been getting worse ever since. She's in bed--suffering great pain both yesterday and to-day. It's terribly swelled--" "But why doesn't she send for a doctor?" interrupted Janet, hastily. "She _ought_ to have one if it's as bad as that." "I asked her that, too, yesterday, and she only said: 'No, no! I cannot, must not have a doctor, child!' And when I asked what I could do for her, she answered, 'I don't know, I'm sure!' So there she lies--just suffering. And--and I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I signaled to you. You are my only friends--in all this city!" There was something infinitely pathetic about the way she brought out this last statement. It touched the hearts of both her listeners, and because of it they inwardly forgave her, once and for all, for any action of hers that had offended them. And they had the good sense not to comment on the strangeness of Miss Benedict's behavior. "Well, if she won't have a doctor, we must think what else there is to be done," began Janet, practically. "I wish you'd let me bring Aunt Minerva in to see her," said Marcia. "She hurt her ankle just like that, two years ago, and she'd know exactly what--" "Oh, no, no!" cried Cecily, starting forward. "Miss Benedict would not want that--does not want to see any one. Please--_please_ do not even _mention_ to your aunt anything about her--or me! Miss Benedict would not wish it."