"But it's made me feel better," said Mollie, a minute later, as though the discovery surprised her. "It's made me feel lots better," she added. "I wonder if we couldn't all try it," suggested Amy. "Yes, how do you get that way," added Grace, with interest. "I'm willing to try anything once." "It--it isn't pleasant while it lasts," said Mollie, adding with a suggestion of a smile: "And I doubt if I could give you the recipe." "I wonder," Amy suggested shyly after a little while, "if perhaps a little music wouldn't help out. Won't you play for us, Betty?" "Oh, Betty, please!" Grace took up the suggestion eagerly. "It would take our minds off ourselves." "Yes, do, Betty. You know you never refuse," urged Mollie, jumping up and escorting the Little Captain to the piano. Betty obediently sat down to the piano, but her fingers wandered over the keys uncertainly. She did not want to play. Music, good music, always roused in her a feeling of exquisite sadness, a pain that was akin to joy, and in her present mood she was afraid to play. But the girls had asked her to, and if it would make them feel any better-- She struck a chord of exquisite harmony, and every fibre in her seemed yearningly to respond. She had meant to play something bright and cheerful, but almost against her will her fingers wandered into Grieg's "To Spring." The elusive, plaintive melody floated throbbingly out into the room, while the girls sat motionless, fascinated. They had never heard Betty play just this way before, and instinctively they knew that she was showing them her heart. She played it through to the last whispering note, then dropped her head upon her arms and sobbed as though her heart would break. "You shouldn't have asked me," she said, when they tried to comfort her. "I knew I couldn't play without making a f-fool of myself. It was the one--Allen loved best--" the last words so low that they had to bend close to hear them. "Poor little Betty!" cried Mollie, stroking her hair gently. "It was selfish of us to ask you, but you did play it wonderfully," she added with a sudden little burst of enthusiasm. "You had us all hypnotized." "And then I had to go and spoil everything by making a baby of myself," Betty lamented. "Goodness, I've cried more in the last week than in all the rest of my life before." "Well, you have had plenty of company," said Grace dryly. "Though what comfort that is, I never could see." Betty sat up, dabbed a last tear from her eyes, and looked about her with a weak little attempt at a smile. "Well," she said, "now that Mollie and I have entertained the company, I wonder who's next?" "I'll recite that little ditty entitled, 'The Face On the Barroom Floor'," Amy volunteered. "Some kind person wished it upon me when I was too young to object." "Don't you dare," said Grace, alarmed. "If you do I'm going out, rain or no rain--" "And get drowned." "Well, there are worse things."