"I think," said Betty, flushing, yet meeting his eager eyes steadily, "you're the dearest and most wonderful person I ever knew." "Betty," he cried hoarsely and would have leaped from the bed had she not forcibly restrained him. "Oh, Betty, Betty," he murmured over and over again. "Did you mean that--did you?" "I--I'm not the only one," said Betty, startled at what she had done. "Everybody is talking about you and praising you to the skies, and there was even a piece about you in the paper. I--I'm afraid when you are able to get out and hear how everybody is raving about you, you'll be spoiled entirely." "Betty," he commanded, in so very different a tone from any he had ever used before that she started and looked at him shyly, "what are you running on about such nonsense for? If I did anything, it was for you and because I loved you, Betty. There wasn't any heroism. I don't deserve any fuss about it and I don't want any thanks. I don't deserve any. You weren't hurt, Betty?" "No," she answered softly, not daring to look at him. This was such a different Allen and so wonderfully attractive. "Mollie and I were both a little sick from the smoke and shock, but it didn't take us long to recover. You were the one who was so terribly burned that for one horrible long day, the doctors didn't know whether you'd pull through or not. Oh, Allen, that awful day!" "Were you worried?" queried Allen gently. "I--I never want to live through another one like it," she said with a little shiver, then suddenly rose to go. "The doctor said you mustn't be excited," she explained as he looked up at her reproachfully. "And I," she looked away again, "I just wanted to--thank you, Allen--but if you won't let me----" "Betty," he broke in, an eager light of daring in his eyes, "I know it's sort of taking advantage--but--there's just one way you can--thank me. Won't you--please----" Slowly his meaning dawned upon Betty, and the color flamed into her face. Then, light as thistledown, her lips brushed his cheek and she was gone, closing the door softly behind her. With wildly beating heart Allen pressed a hand to his cheek and gazed longingly after her. "Betty," he whispered. "Oh, my Betty!" CHAPTER XXI ALLEN A HERO "Gee, Allen, but you're a lucky boy!" It was Sunday afternoon, and the young folks had hired two automobiles for a trip out into the country. It was more than two weeks since the fire, and all but Allen had completely recovered from it. He, however, still felt a little "wabbly," so the boys and girls had conferred together, deciding that an automobile trip was just what he needed to complete his recovery. Now at Roy's rather vague remark about his luck, he turned to him inquiringly. "In just what way?" he asked. "I rather thought I was running out of it lately."