etter of the storm within
her and even managed a little smile for the benefit of the girls.

Then she wiped away the last tear, sighed, and walked over to the
window.

"The storm didn't amount to much after all," she said, after a while,
very quietly. "Perhaps," and her voice was very wistful, "it's a good
omen. We'll all hope so, anyway."

"Betty, Betty, you're so wonderful," cried Mollie adoringly. "I never
saw any one so brave. You make me ashamed of myself."

"Oh, but I'm not brave," denied Betty, turning back to them. "I'm not
the least little bit brave. I--I went all to pieces a few minutes ago.
But he isn't reported dead," she added, drawing herself up, while two
defiant spots of color burned in her face. "And until he is, I'm going
to hold on to the hope that he is coming back. Nobody can take that from
me, anyway!"

"Now, you're making me ashamed of myself," said Grace in a small voice,
while the tears glistened in her eyes. "Here I've been imagining the
very worst, while you-- Oh, Betty, forgive me, won't you, Dear?"

Betty looked at her in real surprise.

"I haven't anything to forgive," she said.

CHAPTER XXI

A NARROW ESCAPE

The next day dawned gloriously bright, and the girls chose to take it as
a good omen. Following Betty's example, they stopped moping about and
imagining the worst, and, although there was not a minute of the day
when their hearts were not aching, they managed to smile when the others
were looking and to speak hopefully of the future. Under Betty's gallant
leadership, they had set up hope in their hearts and refused to give
despair a foothold.

"What do you say to a swim?" Mollie suggested, looking out over the
sparkling white sand to the inviting water beyond. "We've only been in
swimming twice since we've been here."

"That is a terrible record for Outdoor Girls," Betty agreed. She was
bustling busily about the cheerful kitchen making a tempting blueberry
pie. There were circles under her eyes and she looked very pale for
Betty, but her voice was bright and cheery.

"Can't you stop making pies for a few minutes?" asked Mollie, turning
to look at her. "It's too nice outdoors to waste time in cooking."

"I imagine you wouldn't say that to-night," retorted Betty, fluting the
edges of her pie crust. "I notice you generally like the results of my
labor."

"Who wouldn't?" returned Mollie. "I only know of one person who can make
better pies."

"And that's yourse