“Oh, I know all that!” broke in Billie desperately, then added, looking up at her brother appealingly:  “Chet dear, I’ve got to find the money to replace that statue some way!  Won’t you help me?”

“You bet your life I will,” cried Chet, with a hearty boyishness that made Billie’s eyes glow.  “I’ll do everything I can, Sis.  I tell you—­” he paused as a thought struck him.

“Oh, what?” she cried, grasping his arm as he started from the room.  “Oh, Chet, tell me.”

“I’ll show you in a minute,” he promised, and was off, up the stairs, taking them three at a time, judging from the noise he made.

In what seemed to Billie no time at all he was back again, holding something in his hand that jingled.

“Here’s a dollar and fifteen cents,” he said, holding out to her all his available wealth.  “I almost forgot I had it.  You can use it to start the fund.”

“Oh, Chet!” Billie’s eyes were wet and she hugged him fondly.  “You’re the very darlingest brother I ever had!”

“And the only one—­” Chet was beginning, when Billie interrupted him by breaking away and putting a finger to her forehead.

“Let me think—­”

“Impossible,” he cried in a deep voice.

“Chet,” she said, speaking quickly, “I have seventy-five cents myself, and that with your dollar—­”

“Dollar fifteen,” Chet corrected gravely.

“Will make quite a respectable start to our fund.”  And she was off up the stairs in her turn, making almost as much noise as Chet had done.

In a moment she was back again with the precious seventy-five cents and a small tin box.

“Here’s the bank,” she cried gayly.  “It will be real fun filling it up.”

“Yes, but where are we going to get the money to fill it up with?” Chet reminded her and her bright face fell again.

“Oh, we’ll find a way,” she said with a confidence she was far from feeling.  “Maybe Dad will help a little.”

“Have you told him about it?” asked Chet.

“No.  But I will to-night,” she said, with a little sinking feeling.  “I hate to tell him, awfully, but I suppose I’ll have to.”

“Well, don’t worry anyway,” said Chet, patting her shoulder reassuringly.  “You know Dad says worry is a waste of time, because everything will all be the same a hundred years from now.”

But Billie’s shake of the head was very doubtful.

“I don’t see how that helps me any—­now,” she said.

CHAPTER IV

THE LAST HOPE

That afternoon Billie took herself and a book out on the porch and tried hard, but unsuccessfully, to forget her troubles.  The more she tried to fix her attention on the printed page before her, the more the broken statue rose before her eyes until at last she closed the book with a slam and bounced impatiently in her seat.