“Billie only said,” interrupted Violet, coming to Billie’s rescue, “that Chet was crazy to go and would if he had half a chance.”

Ferd sank back in his chair, too dismayed to speak.

“Well, of all—­Say, old man, you’ve got to go,” and he turned to Chet pleadingly.  “What sort of a party do you think this is going to be anyway, with Billie at Three Towers Hall and you back here in North Bend?  It’s not fair.”

“Not fair,” flared Billie.  “You don’t suppose I’d go to Three Towers and leave Chet here, do you?”

“Then you’re not going either?” cried Ferd, seeing all his castles in the air coming down about his ears with a crash.

Billie shook her head unhappily.

“No, I’m not going either,” she said.

CHAPTER VI

DEBBIE DESERTS

Billy Bradley really tried to be cheerful in the days that followed, but try as she would she could not altogether keep out the vision of Three Towers Hall, the boarding school to which she had wanted to go ever since—­well, almost since she had wanted anything.

Laura and Violet would go without her.  They would have to go, even in spite of their loyal determination not to.  Their parents would have something to say about that.

And Chet was in just as bad a fix, for Boxton Military Academy had been his dream even as Three Towers Hall had been Billie’s.  Oh, if only they could all go what a wonderful time they could have!  Oh, well—­

And Mr. and Mrs. Bradley, sensing something of all this, were very unhappy and cast about desperately for some way to give their boy and girl the advantages that the others would have.  But money was very tight.  Mr. Bradley had all his cash tied up in several real estate transactions.

So for a little while the Bradleys were not a happy family—­although they tried bravely not to show it, even to each other.

Then one morning came a long, businesslike envelope, with a typewritten address, that caused a stir in the family circle.

Mrs. Bradley opened it with a puzzled frown between her brows, then uttered a startled exclamation.

“What is it, dear?” asked Mr. Bradley, while Billie and Chet crowded closer to her chair.

“Aunt Beatrice Powerson is dead,” Mrs. Bradley announced with a look more of shocked surprise than of grief.  “She died in Canada quite suddenly, and this is from her attorney asking us,” she looked across at her husband, “to be present at the reading of the will.”

“Well, well,” said Mr. Bradley slowly, “poor Beatrice Powerson dead at last.  I suppose she got as much out of life as any of us, though, in her eccentric way.”

“It was strange,” remarked Billie slowly, “that I should have been speaking of Aunt Beatrice only the other day.  Violet wanted to know if she was wealthy.”

“Was she, Dad?” asked Chet, with interest.