Chet was silent for a minute, then he said with sudden inspiration:  “There’s the watch Aunt Beatrice left me, you know.  Mother said it was very valuable.”

Billie’s face lighted for a moment, then fell again.

“But you know Uncle Bill always said that you never could get anything like the value for old gold.  And anyway,” she rose and put a loving arm about him, “I couldn’t let you do that for me, Chet, dear.  I think you’re the dearest brother in the world.”

A few hours later Laura Jordon and Violet Farrington came over, trying their best not to look curious.  They had waited as long as they could, but knowing about the death of Billie’s queer old aunt and knowing also that Billie, as her namesake, might expect some share of the fortune—­if there was one—­they had been filled with excitement, and now as they ran up the steps to Billie’s porch it was all they could do to keep from blurting out the question.

For both Laura and Violet had been perfectly certain that Billie’s Aunt Beatrice had been some sort of miser who had piled up an immense fortune simply for their chum’s benefit.

“Just think,” Violet had said in one of their excited conferences on the subject, “what a wonderful thing it will be for Billie just now when she is so worried about that miserable old statue.  And for Chet too!”

“Yes, it would mean they could both go to school and we’d all have such a good time,” Laura had chimed in.  “Goodness!” she had added with a chuckle, “I feel almost as much obliged to Aunt Beatrice as Billie will.”

But now that the great moment had come, they sat decorously in Billie’s porch swing and tried to appear not at all curious as to whether Billie had gathered in a fortune since they last had seen her or not.

And Billie, her little imp of mischief at work again, guessed the object of their visit and decided with an inward chuckle to keep them guessing.

She managed to accomplish her purpose for just about five minutes.  Then Laura, unable to stand the suspense a moment more, took the bit in her teeth and bolted.

“For goodness’ sake, Billie,” she cried desperately, “why don’t you tell us?”

“Tell you what?” asked Billie, trying to look innocent.  “Haven’t I been telling you—­”

“Yes, about the way Debbie makes potato salad,” cried Laura disgustedly.  “You know well enough why we came.”

“Why you came?” Billie repeated, looking still more surprised.  “Why, naturally, I thought you came to see me.”

“Billie Bradley, if you don’t tell us what we want to know this instant,” cried Laura, jumping to her feet and making a threatening movement toward Billie’s mischievous head, “I’ll—­I’ll—­oh, I don’t know what I’ll do.  Are you going to be good?  Are you?”

“Yes, yes,” cried Billie, pretending immense fright, while her eyes danced with mischief.  “Tell me what it is you want to know and I’ll do my best, Your Highness,” this last in such a very humble tone that Laura chuckled.