“Please, please, girls!” she said, smiling as only Betty knew how to smile.  “What is the use of quarreling about miracles?  The most wonderful thing in all the world has happened, and what do we care how it happened?  Just think of it!” she added, leaning forward eagerly.  “Only this morning we were feeling discouraged and down-hearted because Mrs. Sanderson was going away to-morrow and we couldn’t think of a thing to do to help her.  Then all in one day, in an hour, really, we capture the motorcyclist and find her son for her.  It’s no wonder I can’t seem to make myself believe I haven’t dreamed it all,” she finished, with such a look of utter happiness on her face that Mollie slipped an arm about her and hugged her fondly.

“You know, Betty,” she said solemnly, “I’m almost beginning to have a superstitious belief in you.”

“Goodness!  Why?” cried Betty, while the other two looked at Mollie wonderingly.  “What have I done now that you should say such things and treat me thus?”

“Why, I was just thinking,” Mollie replied with rare earnestness, “that, as usual, if it hadn’t been for you we probably wouldn’t have arrested the gambler—­or rather, given Sergeant Mullins a chance to—­and so wouldn’t have brought him here to find out he belonged to our little old lady.”

“But I don’t see how—­” Betty was beginning in real bewilderment when Mollie interrupted her impatiently.

“I don’t suppose you do,” she said, with fond severity.  “You never do give yourself credit for anything, anyway, Betty Nelson.  But who was it, I’d like to know, that first had courage to go up and speak to that criminal?”

“Oh, that!” said Betty, sinking back relievedly.  “Anybody could have done that.”

“Perhaps anybody could,” retorted Mollie practically.  “But you notice nobody else did, don’t you, Betty Nelson?”

“Well, I know, but that didn’t have anything to do with capturing him,” argued Betty, determined not to take any more than her share of the credit—­and not that, if she could help it.  “If Sergeant Mullins hadn’t happened along just at that moment, he’d have gotten away from us the way he did those other times.”

“Yes, but who delayed him, I’d like to know,” Mollie flung back triumphantly, “and gave the Sergeant time to come along and finish up the work?”

“All right,” laughed Betty.  “I’ll admit that much, since you insist.  But what earthly difference does it make, anyway, as long as it’s done?” she cried.  “Just think,” her voice trembled a little, “how happy those two must be in there!  I—­I—­oh, I can’t believe it yet.”

“Well, but that’s still troubling me,” said Grace, so apropos of nothing at all that they just stared at her.

“Goodness, don’t look at me like that,” she cried irritably, getting up and walking round the room.  “You know I always did hate mysteries.”

“We should be very much obliged,” said Mollie, with forced politeness, “if you would tell us what you’re raving about.”