“If they are all as easy as this,” thought Betty, “I can surely take one of the prizes,” and she waited eagerly for the next word.  In the first act ’Tildy Gibbs came out with an envelope in her hands, and all of a sudden Betty’s heart gave a guilty thump as she thought of the letter she and Eugenia had left lying on the hall table.  They had forgotten their promise.

“But it is Eugenia’s fault every bit as much as it is mine,” she thought, looking across the semicircle, where Eugenia sat serenely unconscious of forgotten promises.  “She’s just as much to blame as I am.  Oh, well, I’ll mail it first thing in the morning.”

But her conscience kept troubling her.  “Your godmother asked if she could trust you, and she said it was important.  You know you promised.  There’s time yet to slip away and post that letter before the mail train goes by.”

But Betty would not listen to her conscience.  She resolutely turned her attention to the charades, until all at once she seemed to hear Miss Allison’s voice saying, “I like this little hand.  It will keep a promise to the utmost.”  Then Keith’s conversation of the night before came back to her about his motto and his badge.  But more than all, the thought of being worthy of her godmother’s trust in her impelled her to keep her promise.

It was a hard struggle that went on in the little girl’s mind just then.  From the puzzled glances around her she was sure that she was the only one who had guessed all the charades correctly; therefore she stood the best chance of winning the first prize, and she wanted it—­oh, how she wanted it!—­for Mrs. Sherman had said that it was a book.  And yet—­her sacred promise!  If she kept it, she would lose her only chance.  It was twilight in the woods, and it would be dark before she could get back to the picnic-grounds.  It wouldn’t be right to ask any one else to go with her, and miss the chance of winning the prize, too.  Still, there was that promise, and it must be kept—­to the utmost.  All these thoughts went on, swaying her first to one decision and then another.

She half rose from the rug where she was sitting, then dropped down again.  It seemed hardly fair that Eugenia should not share the responsibility, yet she knew her too well to ask her to go back to the house with her.  Several times she started up and then sank back before she could make up her mind.  Finally she walked over to a fence corner on the other side of the bonfire, where the water-bucket stood.  The ponies were hitched below in the ravine.  So intently was the group above watching the charades, that no one saw her when she scrambled down the steep path leading into the ravine, and began untying Lad.  Climbing into the saddle, she gave one regretful look at the party she was leaving behind her, and resolutely turned his head toward home.

It was lighter out in the open, when they had left the shelter of the woods, and she guided the pony down the hill, across the pasture, and through the gate, glad that she did not have to go all the way in darkness.  Lad, knowing that he was going home, dashed down the road, choosing his own direction when the lonely highway branched.  He knew the way better than his little rider.