“Here,” went on Frank bluntly, “I want you two girls to kiss and make up.”

Ada blushed violently as she met Lucy’s questioning, wistful look.

“Are you coming down to the auto, Frank?” she asked coolly.  “Mother will be waiting.”

“Oh, come now, Ada, be a good fellow.  If you and Lucy want to put on the gloves, I’ll see fair play; but for pity’s sake drop this icy look business.  Great Scott, I’m glad I’m not a girl!”

The genuine disgust in the boy’s tone as he closed did disturb Ada a little, and then Lucy added at once, beseechingly: 

“Oh, it’s like a bad dream, Ada, to have anything the matter between us!”

“Whose fault is it?” asked Ada sharply.  “Why did you fly at me so yesterday?”

Both girls had forgotten Alma who, like a soberly dressed, big-eyed little bird, was watching the proceedings in much distress.

“You just the same as accused me of sending Alma the ‘comic,’” continued Ada.

“Oh, didn’t you send it?” cried Lucy, fairly springing at her friend in her relief.  “I don’t care what you do to me then!  I deserve anything, for I really thought you did.”

Her eloquent face and the love in her eyes broke down some determination in Ada’s proud little heart, and raised another, perhaps quite as proud, but at least with an element of nobility.  She foresaw that the dishonesty was going to be more than she could bear.

“I did send it,” she said suddenly, with her chin up.  Then, ignoring Frank and Lucy’s open-mouthed stares, she turned toward Alma.  “I sent you the ‘comic,’” she went on.  “I thought it would be fun, but it wasn’t, and I’m sorry.  I should like to have you forgive me.”

Her tone was far from humble, but it was music to Alma’s ears.  The little girl clasped her hands together.  “Oh, I do,” she replied earnestly, “and it made everybody so kind!  Please don’t feel bad about it.  I got the loveliest valentines in the evening, and Miss Joslyn came to see us, and we had a letter from my father and he has a splendid place to work and—­and everything!”

Ada breathed a little faster at the close of this breathless speech.  Alma’s eagerness to ascribe even her father’s good fortune to the sending of the ‘comic’ touched her.  In her embarrassment she took another determination.

“If you’ll excuse me, Frank,” she said turning to him, “I think I’ll take Alma home in the auto, instead of you.”

“All right,” returned the boy, his face flushed.  “You’re a brick, Ada!”

This praise from one who seldom praised gave Ada secret elation, and made her resolve to deserve it.  “Good-by, Lucy,” was all she said, but the girls’ eyes met, and Lucy knew the trouble was over.

As Ada and Alma went downstairs, Lucy ran to the hall window, and Frank followed.  “Don’t let them see us,” she said joyfully.

So, very cautiously, the two peeped and saw the handsome automobile waiting.  Mrs. Singer was sitting within and they saw Ada say something to her; then Alma, her thick coat over the gingham apron, and the large dinner-pail in her hand, climbed in, Ada after her, and away they all went.