“There’s room for you, too; but we must n’t lose time.”
“Lock up Frances’s bath-house; the key is in the door,” called Brenda, as they drove away, leaving to Julia the task of dressing herself and doing up Frances’s clothes into a large bundle, so that they should be ready when Mrs. Whittington’s man should come down for them.
In the course of half an hour Brenda and Arthur Weston drove back in great spirits.
“We’ve come to drive you home,” cried Brenda.
“You mean that I am going to drive you both home,” interposed young Weston. “You do not suppose I would let such heroines walk!”
“Yes, heroines, Julia!” cried Brenda, laughing. “You and I are both heroines. That’s what Mrs. Whittington called us, and she must know. Frances says that we saved her life.”
“Nonsense!” said Julia. “At least, I can speak for myself. I did n’t save her life, although I cannot tell what you may have done.”
“Well, I am sure that I did n’t save her life,” returned Brenda.
“Then it must have been I,” and Arthur Weston mockingly assumed a self-satisfied expression. “Her life is certainly saved, and if you girls repudiate the heroic deed, why, the credit must be mine!”
“All joking aside,” interrupted Julia, “I should like to know what really happened. Up to the present moment I have only the faintest idea.”
“Why, she stubbed her toe; that is, she succeeded in
