It was characteristic of Betty’s rushing life, a life she loved, by the way, that she should be whisked from Lucia’s woes and the glimpse of life at the Murchison home to the problems of Doris, in her own well ordered home, and then to the pushing program of school, with the last Christmas preparations. Plenty of sleep at night, on which Betty’s parents insisted as a rule, gave Betty energy for every day’s full program.

There is no time so full of joyous anticipations, merriment and human kindness as that just before Christmas. Temporarily Betty was in charge of a Sunday school class of children, little girls whose teacher was ill. These she was teaching Luke’s beautiful Christmas story and to sing out sweetly “It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old,” for they were to sing that in their Christmas celebration. Betty herself was to be an angel in the Christmas pageant at the church and had finally a minor part in the Christmas play at the high school.

“Oh, yes, Carolyn,” said she one morning at school, “having nothing to do, I thought I’d take on a few more things to practice for! But how can you refuse when it’s all so lovely?”

There were pleasing mysteries at home, packages whisked out of the way and a pretense of not knowing what was perfectly obvious. Of course, teachers had to give a few last tests to make life more complicated, but when Dick and Doris crossly complained of one Mrs. Lee called their attention to the fact that after all the main thing required of teachers was to have their pupils accomplish the required work within certain time limits.

“Oh, I suppose they have to,” Doris acknowledged, “but who feels like studying now?”

And Betty, who always felt that she was expected to be an example, fully sympathized with both Dick and Doris, though her only response was a laugh and a few giddy gym steps performed in the dining room just before she left it to rush to school.

There was generous giving toward the Christmas baskets in Christmas week. The teachers’ room, to which contributions this time were brought, had a corner full to overflowing with packages and cans. The Lyon “Y” basket for the adopted family would have to be a bushel basket this time and more than a Christmas dinner would be provided. The display itself was a good reminder and advertisement of kind things afoot. “Oh, yes; I almost forgot that I was to bring a little sack of flour,” one girl said; and a boy, who, naturally, did not belong to the Lyon “Y” put his hand in his pocket to draw out a quarter and say, “Here, Betty Lee; aren’t you president of that crowd?” as he waved his hand toward the heap of supplies. “Get some candy for the kids. Got a quarter, Tom?” And thus Betty added two quarters to the little fund of money. But she did not know that the boy who gave the first quarter had only ten cents left for his lunch. But ten cents would buy something and the feeling of having done something for some one else is a warming one.

This time Chet Dorrance, Chauncey Allen, Kathryn Allen and Betty Lee were the only ones who were on hand to deliver the Christmas basket. “How’ll we ever get everything upstairs?” laughingly asked Betty, viewing the car after everything was stowed away. “There won’t be anybody to watch the car, for we’ll all have to carry something.”

“Don’t worry till we get there, Betty,” Chet advised. “You just leave all the carrying to Chauncey and me.”

“Not a bit of it!” cried Kathryn. “We want to see those little Woods kiddies. Moreover, cars do lock, Betty.”

“We know where to find them this time anyhow,” said Betty.

Again the Allen car wound round the Lyon High drives out upon the wide thoroughfare, making its way down town and out to the district whose buildings and surroundings made it very clear that poverty marked its inhabitants.

The hall which the young people reached after climbing the two flights of rickety stairs gave some evidence of having been cleaned and there was a rush to the door by young feet, they could hear, after the knock which Kathryn gave.

The door was flung open and grins of pleasure welcomed the high school representatives. “We saw you come and Mother said we could open the door,” said the eldest, her eyes big at the array of what had been brought. “Oh, Mother, come! There’s a bushel basket and lots of things!”

“Merry Christmas,” said Betty, smiling at everybody, as she looked past the children at Mrs. Woods, who again appeared with a sleepy baby that she placed upon the bed. The room, in expectation of the guests, had been cleaned as carefully as possible and Mrs. Woods looked as if there was some hope in living now. She was being helped over the hard place.

“No, thanks, we can’t stay,” continued Betty, at the invitation to come in. “We have to get back.” With this she handed Mrs. Woods the small basket she carried and Kathryn put into the hands of the older girl a package she was holding. Chet and Chauncey lugged in the bushel basket. “Don’t let the children see what’s in the little basket till Christmas morning, Mrs. Woods,” said Betty with an air of mystery; and one of the children jumped up and down at that happy suggestion.

Tears came into Mrs. Woods’ eyes. “May God bless you all,” said she. “And there is a chance that he may get work the first of the year, steady work, I mean. He’s out in one of the suburbs now, putting coal in for a man.”

“Oh, tell me, Mrs. Woods, about the Sevillas,” suddenly said Kathryn, more or less embarrassed by Mrs. Woods’ fervent thanks, to which Betty was responding with the wish that everything would “come right” for them.

“Yes,—sure enough. Why the old lady was well pleased to be remembered with a Thanksgiving gift and Rosie did not mind as much as I thought she would. You see it was too late to do anything about it and Rosie was worried about her old mother, too. I guess all they needed was something to eat.

“But all at once one morning Rosie came up to say good-bye and they were moving. Some way or other they had got a new trunk and that and some old grips were all that went out. She brought up a few things she was leaving behind. I couldn’t make out just where they were going from what Rosie said. She didn’t seem to want to tell me anything. I ran down to tell the old lady good-bye; and when Rosie was having the trunk taken out, she said that Rosie was frightened and she didn’t know where they were going, and Rosie didn’t want anybody to know. They were going to the station from here, but she thought they would stay in the city. Anyhow that was what I made out from the bit of English she has finally picked up and her signs with her poor old hands.

“I’ve inquired, though, and Rosie isn’t working or sewing for the folks she did work for and nobody knows anything. So I suppose they did leave town. Only the good Lord knows what will become of them. The only thing I can think of is that Rosie got a job in some other place, and I hope that’s it.”

“Did Rosie ever speak of a brother, or cousin, or any relative at all?” asked Betty.

“Never a word about any one. I never knew anybody as close-mouthed as Rosie. She was asked all sorts of questions by the folks around here, of course, but she never let them get well enough acquainted to keep it up. I didn’t need but a hint myself. I let folks tell what they want to. I like to keep my own business to myself if I can with all these!” Mrs. Woods nodded at the children as she spoke.

“I wish I’d seen Rosie,” thoughtfully said Betty, But it was time to say good-bye and go on to the next duty or pleasure; for this had been a very “Christmasy” day, the girls declared. There had been the last rehearsal for the Christmas play, when the performers were “actually” excused from classes if they had any the “last two bells” or periods. Tomorrow morning the play would be given in two assembly gatherings, in order that the whole school might see it. And that night would listen to the carols.

“Why did you ask about Rosie Sevilla’s relatives?” asked Kathryn of Betty, and Betty for the first time told about the name on the letter from Ramon.

“It may not mean anything and again it might,” said Betty. “Once in a while I feel worried about it. It just seems that I might have missed an opportunity. There is some mystery about Ramon and there seems to be about these people. That’s about the only connection. And they’re Spanish, of course.”

“I wouldn’t worry any, Betty,” said Chet. “You can’t fix up things for everybody.”

“No,” said Betty, “but you can help sometimes, Chet. Oh, isn’t it getting dark? I’m glad we’re out of those streets! Do you think we’ll have snow? I do want snow for Christmas!”

“We still have a little left, Betty,” laughed Kathryn, pointing to a narrow stretch of dark snow and ice that edged the streets and walks, or spread in patches over lawns.

“Oh, that!” exclaimed Betty. “I mean something soft and white and clean.”

“You’re likely to get your wish,” said Chauncey. “There’s one of those gray snow clouds now from where the wind is blowing.”

“Will we go carolling if it snows?” asked Kathryn.

“Of course we shall,” replied the president of the Lyon “Y.” “We have cars and people to drive them and chaperons and everything!”

Another duty was performed. Betty was the first one to be dropped from the Allen car, courteously assisted out by Chet, who would probably have come in a few moments or lingered at the door to talk, if it had not been so near dinner time, and if Chauncey had not privately informed him that no “visiting with best girls” was allowed this time.

And the next day was the “last day of school!”

That welcome day dawned with a few scattered flakes of snow flying in a frosty air. In happy anticipation the Lee children hurried their preparations for school, Betty carefully packing her costume for the play in a light suitcase, which Dick generously offered to carry, provided they “had to take” the street car. It was not always convenient for Mr. Lee to drive his children to school.

“If this goes off as well as the Christmas pageant did at the church, I’ll be satisfied,” said Betty, her cheeks pink with the exercise and excitement about coming events, as they boarded the street car together. The car was packed with boys and girls on their way to school. Doris and Betty secured a strap each and hung on while they nodded to this one or that one whom they knew. “Remind me to tell you a ‘trade last,’ Betty, when we get off the car,” said Mary Emma, who happened to be sitting by Betty’s strap.

“I’ll not forget to do that,” said Betty, breezily. “Who said it?”

“Guess.”

But Betty would not guess, and there was too much noise for conversation; for when large numbers of pupils are together, if manners are remembered at all, older passengers are usually thankful. But these high school pupils, if a bit noisy at times, were an interesting and attractive group that needed only occasional reminders from motorman or conductor when too full of spirits.

Arm in arm with Mary Emma, and carrying her suitcase in her free hand, Betty traversed the walk to the high school building. “It was Budd, Betty,” said Mary Emma. “He said that you would have made the best angel in the play—your hair and eyes and everything—and that it was too bad you hadn’t been in the dramatic club longer and that they had to let a senior girl have the part anyway.”

“Why, wasn’t that nice of old Budd!” cried Betty, pleased. “And the angel has to say things, so it couldn’t be just looks, Budd meant.”

“Suppose it was—wouldn’t that be nice enough?”

“No, Mary Emma. Looks are something you’re born with and can’t help and they’re no credit. See?”

“H’m. You’re a funny girl! So are people born either with brains or without ’em. I don’t agree with you. And I’d rather have looks than brains.”

“Much you would. But as you’re pretty well supplied with both you needn’t worry.”

“I thank you,” said Mary Emma with mock formality, as they separated inside of the door, Mary Emma to seek her locker and home room, Betty to report first with her costume, before she also would join the other junior girls of her home room.

So old Budd thought she would have made a good angel. That was nice. Budd had been at the pageant at the church. He had a part in the play to be given this morning. And as Betty happened to meet him in the hall on her way to her home room, she gave him such a welcoming smile, without realizing it in the least, that Budd was pleasantly surprised. He believed he’d get ahead of old Chet and ask Betty way ahead for something or other in the party line. Say, why couldn’t he take her to that big moving picture that was coming in vacation? It was a proper one that the Lees would let Betty see. They were almost silly about Betty; but perhaps that was what made her sort of different—and independent! Gee-whilikers—but Betty was independent!