The Outdoor Girls of Deepdale | Page 5

to me!" commanded Grace.
"It is real," went on Betty, who had not spoken since picking up the money. "There's no doubt of that."
"If findings were keepings you'd be well off," said Mollie. "How lucky you are!" and sighed.
"Of course I can't keep it," decided Betty. "But I wonder who could have dropped it?" and she looked up at the railroad bridge over their heads, as if she might see some one standing there waiting for the return of the bill.
"What is that paper pinned to it?" asked Grace, as she took hold of it while Betty held the bank note by the two ends.
"That's so--I forgot to look at that," said the finder. She turned it over. There was some writing on it. It said:
"_ This is my last five hundred dollar bill--all that is left of my fortune. This is to remind me that if I don't make good use of this I don't deserve any more luck. It is make or break with me now! Which will it be?_"
The girls were silent for a moment or two after reading this strange message that had come to them in such a queer manner. Then Betty said:
"Girls, what do you make of it?"
"It's a joke!" declared Grace.
"It sounds far from being a joke," spoke Betty, seriously. "Girls, there may be a grim tragedy here."
"How romantic!" sighed Mollie. "What shall we do with the money?"
"We must take it home and consult our folks about it," decided Betty. "I'll ask papa--and you might refer the question to yours, Amy. Being a broker, he's quite likely to know about such things, and can tell us what to do. This is quite a lot of money to lose, I wonder how we can find the owner?"
"Advertise?"
"Maybe there'll be a notice in the post office."
"It can't have been here very long. Perhaps we'll meet whoever it belongs to, coming back to look for it," spoke Grace.
Thus came some opinions, and while various others were rapidly formed and expressed, and as the girls are speculating on how the bill, and the attached paper, came to lie so openly on the highway, I hope I may be permitted to insert here a little descriptive matter that will, perhaps, give the reader a clearer understanding of the characters of this story.
And as Betty Nelson had, by right of more than one informal conquest, reached the position of leader, I can do no better than begin with her.
Betty was about sixteen years old. She was not exactly what one would call "pretty"--that is, at first glance. More likely she would have been spoken of as "good-looking." At least by the boys. And certainly Betty was good to look upon. Her face showed her character. There was a calm thoughtfulness about it that suggested strength of mind, and yet it was not the type of face called "strong." It was purely girlish, and it reflected her bright and vivacious manner perfectly. How her features lighted up when she spoke--or listened--her friends well knew. Her eyes seemed always to be dancing with fun, yet they could look calmly at trouble, too.
And when Betty Nelson looked at trouble that same trouble seemed to melt away--to flee as though it had no right to exist. And this not only as regarded her own troubles, but those of her friends as well. Intensely practical was Betty, yet there was a shade of romance in her character that few suspected. Perhaps the other girls had so often taken their little troubles to Betty, listening to her advice and sympathy, that they forgot she might have some of her own. But, under it all, Betty had a romantic nature, that needed but a certain influence to bring it out.
Full of life and vigor she was always ready to assume the leadership in whatever of fun or work was at hand. Perhaps that is why she was often called "The Little Captain," and certainly she deserved the name. Her father, Charles Nelson, was a wealthy carpet manufacturer, his factory being just outside of Deepdale, and her mother, Rose, was one of the society leaders of the town, though there was no elaborate social system.
A regular "Gibson girl," was Grace Ford, not only in form but in face. There was that well-rounded chin, and the neck on which was poised a head with a wonderful wealth of light hair. The other girls rather envied Grace her hair--especially Mollie, who was a decided brunette. And, as I have said, Grace dressed to advantage. There had been a time when she bemoaned the fact that she was tall--"regular bean-pole" her brother had taunted her with being--and Grace--well, she had slapped him. But this was some years ago. But now, with the newer styles that seem to forbid the existence of