In the excitement of helping their wounded visitor to bed, Barbara forgot all about Mollie’s wonderful gown, and the questions she intended asking her.  Bab and Ruth undressed Marjorie Moore, and stayed with her until the doctor and a nurse arrived.  Then Bab went quickly to her own room and undressed by a dim light, so as not to disturb her sister.  Mollie’s face was turned toward the wall and she seemed to be fast asleep.  There was no sign of the blue gown about to reawaken Bab’s curiosity.  Barbara was too weary from the many impressions of the evening and the fright that succeeded them, and hurriedly undressing she crept quietly to bed and was soon fast asleep.

CHAPTER X

THE CONFESSION

It was almost dawn when Barbara began to dream that she heard low, suppressed sobs.  No; she must be wrong, she was not dreaming.  The sounds were too real.  The sobs were close beside her, and Bab felt Mollie’s shoulders heaving in an effort to hold them back.

“Why, little sister,” cried Bab in a frightened tone, putting out her hand and taking hold of Mollie, “what is the matter with you!  Are you ill?”

“No,” sobbed Mollie.  “There is nothing the matter.  Please go to sleep again, Bab, dear.  I did not mean to wake you up.”

“You would not cry, Mollie, if there was nothing the matter.  Tell me at once what troubles you,” pleaded Barbara, who was now wide awake.  “If you are not ill, then something pretty serious is worrying you and you must tell me what it is.”

Mollie only buried her head in her pillow and sobbed harder than ever.

“Tell me,” Bab commanded.

“It’s the blue gown!” whispered Mollie under her breath.

“The gown?” queried Barbara, suddenly recalling Mollie’s wonderful costume at the President’s reception.  “Oh, yes.  I have not had an opportunity to ask you where you got such a beautiful frock and how you happened not to tell me about it.”

“I was ashamed,” Mollie sobbed.

Barbara did not understand what Mollie meant, but she knew her sister would tell her everything now.

“I bought the frock,” Mollie confessed after a moment’s hesitation.  “That is I did not exactly buy it, for I did not have the money to pay for it.  But Harriet was to pay for it and I was to give her back the money when I could.”

“How much did the gown cost, Mollie?” Bab inquired quietly, although her heart felt as heavy as lead.

“It cost fifty dollars!” Mollie returned in a tired, frightened voice.

“Oh, Mollie!” Bab exclaimed just at first.  Then she repented.  “Never mind, Molliekins; it can’t be helped now.  The dress is a beauty, and I suppose Harriet won’t mind how long we take to pay her back.  We must just save up and do some kind of work when we go home.  I can coach some of the girls at school.  So please don’t cry your pretty eyes out.  There is an old story about not crying over spilt milk, kitten.  Go to sleep.  Perhaps some one will have left us a fortune by morning.”