She left her breakfast, ran upstairs, and was back in a minute with the
newspaper parcel.

"Here she is," she cried, displaying the contents tragically.

Chet fingered one or two of the broken bits. Then he looked at her
curiously.

"Go on, 'fess up," he commanded. "Tell yours truly all about it."

This Billie did in the fewest words possible and then sat down to the
bacon and eggs that Debbie had placed temptingly on the table. And
cornbread! Debbie's cornbread was a masterpiece.

When Billie had finished Chet looked grave.

"Well," he said, fingering the pieces thoughtfully, "it does seem as if
the only square thing to do would be to replace it."

"Oh, I must, Chet--I must!" she interrupted earnestly.

"But how?" he asked. "A hundred dollars is a lot of money."

"I know," agreed Billie miserably.

"I don't think Dad will be able to make it good just now," went on Chet,
in that sober tone that made people in North Bend feel confidence in
Chetwood Bradley, young as he yet was. "I heard him say the other day
that all his capital was tied up. And then it costs so much to live--"