Project Gutenberg's Dorothy Dale's Great Secret, by Margaret Penrose This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Dorothy Dale's Great Secret Author: Margaret Penrose Release Date: December 5, 2012 [EBook #41558] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DOROTHY DALE'S GREAT SECRET *** Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET BY MARGARET PENROSE AUTHOR OF “DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY,” “DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL,” ETC. ILLUSTRATED NEW YORK CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES By Margaret Penrose CHAPTER I. An Automobile Ride II. Tavia Has Plans III. A Cup of Tea IV. The Apparition V. An Untimely Letter VI. On the Lawn VII. At Sunset Lake VIII. A Lively Afternoon IX. Dorothy and Tavia X. Leaving Glenwood XI. A Jolly Home-Coming XII. Dorothy is Worried XIII. Little Urania XIV. The Runaway XV. A Spell of the "Glumps" XVI. Dorothy in Buffalo XVII. At the Play XVIII. Behind the Scenes XIX. The Clue XX. Dorothy and the Manager XXI. Adrift in a Strange City XXII. In Dire Distress XXIII. The Secret—Conclusion [1] Cloth. Illustrated. DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET (Other Volumes in preparation) CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY NEW YORK Copyright, 1909, by Cupples & Leon Company Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret CONTENTS PAGE 1 17 28 39 47 55 63 72 79 88 96 109 118 129 139 147 161 172 183 195 205 211 231 DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET CHAPTER I AN AUTOMOBILE RIDE “There is one thing perfectly delightful about boarding schools,” declared Tavia, “when the term closes we can go away, and leave it in another world. Now, at Dalton, we would have to see the old schoolhouse every time we went to Daly’s for a pound of butter, a loaf of bread—and oh, yes! I almost forgot! Mom said we could get some bologna. Whew! Don’t your mouth water, Dorothy? We always did get good bologna at Daly’s!” “Bologna!” echoed Dorothy. “As if the young ladies of Glenwood [2] [3] [4] School would disgrace their appetites with such vulgar fare!” At this she snatched up an empty cracker box, almost devouring its parifine paper, in hopes of finding a few more crumbs, although Tavia had poured the last morsels of the wafers down her own throat the night before this conversation took place. Yes, Tavia had even made a funnel of the paper and “took” the powdered biscuits as doctors administer headache remedies. “All the same,” went on Tavia, “I distinctly remember that you had a longing for the skin of my sausage, along with the end piece, which you always claimed for your own share.” “Oh, please stop!” besought Dorothy, “or I shall have to purloin my hash from the table to-night and stuff it into—” “The armlet of your new, brown kid gloves,” finished Tavia. “They’re the very color of a nice, big, red-brown bologna, and I believe the inspiration is a direct message. ‘The Evolution of a Bologna Sausage,’ modern edition, bound in full kid. Mine for the other glove. Watch all the hash within sight to-night, and we’ll ask the girls to our clam-bake.” “Dear old Dalton,” went on Dorothy with a sigh. “After all there is no place like home,” and she dropped her blond head on her arms, in the familiar pose Tavia described as “thinky.” “But home was never like this,” declared the other, following up Dorothy’s sentiment with her usual interjection of slang. At the same moment she made a dart for a tiny bottle of Dorothy’s perfume, which was almost emptied down the front of Tavia’s blue dress, before the owner of the treasure had time to interfere. “Oh, that’s mean!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Aunt Winnie sent me that by mail. It was a special kind—” “And you know my weakness for specials—real bargains! There!” and Tavia caught Dorothy up in her arms. “I’ll rub it all on your head. Tresses of sunshine, perfumed with incense!” “Please stop!” begged Dorothy. “My hair is all fixed!” “Well, it’s ‘fixest’ now. The superlative you know. I do hate your hair prim. Never knew a girl with heavenly hair who did not want to make a mattress of it. I have wonderfully enhanced the beauty of your coiffure, mam’selle, for which I ask to be permitted one kiss!” and at this the two girls became so entangled in each other’s embrace that it would have been hard to tell whom the blond head belonged to, or who might be the owner of the bronze ringlets. But Dorothy Dale was the blond, and Octavia Travers, “sported” the dark tresses. “Sported” we say advisedly, for Tavia loved sport better than she cared for her dinner, while Dorothy, an entirely different type of girl, admired the things of this world that were good and beautiful, true and reliable; but at the same time she was no prude, and so enjoyed her friend’s sports, whenever the mischief involved no serious consequences. That “Doro” as her chums called Dorothy, and Tavia could be so unlike, and yet be such friends, was a matter of surprise to all their acquaintances. But those who have read of the young ladies in the previous stories of the series, “Dorothy Dale;—A Girl of To- Day,” and “Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School,” have had sufficient introduction to these interesting characters to understand how natural it was for a lily (our friend Dorothy) to love and encourage a frolicsome wild flower (Tavia) to cling to the cultured stalk, to keep close to the saving influence of the lily’s heart—so [5] [6] [7] close that no gardener would dare to tear away that wild flower from the lily’s clasp, without running the risk of cruelly injuring the more tender plant. So it was with these two girls. No one could have destroyed their love and friendship for each other without so displacing their personalities as to make the matter one of serious consequences. Many other girls had coveted Dorothy’s love; some had even tried to obtain it by false stories, or greatly exaggerated accounts of Tavia’s frolics. But Dorothy loved Tavia, and believed in her, so all attempts to destroy her faith were futile. And it was this faith, when the time came, that inspired Dorothy Dale to keep the Great Secret. Glenwood School was situated amid the mountains of New England, and the two girls had completed one term there. On the afternoon when this story opens they were lounging in their own particular room, nineteen by number, waiting for the recreation bell to send its muffled chimes down the corridor. They were waiting with unusual impatience, for the “hour of freedom” to come, for they expected visitors in an automobile. “Like as not,” Tavia broke in suddenly, without offering a single excuse for the surprising interjection, “the Fire Bird will break down, and we won’t get our ride after all.” “Cheerful speculation,” interposed Dorothy, “but not exactly probable. The Fire Bird is an auto that never breaks down.” “What, never?” persisted Tavia, laughing. “No, never,” declared Dorothy. “Of course all automobiles are subject to turns, but to really break down—Aunt Winnie would never allow her boys to run a machine not entirely reliable.” “O-o-o-oh!” drawled Tavia, in mock surprise. Then the girls settled down to wait. The Fire Bird, was a touring car in which the girls had enjoyed some noted rides about their home town of Dalton. Dorothy’s aunt, Mrs. Winthrop White, of North Birchland, owned the car, and her two sons, Edward and Nathaniel (or Ned and Nat, to give them the titles they always went by) good looking young fellows, were usually in charge of it when their favorite cousin Dorothy, and her friend Tavia, were the other passengers. It may as well be stated at this time that Nat and Tavia were excellent friends, and even on a ride that had been termed notorious (on account of the strange experiences that befell the party while making a tour), Tavia and Nat had managed to have a good time, and made the best of their strange adventures. It was not surprising then that on this afternoon, while Dorothy and Tavia waited for another ride in the Fire Bird, their brains should be busy with speculative thoughts. Tavia was sure Nat would think she had grown to be a real young lady, and Dorothy was so anxious to see both her cousins, that she fell to thinking they might have outgrown the jolly, big-boy relationship, and would come to her stiff and stylish young men. The peal of the recreation bell in the outer hall suddenly aroused the girls, and, at the same moment the “honk-honk” of the Fire Bird’s horn announced the arrival of the long expected boys. “There they are!” exclaimed Tavia, quite unnecessarily, for Dorothy was already making her pearl-tinted veil secure over her [8] [9] yellow head; and while Tavia was wasting her time, looking out of the window at the auto, which was surrounded by boys and girls who stood on the path, plainly admiring the two cousins and the stylish car, Dorothy was quite ready for the ride. “Do come, Tavia!” she called. “The afternoon is short enough!” “Com—ing!” shouted her irrepressible companion in high glee, making a lunge for her own veil, and tossing it over her head as she dashed down the corridor. Dorothy stopped at the office on her way out to tell the principal, Mrs. Pangborn, that the expected visitors had arrived, and that she and Tavia were starting for the ride, permission to go having been granted in advance. Outside, just beyond the arch in the broad driveway, the Fire Bird panted and puffed, as if anxious to take flight again. Ned was at the steering wheel and as for Nat, he was helping Tavia into the machine “with both hands” some jealous onlookers declared afterward. However Dorothy’s friend Rose-Mary Markin (known to her chums as Cologne because of her euphonious first names) insisted differently in the argument that followed the puffing away of the car. It was no small wonder that the coming of the Fire Bird should excite such comment among the girls at Glenwood school. An automobile ride was no common happening there, for while many of the parents of the young ladies owned such machines, Glenwood was far away from home and so were the autos. Edna Black, called Ned Ebony, and regarded as Tavia’s most intimate friend, insisted that Tavia looked like a little brown sparrow, as she flew off, with the streamers of her brown veil flying like wings. Molly Richards, nick-named Dick, and always “agin’ th’ government” like the foreigner in politics, declared that the girls “were not in it” with the boys, for, as she expressed it, “girls always do look like animated rag-bags in an automobile.” “Boys just put themselves on the seat and stay put,” she announced, “but girls—they seem to float above the car, and they give me the shivers!” “All the same,” interrupted Cologne, “the damsels manage to hang on.” “And Dorothy was a picture,” ventured Nita Brant, the girl given to “excessive expletive ejaculations,” according to the records of the Nick Association, the official club of the Juniors. So the Fire Bird, with its gay little party, flew over the hills of Glenwood. Dorothy was agreeably surprised to find her cousins just as good natured and just as boy-like as they had been when she had last seen them, and they, in turn, complimented her on her improved appearance. “You look younger though you talk older,” Ned assured Dorothy, with a nice regard for the feminine feeling relative to age. “And Tavia looks—looks—how?” stammered Nat, with a significant look at his elder brother. “Search me!” replied the other evasively, determined not to be trapped by Nat into any “expert opinion.” “Beyond words!” finished Nat, with a glance of unstinted admiration at his companion. [10] [11] [12] “Bad as that?” mocked Tavia. “The girls do call me ‘red head’ and ‘brick-top.’ Yes, even ‘carroty’ is thrown at me when I do anything to make Ned mad. You know that’s the girl,” she hurried to add, “the girl—Edna Black—Ned Ebony for short, you know. She’s the jolliest crowd—” “How many of her?” asked Ned, pretending to be ignorant of Tavia’s school vernacular. “Legion,” was the enthusiastic answer, which elastic comment settled the question of Edna Black, for the time being, at least. The roads through Glenwood wound up and down like thread on a spool. Scarcely did the Fire Bird find itself on the top of a hill before it went scooting down to the bottom. Then another would loom up and it had to be done all over again. This succession of steep grades, first tilting up and then down, kept Ned busy throwing the clutches in and out, taking the hills on the low gear, then slipping into full speed ahead as a little level place was reached, and again throwing off the power and drifting down while the brakes screeched and hummed as if in protest at being made to work so hard. The two girls, meanwhile, were busy speculating on what would happen if an “something” should give way, or if the powerful car should suddenly refuse to obey the various levers, handles, pedals and the maze of things of which Ned seemed to have perfect command. “This reminds me of the Switch-back Railway,” remarked Nat, as the machine suddenly lurched first up, and then down a rocky “bump.” “Y-y-y-es!” agreed Ned, shouting to be heard above the pounding of the muffler. “It’s quite like a trip on the Scenic Railway—pretty pictures and all.” “I hope it isn’t dangerous,” ventured Dorothy, who had too vivid a remembrance of the narrow escape on a previous ride, to enjoy the possibility of a second adventure. “No danger at all,” Ned hastened to assure her. “A long hill at last!” exclaimed Nat, as the big strip of brown earth uncoiled before them, like so many miles of ribbon dropped from the sky, with a knot somewhere in the clouds. “A long hill for sure. None of your dinky little two-for-a-cent kinds this time!” “Oh!” gasped Dorothy, involuntarily catching at Ned’s arm. “Be careful, Ned!” Ned took a firmer grip on the steering wheel, as he finished throwing out the gear and shutting off the power, while the spark lever sent out a shrill sound as he swung it in a segment over the rachet. The hill was not only remarkably steep, but consisted of a series of turns and twists. Down the grade the car plunged in spite of the brakes that Ned jammed on, with all his force, to prevent a runaway. He was a little pale, but calm, and with his steady hands on the wheel, clinging firmly to it in spite of the way it jerked about, as if trying to get free, he guided the Fire Bird down, the big machine swerving from right to left, but ever following where the lad directed it. As they swung around a turn in the descending road a clump of trees obstructed the view for a moment. Then the car glided beyond them, gathering speed every moment, in spite of the brakes. [13] [14] [15] “The creek!” yelled Tavia in sudden terror, pointing to where a small, but deep stream flowed under the road. “There’s the creek and the bridge is broken!” The water was spanned by a frail structure, generally out of order and in a state of uncertain repair. It needed but a glance to show that it was now in course of being mended, for there was a pile of material near it. Work, however, had been temporarily suspended. Then, there flashed into view a warning signboard announcing that the old planking of the bridge had been taken up to allow the putting down of new, and that the bridge was impassable. The four horror-stricken occupants of the car saw this at a glance. “Stop the car!” cried Tavia. “Can’t!” answered Ned hoarsely. “I’ve got the emergency brake on, but it doesn’t seem to hold.” “It’s all right,” called Nat. “I saw a wagon go over the bridge when we were on our way to the school this afternoon.” “But it crossed on some loose, narrow planks!” Tavia gasped. “I saw them put the boards there yesterday when we were out for our walk! I forgot all about them! Oh! Stop the car! We can’t cross on the planks! We’ll all be killed!” Ned leaned forward, pulling with all his strength on the brake handle, as if to force it a few more notches back and make the steel band grip tighter the whirring wheels that were screeching out a shrill protest at the friction. “I—I can’t do it!” he exclaimed almost in a whisper. The Fire Bird was dashing along the steep incline. Ned clung firmly to the steering wheel, for though there was terrible danger ahead, it was also close at hand should the auto swerve from the path. His face was white, and Nat’s forced breathing sounded loud in the ears of the terror-stricken girls. The bridge was but a few hundred feet away. The auto skidded along as if under power, though the gasolene was shut off. “There’s a plank across the entrance! Maybe that will stop us!” cried Nat. “Never in this world!” replied Ned, in despairing tones. Dorothy was sending up wordless prayers, but she did not stir from her seat, sitting bravely still, and not giving way to useless terror. Nor did Tavia, once the first shock was over, for she saw how quiet Dorothy was, and she too, sank back among the cushions, waiting for the crash she felt would soon come. “If some boards are only down!” murmured Ned. “Maybe I can steer—” The next instant the Fire Bird had crashed through the obstruction plank. It splintered it as if it were a clothes pole, and, a moment later, rumbled out upon the frail, loose planking, laid length-wise across the floorless bridge, as a path for the repair teams. “Oh! Oh!” shrieked the two girls in one breath. Nat jumped up from his seat, and, leaning forward, grasped his brother by the shoulders. Then what followed was always a mystery to the four who had an involuntary part in it. The front wheels took the narrow planks, and [16] [17] [18] clung there as Ned held the steering circle steady. There was a little bump as the rear wheels took the same small boards. There was a crashing, splintering sound and then, before any of those in the car had a chance to realize it, the Fire Bird had whizzed across the bridge and was brought to a quick stop on the other side. “Whew!” gasped Ned, as he tried to open the paralyzed hands that seemed grown fast to the steering wheel. “Look at that!” cried Nat, as he leaped from the car and pointed back toward the bridge. “We broke two planks in the very middle, and only the fast rate we clipped over them saved us from going down!” “What an escape!” cried Tavia as she jumped from her seat. “Is the car damaged?” asked Dorothy, as she too alighted to stand beside her chum. “Something happened to the radiator when we hit the rail and broke it,” said Ned, as he saw water escaping from the honey- comb reservoir. “But I guess it won’t amount to much. It isn’t leaking badly. The idea of the county having a picture bridge over a river! Why there’s a swift current here, and it’s mighty deep. Just look at that black whirlpool near the eddy. If we’d gone down there what the machine left of us would have been nicely cooled off at any rate!” The two boys were soon busy examining the car, while Dorothy and Tavia stood in the road. “Wasn’t it dreadful!” exclaimed Dorothy. “I do believe we ought not to go auto riding—something happens every time we go out.” “And to think that I knew about the bridge!” whispered Tavia. “Only yesterday I saw it and noticed how unsafe it was. Then I forgot all about it. Oh, Dorothy! If anything had happened it would have been my fault!” CHAPTER II TAVIA HAS PLANS Dorothy threw her arms about Tavia, and, for a few moments the two girls were locked in each other’s embrace. The reaction, following their lucky escape from almost certain death, had unnerved them. Nor were the two boys altogether free from a shaky feeling, as they carefully looked over the car to see if it had suffered any further damage than the leaky radiator. “Think she’ll do?” asked Nat. “Guess so,” replied his brother. “My, but that was as close a call as I have ever had.” “Me too. I guess we’d better take a breathing spell before we go on.” The boys sat down on a grassy bank, and the girls followed their example. They looked back over the bridge, and at the two broken planks that had nearly proved their undoing. Through the spaces, where the flooring was torn up, the black, swirling waters could be seen. While the auto party are resting until they have somewhat gotten over the fright caused by their narrow escape, let me tell something [19] [20] of Dorothy and her friends. As set forth in the first book of this series, “Dorothy Dale; A Girl of To-Day,” the girl was the daughter of Major Frank Dale, a veteran of the Civil War. He ran a weekly newspaper, called The Bugle in Dalton, a small town in New York state. Dorothy’s mother had died some years previous. The girl had two brothers, younger than herself, named Joe and Roger. Dorothy took part in a temperance crusade in Dalton and had much to do in unraveling the mystery of an unfortunate man given to drink. He left a small fortune to his daughter, whose whereabouts were unknown, and Dorothy succeeded in finding her. In her work the girl was much hampered by a man named Anderson, who sought to do her bodily harm, and who was at the bottom of the mystery concerning the daughter of the unfortunate man. Dorothy proved herself a brave girl, and, with the help of Tavia, who became her especial chum, did much to aid several persons in Dalton. In the second volume, “Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School” there I related how Dorothy and her father came upon better days. Major Dale fell heir to quite a sum of money, and could give up the newspaper. Dorothy was sent to Glenwood School, where Tavia accompanied her. The two girls had many exciting times there, and Dorothy was suspected of something for which she was not to blame, suffering much in consequence of her desire to shield another girl. There was much fun at the school, in spite of this, however including a queer walking match and a strange initiation. Dorothy and her father moved to North Birchland, the home of Mrs. Winthrop White, Mr. Dale’s sister. Anderson, the man who had caused Dorothy so much trouble turned up again, but was eventually sent to jail. After the holidays Dorothy and Tavia returned to school, where we find them at the opening of this story. They had become friends of nearly all the students, though, as is natural, had made some enemies, as what girl does not? Now the party on the roadside prepared to start off again. “I can’t forgive myself for not remembering about the dangerous state of the bridge,” went on Tavia, when Ned and Nat had announced that the auto was fit to continue its journey. “Of course it wasn’t your fault,” said Dorothy. “Yes it was,” insisted Tavia. “You wouldn’t have forgotten it, Doro, dear!” And, to give Dorothy credit, she would not have been so thoughtless. But she was a different type of girl from Tavia. It was the way she had been brought up, as much as her own character, that caused this difference. Good breeding is not a virtue, it is a blessing: hence in considering such a gift we admire the fortunate possessor, just as we esteem the beauty of the cultured rose, and, naturally compare it favorably when placed next to some coarse untrained wild flower. So it was with our two friends, Dorothy and Tavia. Dorothy was well bred, and could always be relied upon, for the good breeding was nicely coupled with a kindness of heart that composed a charming character. Though Dorothy had no mother her aunt, [21] [22] [23] Mrs. Winthrop White almost filled that place in the girl’s heart. The White family, with whom Dorothy, her father and two brothers had gone to live, since the advent of the legacy, consisted of Mrs. White and her two sons, Nat and Ned. Mr. White had died some years ago, while engaged in a scientific expedition. Not having a daughter of her own Dorothy’s Aunt Winnie was especially fond of her pretty niece, and, as the girl could barely remember her own mother, she lavished her affection on her father’s sister. Dorothy’s affection, love and devotion to her father was of a different type from that given to any other living creature, not excepting her own darling brothers, Joe and Roger, and Roger had almost grown up in his sister’s arms, for he had been a tiny baby when his mother was called away. It was in Dalton that Dorothy had met and learned to love Tavia. The Travers family, of whom Tavia was the most interesting member, lived not far from the Dale homestead. Tavia had grown up with Dorothy, as her most intimate friend and companion, and it was Dorothy’s love for Tavia that had wrought miracles for the girl who lacked proper home training, for her parents were of that class generally designated as improvident. Tavia always ignored the saving rules of correct society, and, being naturally bright, and strangely pretty was, now that she was in her fifteenth year, in a fair way to be spoiled by those who delighted to hear her witty nonsense, and who looked upon her frolics as entertaining in an otherwise stupid old world. “Well, shall we go along now?” asked Ned, as he again took his place at the steering wheel. “Yes, but go slow,” begged Tavia. “We can go home by a different road. We have lots of time, before we have to be back to Glenwood School for tea.” “Slow it is,” replied Ned, not at all sorry that he could take it easy after the strenuous time. Dorothy had many questions to ask her cousins—all about her father’s rheumatism—whether the electric treatment was doing him as much good as the doctors had promised—how her brothers were getting on at school—how strange it seemed to have Roger at school!—and scores of other things. But she always came back to her father or the boys—to Roger—she could scarcely imagine her baby brother running home to Aunt Winnie with his book under his arm. While Ned and Dorothy were thus busy with family affairs, Nat and Tavia, seated on the rear seat, were discussing purely personal matters. Nat told of the tour he and his brother had made from North Birchland, the trip being undertaken with other members of a club, which was holding a meet not far from Glenwood School. Tavia found plenty of small interesting talk to “give and take” with Nat. “Dorothy,” she asked suddenly, “do you think we could get off all day to-morrow and take a run out to where the auto meet is being held? It would be all sorts of fun and—” “To-morrow?” echoed Dorothy. “Why you know we have our English exams. and our geometry to make up. Besides, Mrs. Pangborn would never allow us to go to a boys’ camp.” “Allow us! Just as if we were in the kindergarten! Let’s make up some excuse and go! Now, Doro, don’t look so shocked! Surely [24] [25] [26] you have the right to go out with your own cousins?” “Tavia, don’t talk such nonsense!” exclaimed Dorothy severely. “You know perfectly well we are under the school rules, and that we are in honor bound not to violate them. As if any sensible girl would risk her good standing for such an escapade!” “What’s the ‘standing’ at Glenwood compared to the ‘sitting’ in the Fire Bird?” asked Tavia flippantly. “Besides, just think of all the jolly fellows we would meet; wouldn’t we, Nat?” “There’s a great collection of wild ducks out there at the auto camp,” Nat answered rather reluctantly, for he plainly saw that Tavia’s surprising proposition had caused Dorothy serious annoyance. “Well, I’ve a mind to go myself. Will you come for me, boys? I could disappear at class hour, when all the ‘tattle-tales’ will be sure to be busy, scheming out of their work. Then I could get back in time to have my head tied up at lunch hour—head-ache all the morning, you know. Simplest thing in the world.” Even the boys scarcely smiled as Tavia unfolded a possible plan to deceive her teachers, and to dishonor her own name. Her friends were well accustomed to her pranks and prattle, and usually regarded her nonsense as mere babble. But, somehow, Tavia, was “growing up,” lately, and it seemed quite time for her to take life more seriously. “Tavia,” spoke up Dorothy finally, “you came to Glenwood upon my aunt’s recommendation, and under my—” “Wing!” broke in Tavia, throwing her arms out toward the slender form of the girl seated ahead of her in the auto. “At any rate,” finished Dorothy, “I’m perfectly sure that my cousins will never take part in any such nonsense.” “Oh, Mr. Flea, you’ve bitten me, and you must die!” sang Tavia, making a series of melo-dramatic gestures, that caused the boys to laugh and even made Dorothy smile in forgiveness. “Thus are my social ambitions nipped in the bud—extinguished in their first, faint gleaming,” went on Tavia, assuming a tone of tragedy. “Well, my fairy-godmother, Dorothy Dale Glenwood, when that day comes that I am forced to spurn the lines of the Social Swim, and you find me beyond the ropes, clinging helplessly to the tail-end of my former prestige, carried out with the great, surging tide of struggling humanity, then you will remember that I had attempted a correct debut, and it ended in a splash of Dale indignation!” Somehow Tavia’s nonsense had a ring of reality to-day. Perhaps it was the narrow escape at the bridge that had tinted her pictures with such a serious tone—she seemed preoccupied, and gave her chatter in words contradicted by her voice and manner. It was some minutes before any one spoke. All appeared to be enjoying the “valedictory,” and presently Tavia, promising to “turn over a new leaf,” made a grab for a branch of a tree the auto just then passed under, and swished the foliage she captured until every leaf showed its silvery under-side against the deep blue sky. She laughed at her joke. “Of course you know,” said Ned, as he swung the car into a cross-road that led to Glenwood, “mother expects you to come to North Birchland, with Dorothy, this summer, Tavia. We’ll try to make you comfortable—ahem! Nat has a brand new tandem, [27] [28] [29] besides white duck duds to burn—” “Nixy! To wear,” corrected his brother. “Mother says white ducks are economical for man—and beast.” “Of course you’ll come with me, Tavia,” said Dorothy, noting instantly that her chum had not responded to the kind invitation that Nat had delivered for his mother. “Perhaps,” replied Tavia, vaguely. “Are you going to spend all your time at Dalton?” continued Dorothy, much puzzled at Tavia’s manner. “Oh, no indeed,” answered Tavia, promptly this time, showing plainly, that she had other plans than those connected with her home town. “I hope you’ll come,” said Nat aside, in pardonable earnestness, for his good times, with the “little bronze beauty” of Dalton, were cherished among his very best memories. Tavia was certainly a jolly girl, and Nat liked her—why should he not—like her? “Oh, I’ll be sure to see you,” Tavia answered Nat. Sure to see him? Yes, but she little dreamed then how very glad she would be to see him—and what serious happenings were to take place before that meeting. CHAPTER III A CUP OF TEA “Dorothy,” began Tavia that evening, as the two girls sat alone in their room, enjoying their usual good-night conference, “why couldn’t you take that spin out to the auto meet. It would be no end of good fun.” “Fun!” echoed Dorothy, surprised that Tavia should again venture to propose such a thing. “Why, Tavia! Really you shock me!” Then she went to the little dresser, under pretext of looking for something, but in reality to gain time—she scarcely knew what to say to her chum, whose sudden whim was so startling. Tavia sat on the box divan, her hands in her lap, and her brown head bent over, a strange and serious attitude for the girl who was never known to sit still, even in church; and who had the reputation of being the jolliest girl at Glenwood. For some moments she appeared to be unconscious of Dorothy’s presence, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. Dorothy was now regarding her curiously. What could have turned Tavia’s head? For turned from its usually bright and happy line of thought it plainly was. “What is it, Tavia?” she asked finally, stealing up to the crouched figure, and placing her arm gently about her chum’s neck. “Why?” inquired the other, with a sudden start, as if afraid Dorothy would divine her thoughts. “You are worried about something—come tell me what it is!” “Worried!” Tavia jumped up, shaking off Dorothy’s arm. “Worried! Dorothy Dale, I believe you’re not well! You act morbid—creepy!” Dorothy turned away. She was hurt—crushed—that Tavia should [30] [31] [32] spurn her affection and refuse her confidence. “We always told each other everything,” and Dorothy almost sighed, as her words came slowly, and with strange coldness. “I never imagined you would keep any important secret from me.” “You silly!” exclaimed Tavia, throwing her arms around Dorothy this time. “Who said I had a secret? What in the world has put that wild notion into your yellow head?—bless it!” This last expression brought a kiss to the golden ringlets, and, as the two girls sat there, Dorothy with a far-away look in her eyes that were clouded with unbidden tears, Tavia with her cheek pressed lovingly against the blond head, and her own eyes looking into some unknown future, their pose was like a stage picture—the kind usually presented when one sister is about to leave a country home, and the other bids her stay. “Aren’t we a couple of jays!” broke in Tavia, as soon as she appeared to realize the melo-dramatic effect. “I declare we ought to travel as ‘The Glum Sisters—Mag and Liz.’ There! Wouldn’t we make a hit for teary ones? Weeps are in great demand they say. Smiles are being overworked in the profresh!” and she strode up to the mirror with a most self-satisfied glance at her pretty face. “Tavia, you are getting awfully big for slang—it seems more like sneering than joking,” exclaimed Dorothy. “And I’ve been wanting to say that to you—some of the other girls have noticed it. They say you act more like a chorus girl than a Glenwood pupil. Of course I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I thought it would be better for me to tell you than for you to hear it from some one else.” “Chorus girl! Thanks! No need to apologize, I assure you. That’s from silly, little Nita Brandt, I suppose? Well, better to act like a chorus girl than—a fool!” blurted out Tavia with a show of temper. “And any silly girl, who can not keep things to herself—well, I always thought Nita was a featherhead and now I know it!” “Oh, indeed it was not Nita!” Dorothy hastened to assure her. “It was at the lawn tea the other day. You were ‘acting’; don’t you remember? Doing that funny toe dance you are always trying lately.” “O-o-o-o-h!” and Tavia made a queer little pout, and a very funny face. “So they appreciated my maiden effort, eh? I am indeed flattered! Tell the girls I’m much obliged and I’ll see that they get passes for the initial performance. Tell them, also, to have the bouquets tagged—it’s so annoying to have a great stack of ‘Please accepts’ to answer, with the superscriptions ‘cut out’ so to speak. I know all the girls will send pansies—they are so sweet, and would make such wicked faces for the girls who could not conveniently present their own adorable ‘phizes’!” “What in the world are you talking about?” asked Dorothy, who had been listening to the outburst with a queer idea that all this stage business was not mere idle chatter—that there might be a reason for Tavia’s cynicism. “Talking about auto rides,” quietly answered Tavia, recovering herself with an effort. “Wasn’t that a dandy this afternoon? And to think we might have missed that ‘Horatius at the bridge’ business if I had been silly enough to mention that the planking was gone!” “Don’t talk of it!” exclaimed Dorothy, shuddering. “I cannot bear to think of what might have happened. And, Tavia, you must not think I have adopted the lecture platform for good, but I must say, [33] [34] it was careless of you not to mention about the bridge—especially as you knew what a hill led down to it, and how the Fire Bird can cover hills.” “Of course you know I entirely forgot it, Doro,” and now Tavia showed some remorse at the reprimand. “My! There’s the bell!” exclaimed Dorothy as a clang sounded down the corridor. “I had no idea it was so late,” and she jumped up to disrobe. “Quick, or Miss Higley will see our light.” “Let her,” answered Tavia indifferently. “I don’t feel very well, and would just love something warm—say a nice little cup of tea—” A tap at the door interrupted her remarks. Dorothy jumped into a large closet and Tavia calmly opened the portal. It was Miss Higley, the second assistant teacher, with rather a forbidding expression on her wrinkled face, and who, among the girls, bore a reputation characterized as “sour.” “Why is this?” she demanded, stepping in and brushing Tavia aside. “I was just thinking of calling you,” answered Tavia, clapping her hand to her waist line. “I have such a dreadful—Oh, dear!” and she sat down without further explanation. “Do you need anything?” asked Miss Higley, her tone more kindly. “Oh, no; certainly not,” sighed Tavia. “I would not trouble you. But if I might have a sip of tea—that tea you brought Dorothy did her so much good the other night.” She paused to allow a proper expression of agony to spread over her face, and gently rubbed her hand over the region covered by her belt. “I suppose you made that tea yourself, didn’t you? It was so good, Dorothy told me.” That settled it. For any one to praise Miss Higley’s brew! So few persons really do appreciate a good cup of tea. As usual Tavia had “won out.” “Why of course I’ll get you a cup. I have just made a small pot—I felt rather—rather tired myself. I don’t, as a rule, drink tea at night, but I was not altogether well. Where is Dorothy?” “Just slipping on a robe,” with a glance at the closet where her chum was concealed. “I’m afraid I disturbed her,” went on Tavia glibly. “Well, I’ll get the tea,” Miss Higley remarked, as she started to leave the room. “I’ll bring the pot here and we can take it together.” “Quick!” called Tavia to Dorothy as the door closed. “Slip on your robe. Tea with Higley! Of all the doin’s!” and she promptly turned a somersault on the hitherto unrumpled bed. “Won’t the girls howl! I do hope she brings biscuits. There, get down your box, you precious miser! Just think of ‘crackering’ Higley!” Dorothy appeared dumfounded. It had all been arranged so quickly—and there was Miss Higley back again. She carried a tray with a small china teapot and three blue cups to match. “I thought Dorothy might like a cup,” she remarked in a sort of