Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals

CHAPTER II AT STRATHAWAY BRIDGE

“Not leave this spot to-night!”

The exclamation came in chorus from every Glenwood girl, and there was a low, moaning sort of echo-encore from the young man with the medicine case.

What should they do? They could not swim, that was certain, so they would have to wait.

To break the monotony of this wait we will tell our readers something of the other books of this series, and thus enable them to get a keener insight into the characters we are now following, as well as making a little bow of introduction to those we are meeting for the first time.

In the first book, entitled “Dorothy Dale; A Girl of To-Day,” we find the Dale family; the Major, an ideal, dear, kindly father; the two sons, Joe and little Roger, and Dorothy, the daughter. Tavia Travers, a girl of opposite temperament to that of Dorothy’s, is a great friend of the prettiest girl in Dalton, Dorothy Dale. Tavia is fearless and fearful; Dorothy is clear-minded, well balanced and capable. In this story is related how Dorothy gets a clew to the unlawful detention of a poor little girl, and in the parlance of those who use “quick” English—Tavia for instance—Dorothy “rounds up” the culprit and takes little Nellie away from a home of misery and poverty.

Our second volume was “Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School.” Glenwood School is situated in the mountains of New England, and the pupils there come from many parts of the country, even the South being represented. “Glen School” is not an asylum for the refuge of young girls whose mothers are “too busy” to bring them up. Neither are the girls there of the type who believe that boarding school life is a lark, with original slang at each end; and an attractive centre piece about mid-way, devoted to the composition of verbal putty-blowers, constructed to “get even” with teachers; nothing of the sort. But there is time for fun, as well as for work and for adventure, and a time for girlhood walks, and talks in the shady ways of the pretty school.

This second story deals with the peculiar complications that so readily arise when girls and boys get on well together, in the wholesome sports of youth, until that other element, “Jealousy” makes its grim appearance. Then the innocent nonsense of Tavia, and the deliberate, open-hearted ventures and adventures of Dorothy, are turned about so as to become almost a tragedy at Glenwood.

In “Dorothy Dale’s Great Secret,” our third volume, there is a real secret. Not a little kindergarten whisper, but a matter which so closely affects Tavia’s career that Dorothy takes all sorts of risks to hold that secret from others, until the opportune time for explanation arrives.

“Dorothy Dale and Her Chums,” is the title of the fourth book. This is a real story—a plot that deals in mystery and adventure, of a gypsy girl in a cave, stolen goods, and so many thrilling mysteries that Dorothy was kept busy solving them.

Then “Dorothy Dale’s Queer Holidays,” shows how very queer some holidays may be, indeed, when girls and boys unite to discover the mystery of an old castle, where they eventually find and rescue an aged and demented man. But this is not accomplished without stirring adventures, not the smallest of which was the night spent in the old mansion, when the young folks had been overtaken by so heavy a snowstorm that their automobile could not make its way back to North Birchland. The two cousins of Dorothy, Nat and Ned, with other boy friends, protected the frightened girls until rescue finally came at almost daybreak.

The story of a mistaken identity is told of in the sixth volume of the series, “Dorothy Dale’s Camping Days.” To be mistaken for a demented girl, captured and held in the hot, blistering attic of a farmhouse, then taken to a sanitarium, where Dorothy is really believed to be the girl who escaped from that institution, was surely an ordeal for Dorothy. But not less is the latter part of that story, where the real sick girl is found by our friends, Dorothy and Tavia, and the joyous conclusion of her complete recovery, and the opening of a new life to this girl, so dear to her mother’s heart, and so loved by her friends, make up for all the suffering.

So Dorothy Dale has had some experience, and we hope, in the present volume, she will sustain her reputation, as that of the up-to-date girl, with will power and ambition, “tied with a little blue bow of sentiment.”

We left them at Strathaway Bridge, and night is coming, as it always does come, just when there are so many daylight things to be done.

In the excitement that followed the announcement that the bridge was down, and the train could not cross the river until morning, all the water that Tavia had inadvertently poured down Jean Faval’s neck was dried up in the heat of gulped exclamations. Even Jean left her seat and joined the conversation on ways and means that were being held in the seats on the opposite side of the car. There were so many suggestions—some wanted to bribe the porter for sleeping quarters, as the trip to Glenwood did not originally require such a luxury; Rose-Mary wanted to get permission to “run” one car for the “Glens,” and camp out in it; Tavia wanted to get up a committee on food-quest, with time-table drinking cups apiece. Dorothy thought it might be a good idea to consult the conductor and have an official statement. The gentleman (“King” they called him now) excused himself, and left the girls so forlorn, all alone there, in a heaped-up convention, that Tavia declared he was a card sharp, and that Ned would get blood poison from the bandages he had put on her wrist. Moreover, Tavia also declared that he had gone forth to “trim” the scared car people at that minute. “For,” she said, her bronze hair fairly showing electrical sparks, “any one would do anything in a case like this. No place to sleep, nothing to eat, just a bunch of loony girls, and—me,” and she wound up with coming down on Ned’s box of butter cups (the candy kind), that happened to be under the lame arm.

It was strange how much that one man had been to the Glenwood contingent. They had fairly stopped talking since his departure. A night on that train now seemed impossible. Tavia went to the last seat in the car, and dared any one to follow her until she had thought it out. This did not take long, for “out” must have been very near the surface.

“I have it!” she shouted, going back to seat seven.

“Where?” asked Dorothy.

“What?” demanded Dick.

“Havies!” begged Ned.

“Corkies!” joked Cologne.

“We may go!” announced Tavia, now standing on Jean’s pretty dress that happened to spread itself over the seat from which she decided to orate. “We may go. We may walk. It is only three miles over the cove bridge and I pity Glen to-night when jelly-round comes. We’ll lick the plates!”

“Whatever do you mean, Tavia?” asked Dorothy. “The bridge cannot be repaired to-night.”

“The bridge may sink or swim, but there won’t be one of us ‘waiting at the bridge,’” and she hummed a tune gaily.

“But what shall we do?” asked little Amy Brooks. “We can’t fly?”

“More’s the pity,” answered Tavia. “Next time I take this trip I’ll carry a box kite over the green flag. No, but this is what you can do, my dears. Take up your things—every mussed paper bag of them, and hurry with me across the meadow. The road comes out just at the Green Edge trolley line, and that line is wound around Glenwood tower! It crosses Strathaway River on a small bridge below this railroad one. Come on!”

Everyone gasped. That Tavia should have thought of this!

“But, Tavia,” objected Dorothy, “how are we to know that we can cross the meadow? It is almost dark!”

“More reason why we should hurry to find out,” answered the daring one. “Come on, or I’m gone.”

“But our tickets, and the conductor, and all that?” inquired Nita Brant, with ambiguous precision.

“We will all make over a total assignment to you—you may stay with the ship, Nita, but we run!”

It was funny to see how those girls did scamper from the last car of that train. The dainty travelling bags, gifts of “friends on departing,” were now all tangled up in the scant skirts, that did double service of being a part of wearing apparel—small part—and also answering for a carryall of the old time conception. It was the quickest way, and that was what counted. Jean Faval did drop her gold purse just as she was alighting (she did not “get off”) but Tavia was so anxious that all should escape that she crawled under the oily wheels and dragged out the golden trinket. The new girl thanked her, and, for the time, an armistice was established.

“Are we all here?” called Dorothy, who was assisting Edna because of the lame arm.

“All but King, and he is cleaning out the other cars,” replied Tavia. “There, look out, Dick! Land sakes alive! We won’t have thread and needles enough in the tower to sew our tears, if this keeps up. Dick, you have ruined your flounce on that brake.”

Molly Richards (otherwise Dick) looked hopelessly at the torn needlework skirt. “Oh, well,” she said, making the ground, “I never liked that anyway. The pattern was true-lover’s-knot, and I’m just glad I——”

“Broke the knot,” put in Dorothy. “Tavia, wherever are you leading us to? This must be a turf bog!”

“Leadin’ on to vict’ry,” replied the girl who was almost running ahead. “I have been over this bog before.”

“But not at this season, when the water comes in,” cautioned Dorothy. “However, girls, I am willing to take the same risk that you all take—sink or swim,” and she ran along after Tavia, while the others followed, like American soldiers taking their initial trip through a rice field.

Every step was uncertain—every foot was put in the bog with a shudder or groan, and pulled out with a shout.

“I can’t do it,” declared Nita Brant. “These are my best silk hose.”

“Hose,” yelled back Tavia, “we’ll take up a collection on repairs when we get to Glen.”

“And my—velvet—ties!” exclaimed Jean Faval. “They feel like wooden shoes!”

“We’ll put them up at auction,” suggested Dorothy, good humoredly. “The only thing that really worries me is Edna’s sprained arm.”

“Why didn’t you fetch the doc then?” asked Tavia, but before an answer could be ventured there was a scream, and even the happy girls of Glenwood stopped.

What had happened?

CHAPTER III THE GET-AWAY

Amy Brooks had sunk in the bog!

The weight of the soggy earth had dragged her down, until she lay helpless, clinging to some underbrush!

And how dark it was now!

“Quick! Quick!” called Dorothy. “This may be a bog hole!”

“Team play! Team play!” shouted Tavia, and instantly every girl, whether leading or following, was making for the spot from which Amy’s cries came.

The girl was imbedded in the black, wet bog as if she had been cemented there!

Even Tavia had no suggestion to offer, but stood gazing in hopeless amazement.

Dorothy was running about, trying to find a firm footing from which to reach out to the imperilled girl.

Although it was September, the late afternoons were damp and chilly, and as the girls, almost feverish from the over-excitement, ran this way and that, in hope of finding some sort of board or plank to make a way to Amy, their shouts of fright and cries for help, rent the air, and turned the scene, so lately one of merriment, into terror and danger for everyone of them.

“Oh, it’s all my fault!” wailed Tavia. “I should not have risked it so near dark.”

“It’s nobody’s fault,” replied Dorothy, “but this is the time to act. Come Tavia, we may get a fence rail. I see some old black stuff, like wood, over there,” and she did her best to hurry over the wet ground, that threatened to hold her fast at every step.

In the meantime the other girls were trying to get Amy out. Molly Richards was the oldest and strongest, and she ventured near the spring until the others called to her that she would presently be worse off than Amy. A pile of light travelling coats were tossed over to Amy and she kept herself from going deeper in the bog by making these fast to the brushwood near her.

“Here we are!” called Dorothy, and with one end of the old moss-covered fence rail on her shoulder, and the other end upon Tavia’s, the two girls made their way to the brink of the bog hole.

It took but a few minutes to get the rail over the swamp-like pit, where a spring sluggishly bubbled.

“There,” called Dorothy, “now see if it will hold you, Amy.”

But there was no need to direct Amy. Her rescue was too welcome to wait for orders. Throwing her arms firmly over the rail she dragged herself out of the mud until she was sitting on the long piece of wood.

“Be careful,” called Tavia. “Hold tight, and we will all pull the rail over to this side.”

In spite of the peril the situation was almost comical, and the girls lost no opportunity of cheering and otherwise dispelling the fast settling gloam.

“We ought to carry you to the road this way,” suggested Nita Brant, “you are so soaking wet, and horribly muddy——”

“Thank you, but I am too anxious to walk. I doubt if I shall get the use of my ankles for a month,” replied Amy. “My! but that was awful! I was saying my prayers, I tell you.”

“But what shall we do now?” inquired Ned, who, on account of her injured arm, could not help in the rail ride.

“Go directly back to the train,” said Dorothy. “Listen! That was a train whistle! Oh, if it should start——”

“A train sure enough!” declared Jean, who had held back. “That’s what we get for following—a leader.”

Her tone was full of contempt, and everyone noticed it.

“Too bad you came,” replied Tavia, who never cared for good manners, when there was a chance for sarcasm, “for that is the wrecking train, I think, and they might have taken you on the hand car. Wouldn’t it have been fun?”

The idea of that fashionably dressed girl riding on a hand car with train men!

“Now let me down,” insisted Amy. “I’m going to run after that whistle even if it proves to be a fog horn!”

“Oh, don’t—go near—the water!” shouted Tavia, and, as she spoke, a big touring automobile dashed by.

“Another life-saver lost!” declared Dorothy. “If only we could have made them see us!”

“Oh, mercy!” gasped Nita, “There come two men with guns on their shoulders!”

“Just snipe hunters, likely,” said Dorothy, but she was noticed to hurry toward the road.

It was not a great distance back to the standing train, and, as the girls came within hearing of some passengers on the rear platform, someone called:

“Oh you Glenwood girls! You have missed it. The touring car came from your school to get you, and is now driving all over the country looking for strayed, lost or stolen girls.”

“The Glenwood machine! Oh, do let me cry!” begged Tavia. “If I don’t cry within the next three minutes, I’ll die of internal deluge.”

She stepped to the platform. Dorothy was the next to mount, but she paused to help Edna.

“Back safely?” asked the man who had bandaged the strained arm. “We were greatly worried. I could scarcely keep mother from going after you,” and the handsome elderly lady who had been standing aside with him, came forward and extended her hand to Dorothy.

“My baseball player!” groaned Tavia into Molly’s ear. “Lost again, but I think he’s an artist. I’ll get him to paint me.”

By this time the young ladies were passing into the car. When the other passengers heard of the accident, and beheld Amy’s almost solidly bog-cemented garments, there was no end to the excitement.

“I think,” said the young man, “that I can arrange to get this car, or half of it, for you young ladies for the night. As there are no chairs nor sleepers to be had it may be well to make sure of something.”

“Oh, thank you so much,” said Dorothy, who was still acting as leader, although she hardly knew what to do or say. “This is awful! And to think that we missed the car! The school principal, Mrs. Pangborn, will be ill of anxiety.”

“There is no possible way of getting a message away from here,” replied the other. “But at least they know the train is safe.”

“But they also know that we were not in it,” objected Dorothy. “Mrs. Pangborn probably heard of the delay caused by the broken bridge, and sent for us.”

“There’s just one way, and perhaps I can make it. May I leave mother with you?” and the young man quickly picked up his cap, leaving the car before anyone had time to know what he was going to do.

“I’ll be back in about an hour,” he called, and then the girls were once more conscious of the loneliness of being “just girls.” Men know so much better what ought to be done in emergencies.

CHAPTER IV RIVAL RUNS

“Now young ladies,” began the elderly woman with the wonderful snowy hair. “Of course you know I am David’s mother. I am Mrs. Armstrong, and David is my only child. I wanted to come out here to a convention and he insisted on accompanying me. Though it did take him from his business.”

“His business?” Tavia repeated as nicely as she could, handing to Mrs. Armstrong the little lace cape that had just fallen from her shoulders.

“Oh, yes indeed, his business,” repeated the lady, while Dorothy and Edna smiled wisely at Tavia, who had not even yet found out what that young man’s “business” might be. “And,” said the lady, “I never depend upon dining cars when I travel, so if you can manage to put up some sort of table here between the seats, we may have a little meal, for my bag is pretty well stocked, I can well guess. Mabel put it up for me.”

“Splendid!” exclaimed Molly, not realizing that her remark was prompt to greediness.

“I am sure you must all be starved, for it is past tea-time,” said Mrs. Armstrong, getting from under the seat a good sized, matting traveling bag. “We use this when we go auto riding, it opens up so nicely.”

Again Tavia nudged the girl nearest her, for the lady with the bag of refreshments was becoming more interesting at every new remark she made.

“Do you suppose your son will be back in time to eat with us?” asked Dorothy, as the girls were spreading out newspapers on the seats, and arranging a sort of place to eat.

“I don’t know,” and the elderly lady looked very thoughtful for a moment. Then she removed her glasses, put them on again and whispered to Dorothy. “My son is always doing queer things—that is they are queer from my view point. Where did he say he was going?”

“He did not say, as I understood. But it seemed as if it was something about getting a message to town,” replied Dorothy.

The lady shook her head. “Now here are the refreshments,” she told the girls. Tavia had procured water in an old earthen pitcher, that she declared was perfectly clean, and that for the use of it she was personally indebted to the brakeman, who turned on the lights. Molly had “raided” a store-room somewhere, and from it had actually gotten out such a splendid piece of white cardboard that with the aid of Edna’s case knife square “dishes” were cut and served nicely for the chicken sandwiches. Then the pickles!

“We call them School Girls’ Delight,” explained Mrs. Armstrong, “although I had no idea I was going to fall in with such a happy crowd of young ladies.”

“We are the ones to be grateful,” declared Dorothy. “But where is Miss Faval!”

“Where is she?” asked more than one girl, jumping up, and glancing about the car.

“She certainly got on the train with us,” declared Edna.

“She should have remained with us,” said Dorothy, showing some anxiety. “That was the rule—always when we traveled this way.”

“And there are so many people about, with nothing to do,” Mrs. Armstrong remarked. “It is not like regular traveling, when everybody and everything is in place. We had better inquire at once.”

Dorothy had finished her sandwich, but objected to Mrs. Armstrong leaving her lunch untouched.

“It doesn’t make a bit of difference, child,” said that lady. “David will likely come back with more things to eat than would provide a dinner.” She brushed the crumbs from her skirt. “I am for finding the lost sheep.”

It must be said that those who remained to finish the feast did not look a bit worried about Jean Faval; in fact there was something of a scramble directly Dorothy and Mrs. Armstrong were safely out of sight.

“Where do you suppose——” began Molly.

“Don’t suppose,” interrupted Edna. “I don’t like that girl, and I hope she got on a train that—backed up.”

“Hope she tried to walk the bridge,” put in Tavia, between a pickle and a lady finger.

“You’re mean,” spoke Nita Brant. “She’s got lots of money, and will be splendid at school. She even has a check book of her own.”

“We prefer cash,” said Molly, “it’s lots handier.”

“What would we have done if it had not been for what ‘Mabel’ put in the bag?” asked Cologne, who was in a seat back of the four girls, who were just now threatening to eat the crumbs from the cracks in the newspaper table-cloth. “This meal has been my salvation.”

“But where do you suppose David has gone?” inquired Tavia. “I am worried about him. I like David!”

“Here come Dorothy and Mrs. Armstrong. They evidently have not found Lady Jean.” It was Edna who spoke.

Dorothy was very pale. Even in the uncertain light that flickered from the gas lamp in the car center, it was plain to everyone looking at her that Dorothy had received a shock.

“Such a girl!” said Mrs. Armstrong. “Actually refused to come with us. Sitting in a car talking to—well, of course, I couldn’t just say who they might be, but they looked like a small part of a big circus.”

Her eyes flashed, and she fanned herself nervously.

Dorothy quietly sat down beside Cologne.

“What has happened, Doro?” asked her friend—for next to Tavia, Cologne ranked first in favor with the little leader.

“Nothing much. But I was so surprised. I suppose I should not have shown how I felt,” replied Dorothy, biting her lip.

“She was positively rude,” went on Mrs. Armstrong, “and if I get a chance to find your Glenwood school I shall report her conduct.”

“What did she say?” demanded Tavia.

“She said—that she would not tag around with a parcel of kindergarten babies,” responded the indignant lady, “and I felt that it was I who had exposed Miss Dale to that insult.”

“Oh, she was not insulting,” interposed Dorothy. “Of course, I was surprised, because I usually have——”

“Been our policeman,” finished Tavia. “Well don’t you worry. I’ll be a whole police force when I get there—meaning to Glen.” She swung around to Dorothy. “What is it, dear?” she demanded. “You have that same worried look you wore when we left home. Can’t I help you?”

“Perhaps you can, Tavia,” replied Dorothy, “and I promise to tell you all about it when we get to school. It was really not what the girl said to me that—made me feel so. It was what I overheard her saying to someone else. There, don’t let them see us talking. I thought I heard——”

“Why, David!” exclaimed Mrs. Armstrong, “Wherever have you been?”

David had just entered the car, with all the bags and bundles that his mother had promised he would fetch.

“Had the time of my life,” he exclaimed quite breathlessly, “riding on a hand car into town. But I came back de luxe a la auto. I got the message to Glenwood School, and the big car is here again.”

“Oh, glorious!” declared Tavia, but she was interrupted in her effusion by the conductor’s cry:

“Special car for Glenwood School!”

Then the grand scramble commenced.

CHAPTER V SCHOOL AT LAST

“We just should have left her there,” growled Edna. “I can’t understand why any girl would prefer staying up all night in a stuffy car, to getting this grand ride, and a night’s sleep in bed to boot. Dorothy is too—conscientious.”

“That’s just what I say,” chimed in Tavia, who was next to Edna in the rear of the big three-seated closed touring car, that flaunted the Glenwood flag. “And that she would deliberately refuse to come until the conductor read the list; like a funeral!”

“I was so sorry Mrs. Armstrong couldn’t come with us,” continued Edna. “But her son had the little runabout for her, of course.”

“I should not have minded so much if the son could have come,” teased Tavia. “This is a lovely ride, but fancy talking to Jacob! He’s been the Glenwood runner ever since cars came in, and he thinks he just knows all there is about machines.”

“Glad he does, for it’s some dark,” reflected Molly. “I suppose that Jean girl took the outside seat, thinking she could make Jake talk.”

“Or that she would avoid talking to us,” Edna moved her injured arm carefully. “Well, I can see that Nita and Lena, and some of the others are talking to Jean. We’ll have some trouble keeping our club up even. But Tavia, what is the matter with Dorothy? She is not a bit like herself.”

“No, she isn’t. But I think her father is not well, and he is getting old—prematurely old, for his hair is white as snow. You see, it must worry Dorothy to leave him and the two boys alone. Seems to me that veterans always get old—young,” said Tavia evasively.

“Do you really think that is all that is the matter with her?” went on Edna. “It seems to me that it is something more serious.”

“Well, maybe it is,” replied Tavia. “But I’m sure I hope not. Dear Doro does so much for every one else that it would be almost a shame to have her have troubles.”

“It surely would,” came from the other. “Do you suppose she would mind if I asked her?” and Edna looked back to where Dorothy was talking to Cologne. “Or perhaps you had better do it, Tavia. You know her so much better than the rest of us, and she won’t mind it—coming from you.”

“That’s right!” cried Tavia with a little laugh. “Blame it all on me! No one minds what I do. I’m the goat, of course. If there’s something unpleasant to be done, let Tavia do it.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way at all!” exclaimed Edna. “You took me up so short——”

“Better be short than long!” went on Tavia, laughing. They could talk rather louder now, as the machine, chugging along, made so much noise that there was no danger of Dorothy hearing.

“No, but seriously,” proceeded Edna. “I do think Doro has some secret trouble. She isn’t at all like her jolly self, and though she has been just as nice as she could be in this trouble, still——”

“Still waters run deep!” interrupted Tavia. “I’m sure I can’t say what it is.”

“Then why don’t you ask?”

“Simply because if Dorothy wanted me to know she’d tell me.”

“She might not. She might be too sensitive. It would be just like her to hold back and not want to tell anyone. Oh, Tavia, I’m almost going to ask her myself if you won’t.”

“Well, I won’t, that’s all there is to it. Let’s start a song. I’m getting dry and lonesome.”

“Oh, Tavia, there’s no use trying to do anything with you,” sighed her companion. “Why can’t you be serious for once?”

“I just can’t—that’s all. It isn’t in me. I’m a hopeless case, I’m afraid. But don’t worry so much. Let Doro alone and if she wants help she’ll ask for it. Then we’ll all pitch in, and do all we can for her.”

“Indeed yes,” agreed Edna heartily. “Dear Doro does so much for others that it would be a pity if we could not aid her in some way. Oh dear!”

“What is it now?” asked Tavia, glancing out into the gathering darkness. “Something hurt you? Is it the arm?”

“Yes, a little. I wish Jake wouldn’t drive so fast. It makes me nervous. I’m all unstrung, anyhow, I guess, over what has happened. He seems quite reckless, I think.”

“Nonsense,” retorted Tavia. “This is great, I say! I like to go fast. The faster the better.”

“You always did,” commented Edna, “but I think——”

She did not finish the sentence, for the auto gave a sudden jolt, and came to a quick stop, while Jake, the driver, uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

“What is it?” called out Dorothy. “Has anything happened?”

“Something surely has,” voiced Tavia. “This trip is a hoodoo from the start.”

There were a few half-suppressed screams, many alarmed inquiries, and any numbers of “Ohs!”

“What is it, Jake?” asked Dorothy again.

“Tire’s gone back on me,” replied the driver with characteristic brevity. “I was afraid it would play out, and I wanted to stop and put on a new one, but Mrs. Pangborn told me to hurry, and I did. Now I’ve got to go slow. Hum! No fun, either, putting on one of these tires.”

“More haste the less speed,” commented Tavia. “Pile out, girls, and we’ll walk in the woods while Jake puts a new rubber shoe on this duck of an auto. It can’t go out without rubbers you know, or it might catch cold in its gasolene tank!”

“What talk!” cried Molly Richards, with pretended horror to Dorothy.

“Yes, I’m afraid she’ll never get over it,” agreed our heroine. “Still, it’s like most of what Tavia does—harmless, for she really has a kind heart.”

“Which is more than a coronet or even a violin,” commented Molly with a laugh. “But she is getting out.”

“Come on!” cried Tavia again. “No use sitting still and waiting for Jake. Besides, we’ll make the machine lighter if we get out; won’t we Jake?”

“Oh, well, I’ve got to jack the wheel up anyhow,” spoke the driver, “and one or more young ladies like you, Miss Travers, won’t make much difference. Stay in if you like.”

“Thank you! Glad to know I’m light!” cried the irrepressible Tavia. “Hope it wasn’t my head you referred to.”

“No—er—not exactly—that is—Oh, well, get out if you like, miss,” said the puzzled Jake, who did not exactly understand Tavia’s chattering.

“I’m going to,” she retorted, “come on, girls.”

“In those dark woods, with horrid, creepy, crawling things!” cried Edna. “Never. I can almost see a snake now! Oh!”

“Silly!” snapped Tavia, as she made her way out of the car. She stood watching Jake make his preparations for replacing the damaged tire, and even offered to help him work the lifting jack.

“I wonder why she likes to do that?” asked Nita of Dorothy.

“I don’t know, I’m sure,” was the answer, while Tavia actually did work the handle of the implement that raised the auto wheel clear from the ground.

“I guess it’s because ‘Jake’ is a boy’s name, and Tavia is so fond of the boys—in a nice way, of course,” Nita made haste to add. “You know what I mean, Doro.”

“Yes, of course,” laughed Dorothy. “You needn’t have explained. Tavia is such a—problem.”

“I fancy we all are—in different ways,” came the remark. “I know my people say I am. But Tavia!”

“There is only one!” laughed Dorothy softly.

“And a good thing there are no more,” spoke Nita, as she looked closely at her chum, wondering, as others had done that day, what was troubling Dorothy.

For that something was troubling our heroine was evident. It plainly showed on her face, though she tried to hide it and be her usually jolly self—jolly, however, in a way different from Tavia.

“Want me to hold the jack?” came from Tavia, in business-like tones, as she watched Jake deftly go about the work.

“No, thank you, miss. It’s a self-regulating one,” he replied. “It’ll hold itself. But you might hold one of the oil lanterns so I can see to unscrew these lugs.”

“I knew there was something queer about this auto,” came from Tavia with a laugh. “It’s been putting on ‘lugs,’ as the boys say. It got too gay, and had a puncture. Isn’t that it, Jake?”

“Yes, miss, I guess so, but if you wouldn’t mind, please, holding that light a little more over this way, I could see better.”

“That’s the time Tavia got a ‘call-down,’ to use some of her own slang,” commented Molly. “But, Doro, what are ‘lugs,’ pray tell?”

“I guess Tavia used it meaning ‘airs,’ or something like that,” was the reply. “Will you be much longer, Jake?”

“No, I’ll soon have it on,” the man said, and he was as good as his word. Then Tavia scrambled up to her seat, after insisting on helping Jake to put away his tools, and the car started off again, amid heart-felt murmurs of thanks from the rather tired young ladies.

The machine was gliding over the hills through the moonlight, and soon the towers of Glenwood would be seen. The “Light House,” the girls always called the big light in the tower that gleamed until the village bell struck midnight.

Cologne was in the rear seat with Dorothy. Molly Richards made the trio, while next came Nita, Lena, and a little frightened girl, all the way from Georgia. It was her first term, and all the escapades did not help to make her impression of school life in the North any the less mystifying.

“What’s up now?” asked Molly, as the big machine came to another sudden stop.

“Jake sees something,” replied Dorothy. “He has the queerest habit of seeing things that no one else can see.”

“Yes, there he is getting out. A chicken likely,” put in Nita.

For a few moments the girls waited rather anxiously. Then the chauffeur came back to the car.

“What is it?” called a chorus.

“Can’t just say yet,” answered Jacob, “but I think it’s one of them velvet poodles that someone has dropped out of a car.”

“Oh, do let me have it,” begged Jean, who, being with Jake naturally felt the best right to his find.

“I’ve got to look him over, and see as he isn’t hurt,” replied the driver. “A little fluff of a thing like this doesn’t lie in the road, when he’s got the use of his legs.”

“Let us see him, Jake,” implored Tavia. “You know I always take good care of the Glen dogs—when there are any.”

“So you do—so you do. Well, here it is, as I must be getting on. But be careful he doesn’t snap. Can’t tell about toy dogs. They’re not hounds, you know,” and he handed first to Dorothy and she in turn handed back to Tavia, the little, silken animal that Jake had picked up on the lonely road.

Jean was piqued. She intended to conquer even Jake, and she really did like a white toy dog. First she had been obliged to go to Glenwood in the motor, when she had been all settled for the night, and wanted to wait for the morning train. Next, she sat outside with the driver and he refused her simplest request.

“It’s all because of that Dale girl,” she muttered to herself, while she smiled at Jake. “Won’t you let me drive the car a little way, please?” she asked. “I am used to motors, and I love to drive on these hard clean roads.”

Jake looked at her keenly. “I’ve no doubt but you can drive,” he replied, “but you see I’m responsible to Mrs. Pangborn, and it would be a queer story for me to tell, if anything happened, that I had let a school-girl run the big car at this hour of the night.”

Of course the front windows being down, and Jake speaking with unmistakable distinctness, everyone in the car heard the reply to Jean.

Tavia was too busy with the poor little white dog to notice. She had made a bed for him, and indeed the little thing unmistakably needed rest. He sighed and panted, then he licked the girl’s hands.

“Poor, little thing,” said Edna, “do you suppose some chauffeur dropped him, and never missed him?”

“They go so fast, over country roads at night that there is no telling what happens,” replied Tavia. “But he’s mine, or Doro’s. She has a dog so much like him at home that he may help to cheer her.”

“But won’t Jake want him?” whispered Edna.

“Jake would eat out of Doro’s hands,” answered Tavia in low tones. “Don’t you remember, last Winter, how she saved his children from that fire in the auto house? How she went up the ladder——”

“Oh, of course, but we all helped,” objected Edna.

“We helped when Dorothy showed us how. Now look here Edna. I don’t want you to think that I believe Dorothy Dale to be perfect, but the fact is—I have my first flaw to discover.”

“Hurrah! Hurray! Horroo!” Edna said quietly. “Tavia, you have, after all, something tangible. It’s love!”

“If you wake my dog it will not be love for you,” threatened the other.

“Say, look at Jean! I think she’s asleep on Jake’s shoulder. Won’t that be a leader for our—hazing!”

“There’s the lights!” called a quartette, for indeed the tower light of Glenwood shone brightly at the next turn.

Suddenly all the balcony lights were flashed on!

Then such cheers! Jake clung to the wheel as if the car might shy at the noise.

It was a school cry.

“Careful, careful!” cautioned Jake. But Mrs. Pangborn was there to welcome one and all.

CHAPTER VI CHOCOLATES AND SANDWICHES

It was past nine o’clock when the Glenwood girls reached the hall, and was, therefore, too late to go in for any of the pranks usually indulged in on the first night. To be sure there was some fun. Cologne managed to lay hold of some small boxes, that looked surprisingly like confections. They were placed on a table, waiting to be claimed, and it seemed no harm for her to claim them. Dorothy refused to take part in the “raid,” but Tavia and Edna did not have to be coaxed.

“They’re Jean’s, I’ll wager,” whispered Tavia, “but the wrapper is off, and we can easily prove an alibi. Let’s see where they’re from, any way.”

“Oh, there’s a note,” declared Cologne. “I’m going to put them back. I’ll have nothing to do with robbing the mails.”

A piece of paper fell from between two of the boxes, as Tavia cut a pink cord that held them together.

“All the more fun,” said Tavia hiding the ill-gotten goods in the fold of her blouse as a teacher passed, and said good-night.

“Better get it hid in some place,” suggested Edna. “If Dick comes along she’ll smell the stuff.”

“Put it back! Put it back,” begged Cologne. “Somehow I feel we had better not try to have fun on Jean’s account. She might make trouble for us.”

“Who cares about her trouble,” snapped Tavia. “Besides, we don’t know to whom the stuff belongs. There, I’ll put the note on the table, I guess that’ll be sweet enough for her.”

Scarcely had this speech been finished when a gliding figure, in a gorgeous red kimono, turned into the corridor where the three girls stood. It was Jean Faval. She came directly up to the table, smiled pleasantly, said something about being tired, picked up the note and turned away, with a most surprisingly pleasant and affable good night.

The girls were speechless!

“What do you think of that?” exclaimed Edna, as soon as she could command her tongue.

Tavia carefully took the boxes out of her blouse, and very gingerly set them down again on the table.

“There,” she said, “Miss Jean Faval there’s your candy! I believe it’s poisoned!”

“Why Tavia——”

“Yes, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she had fixed up those boxes herself, with the idea that we, or my little dog might bite. But we won’t. Let them stay there,” and the three sauntered off to room nineteen—the one occupied by Dorothy and Tavia.

They found Dorothy ready for bed, but Tavia insisted on telling the story of the “poisoned candy.”

“What utter nonsense!” declared Dorothy. “Perhaps it did not belong to Jean Faval at all.”

“But the note,” insisted Cologne. “That seemed to belong to her, and it was in the boxes.”

“At any rate,” spoke Dorothy, “I want to go to bed, and I’ll be glad to excuse the invaders. Tavia, if you so much as drop a handkerchief, I shall report you, for I am not only tired, but have a headache.”

Edna and Cologne got up from the rug they had been sitting on. Cologne had allowed her heavy brown hair to fall to her waist, and Edna had likewise made that same preparation for retiring.

Tavia stifled a yawn. “I’m not a bit sleepy,” she declared. “And I think, after all, I’ll just take a chance at those chocolates. I’m starved for sweets.”

“Oh, Tavia! Don’t!” implored Edna. “I think we got off well enough to leave well enough alone.”

But Tavia was already poking her head out of the door.

“There she goes,” she whispered, “I just caught a flash of that fire-alarm kimono. Now wait till we hear her shut her door, and then for the sweets.”

Cologne made a move to grasp Tavia’s skirt but failed. Dorothy sat up and shook her head helplessly. “I may as well give up sleep until that girl knows all about those plagued chocolates,” she said with a sigh. “I can’t see why she is so interested.”

Tavia was back almost instantly.

“They’re gone!” she gasped. “They’re haunted I think—unless the Jean changed her mind and is now howling in throes of suicide. There I heard a howl. You two better not be caught in the corridors, or you may be implicated,” and with this, she, in her careless way, almost brushed the two girls out and locked the door.

But over in her own corner, under her own lamp, Tavia read a name on a slip of paper. Then she put it in her letter box, and turned out the lights.

Two more days and school would formally open. That which followed the arrival of some belated girls from the West dawned as perfect as a September day could blaze, and Dorothy was at her window, looking over the hills before Tavia had so much as given a first yawning signal of waking.

A soft, misty atmosphere made the world wonderful under the iridescent blades of light that fell from the sunrise.

“It seems a shame to stay indoors,” reflected Dorothy, “and it will be two hours before breakfast. I’ll just slip into a gingham, and take a walk over to the barns. Jacob will be out with the horses and dogs.”

Few of the girls were awake as she passed lightly through the halls. Maids were already busy with sweepers and brushes.

Dorothy knew many of the help, and bade them a pleasant good morning. From the broad veranda she stopped to look at the growing day.

“I think I won’t go to the stables,” she decided. “I’ll go out and get a bunch of late flowers. Mrs. Pangborn is so fond of them.”

Down the roadway she ran. The whistle of an engine attracted her attention.

“Why,” she mused, “there is the new station, and a train stopping! What an innovation for Glenwood! I must go over and see what the station looks like.”

A narrow path led through the elders and birches. Bluejays were out-doing one another with their screeching, while birds that could sing kept a scornful silence. Everything was so heavy with nature. Dorothy almost forgot that it was to-day she had promised to tell Tavia of her troubles!

Passing through the lane brought her out into an open roadway, newly made. A pretty little stone station, the rural and artistic kind, filled in the space beyond, and a high terrace, unfinished, showed that Glenwood station was to be carefully kept.

The train that Dorothy had heard whistling was just coming in. The new station was not yet opened, but a short distance from it was an improvised lunch room, a sort of shack made of unpainted boards, and thin awnings. The train stopped, and the conductor hurried to the little lunch room. Dorothy saw that a girl, alone, stood behind the queer, long, board table, and that beside her was a telegraph instrument. Seeing Dorothy she called to her.

“Could you come here for a few minutes?” she asked. “I have an important train message and no one to leave the shop to.”

“Of course,” replied Dorothy, not comprehending just what was wanted, but hurrying across the tracks to the shanty.

“You see,” began the girl, “father is sick, but we have to keep our contract with the road, or lose the privilege in the new station. We have to have a lunch room, and a newspaper stand and also attend to messages. This I just received. I will have to deliver it on my bicycle. I am so glad you came along. No one is apt to be out so early. If any one wants coffee could you serve it?”

Dorothy was taken by surprise. To be left in charge of a country railroad lunch counter!

“I’ll do the best I can,” she answered, noticing that the black-haired girl had a deep line across her brow. “But I’m afraid——”

“Oh, don’t be afraid of anything,” interrupted the girl, who was already mounting her wheel, and handing a bunch of keys to Dorothy. “There’s another train due soon, but I’ll try to be back. In the shed, at the rear, is our dog. He will know you all right when he sees you behind the counter, but he won’t let any one else in. Good-bye for a few minutes, and I can’t tell you how glad I am you came along. I just feel that you have saved the depot for us,” and with one strong stroke her wheel glided down the hill, and a bit of yellow paper, the train message, showed in the small pocket of her red jacket. The first train had already pulled out.

Then Dorothy was alone in the lunch house at 6:15 A. M.

CHAPTER VII RUNNING A LUNCH COUNTER

For some minutes the absurdity of the situation scarcely dawned upon Dorothy. But the screeching of an approaching train promptly reminded her of her newly-acquired duties.

“Suppose the passengers should want papers,” she thought. “I had better look at the bundles.”

An old man thrust his face in under the wooden flap that was up in the day time, and put down at night.

“A good cup of coffee, and quick there!” he demanded. “I have got to get away ahead of that train.”

Dorothy turned to the big coffee urn, and for the first time noticed that there was a fire under it.

The next thing Dorothy did was to look at the man who had given her the first order at the improvised restaurant. He was smiling at her—a frank, pleasant smile, that had in it not the least suggestion of familiarity.

“Well?” he asked questioningly. “Did I startle you?”

“Not exactly,” was her answer. “That is—well, I’m not really used to this sort of work, and——”

“You don’t know how to run that machine—isn’t that it?” he asked, nodding brightly. “Confess now, that you don’t know how to get coffee out of it.”

“That’s it,” said Dorothy with an air of relief that he had divined her trouble. “There are so many attachments to it that I really don’t know which one to turn to get the coffee out.”

“In the first place,” spoke the man, “is there coffee in it?”

“I think so.”

“I mean coffee with water on it—coffee to drink?”

“Yes, the young lady who runs it, and who had to get off in a hurry to deliver a message, said so.”

“Good! That’s one point solved. Now then, there is no question but what the coffee is hot. I can see the alcohol flame under it. The next thing is how to get it out.”

“I believe so,” agreed Dorothy with a smile. “Suppose I turn this faucet.”

“No, don’t!” cried the man suddenly. “It may not be the right one, and you might scald yourself. Let me come in and maybe I can find the right thing to twist.”

“No! Don’t!” exclaimed Dorothy.

“Why not? ’Fraid I might get burned? I don’t mind.”

“No, it isn’t that,” and she was conscious of a movement under the counter.

“Well, then, is it because you think I don’t know how to run that machine? I confess that I haven’t a working knowledge of it. A planing mill is more in my line. Now if you were to ask me to get you out so many feet of inch pine, tongue and groove, or something like that, I could do it in no time, but I will admit that getting coffee out of a contraption like that is a little beyond me. An old fashioned pot is simpler. Still, if I came behind, I might help you.”

He made a motion as if he were coming in.

“Don’t!” cried Dorothy again, and the dog growled.

“Oh, I see,” said the man. “He doesn’t like strangers. Well, maybe I can help you from outside here. I’ve no desire to be made into mincemeat so early in the morning.”

“What shall I do?” asked Dorothy, rather helplessly.

“About the dog?”

“No, about this coffee urn. What shall I turn first?”

“Try that faucet there,” suggested the man, pointing to the largest one, of a number that adorned the shining bit of machinery.

Dorothy did so, forgetting to hold a cup under it. A stream of cold water spurted out.

“Wrong guess!” exclaimed the man. “I might have known, too. There’s a glass gage there, and I can see water in it now. I should have looked at that first. You might have been wet.”

“I’m not salt,” returned Dorothy, laughingly.

“More like sugar, I should say,” spoke the man. “Tut! Tut!” he exclaimed, as he saw a frown pass over Dorothy’s face. “No harm intended. Besides, I’m nearly old enough to be your father. Now about the coffee. I really need some and I haven’t much time to spare.”

“Suppose I try this faucet?” suggested Dorothy, and she put her hand on a second shining handle.

“Do,” begged the hungry man.

With a menacing hiss some hot water spurted out.

“Look out!” the hungry one called. “You’ll be burned!”

Dorothy got back out of the way just in time.

“There’s the right one!” the first customer exclaimed, as he pointed to the lowest faucet of all. “If I had kept my wits about me I’d have seen. The coffee shows in the gage glass. Besides, it’s the lowest one down, and, naturally, the coffee goes to the bottom of the urn. Try that one.”

Dorothy did, but there was no welcoming stream of the juice of the aromatic berry. She was beginning to get nervous.

“The other way,” directed the man. “It’s one of those patent faucets, I guess. Turn it the other way.”

She did so, and a brown stream, hot and fragrant, trickled out. It splashed on the board counter.

“I guess you’d better take a cup,” said the man with a smile. “We’ve found the right place this time, and there’s no use wasting the coffee. Sorry I’ve been such a bother, but I really would use a cup.” Dorothy laughed frankly. Her nervousness was passing away.

On a side shelf of the queer little restaurant she saw that the iron-china cups were piled up. She reached for one, filled it with the smoking coffee, and handed it to the man outside the flap.

“Sandwich!” he demanded. “This coffee makes a fellow want to eat, instead of quenching his appetite.”

Dorothy looked around and smelled ham. The bread was in a box, and almost fell at her feet as she searched for it.

“Plenty of mustard,” demanded the customer, and this time the strange waitress began to think she would fail to fill the order.

“I can’t seem to find the mustard,” she said lamely.

“You’re a stranger here then? I thought the other one had a different head on her,” replied the man, who was now helping himself to the loaf of bread that Dorothy had laid down preparing to cut it. “Well, I think I can find that mustard,” and he turned to the little side door. As he did so the big black dog growled again and barred his way inside the shanty.

“He’s tied,” said Dorothy, “but I think it will be best for me to look on the shelf there, where the canned goods are. Yes, it’s here,” and she brought down a big yellow bottle of sandwich-flavoring stuff.

“Here, I’ll cut the ham. I’ve got to get away. I’m late now,” and he proceeded to “cut the ham” after the manner in which he had attacked the bread. Dorothy was afraid she had made a great mistake. There would be nothing left for the train people if he kept on.

Finally he managed to get another cup of coffee, he poured the condensed milk into it thick and fast, then he asked;

“How much?”

“I really don’t know,” Dorothy replied, “but if you have been in the habit of eating here just whatever you always pay will do.”

“Guess you had better charge it then,” he said, and before she had time to reply he was off down the track, wiping his mouth with his red handkerchief as he went.

“This is not just my sort of position,” mused Dorothy, cleaning up the refuse left on the counter. “I hope I won’t have to pay the damages.”

The incoming train left her no further time for reflection, for, as it pulled in and stopped at the station, a crowd of men, evidently night workers, scrambled for the lunch counter.

“Coffee and rolls!”

“Coffee and cheese cake!”

“Coffee and franks for me!”

“Coffee! coffee! coffee!”

Dorothy was actually frightened. These men wanted breakfast, and had only a few minutes in which to get it. How could she wait on them?

Long arms were reached inside the open window, and cups and saucers brought down to wait for the coffee.

“I’m not the girl who—who—runs this place,” Dorothy said, timidly, as one very rough-looking man shouted again his order. “I only stepped in to—watch the place, until the other girl gets back. I do wish she would come,” and, filling a big pitcher with the coffee from the urn she placed it before the hungry men.

“But we can’t eat again until noon,” declared a big fellow, who spoke with the unmistakable Maine tang, “and this joint is run special for car men. I’ll have them folks reported,” and he brought his hand down on the counter so that the heavy cups danced.

“Oh, please don’t do that!” begged Dorothy, “for the young lady said her father was ill, and I am sure something important has detained her. I will do the very best I can.”

The train blew a warning whistle. Dorothy put everything she could find on the counter. “I’ll pay for it if I have to,” she was thinking. “Certainly I must avoid—a panic.”

A young man, well dressed, was coming along now. Her heart gave a great bound. What would he want?

She turned to put more water in the coffee urn.

“Have you the morning papers?” asked the newcomer.

His voice made her start. She turned and faced—Mr. Armstrong!

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to unwrap the papers,” she said, blushing furiously. “Isn’t this dreadful, Mr. Armstrong?”

“Surprising, I’m sure,” he replied, smiling. “You have more than your hands full.”

Dorothy tried to explain, but her confusion was now more than excitement—it was akin to collapse.

“Perhaps I could help you,” suggested her friend of the bridge-bound train. “I am not in a hurry. Mother is on ahead, and I can wait for the next accommodation.”

“Oh, if you only would! I cannot find anything more to eat,” and she brushed back her hair, in lieu of rolling up her sleeves.

“You can’t go in there,” growled one of the train men. “There’s a dog that don’t like dudes.”

Another toot, and the men rushed off, half emptied cups in hand, sandwiches in pocket, and the rack of pastry left empty, inside the counter, where it had fallen as the last pie was grabbed from its wires.

“The cups,” called Dorothy. “They are taking them away!”

“Don’t worry about that,” Mr. Armstrong told her. “Likely they will toss them out the car windows. They’re that sort that never breaks. But I’m glad they’re gone. You look quite done out.”

“And just think! I have been away from the hall for the past hour. They will think I’m drowned, or lost or——”

“Eloped,” finished the young man. “Well, I’m sure you did this to help someone, and if your success as a lunch counter manager is doubtful, no one could criticise your courage. Now, you had better shut this place up, before another avalanche swoops down, and, if you don’t mind, I’ll walk along with you. I can get the seven-ten easily, and have the pleasure of an early walk. To be honest, travelling on that train was not altogether pleasant.”

“I certainly must get back,” Dorothy replied. “But how am I to lock this place up? I do wish that girl would come back.”

She looked anxiously over the hills. There was a wheel coming. Yes, and that was the girl, with the blue suit.

“Oh, there she comes!” went on Dorothy. “Whatever will she think of this wreck and ruin?”

“From remarks I heard among the trainmen she may be glad they got coffee,” said Mr. Armstrong.

The bicycle had stopped now. The girl jumped off, and hurried to Dorothy.

“Oh,” she sighed, “I am so sorry I kept you so long, but father is so ill!” and they noticed that, in spite of the exertion of riding, she was very pale.

“I’m afraid I didn’t do very well,” ventured Dorothy.

“That train was the track foreman’s. It was all right; no matter what you did as long as you kept the window open,” said the girl gratefully. “But I am afraid I have gotten you into trouble. Do you go to Glenwood?”

“Yes,” replied Dorothy.

“I thought so. Well, the young ladies are looking for you. I heard one say——”

She stopped suddenly, looking at Mr. Armstrong.

“What?” asked Dorothy, but no direct answer was given, for school girls were seen coming over the hill, and it was Jean Faval who was first to hail the finding of Dorothy, and she, also, who first reported that she was in the company of a young man!

CHAPTER VIII DOROTHY’S WORRIES

It did look strange. Dorothy had gone out before any of her companions were about, and now, after being away two hours she was found returning in the company of a young man.

It might have been different if Tavia, and the girls who had met Mr. Armstrong on the train, had chosen to go toward the depot instead of seeking Dorothy in the opposite direction; but when Jean Faval met her, there were with Jean three of the new girls, and of course, they neither knew Dorothy nor her companion.

Small things grow quickly when they have plenty of room, and Dorothy’s escapade, being the one thing worth talking of at Glenwood, soon amounted to a sensational story, fanned by the gossips and nurtured by her rival in the school.

What girl has gone through school without some such similar experience? And does it not always occur at the most unexpected times?

Are there always, and everywhere, “school rivals?”

Mr. Armstrong said good-bye to Dorothy at the tanbark path that led to Glenwood Hall. Excited over her strange experience, Dorothy had no thought of what others might wonder! Where had she been? Why did she leave the grounds so early? What was Dorothy worrying about?

“See here, Doro,” Tavia confronted her, as together they prepared for breakfast—late at that. “What ails you? You promised to tell me to-day.”

“What ailed me, Tavia, does not exactly ail me now. I have just learned how some girls have to make a living.”

Saying this Dorothy sank back, rather unlike herself, for the morning had been warm, and her duties anything but refreshing.

“Dorothy, tell me, what is it?” demanded Tavia.

“You look at me as if I were a criminal,” replied the blonde Dalton girl. “I can never be coerced,” she finished.

“Dorothy, you are so unlike yourself. And you have no idea how much trouble that Jean Faval can make,” insisted Tavia, with more spirit than she usually showed.

Dorothy stopped in her hair-fixing. “Tavia,” she said, emphatically, “I have friends enough here,” and she glanced at the school-girl picture-lined wall, “and I am not afraid of Jean Faval.”

Dorothy was always pretty, sometimes splendid, and again tragic—Tavia decided she was one in all at that moment.

“Good!” declared her champion. “Don’t worry, Dorothy, but if you could just tell me——”

Dorothy stopped and looked into the glass without seeing anything.

She was worried, but since she had tried to run a lunch room, and had discovered how hard some girls, as young as herself, had to work, the thought that some day she too, might have to do something to earn money, did not seem so appalling. Should she tell Tavia?

“I am waiting, Doro,” Tavia said. “Now confess.”

“It’s really nothing so very serious, dear,” she replied, “but you know father is getting old and—he has put all his money into the Marsall Investment Company, of New York. Just before I left home father heard—that the money may be—lost!”

“All your money?”

“Yes, isn’t that dreadful? Of course, if it is lost we could never live with Aunt Winnie. We would be too proud, although she and the boys have always been so lovely to us. Yet to have no home makes it different.”

“But, Dorothy, I can’t believe that will happen. Your father has always been so wise,” and Tavia smoothed the ribbon on Dorothy’s light hair. “If it should happen——”

“If it should, I would certainly go to work,” Dorothy declared, firmly. “I should never let Joe leave school, and stay on here myself. Besides, Joe could not do very much,” she sighed. “I am so afraid for father—afraid the crash would——”

“Now, Doro, it is not like you to plan trouble,” Tavia interrupted, “so let us forget it. I am afraid you will have some queer eyes made at you when you go down to breakfast,” Tavia finished.

“It certainly was rather an unfortunate start for the first morning,” Dorothy agreed. “But, Tavia, I wish you could have seen me. If Mr. Armstrong had not just come along then, I would have run away, and left the whole place to those greedy men. I could not have stood it five minutes longer.”

“It must have been funny. I’ll have to take my lunch down there some early morning. Maybe another nice Mr. Armstrong might come along. But say, Doro, did you hear about the hall table candy?”

“No; what happened to it?”

“It seems that Jean got it mixed up in her satchel with some hair tonic that leaked from a bottle. She says she left it on the table, because there was no scrap basket there—in the hall, and she didn’t know where to put it. When I took the hair tonic-soaked candy away Jean declares she thought one of the maids had thrown it out, as you could easily smell the hair tonic. I didn’t smell it, neither did Ned, but there was quite a time about it, as Jean got worried when she thought it over. That was why she came out the second time. But then they were gone—perhaps some of the girls took them. You never heard so much talk over a little spill of hair tonic.”

“Did Jean ask Mrs. Pangborn about it?”

“Of course, and Mrs. Pangborn was more frightened than Jean, for she said the stuff might have a poison in it. Now everyone is waiting to see who will drop dead,” and Tavia laughed as if such an occurrence would be very funny.

“Let’s hurry. We will get the second table now, and it’s such a beautiful day to be out,” Dorothy said. “I feel better, really, for having told you about my worries. Perhaps I will get a letter with good news.”

“I hope so. But let me tell you something. If we really need money I’ll advertise the little dog. Jake says he’s a thoroughbred.”

“He may be some child’s pet, and you ought to advertise him, anyhow,” Dorothy said. “There are Cologne and Edna. They have finished.”

They stopped at the door of the breakfast room.

“Oh you little runaway!” exclaimed Cologne to Dorothy. “We thought you were on your honeymoon by this time.”

“That was a neat trick,” Edna added jokingly, “to go out before daylight, and come back with such a yarn! You ought to hear what the girls are saying about you!”

“Let’s eat, at any rate,” Tavia suggested. “I’m starved!”

“Didn’t happen to see anyone taken sick yet; did you?” asked Edna. “I hope the medicine fell into the other camp. You know Jean is already organizing.”

As Tavia and Dorothy entered the room Jean Faval and several girls passed out. Some of them said good morning, and some of them did not. But Jean was heard to remark something about “cooks and classes.”

“She means the lunch wagon,” Dorothy whispered to Tavia.

“She’s mean enough to mean anything,” replied Tavia. “I can’t see why she has such a grudge against you, Doro.”

“Never mind. We can get our club together and then our rivals may club by themselves,” said Dorothy.

As they finished breakfast, a waitress handed Dorothy a note.

“Mrs. Pangborn wants to see me,” said Dorothy, rising.

Then Tavia’s hope, that the morning’s gossip had escaped the ears of the school principal, vanished.

“Don’t mind if she asks queer questions,” Tavia remarked, as Dorothy left. “You know those new girls have to be kept busy.”

CHAPTER IX THE INTERVIEW

Mrs. Pangborn was sitting in her pretty little office when Dorothy entered. On her desk were some late, purple daisies, or iron-weed, and their purple seemed to make the white-haired lady look regal, Dorothy thought.

After exchanging greetings the principal began with her rather painful discourse.

“I have sent for you, Dorothy,” she said, “on account of some rather surprising stories that have come to my ears. I can scarcely credit them. At the same time I must make sure that these rumors are groundless. Did you—take charge of that lunch counter at the new depot, this morning?”

“Why, yes; I did,” replied Dorothy, coloring to the eyes, “but I only did so to help the young girl who has charge of it. She had to leave, and called to me to go over there for a few minutes.”

“It seems incredible that a Glenwood young lady should do such a thing,” Mrs. Pangborn said. “But I have no doubt your motive was innocent enough. Then about the young gentleman with whom you were seen walking?”

Dorothy felt like crying. Who could have tattled these stories? And what a construction to put on her actions!

“He merely walked this way because——”

She hesitated. What was his reason? And how would it sound?

“Was he a personal acquaintance?” asked the inquisitor.

Again Dorothy hesitated. “I know his mother,” she said finally, “and he has been very kind. It was he who sent you the message from the train when we could not get here.”

“Oh, the young man who ’phoned from the station for our car? He certainly was kind, and I can’t see——”

It was then Mrs. Pangborn’s time to hesitate. She had no idea of letting Dorothy know that some one had notified her that Dorothy Dale was out walking with a young man whom she had met on the train—a perfect stranger!

“It is a pity,” the principal went on, “that these first days must be marred with such tattle, but you can readily understand that I am responsible, not only for the reputation of my pupils, but also for my school. I must warn you against doing rash things. One’s motives will not always excuse public criticism.”

Dorothy was too choked to make an answer. She turned to the door.

“One word more,” spoke Mrs. Pangborn, “you know we have a number of new girls this term, and I would ask you and your friends, as you are so well acquainted with Glenwood, to do all you can to make them happy and contented. I don’t like seeing the strangers gathered in little knots alone. It is not friendly, to say the least.”

“But, Mrs. Pangborn, those girls seem to want to keep by themselves. They have refused every effort we have made to be friendly,” Dorothy answered.

“They may be shy. That little one from the South is the daughter of a friend of mine. Her name is Zada Hillis, and I am most anxious that she shall not get homesick,” insisted Mrs. Pangborn.

“I will do all I can to make her contented,” Dorothy replied, “but she seems on such friendly terms with some of the other girls—in fact Jean Faval has taken her up quite exclusively, and Jean refuses to be friends with me.”

Dorothy was glad she had said that much, for, somehow, she traced her unpleasant interview to the sly work of Jean and her chums.

Mrs. Pangborn turned to her books, indicating that was all she wished to say, and Dorothy left the room.

Tavia was outside waiting for her.

“All right, sis?” she asked, noting that Dorothy was trembling with suppressed emotion.

Dorothy merely pressed Tavia’s arm. She could not just then trust herself to speak.

“Come on,” Tavia said. “We’ll go back to our room. Perhaps I can make you feel better by telling how that thing happened.”

The other girls all seemed to be out of doors—the morning was too delightful to spend time unpacking and hanging up clothes.

Once in her room Dorothy buried her face in the couch cushions. The previous excitement had been enough—this new phase of the trouble was too much.

“Now see here,” began Tavia, “don’t you mind one thing which that crowd says or does. Jean Faval, of course, is at the bottom of the whole thing, and she has organized a club they call the ‘T’s.’ It’s secret, of course, and no one knows what the ‘T’ is for, except the members. She met you this morning with Mr. Armstrong, and that was just pie for her. They’re out under the buttonball tree now, planning and plotting. I’ll wager they are after my scalp,” and she shook her head of bronze hair significantly. “Failing with the hair tonic, they want the whole head.”

“But to be accused of—why, Tavia! I cannot see how the little incident could be made into such a story,” sobbed Dorothy.

“Little incident! You running a lunch cart! Why it’s the very biggest thing that ever happened in Glen. I am going to apply for the position permanently.”

Tavia went over to her dresser, and “slicked” things up some. She missed something, but did not at once speak of it, thinking it had been mislaid.

“I feel as if my reputation had been run over with a big six cylinder car,” Dorothy said, trying to cheer up. “It hurts all over.”

“Say,” Tavia broke out, “did you take your picture from here? Now own up. Did you give it to David Armstrong?”

“Tavia, don’t be a goose,” Dorothy said. “What would I want with my own picture, after I had given it to you?”

“Well, it’s gone, and I could have sworn I put it right here,” indicating a spot on the dresser. “If I don’t find it——”

Tavia made a more frantic search among the things on the dresser. She opened and shut drawers rapidly. Dorothy watched her chum curiously.

Suddenly, as Tavia paused, rather disheveled and warm, there sounded a footstep out in the corridor. It seemed to pause at the door.

“Listen!” whispered Dorothy.

Tavia tiptoed to the portal.

CHAPTER X AN UPSET CANOE

After a moment of silence—a tense moment—the footsteps passed on again. The two chums looked at each other.

“Who could it have been?” whispered Dorothy.

“Give it up,” replied Tavia, recklessly. “None of our friends, or they would have come in.”

Softly she opened the door and peered out.

“Whoever it was, they’re out of sight, and I don’t mean that for slang, either,” she announced. “But say, Doro, dear, I don’t see why I can’t find that picture. It’s disappeared most mysteriously. I don’t like it.”

“But you will find it. Perhaps it blew out of the window,” Dorothy suggested.

“Maybe,” Tavia replied, “but I have lost something else.”

“What?”

“A slip of paper I took out of the candy box. It had an address on it, and I wanted it.”

“But it was not yours, if you took it from Jean’s box.”

“That’s the very reason I wanted it. Well, never mind. Wash up and we’ll go out in the woods. Maybe we’ll dig up some more lunch carts.”

“I don’t believe I care to,” Dorothy answered. “I want to wait for the mail. Besides, my eyes would betray me,” and she glanced in the mirror to confirm her suspicion.

“All right. I’ll go out, hunt up the news, and fetch it back to you. In the meantime you might be hunting up your photo for me. I feel lonely without it,” and Tavia, without making any other preparation than picking up a parasol, was gone.

Dorothy did not sit down and cry, although she felt gloomy indeed, but, as her trunk had arrived, she buried her “blues” in the work of getting things in order.

Tavia met her “cronies” in the cedar clump. They were planning for the “rumpus,” and as the two factions were rivals, each would, of course, try to “perpetrate” the greatest surprise.

Cologne and Ned asked about Dorothy, but Tavia managed to reply without really answering.

“The rumpus this year must be classic,” declared Molly Richards. “We are growing up, and Mrs. Pangborn won’t allow any tom-boying.”

“Then count me out,” announced Tavia, “for I couldn’t have a smitch of fun classicing.”

“You don’t know how much fun it is to try to look in a pool like Psyche, and have a real frog jump out at you. However, if you have no suggestions to make there is no use in telling all ours,” and Molly, or Dick, as they called her, put up her note book.

“I suggest refreshments,” Tavia volunteered, “but I will have to calendar my fee. I am, as usual, penniless.”

“And we are to re-name our club,” said Edna. “What do you think of the Tarts—meaning tarters, of course.”

“I’ll just wager that’s what the ‘T’s’ stand for! Fancy us hitting the same name. Wouldn’t it be a joke,” and, in anticipation, Tavia tossed a ball of grass in Nita Brant’s ear.

“I wouldn’t have that,” declared Ned. “They would call us copy cats!”

“There’s nothing better than the Glens,” Cologne proclaimed. “And, since we are the seniors, I believe we ought to keep to that.”

“Let’s vote then,” Nita suggested. “We are sure to be satisfied if we all have our say.”

“Being chairman of the executive committee,” said Cologne, “I call for a vote.”

“Make it a straw vote,” Tavia said. “I’ll get the straws. Long will be for, and short against.”

When the straws were counted the decision was for Glens; and so that matter was disposed of.

It took a full hour to make all the plans, and Dorothy’s ready originality was greatly missed. It was the first time in her days at Glenwood that she had not helped plan the “rumpus.”

Finally the group scattered, most of the girls taking to the pretty lake for either canoeing or rowing. Ned and Tavia went in the canoe with the closed ends, or air compartments, while Dick took a party of the newcomers out in the big, red rowboat, with the golden “G’s” on either side.

In the narrows, a part of the stream so called because the trees leaned over there, Tavia’s canoe passed Jean Faval’s.

“She ought to learn to paddle,” Tavia remarked. “See how she digs.”

“But she looks pretty—I guess that’s the main point—with Jean,” replied Ned.

“She’s going to turn,” Tavia said. Scarcely were the words uttered than Jean did turn—right out of her canoe into the waters of Sunshine Lake.

“Oh, it’s deep there!” called Ned. “Let’s get to her.”

Tavia paddled quickly, and soon reached the spot where Jean was holding on to the upturned canoe.

“Don’t be afraid,” Tavia called to the one in the water. “It can’t sink.”

“But I can,” came the frightened reply. “Oh, do help me in!”

“We couldn’t get the water out of it,” answered Tavia. “It isn’t far to shore. Can you swim any?”

“A little!” gasped Jean.

“Then just get a hold of our canoe and keep exactly in line with us. In that way we can tow you to shore.”

Frightened as Jean was, she was still more afraid to be trailed through the water. But when both girls assured her that there was no other way, as she could not get her canoe righted, neither could she get in with them, she finally consented to the plan.

It took some skill to guide the canoe just right, but Ned balanced the craft while Tavia paddled straight and directly for shore.

Indeed, the proud girl was a sorry sight when she was landed, and scarcely thanking the rescuers, she dashed across the fields for her room in Glenwood Hall.

CHAPTER XI THINGS THAT HAPPENED

“Rumpus night” came at last. Little time was taken for the dining room ceremonies, for everyone had her share to get ready for the initiation of new members of the school, and for merry-making for those who had gone through the same ordeals, two or three years before.

The corridors seemed alive with whispers, the rooms fairly quaked with secrets, and if there was one girl not on a committee, she must have been the manager of one.

The “T’s” were all new members, and Jean Faval was their leader. The “Glens” depended upon Cologne, or more properly speaking for this important occasion, she was Miss Rose-Mary Markin.

Dorothy had overcome her embarrassment and was, as usual, helping Tavia, who, instead of remaining in during the afternoon, to arrange her things, had found more pleasure and mischief in training for the boat race in her canoe.

At seven o’clock the big gong sounded in the hall, and the lights were turned on in the recreation room. Everybody got in there, although just how, it would have been hard to tell, for there seemed to be no confusion, nor excitement.

Mrs. Pangborn opened the ceremonies with a greeting to her pupils, and her kindest wishes for a happy and successful term at Glenwood.

Then came the school chorus. Somewhere there were mandolins, banjos, and other stringed instruments, and their chords came sweetly from various corners and nooks, while the girls sang the tribute to their school. After that two new teachers were introduced, Miss Cummings and Miss Denton.

“Now, young ladies,” said Mrs. Pangborn, “we leave you to your merry-making, and we trust you will be as discreet and thoughtful to one another’s feelings as you have always been. Remember, we have some young strangers with us, and there may be a great difference in their ideas of fun, and ours.”

When the applause died out the lights went with it. Only a flickering gas jet over the “throne” gave the location of the room, so that while figures moved around, and voices buzzed, the programme could not be guessed at.

Five minutes of suspense passed, then the lights were flashed on again.

The “throne,” a big couch covered with umbrellas and parasols supporting all sorts of colored divan covers, gave the effect of an ancient chair of state, or royal seat.

Cologne reclined there as if she had been wafted from Greece, all the way through these common centuries. She seemed made to be a queen. Her costume was as wonderful as it was gorgeous, the most prominent feature being the beaded portiers from Edna’s room, and they fell so gracefully over the robe of cheese cloth, donated by Molly Richards. Her crown was golden, real, good paper-of-gold, and this was studded with as many gem hatpins as could be purloined, or borrowed.

It was at once suspected that the very dark “slave,” who waved a feather duster over the queen’s head was Tavia, because there were no sleeves in her wrappings, and she wore on her feet a pair of grass slippers, taken from the wall of a stranger. This costume, indicating comfort, betrayed Tavia, while, on the other side of the royal seat, Ned could be discerned, because her brown grease paint, or salve, was carelessly left off over one eye.

The chief slave was tall and masterful. In “his” hands he held the numbers of the “victims,” written on slips of paper, ready to call them off to the queen. “His” costume was another of those draperies, the absence of which from windows and doors, left rooms drafty that night, and “his” helmet was a rubber hat, of the rain order, that went down under the chin, and covered the ears and which, incidentally, belonged to the bell boy.

To describe all the “get-ups” and “make-ups” would bring the affairs far into the night, whereas the fun should be over by ten sharp, according to school rules, so we proceed.

“Enter!” called the slave, and then the vestal virgins trouped in, doing their best not to trip up in the bed sheets they trailed.

The waving feather dusters rested. The queen lolled effectively.

A “classic” speech was made that didn’t mean anything, then “number one” was called. The first vestal stepped up to the throne.

“Prostrate thyself!” ordered she, who did not dare to turn, lest the beaded portiers should scatter.

The aspirant did as she was commanded, but alas! she was heard to giggle.

This was a real offense, and it is a wonder she did not at once turn into a cyclops, or a goat, for the queen was really displeased.

“Take thyself to the rocks, and join the maids there who sing forever. See that thy song shall bring riches to my kingdom or——”

The queen paused, but was taken up by one of the feather duster girls. “Make it crabs,” she said. “Crabs are getting scarce, and the other fishermen wear smelly clothes. Our Lorelei always go for the crabbers, or lobster men.”

The absurd comparison brought forth applause. But the stage folks did not smile.

The next called was plainly little Zada Hillis, for even the long trailing sheet could not disguise her. She was nervous, and tripped as she stepped on the platform.

“Child of the sea,” spoke the queen, “we shall show you the wonders of our land-home. Tell me what lights the depths?”

Zada hesitated. Then she ventured. “The gleam of our mermaids’ eyes—the light of purity, and the glow cleanliness.”

This was applauded, for indeed it was not a bad speech for a frightened novice.

“Thou shalt sit near my throne,” spoke the queen, “and thou shalt be my handmaid!”

This was an honor, and was interpreted to mean that the little stranger would be taken into the “Glens” with open arms. Some of the others awaiting their sentence moved uneasily, but one slave (Tavia of course) asked if the handmaid knew where the spring was, as she would like a good drink of real water.

Truly the brown coffee on her face was running down, looking for cups, and sugar, and the evening was not so cool but that the hangings over the throne caused air congestion.

There was no mistaking the next number called. Only Jean Faval walked that way—with the fashionable stride—and only Jean held her head so high.

“Circe,” called the queen, “mix thy cup.”

The slave fetched a bowl, with a whole bunch of lighted Chinese “punks” smoldering into incense.

Jean looked at it disdainfully. Evidently she did not enjoy this form of initiation, and made no move to comply. Her manner caused surprise, as the “haze” was most innocent, and in no way stronger than that given the others.

“Dost not comply?” called the queen.

Jean put a whistle to her lips and blew it. Immediately all her club, some ten or twelve, rushed to the throne, tore down the hangings, and paraded off with the paraphernalia, singing something about “T’s and turn-outs, the real Glenwood scouts!”

For some moments a panic threatened. The senior “Glens,” who by rule and right, had always conducted this little affair, were indignant to the point of battle.

A teacher on guard in the outer hall heard the confusion and entered. She called to the “mutineers” to stop, but they sang and yelled, as if it were a victory to break up the night’s entertainment.

Suddenly one of the raised paper parasols touched an open gas light. It was carried by a stranger, named Cecilia Reynolds. Seeing it blaze she frantically tossed it away, and it fell on the prompter’s chair where Dorothy still sat waiting for the trouble to be over.

Everyone screamed! Dorothy jumped up, and grasping the blazing thing, threw it out of an open window.

In her costume, of prompter, Dorothy affected the pure white robes of Clio, and in her hand she held the scroll of history. It was this open paper that caught a spark, and in stamping it out Dorothy knew the risk to her thin white dress.

Tavia and Edna, besides the teacher and Cologne, rushed to her, while the others, filled with terror at the thought of fire, fled from the room.

It all happened so quickly—Dorothy’s skirt was torn from her and that, with the piece of parchment, were soon on the ground below the open window, where the burning paper umbrella still smoldered.

“Are you burned, Dorothy?” Tavia asked, anxiously.

“Oh, no. I don’t think so, but my head—feels queer. I guess I was—frightened,” Dorothy said, haltingly.

“You must go to your room at once,” advised the teacher, who happened to be Miss Cummings. “If you keep very quiet you may not feel the shock so much. It was most unfortunate,” and she, in leading Dorothy away, motioned to her companions that they were not to follow.

CHAPTER XII TROUBLE UPON TROUBLE

Nine days had passed since our friends arrived at Glenwood Hall, and the first week of school days had been covered.

Dorothy’s troubles seemed most unusual, even for an active girl, who is sure to find more worries than her friends from the reason that her interests, being more widely scattered, cause more dangers and more gossip.

For a whole day after the initiation night she had been obliged to stay in her room, the shock affecting her nerves, and the slight scorching of her hands requiring bandages.

Tavia brought her all the news of the investigation, punctuating it appropriately with “slings” at Jean Faval. Warning had been given by Mrs. Pangborn that the next mistake would not be so easily condoned, but Tavia put it that the next time Jean Faval made any trouble for Dorothy she would be dipped in the lake, and held down for a while to “cool her off.” Tavia even expressed regret that she had not allowed the black eyed Jean to stay in the lake, when the chance was so handy to punish her, and when, out of sheer good will, she and Ned had dragged her out.

It was Saturday morning, and Dorothy was going out, with a half dozen girls, to take a long walk into town to buy such little articles as were always needed during the first week of school.

“I have simply got to get some letter paper,” Tavia remarked. “You know, Doro, I never write to Nat on anything but nice paper.”

Nat White was one of Dorothy’s two splendid boy cousins, and was a firm friend of Tavia’s. It was at their home, that of Mrs. White, Dorothy’s Aunt Winnie, that both girls had passed such delightful vacations, and spent such jolly holidays.

“Well, I must write to Ned to-night,” Dorothy said, following Tavia’s remark. “He has promised to let me know about father’s troubles.”

The other girls were somewhat in advance of Tavia and Dorothy, so that their remarks could not be overheard.

“Haven’t you had any good news yet?” asked Tavia.

“They say no news is good news, and I have had but one letter since I came away. That was from Joe, and of course he did not mention the matter. But I am sure father is very busy, and that is why I have not heard from him directly. Here is our stationery store,” finished Dorothy.

Inside the store some of the girls had already made purchases. Tavia and Dorothy joined in their conversation, and agreed upon the “long monogram” letter paper as being the most dainty.

Zada Hillis wanted to buy some pretty birthday cards to send to her home in the South, and in the selection Dorothy took pleasure in getting the cards that showed the Glenwood School, and the pretty lake at the foot of the highest hill.

“Mother will be delighted to really see a picture of the hall,” Zada told Dorothy, “and the verses are descriptive, too.”

It took Tavia quite a while to get just what she wanted, and before they had left the store Jean Faval came in with the Glenwood Gleaner in her hand—the little weekly paper that gave the news of the town, and a lot of other reading matter that had no particular bearing on any particular place.

With Jean were Cecilia Reynolds, Maude Townley and Grace Fowler. They were all very much engaged in reading something in the Gleaner, so much so that they scarcely noticed the other Glenwood girls at the card counter.

“Isn’t that awful!” exclaimed Grace.

“Serves one right for liking notoriety,” replied Jean.

“What will ever happen when the faculty see it?” put in Cecilia.

“Mrs. Pangborn will be furious,” declared Grace.

Then they saw Dorothy and Tavia. Quickly the paper was thrust into the pocket of Jean’s jacket, and with a rather doubtful “good morning,” the different factions passed in and out, as those who had finished buying, and those who had not yet begun.

On her way out Tavia got near enough to Cologne to speak to her privately.

“Say,” she began, “did you see that paper that Jean had?”

“Yes,” replied Cologne, in the same important tone.

“Well, I think there was something in that about—school matters.”

“Yes, I heard one of the remarks about Mrs. Pangborn.”

“We must get a paper on our way, but let us be careful not to have Dorothy see it. It—might—concern her.”

“Why?” asked Cologne, in surprise.

“Oh, I don’t exactly know, but I do know that those girls are bitter rivals of hers, lands knows one could never guess why.”

“Jealous I guess,” replied Cologne. “But I do hope Dorothy will not be pestered any more—for a while at least. She has had her share of trouble lately.”

“Her share and then some of the others’,” replied Tavia. “I have made trouble for Dorothy myself, but I never meant to do so. And just now when——”

She checked herself. The fact that Dorothy came up made an excuse for the halt in her conversation.

“What are you two plotting now?” asked Dorothy pleasantly.

“A little roller skating bout,” replied Tavia lightly. “Want to join? It’s just the weather for the boulevard.”

“It would be pleasant after lunch,” Dorothy agreed. “But about our walk?”

“We can turn it into a skate,” insisted Cologne. “I think we get enough walking, anyhow.”

“All right,” returned Dorothy, “but, Tavia, please see that your skates are all right, and that you won’t have to stop every one you meet to fix a clamp or a strap.”

They were nearing the paper stand, and Cologne was giving a signal to Tavia. Tavia shook her head. They would not risk getting a paper much as they wanted to see it, if there was any chance of it upsetting Dorothy. Tavia was deciding she could run out again, directly after lunch, while the skating club was getting ready for their “bout.”

“We ought to get a paper,” said Dorothy, unexpectedly. “The girls in the book store seemed to find something very interesting in it.”

“The Sunday School convention programme,” replied Tavia, with a smile. “I beg of you, Dorothy, not to get it, for it gives me what they call qualms of conscience, and any dictionary will tell you that the disease is sometimes fatal. Please, Doro, for my sake, forego that sheet,” and twining her arms about Dorothy, she and Cologne had the unsuspecting one past the stand before she had time to think the attack intentional.

But things always will turn awry when it’s just girls. Somehow boys have a way of diverting trouble, but according to the Glens, girls are sticklers for disturbances.

Before the trio had entered the Glenwood gate, another bevy of girls ran along, Gleaner in hand, almost flaunting it under Dorothy’s nose.

Tavia saw it, and recognized something else. Quick as a flash she grasped the sheet, tossed it high in the air and it landed in the lake.

Then it was lunch time.

All during the meal Dorothy was conscious of some unpleasant attention for which she could not account. At her table were her friends, Tavia, Cologne and the others, and, as they tried to divert her, she became more and more suspicious.

That weekly paper was also in evidence, although the girls, who were trying to get a glimpse at it, had to do so covertly. Finally the meal was ended, and the roller skating match arranged. The rival teams, of course, picked their best skaters for leaders, and the run was to be two miles in length. Molly Richards was to “make the pace” for the Glens, while Cecilia Reynolds qualified for the “T’s.”

It was a delightful afternoon, just cool enough to make the sport enjoyable, and the fine stretch of firm macadam road from Glenwood to Little Valley could not be better had it been city asphalt.

There were ten girls in each team, while as many others as cared to skate, and watch the match, were allowed to do so. They all wore the Glenwood costume, the uniform of garnet and black, and as they started off they made a pretty sight—something like what one might expect to see in Holland—with ice, instead of road, and coats instead of sweaters.

Zada Hillis was timid, and confessed to being a novice at the sport, but Tavia guaranteed to protect her, and she finally consented to risk going.

Finally, when Mrs. Pangborn had cautioned every one to be careful, and to be back at the hall at five o’clock, the merry party started off, three in line.

But the line was soon broken, for this one and that one would dash ahead, out-pacing those who were expected to do the best skating. When Tavia got the lead she made such a fuss over it, that, in raising her arms triumphantly in the air, she just gave one of her opponents the chance to pass her.

Dorothy did not care to try for the finals, and only rolled along in an easy way, allowing herself a chance to talk with Zada, whom Tavia had deserted as soon as she saw an opportunity to break the line.

On the outgoing run there was practically no mishaps, beyond a couple of “spills” that were quickly picked up, without damage, other than the loss of some gorgeous red hair ribbons, that were left in the dust.

Then at the bridge, the entrance to Little Valley, a rest of half an hour was taken, but there was not much rest involved, for not a girl in all the party but found something to do with skates and straps.

Dorothy could not cheer up. That suspicious whispering at lunch time kept her mind occupied, and although her friends did all they could to make her take a more active part in the race, she declined.

“Tavia,” she whispered, when she had an opportunity, “won’t you tell me what it is all about? You know perfectly well there is something on that concerns me, and I am being kept in ignorance of it.”

“Doro, there is always so much going on about you that if I should tell you it would turn your buttercup head away. You know the strangers, and also our rivals of other years, lie awake at night plotting our destruction.”

“But this particular instance? It is certainly aimed at me,” she insisted.

“Then their aim is not true,” said Tavia, “for I haven’t heard as much as a buzz come your way. There, they are going back. My! I won’t be able to kick for a week, I’m that lame now.”

Going back was not as uneventful as the run out. Feet not used to skating, were tired and sore, girls who laughed loudest were now bent on making the line first, and altogether it had by this time developed into a real, lively race.

Molly Richards and Edna Black were first for the Glens, and they stuck the run out faithfully. Cecilia Reynolds gave way to Jean Faval, who on the out-run had gained first place, which entitled her to the lead for final.

Suddenly Molly’s ankle turned, and she called to Tavia to take her place. Tavia said she couldn’t win that race if her future happiness depended upon it. At this Dorothy forgot every thing but the glory of her team, and she dashed ahead in line with Jean.

For some time they raced like human greyhounds, then suddenly something happened and Jean lay in a heap in the dust.

“You tripped me,” she shouted angrily at Dorothy, “and the race is ours. It’s a foul!”

“I never went near you,” declared Dorothy, hotly, “why there are my tracks. Any one can see them.”

But the “T’s” of course sided with their leader, and there was more than a mere discussion there in the road.

No one could doubt, in justice that, whatever had happened to Jean, it was purely accidental, and that, as Dorothy said, the traces of her skates could plainly be seen far away from the spot where the girl had fallen.

At last the race was abandoned, but, as Jean left, and went ahead with her contingent, she slurred back at Dorothy:

“Perhaps when you look over the Glenwood Gleaner you won’t carry your head so high!”

Then she hurried on with her particular chums.

CHAPTER XIII NEWS AND A NEWSPAPER

“Tavia!” gasped Dorothy, “I knew it! We must get a paper.”

“We shall,” assented Tavia. “I must see one, myself. But please, Dorothy, do not distress yourself so. It may only be some idle gossip, among the school notes.”

“Did you see the reporter, when he came up for the opening notices?” asked Dorothy.

“No,” was the slow reply, “I guess we were out. We can stop at the paper store now. The others are on ahead.”

Tavia and Dorothy were skating slowly back to Glenwood. Jean Faval’s cutting remark had exactly the effect she intended it should—it had shocked Dorothy.

Her first thought was of her father. Had he lost all? Would she have to leave Glenwood, and go to work?

But Tavia’s suspicions were of a different character. She feared some blow had been aimed at Dorothy, directly through the public prints.

“Here’s the stand,” Tavia said, “but it’s closed!”

“Is there no other place?” asked Dorothy in distress.

“The one at the depot, but that, too, may be closed between trains,” replied Tavia. “Had we better try it?”

“Oh, yes; we must. I can never go in the school building, until I know what it all means.”

“We cannot skate over there. Let us call to Ned that we will be back presently. Better not excite any more suspicion.”

Tavia funnelled her hands to her lips, and gave the message to those on ahead, and, with the order to “fetch them some good things” the ways parted.

Skates over their arms the two girls hurried along. Neither spoke for some moments. Then Dorothy broke the silence.

“Of course you have not heard yet from Nat, Tavia?”

“Only that first letter that I showed you. Surely if anything were wrong he wouldn’t have written in that monkey-strain.”

“And I have not heard from father. Well, if it is only money, it cannot be such a great disgrace,” and Dorothy’s sigh belied her words.

They were within sight of the depot newsstand now.

“Closed!” exclaimed Dorothy. “The shutter is down!”

“Well, then,” said Tavia desperately; “I’ll get a Gleaner from Cecilia Reynolds. I saw her have one at lunch.”

Dorothy was getting more and more nervous as they neared the hall. She slipped her arm in Tavia’s, and the latter gave her a reassuring press. Truly these two, who all their girlhood days had shared each others’ joys, and sorrows, were best fitted now to face the new trouble together, whatever it might be.

The afternoon was shading, but the air was delightful and the red maples were already losing their leaves.

“Suppose you sit here on the bench, Doro,” suggested Tavia, “while I go get the paper.”

Only too glad Dorothy assented, and Tavia ran off.

The time seemed hours to Dorothy before Tavia returned, and, when she did so, the color, that very rarely left her healthy cheeks, was missing.

“What is it?” asked Dorothy.

“A meeting of the entire school has been called—suddenly,” replied Tavia, “and I have been asked to have you come up at once. There is nothing but excitement. Even the new teachers are in the assembly room. I could not get a word from anyone, but was met at the door with the order to go and get you. We had better go.”

Then as Tavia’s color faded Dorothy’s rushed to her cheeks. There must be something very serious, indeed, when a school meeting was called for that hour in the afternoon.

In the assembly room Mrs. Pangborn sat at her desk, and, as Tavia and Dorothy entered, there was a subdued murmur of surprise.

“Be seated,” said the principal, “and Miss Cummings will please read that—article.”

It was the Glenwood Gleaner!

The teacher began. The heading was enough:

“PLUCKY GLENWOOD GIRL SAVES THE
DAY FOR TRAINMEN.”

Dorothy shrank as if she had been struck!

Then the teacher continued:

“RUSH AT THE LUNCH WAGON, DUE
TO PRETTY GIRL’S ATTRACTIONS—DO
YOU BLAME THEM—SEE
HER PICTURE.”

“Picture!” exclaimed Tavia without waiting to ask permission to speak. “That is my picture of Dorothy! It was stolen from my dresser!”

“Be silent,” commanded the principal. “Miss Dale, if this ordeal is too much for you—you may leave the room!”

Dorothy was shaking and sobbing. Even permission to leave the room sounded to her like her expulsion in disgrace from Glenwood.

Miss Higley, one of the teachers, saw Dorothy’s plight, and took her arm as she left the room. Then the investigation was continued. The article was read through, and at each new paragraph Tavia gasped audibly. Who could have written, or said such things about dear, quiet, kind Dorothy? The article fairly reeked with flashy insinuations.

When the teacher finished Mrs. Pangborn arose from her chair. Her face was paler than ever.

“I feel,” she began, “that the honor of Glenwood has been besmirched, and I demand to know at once who is responsible in any way for the publication of such libelous nonsense!”

There was no answer made to the peremptory order.

“Octavia Travers, as you are Dorothy’s most intimate friend, I will call upon you first to ask if you know anything of this?”

“All I know,” replied Tavia in a trembling voice, “is that when I unpacked, I had a picture of Dorothy. I placed it directly back of a cushion on my bureau. When I went out of the room it was there; when I came back half an hour later it was gone.”

“And you think this,” showing Tavia the likeness in the paper, “is taken from that?” asked Mrs. Pangborn.

“I am sure of it, for it is the only picture in that pose that Dorothy had. She had three taken and two were sent to relatives at a distance.”

“You heard no one ask questions about it that morning at the station?”

“No, Mrs. Pangborn,” said Tavia bravely. “Had I any suspicion that such a thing as this could have happened I should have gone to you at once, both to save my best friend, who is now all but prostrate, and to save you this great annoyance.”

The ring in her voice was unmistakable. Not one who heard her doubted the sincerity of her remarks.

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Pangborn, thus dismissing her questions.

“Now I must call upon those who are known to oppose the club known as the Glens,” she said further. “I believe Miss Faval is their leader?”

Jean Faval stood up.

“I know nothing about it,” she declared, “and the first time I ever saw a picture of Miss Dale was in the paper you have there. I can prove to anyone that the morning Miss Travers claimed that picture was taken from her room I was not in the hall from dressing time until luncheon.”

There was a murmur as she sat down. Evidently something else was expected when the rival leader underwent her questioning.

“This need go no further,” said Mrs. Pangborn, “unless anyone will volunteer information.”

She waited, but no one spoke.

“The meeting is dismissed,” she said wearily, and in five minutes the big room was emptied.

CHAPTER XIV A TURN IN THE TIDE

For two weeks after this excitement, things ran rather steadily at Glenwood. The pupils had been given their work to do, and after vacation it was not so easy to get minds back to study and to discipline.

The Glenwood Gleaner apologized in its next issue for the trashy report of Dorothy’s lunch-counter experience, and attributed the error to a new reporter, who had gotten in conversation with some of the “new pupils,” the combination resulting in what seemed to the reporter to be a “good story.” But he was not acquainted with the exclusiveness of the territory where the paper circulated.

One matter remained unexplained. How did the paper get Dorothy’s picture off Tavia’s dresser? On this question the paper and its editor had nothing to say.

In spite of the shock that the reading of the article caused Dorothy, when she recovered her poise she was almost relieved that it was all about herself, and had nothing to do with her father’s business. It was this last which caused her the most severe anxiety.

But now two letters had come from home. Each was from Major Dale, Dorothy’s father, and each was in a cheerful strain, one even inclosing a five dollar note for “some extras she might need.” So that Dorothy was now comparatively happy. Her old-time smile had come back to her, and she was willing, and ready, to take part in all the school affairs, whether in the regular, or improvised course.

To-day there was only half the usual amount of study to be finished, and, of course, in the other part of the day, there were to be so many things done that each girl planned about what would normally fit into a week’s time. Tavia, Cologne and Ned had much whispering to do, and they did not seem to want Dorothy to guess its purport.

The village post-office was not far from the school, but, as the mail was always delivered at the hall, the girls only went over there for recreation and post cards. On this half-holiday, however, it seemed that Tavia had much business at the post-office. She had been down twice, once for each mail, and besides this she made a trip somewhere else to parts unknown to Dorothy.

“I got it,” Dorothy heard her tell Ned. “Now if we can manage the rest.”

After that the two girls disappeared in the direction of the stables, where Jacob was busy with the bus and horses.

Dorothy felt very much like following them, for she knew, of old, Tavia’s proclivities for mischief, but the way Ned looked at her as they said: “We’ll be back directly, Dorothy,” debarred that attempt.

Perhaps an hour passed, and the girls did not return. Then Dorothy walked to the stable.

“Good afternoon, Jacob,” she said pleasantly, to the man who was polishing harness. “I thought some of the girls came up this way.”

“They did, miss, but it was them two that I can’t watch, so I told them I was busy in a way that meant they were not welcome,” replied Jacob. “Them two are always up to some mischief. Not but they’re jolly enough, and good company, but sometimes I’m afraid they’ll steal out after dark and hitch up a team. I believe they would!”

“Oh hardly that,” said Dorothy, laughing, “but I can’t imagine where they have gone, for I have been at the other path, and they could not have gotten out through the big gate.”

“Likely they would find a hole in the fence somewhere,” he said. “But that they are gone is all I care about. Would you like to see the little white dog? The one we picked up on the road? I call him Ravelings, for he is just like a spool of white silk unraveled.”

“Yes, I would like to see him,” Dorothy replied. “I suppose you are so careful of him you don’t let him run too far from your sight.”

“I don’t dare to, for he’s a valuable dog. I may get him in at the show in November,” and the man led the way to the corner that was fixed up for Ravelings.

There was a box, with the side cut down, and in this was a bed of perfectly fresh straw. Then, beside the bed, was a white dish of milk, and some crackers; in fact the dog had quite a little home of his own in Jake’s stable.

“He’s in hiding, I suppose,” said Jacob, searching about under the straw. “But he’s a rascal—I ought to call him Rascal, instead of Ravelings, I guess.”

He whistled, pulled all the straw out, looked in every corner, but no little white dog appeared. A sudden fear overcame Dorothy. What if the girls had taken the dog?

“Do you ever let anyone take him out?” she asked timidly.

“Never, but once I let that Tavia girl. Of course, I did sort of half give him to her, but I claim him now, as I’ve brought him up, and no little time I had curing the lame leg that some car went over, too.”

“He does not seem to be here,” Dorothy said finally. “It might be that Tavia and Edna took him out just for fun. I am sure if they did, however, they will bring him back all right.”

Jacob shook his head, and refused to talk. His pet, his chum, really, was gone. “Could he have been stolen?” he was thinking.

“The grain man was in here to-day,” he said finally, “but I’ve known him for years.”

“I’ll just run along, and see if I can find the girls,” Dorothy offered. “If I find Ravelings I’ll let you know at once, Jacob.”

The hostler shook his head. Evidently he feared he had lost his pet.

Dorothy turned to the roadway. She must find Edna and Tavia, and learn if they had taken that little dog.

Along the leaf-strewn roads she met numbers of the other students. She feared to ask them if they had seen Tavia, for it was now not easy to tell friend from foe, and the least hint of suspicion might lead to unpleasant gossip.

Once she stopped and called, for she was almost sure she had heard Edna’s bubbling laugh, but no answer was sent back. On towards the village she hurried. Yes, there they were, coming along, heads very close together, but there was no Ravelings in sight.

Dorothy drew a breath of relief. She was glad they had played no trick on poor Jacob, for he was a good friend to the girls, and always willing to take a message to town, or to do any little service that often meant much to them.

“Where have you been?” Dorothy confronted Tavia and Edna.

“To the post-office,” replied Tavia innocently.

Edna was laughing. This made Dorothy suspicious.

“One would think it was Valentine’s day,” she said. “Whose birthday is it, Tavia?”

“Nobody’s. But you know, Doro, I did owe a lot of letters, and I’ve now gotten them off my mind—my poor, over-burdened mind!” she sighed, mockingly.

“Do you girls know anything about the little white dog?” Dorothy asked bluntly.

“Not a thing,” replied Tavia, before Edna could speak.

“Well, did you know anything about him an hour ago?” persisted Dorothy, realizing that Tavia might be “hanging” on what she termed a technical truth.

“Oh, that’s different. Yes, we did see him about that time,” replied Tavia calmly.

“Now Tavia,” said Dorothy severely, “if you have done anything with that little dog there will be trouble. You know how much Jacob thought of him.”

“Dost not remember, Dorothy Dale, that thou didst suggest that I advertise that ‘dorg,’ and find the weeping and wailing kid who dropped him out of the auto?” and Tavia stepped up on a big stone to make her remarks more impressive. “Well, I have done so, and behold the chink!”

She held in her hand a five dollar bill!

“Tavia! Is it possible?”

“Not only, but probable. I asked Jake if I could do so and he absolutely refused. Now that dog was mine temporarily, and the owner’s permanently. He’s off our hands now and if you give us away to Jake, Doro, woe unto you!”

“Tavia, I cannot believe it! And you helped her, Edna?”

“We found the real owner, and I do not see why she shouldn’t have her dog,” replied Edna, without raising her eyes.

“How do you know she was the real owner?” continued Dorothy.

“You should have seen the dog fly to her,” replied Tavia. “Say, Doro, if you are worried I’ll buy Jake a new pipe, and give it to him for conscience money. But he must never know about Ravelings. What do you suppose his mistress called him? ‘Cyrus,’ because, she told us, he was the sun of her life. Likely she would have died without the sun if I had not restored him to her.”

Dorothy looked troubled. She fully realized what a time there would be when it was found out that the dog was gone.

“Did you advertise it?” she asked, as they now walked back toward the school.

“It’s such a pretty story, Doro, that I want to give it to you whole. Besides,” and Tavia lowered her voice, “echoes have ears.”

CHAPTER XV THE STORY OF RAVELINGS

“This was how it was,” began Tavia, when, as she said, she and Dorothy were behind closed doors that were locked. “I heard a little lady with glasses on a stick, ask the postman if he had ever heard of a dog. I knew at once it was our dog, because she said she had come all the way from some place, because she fancied her pet had been lost out of her car, in a place on the road near here somewhere. Then I knew the whole story, and I waited until I got her outside. I told her I might be able to find the pup, but the person who had him loved him dearly. Then she fell on my neck, and it was all over. Of course I had to take Ned in on the kidnapping part, to help decide where the money would be left, and where and how the lady would get her Cyrus back. That’s how Ned happened. It all has gone off so splendidly, I feel quite qualified to go into the dog-snatching business,” and Tavia helped herself to one of Dorothy’s wafers.

“But Jake will surely find it out,” Dorothy insisted, “besides, it seems a shame to have him posting notices all over, when——”

“The best thing that ever happened to Jake,” interrupted Tavia. “I have heard it is the first time in ten years that he tried to write his name.”

“Tavia, you know poor Jake has always been kind to us, and I feel this is a shame.”

“Then I’ll write him an anonymous letter, and tell him his dog has gone home, and is much obliged for his attention, etc,” Tavia went on.

“You should have done it openly—told the lady where her dog was, and let her come and claim him——”

“And lose the five? Dorothy, you have no more business tact than a kitten. Now do let us change the subject. Be assured if I am hauled up for dog-kidnapping I’ll get out of it as gracefully as I got into it. Will you help me select Jake’s pipe? He’s quite particular I know, for he left his on the fence one night, and I heard—of course I cannot be sure of it—but I just heard, that he put a cross of red paint on the fence, to mark the spot where he found it.”

A knock at the door interrupted them. Dorothy opened the portal and faced one of the maids.

“Miss Dale,” she said timidly, “Jake’s outside, and wants to speak with you. He would not ask at the office, but got me to come in for him.”

“All right, Ellen, and thank you,” Dorothy said. “I’ll be out directly.”

“He’s on the west porch,” went on the maid. “Jake’s not himself since he lost that dog,” and with that remark echoing she went down the red carpeted halls.

“Now, Tavia,” demanded Dorothy, “I know it’s about the dog, and I feel I should tell him the truth.”

“You dare!” snapped Tavia. “Doro, let me tell him the truth,” she added, in a pleasanter tone.

“Oh, will you? Then do come along with me! You can wait off a little way, and I’ll let you know if you can help any. Really, of all our difficulties, I feel worse about this. It is so hard to deceive a good, honest man,” and Dorothy went out after the maid.

“Thanks,” said Tavia following. “I suppose it’s fun to fool foolish girls. Now let me show you the difference. I choose the good, honest men.”

It was plain that the girls would not agree. Tavia stopped in the wisteria corner, and Dorothy went on to the man standing near the steps.

“What is it, Jake?” she asked kindly.

He lifted his cap, and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I don’t know as I should trouble you, miss,” he said hesitatingly, “but I do feel that them girls know about my dog, and I’ve come to ask you if you—if you couldn’t get them to tell.”

This was a difficult situation for Dorothy. Why did those girls do the absurd thing?

“Jacob,” she began seriously, “if you knew that the real owner of the dog had him, would you be satisfied?”

He did not answer. His long brown fingers went over the balcony rail nervously.

“If I saw the owner have him, I would,” he said with a choke. “But there’s owners, and—thieves.”

“I am quite sure he was not stolen,” Dorothy ventured. “And I do feel that he is with his real owner. Here comes one of the teachers. If you like I’ll run over to the stable to-morrow morning, and see what I can find out in the mean time.”

With a bow of his head he went off, knowing that the teacher approaching would criticize his presence there.

Tavia was laughing when Dorothy joined her. “Well, he didn’t eat you did he, dear?” she asked. “I rather thought he enjoyed talking to you”; this with a teasing toss of her head.

“Now Tavia, Jake has simply got to know that story. I cannot see how we are to go about it, and save the—honor of—our clan, but we have got to think it up. We have got until to-morrow morning, and you and Ned must help. Personally I am ashamed of the whole proceedings.”

Dorothy went inside without waiting for her companion. She was in no mood for laughing over the matter, and it seemed impossible to get Tavia to realize how serious it had turned out to be. If Jacob went to Mrs. Pangborn with the story, after all the other annoyances that had occurred, in so short a time of the school term, Dorothy feared that even that mild and sweet-tempered lady might find the girls from Dalton too troublesome.

Tavia hurried to look for Edna. She found her with Molly Richards and Nita Brant, trying to solve the problem of making a slipper bag out of a raffia hat.

“See here, Ned,” began Tavia, “I have got to speak to you alone at once.”

“The sheriff this time?” asked Molly, laughing, and pricking her finger with the long needle she was trying to use.

“Worse, I’m afraid it will be the undertaker, if we are not miraculously careful and clever. Come along, Ned,” dragging her from her chair, “you are in on this autopsy.”

But the clever plans hoped for did not develop. All Edna did was to blame Tavia for getting into the scrape, and Tavia’s arguments ran along the same line. After study hour Dorothy called the girls to her room.

“Well,” she said, “what are you going to tell Jake? Don’t you think it will be best to tell it all, and have it over? If you don’t you will be in constant dread of it popping out, and spoiling something better than can be hurt just now.”

“Well, we have been in so much trouble,” sighed Ned, “it does not seem that another stroke would be much worse. All I care about is that we took the money.”

“Why not hand that over to Jake?” suggested the wise little Dorothy, who was really assuming more sense than she felt she rightfully knew how to handle. The other girls were so devoid of anything like sense that she appeared almost like the proverbial Minerva, and her aviary, besides Tavia and Edna.

“Oh, I never could stand Jake’s scorn on that,” declared Tavia. “It would be worse than owning up to dog-snatching.”

“Did you find out where the lady lives? She who claimed the dog?” Dorothy questioned.

“Nope,” said Tavia, “I was so scared when I took the five dollars that I almost ran. Ned stood just twenty feet away. She feared the usual bomb.”

“Then all we can do is to go to bed early, and think it over,” decided Dorothy. “Sometimes an inspiration comes in the dark you know.”

“Yes, that’s how I got the inspiration to get Ravelings out through a hole in the fence back of the stables,” said Tavia. “And I think the ghost that got me into the trouble can do no less than help me out. Besides I’m that tired,” and she yawned. “I feel if I do not soon get sleep I shall turn somnambulist.”

“And that’s how you are going to think it out,” finished Dorothy. “Well, I am going to see Jake early in the morning. See that you are ready to go with me.”

“I’ll do all I can,” volunteered Edna. “But I never imagined it would be as bad as this. Mercy, dog-snatching!” and she went off with the words sissing on her lips.

“Say, Doro,” said Tavia between yawns, “I got your picture back to-day.”

“You did!”

“Yep, it came by mail, and was in the envelope of the Gleaner. I’ve got that to clear up, and I like it better than Jake’s little fuzzy dog.”

CHAPTER XVI THE RESCUE

“Tavia, get up! It’s seven o’clock, and I must go up to the stables!”

So Dorothy called the next morning, but whether Tavia was too much awake to do anything so “foolish” as to get up, and interview Jake, or whether she was still sleeping, Dorothy took no further time to inquire, for if she did so her own time would go with the effort. Instead, she dressed hastily, and, slipping a coat on, for the morning was heavy with dew, she quietly went up the gravel path toward the stable. There was a wind and a turn in the road, and from this spot, where big white stone marked “danger” for auto or carriage, the public road opened in a short, sharp “V.”

On either side was heavy shrubbery, the pride of the gardener, and the pleasure of the girls who loved late or early blossoms, for the hedge was composed of such shrubs as sent forth both.

The soft, lavender, feather-blossom was plentiful now, and as Dorothy passed along she stopped to gather a spray. As she did so she heard something like a whine.

She listened! It could not be a cat. There was Jake waiting at the stable door. What should she say to him? She did not hurry off, for that cry certainly came from the bush.

Carefully she pushed back the brambles. Then she called softly, as to some animal.

The answer came. It was a faint bark! A dog surely. She glanced up to the stable, to see if Jake was still there so that she might call him; but he had gone.

Then she whistled the call for a dog, but could see nothing but a movement of the briars.

“He must be in there,” she told herself, “and I will have to crawl in and get him. Something must have him fast.”

Tucking her skirts about her as best she could, she raised bush after bush, until she was well within the hedge. Then she could see where the sound came from.

It was under a hawthorn!

She raised that, and there beheld little Ravelings!

“Oh, you poor little thing!” she said aloud. “How ever did you get there?”

In spite of her anxiety that the precious animal might be injured, it must be admitted that Dorothy was glad to see him.

Now she would have to tell nothing to Jacob. She would just hand him his dog.

“Come, Ravelings,” she coaxed, and the white fuzzy head moved but the legs refused to do so.

“Not a trap, I hope,” she murmured.

One more perilous forward motion, for at every move she was being scratched and torn with the briars, then she had her hand on Ravelings.

His long shaggy fur was completely wound up in a wiry bramble, and the little creature could no more move than if he had been in a trap.

My, how dirty and bedraggled he was! However could he have gotten back to Glenwood?

“Wait,” she said as if he might understand, “I’ll get you out without hurting you.”

Making her way clear of the shrubs, through the path she had made crawling in, Dorothy ran back to the hall, and up the outside stairs to her room.

“Tavia! Quick!” she called. “Give me the scissors!”

“Mercy sakes! What’s this? Suicide!” exclaimed the lazy one, not yet dressing. “Wait. I’ll get you something easier.”

Too impatient to talk with her, Dorothy got to her own work basket and procured the scissors. Then back she went to the damp nest where Ravelings waited.

“It’s a shame to cut your pretty fur so,” she talked as she snipped and snipped each knot of curly silk—the pride of Jake. “But you have got to get out. I just hope it is only your fur, and that there are no bones broken.”

It took some time to get him entirely free, but as Dorothy worked the grateful animal licked her hand and tried to “kiss” her, so that she felt quite as happy to release him as he must have been to be free. At last she had him in her arms.

She must not let him run, and it was not easy to hold him, and get out herself.

“There,” she exclaimed, when on the path, “now we will go to Jake.”

She could scarcely hold him when he saw the barn. And what a big, muddy blue bow of ribbon was around his neck! Wait until she told the girls! They would be afraid to go up to the stable to make certain, and they would surely not believe her.

Dorothy was flushed with pleasure and excitement.

“Jake!” she called at the barn door.

The man came out.

“Here he is! Here is Ravelings!”

“Where on earth——”

But the dog had leaped from her, and was “kissing” Jake so eagerly that he could not say another word.

CHAPTER XVII DEEPENING GLOOM

After the rescue of Ravelings, Dorothy hurried back to the hall. As she was met at the door by Tavia and Edna she was too excited and exhausted to proffer any information. In fact she considered it was due the girls that they look around, and hunt up things on their own account. Why should she be their mediator? They should learn a lesson, and it might be just as well to learn it at this time.

“Where on earth have you been? Crawling through a knot hole?” asked Tavia, noting Dorothy’s disheveled appearance.

“No, I crawled under a knot hole,” she replied, going toward the door.

“But what did you tell Jake? You are not going away that way—leaving us in suspense; are you?” asked Edna.

“Oh, if you want to see the dog you can just go up to the stables,” replied Dorothy easily. “Jake is giving him his bath.”

“What? Dorothy Dale! You to tell such a fib!” exclaimed Tavia.

“No, I am telling no fib. I have just left Ravelings in Jake’s arms!”

The two girls were dumbfounded. Dorothy really meant what she was saying, and however could that dog have been found? Edna looked at Tavia, and Tavia glared at Edna.

“And,” gasped Tavia, “the five dollars are all spent! Do you suppose the lady with the sticked-glasses will come up to the hall? Ned, we had better flee!”

“I can’t believe it, and I’m afraid to go up to find out,” said Edna. “Dorothy, please tell us about it, or we shall die of—a new disease. We might call it rabies junior.”

“I can’t tell you anything more,” insisted Dorothy, “but I am sure Jake would be glad to tell you all about it,” this last with a meaning not to be misunderstood.

So Dorothy left them, and proceeded to get ready for her school day.

“What!” asked Edna, all but speechless.

“Which?” gasped Tavia, the one word taking all her breath.

“Could we go up, and peek through the hole in the fence?”

“We could, but it would be very unwise from my view point,” answered the other. “A better way would be to crawl around when Jake goes out for the train stuff. He won’t likely take Ravelings with him now. Might lose him again.”

“I don’t feel as if I could live all day, and not know,” Edna insisted. “Couldn’t we bribe someone else to go up? Dick is safe.”

“No one is safe with such a secret,” objected Tavia, “though Dick is nearest to it, she loves news, and just fancy that story getting out. Talk about a Gleaner story! This would get in the big city papers. But, though I am a good guesser, I cannot guess how the dog got back. Of course Dorothy had to do with it. I shouldn’t wonder if she went down to the post-office, laid in wait for our benefactress, and told her Jake was dying, and wanted to see the animal just once more. Something like that, you will find.”

“Well, we have got to get to business,” said Edna with a sigh. “Jean beat me in algebra yesterday, and I can’t let it happen again. By the way, I wonder where she gets all her money?”

“A rich uncle. I heard her tell of him. I don’t believe her own folks are any better off than mine, and land knows where we would have been, if my foreign grandmother did not die, and make it a point to find out where we were before doing so. I cannot never thank her enough,” and Tavia looked heavenward.

“Jean is certainly well off with small change,” went on Edna. “I am afraid if some one does not check her, she will turn chocolate color. She just wallows in them.”

“And doesn’t she hate Dorothy? I can’t see why, unless it is she sees herself in the mirror of Dorothy’s goodness. There! Wasn’t that lovely? And from me! I hate to see Jean toting that baby Zada around. She is so innocent she would do anything Jean might suggest—when Jean would be too cute to do it herself. She keeps fixing her up with sweets all the time, and Zada thinks she loves her.”

“And Cecilia Reynolds is another who would not cry if anything unpleasant should happen to Dorothy. Well, we have got to keep our team close, and stick together,” declared Edna, “and I do hope this dog business will not spoil us again.”

“‘Let sleeping dogs lie,’” quoted Tavia. “And, speaking of dogs, there come the Jean set now. They have been to the woods, ostensibly, but really have been down to the lunch cart. Jean never could get along till noon on a Glen breakfast.”

“Did you see her white tennis suit?” asked Edna. “Isn’t it a startler? She’s going to wear it at the match. That’s like her. I suppose she will not even have a ‘G’ on her arm. Well, white or black, we can beat them. Did you see how Dick played yesterday?”

“Oh, we’re not afraid of them at tennis,” replied Tavia. “They might do us at the lunch cart, but tennis? Never!”

A few hours later even the returned dog was forgotten in the depths of school work. Dorothy kept her eyes on her books more intently than was necessary, for in doing so she avoided the glances that Tavia was covertly turning on her. She was determined that the two culprits should make their own discoveries, and she was quite correct in her ideas of what Jake would say if they (the girls) happened around the stable again while he was on duty.

The morning went quickly, and at lunch hour Cologne tried to rally the Glen forces to prepare for the tennis match. There would be visitors, and as it was the first big match of the season every one was interested. Some of the new girls proved excellent players, and there was considerable rivalry in the “pick.”

The short session of afternoon study was hardly given the attention that the teachers wanted, for the girls were anxious to get out to practice.

But Dorothy did not seem inclined to take her place. Tavia, always anxious to know her friend’s troubles, asked if there had been any news from home.

“Yes,” replied Dorothy slowly, “and if you don’t mind walking to the post-office with me, I would like to mail a reply at once.”

“No sickness? Nothing really serious?” again questioned Tavia.

“Serious it may be, but fortunately not sickness. The girls will have such a time to-day at the practice, making arrangements (most of which will be the others made over), I thought we could get off. You know I don’t like to walk through the woods alone.”

“But the trouble?”

“Joe—has gone to work,” replied Dorothy choking.

“Perhaps he wanted to?”

“Oh, no; I know it is that trouble,” and she sighed deeply. “I have written to say that I—shall——”

“You shall not. It is much easier for a boy to go in an office, even in an emergency, than for you to leave this year,” declared Tavia. “Could I see your letter?”

“Of course,” and Dorothy took a slip of paper from her pocket. “Of course you know dad. He would not tell me more than he had to.”

Tavia glanced over the note. “Why,” she exclaimed, “that’s nothing. Joe had a good chance to get in the bank, and he wanted to try it. I can’t see the need of you taking that so seriously.”

“Oh, I know I may be too anxious, but, at the same time, I feel, being the oldest, that I should be there to help in some way,” finished Dorothy dolefully.

“Yes, you might pose as a beauty. I believe there is a great demand for the sylph,” Tavia said facetiously.

Dorothy did not reply. She stood there in her pretty white linen dress, with her unruly hair getting into ringlets in spite of the braids that tried to restrain it.

“Don’t mail your letter,” begged Tavia. “Come over to the court. I expect trouble between Cologne and Cecilia, and if there is anyone in a scrap, I would hate to miss it.”

“All right, you run along. I’ll join you later,” Dorothy conceded, and Tavia left her.

“She may be right,” thought Dorothy, “but I must tell the folks that I am willing to do all I can. I have to mail the letter.”

The girls on the tennis court were all too busy to notice her as she walked out of the grounds, and made her way to the post-office. Through the woods, she was so occupied with the thoughts of home, that she reached the office before she realized the lonely part of her walk had been covered.

At the window, waiting for stamps were a number of persons, and taking her place Dorothy looked about at the written notices, such as usually decorate the walls of a country post-office.

One, written differently from the others, attracted her. It was this:

“Reward. One hundred dollars, for the return of a small, white dog, answers to the name of Cyrus. Lost from an automobile on the main road, some time yesterday. The dog is a thoroughbred St. Charles, and the only companion of a lonely woman. When he left the car he wore a bow of Paris blue ribbon. Leave word with postmaster.”

Dorothy read in wonderment! That was surely Ravelings! And Jake would get that reward!

She dropped her letter in the box, and hurried away never stopping to speak to the girls, who were now well on in their tennis game, but going straight up to the stables to tell Jake.

“One hundred dollars!” he gasped. “If I get that miss, I’ll go halves with you, for it was you who found him.”

“Oh, I don’t want any share,” said Dorothy. “But you had better take the dog right down to the post-office, for as soon as people read of that reward they will fetch all sorts of dogs to make claims. Likely the woman will come to enquire just about mail time.”

Jake was a man of few words, and he turned with a pull at his cap as a salute to Dorothy, and was soon getting himself and the dog ready for the trip to the post-office.

Dorothy called “good luck,” as she left him, and said she hoped her news would not be disappointing. But even the excitement of this did not cause her to forget her worries of home, and when Tavia came in from the tennis court, she found Dorothy sitting dejectedly in her room.

“I knew there would be trouble,” cried Tavia. “Dick and Cecilia almost came to blows. Sissy declared the ball had not bounded, and every one could see that it had, and it was our score——”

She stopped suddenly. Edna was calling her. “I have to go I suppose,” she said finally. “Dear me. I am all ashake,” and without any further explanation she ran off again.

A half hour later she returned, with a very broad smile on her flushed face.

“Dorothy Dale!” she exclaimed. “How ever could you have played such a trick on us. There is no more white dog in the barn than there is in this room!”

“Isn’t there?” asked Dorothy, realizing that Jake had taken Ravelings off before the girls had a chance to see him. “Then he must have been spirited away. That dog has had a great time of it.”

“Spirited away, indeed!” said Tavia indignantly. “I have almost gone gray over the thing, and it was all a——”

“Mistake,” finished Dorothy for her. “Well, then you feel better I suppose,” and she determined not to tell the story of the dog’s second return to its owner. It was too good a joke to spoil now.

“Well, at any rate, I’ll sleep to-night,” Tavia went on. “I have been expecting to go to jail for that five dollars.”

“And you won’t be afraid to go to the post-office?” Dorothy asked. “I am glad of that, for I hate to go alone.”

“And I’m going to the Gleaner office first chance I get, and see if I can’t clear up the picture mystery. I have a faint suspicion, now, how that got off my dresser. But don’t ask me about it, for it is the very merest suspicion.”

“Just as you like, but I would love to know,” Dorothy said. “If I go away——”

“You are not going away! I’d do the whole of Glenwood darning to save you that.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Dorothy said, “but I am afraid I will have to do your darning. I noticed quite a bunch of something very like stockings in your bag.”

“Say, Doro, you have got to cheer up. Really, everything in the club is going to pieces, and Cologne says she will resign if someone does not help her keep the place,” Tavia declared.

“Oh, I’ll do all I can,” Dorothy agreed, “but don’t ask me just yet.”

“And Jean Faval is flaunting around, as if she owned the earth and Mars. Even some of her own friends are getting too much of it. Zada won’t look at her.”

“Poor little Zada! She is such a baby. I have noticed her eyes very red, lately,” Dorothy remarked.

“Yes, but I don’t believe it’s homesickness altogether,” Tavia said. “I think it’s something on her mind.”

“What could she be worrying about?” Dorothy questioned.

“Why don’t you ask her? She thinks a lot of you,” suggested Tavia.

“I will,” replied the other, “the first chance I get. Mrs. Pangborn wants her to be happy. She’s a friend of her family’s, you know.”

Tavia pulled out her dresser drawer in search of something, and there dropped to the floor a torn envelope. She picked it up quickly.

“There!” she exclaimed, “that’s the piece of paper I lost the day my picture went. Do you want to see it?” handing it to Dorothy.

“The Marsall Investment Company!” Dorothy gasped. “Where ever did that come from?”

“That’s the company your father has his money in; isn’t it?” Tavia questioned.

“Yes,” Dorothy replied, her eyes still on the envelope.

“Well, my dear I found that in the memorable box of poisoned chocolates, that Jean Faval wasted her hair tonic on the day we arrived,” Tavia said.

CHAPTER XVIII LETTERS

What could Jean Faval have to do with that investment company?

Dorothy wondered, bewildered at the sudden discovery. Perhaps this was why Jean showed such hatred for her. Perhaps—but Major Dale could never do anything to defraud one—he could have nothing to do with the possibility of a Faval’s loss, if the family did lose.

Tavia bounded around the room as if in high glee. “Now Doro, we’ve got it,” she declared. “Jean knows about the company, and, my word for it if there is anything wrong it’s among her folks, not with your father. Makes me feel more positive than ever that it will come right for the Major, for they have got to come to light. I am just waiting for Jean to be lighted up here. Wait!” and Tavia gave Dorothy a hug, “wait until her uncle stops sending money. Then we will see where the haughty Jean will be!”

But Dorothy was stunned. “She knows my position,” she said dolefully. “Perhaps she has already begun to shun me as one too poor to be in her set.”

“Doro!” Tavia was determined to turn the matter into hope instead of anxiety. “You know perfectly well that she never had a set. Also you know that she—couldn’t even use the single letter ‘D’ that belongs to a Dale.”

Dorothy smiled. “You are improving, Tavia. By essay day you will be able to do something surprising. But I cannot sit moping. There’s study to do.”

Turning to her little table, Dorothy got out her books and note book. Her head was not very clear for her work, but it would work when she wanted it to, and she set about her task willingly. Not so with Tavia. Anything but to do a thing on time. Always that just one minute more, for Tavia.

“I’ll run out for a few minutes,” she said. “I am afraid Ned has gone into joyful hysterics over the doggie.”

Closing the door, Tavia noticed a bit of paper in plain sight on the floor outside. She never could resist reading another person’s letters. Picking it up she saw it was a torn envelope addressed to Jean Faval.

“Whew!” she breathed. “More news!” and she crushed it in her hand.

In a safe spot she looked at the contents of the torn envelope. What she read caused her to gasp.

There was no beginning, neither was there an end, for the superscription as well as the signature had been torn off.

But the few sentences were legible!

She read.

“Everything’s gone, but we’ll have Dale——” Then there was a break, and another bit could be read.

“In court within a few days!”

“In court! Major Dale!” gasped Tavia. “It’s an outrage!” and she breathed hard, as if to control the emotion she felt.

“I won’t tell Dorothy,” she concluded. “Talk about school rivals! Ugh! That Jean!”

Dorothy had helped Tavia through many a hard problem in her life. In fact whatever was reasonable in the girl had been developed through Dorothy’s efforts, or Tavia’s love for Dorothy, since it is said nothing new can be put into a character, but the good or bad there simply developed. Now it was Tavia’s turn. She knew exactly what Dorothy would do had she been in the other’s place.

“I’ll look this up,” decided Tavia, in true detective fashion. “That Jean might be writing letters to herself.”

Then it occurred to her that Dorothy’s mail might bring the same news. Could she intercept that?

Quick as a flash she thought of the evening post. She could get Ned to go with her, and reach the office before the carrier started out. Ned would have to go, or Tavia would tell all about the dog. Tavia didn’t care, but Ned did.

Without any explanation, she physically dragged the other girl from the porch and started her along the path.

“Come on! You have got to go. Why? Because you must!” was the way she accomplished the feat, all but the dragging. That she did with a strong and determined arm.

“What on earth——” began Edna, as soon as they were out of hearing distance of the others.

“No, it isn’t the dog. He’s gone, and good riddance! But it’s Jean. She is not gone, and bad riddance,” said Tavia. “I’m not afraid to go to the post-office now for I know the woman won’t be there with the sheriff. All the same, Ned,” and she lowered her voice appropriately, “I do think there is some mystery in that miniature hound. Dorothy never jokes that far.”

“No,” said Ned, in her economical way.

“I’d love to tell you, Neddie,” said Tavia excitedly, “but you are such a dunce.”

“Thanks,” said Ned. “I’m a dunce, surely, for getting into your scrapes. Now I’m going back. I know it’s another hold-up, or kidnapping, and I refuse——”

“Oh, Ned dear, you know I did not mean that. But one does get so tired of using good language in school, that’s it’s a positive comfort to ‘slang’ once in a while, and nobody appreciates my mental efforts in that direction as you do.” She slipped her hand into that of Edna with a meaning pressure.

“All right Tave, but mind you keep your word! My folks would never go my bail. That is a family motto. ‘Right for right and——’”

“‘Bad for bad,’” finished the facetious one. “What would have happened to me if that had been our coat of arms? But here we are. Just peek, so as we don’t run into the woman of the doggie!”

In spite of her protests, Edna was sure to do exactly as Tavia asked her to, and she did peek through the dingy window of the post-office.

“Clear coast,” she announced, and, lest anything should obstruct the coast, Tavia instantly darted in. The Glenwood box was private, of course, and Tavia did not have the key. The old post-master looked at her keenly before he handed her one letter for herself, and two for Dorothy.

Neither of Dorothy’s was from home, and as Tavia saw this she gave a skip of relief. It may be noticed that when a school girl is happy she gives a little skip—that was Tavia’s way.

“What was so important?” demanded Edna. “I hope you got it, Tavia.”

“I did. This is an invitation, I am sure,” and she opened her mail. “No, it’s a bill. Well, it will have to wait a day or two.”

“Tell me, what did you expect?” asked Edna. “Dragging me off this way, and then keeping all the news to yourself,” and she pouted prettily.

“Hush! There’s Jake. Let’s wait till he is past. I’m afraid of him. Aren’t you?”

“A little,” admitted Edna. “But see. He is coming right for us.”

“Say there,” Jake called, almost forgetting he was addressing two Glenwood young ladies. “Wait a minute! I have something to say to you.”

Tavia wanted to run, and so did Edna, but there was no escape.

“Well, what is it?” asked the latter.

“Did you take that little dog?” he asked.

Neither girl answered.

“If you did, don’t be afraid to own up, for it’s all right now. Look at that.”

The man held out a slip of paper. It was the check he had just received in reward for the return of Ravelings!

“One hundred dollars!” exclaimed both girls.

“Yes, and never was it more needed. The woman who owned the dog told me all about his pranks. It seems he always wants to jump out of the automobile, and this is his third try at it. She says he jumped when he got on the hill.”

“And that was the secret!” Tavia exclaimed. “Dorothy didn’t tell us!”

“It was she who fetched him back though. I never knew what happened to the creature, but I suspected you two,” and he shook his head. “Then, when I saw her come up to the stable, with him in her arms——”

“And now we have a joke on her,” Edna put in. “We know about the reward, and she doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t? Why she saw the sign in the post-office, and told me about it. This is a great tangle anyway,” and Jake laughed heartily.

“I should say it was,” Tavia remarked. “But since it ended so well, we won’t complain.”

“Not me,” finished Jake, just as they entered the school grounds. “But it seems to me your friend Dorothy does not look as she did. Is she sick?”

“No,” Tavia replied, “just too busy with books, I guess.”

The thought of Jean’s letter, that one found at Dorothy’s door, took the smile from Tavia’s face.

“Seems as if all the girls are losing interest in sports just now,” said Edna. “Even our tennis game ended in a frizzle.”

“It’ll all come back to you,” Jake assured them. “Young girls don’t hold to troubles long. Tell Miss Dorothy to run up to see me when she can. I want to show her this check before it gets soiled.”

“Oh, we’ll tell her,” Tavia answered, glad to think that she would really have the good news for her.

“But I don’t think we should,” said Edna. “She wouldn’t tell us.”

Tavia wondered how she could find out the truth about the torn letter. Could it be possible that Major Dale was really in danger of being arrested? If so perhaps she ought to tell Dorothy.

But, somehow, it did seem like a trick—to find the letter directly at their door.

“I’ll wait, at any rate,” she concluded, and then she left Edna to give Dorothy the mail that she hoped would bring her chum cheering news.

CHAPTER XIX ZADA

When Tavia reached Dorothy in her room she found her chum in a state of excitement.

“Whatever is the matter?” Tavia asked in surprise.

“Why, Zada has been in here, and you never saw such a time,” replied Dorothy. “I cannot imagine what ails the child. She came to the door, looked in, and finally came in. Then she burst into tears, and declared she had done something dreadfully wrong. As if that baby could do wrong,” and Dorothy closed her books that had been lying on her table evidently not much used within this study hour.

“Why didn’t you ask her what was the matter?” Tavia inquired. “I know that something has been worrying her, and she thinks so much of you she surely would have told you.”

“She wanted to do so. Then, when I saw how much it was going to cost her, I determined to quiet her nerves by showing her I did not believe she had done anything wrong. She said if she did tell me she would leave school, and I am sure I don’t want her to do that.”

“Perhaps you are right,” Tavia answered. “Here is your mail. I was at the office and brought it up.”

Dorothy glanced over the two missives. “One is from Nellie Burke, in Dalton, and the other is from Aunt Winnie. I did hope to hear from father,” she said. “Aunt Winnie says all are well, and the boys send regards to you. Strange she does not mention the financial trouble,” Dorothy said folding up the papers.

“‘No news is good news,’” quoted Tavia. “I got a bill from the paper store for that old crepe paper we used on ‘rumpus night’. I had almost forgotten it.”

The crumpled piece of paper that held tidings of Dorothy’s trouble Tavia thrust deeper into her pocket. Surely, she concluded, if Dorothy’s own aunt, the Major’s sister, did not wish to tell her about the investment company Tavia would not do so. At least not just then.

“Let’s go hunt up some of the girls,” Tavia suggested. “Cologne says you have almost given her up, and Dick is so hurt about our neglect of the Glens, that she refused my fudge this noon. That dog business—Oh, my Dorothy Dale!” she broke in suddenly, “sit right down there, and tell me that dog story. Jake got the reward!”

“I’m glad of it——”

“And I only had five dollars!”

“But I warned you to do that openly, and not steal the little thing, as you did. I think five dollars was quite a good sum for that sort of thing.”

“But if you had only told me I might have shared the big one hundred,” persisted Tavia.

“Tavia,” said Dorothy quite severely, “when you do things that seriously concern people, as that did Jake, I can’t see why you expect anything but trouble to come from it. I tell you, it gave me a lot of worry. Suppose Jean, or Cecilia, or some of the other girls, heard about it? You know what they would do, and say.”

“Oh, yes. I would surely have my picture in the Gleaner,” Tavia admitted. “Well, Doro, you got Ned and me out of the scrape, and I thank you for it. I never want to see a small, white silky dog again as long as I live. But will you come over to room ten, and break in? I know Cologne and Annette are conspiring. Jean has her crowd in the music room, no less. She has an idea she can play the banjo. But it sounds to me like one of the things you might hear in a laundry—I mean the tink—tink—tink that the chink—chink—chink plays.”

“Well, they are determined to do something at any rate, and it occurs to me that you might pick up your piano work a little closer. We have to take part in the musicale as well as they.”

“No, indeed,” Tavia answered, shaking her already tossed head. “I read the other day that more children become deaf from piano work than from any other cause, and I’ll take no chance. Besides that, I knew a man in Dalton who was almost stone deaf from working in a boiler factory, and if that music room isn’t worse than a boiler factory I’d like to know it. Well, if you won’t go, I must. I know I’m missing something now,” and she flitted off as if there was but one thing for a girl to do, and that was to enjoy herself.

When there was no danger of her being discovered Dorothy made her way to Zada’s room, and listened at the door. Yes, she was still sobbing bitterly, and with a whisper, and a slight knock, Dorothy asked to be admitted.

There was the little one—the smallest girl in the school—packing up her things!

“What are you doing, Zada?” asked Dorothy in surprise. “You must not think of leaving school!”

“But I can’t stay,” she sobbed. “I am going to write a letter to Mrs. Pangborn and—I—am going—to run away!”

“Zada! Run away!”

“Yes. I know how to get home if it is away down South. And I never would have believed,” she rubbed her eyes, “that there could be such treacherous school girls! If only I had known you better, first.”

It flashed before Dorothy’s mind that the Jean Faval club had perhaps made a tool of this child. But how to remedy it now? How to convince her that even at Glenwood all things might be made right? Had not Dorothy studied to save Tavia from serious trouble through a number of terms? Now Tavia was able, or ought to be able, to take care of herself, and here was poor little Zada rubbing her eyes out!

“I’ll tell you, dear,” Dorothy began, “I have found that some girls cannot get along away from home without keeping up trouble for other girls. They do not mean to have things go so wrong. It’s almost a habit—this plotting and scheming against those of the other sets. Do be sensible, and just rest your head down there, while I hang up your things again. You will feel entirely different in the morning.”

The small, dark head did fall back on the pillow, and Dorothy talked cheerily as she put the things in the closet, and closed the trunk.

“Perhaps if I told you,” began Zada, starting to sob again.

“No, you are not to tell me,” insisted Dorothy. “You have worried enough. If necessary I will ask to have you excused from class to-morrow, so don’t think about your lessons.”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING, ZADA?” ASKED DOROTHY IN SURPRISE.
Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals Page 147

There was something so comforting about Dorothy. Perhaps a great deal of charm came from her pretty personality, for Dorothy was not the sort of girl to “peach,” in the usual sense of the word, and, in spite of that, she did help so much.

“Oh, I do feel better,” admitted Zada. “I guess I was lonely. I can’t bear to go with the other girls, and since I started in with them, I feel I have no right to be with the Glens.”

“Indeed you have, and I am going to see that you join at the very next meeting. The Glens are the originals—the others ‘break out’ every year, as Tavia would say.”

The eyes that were red from tears now looked weary, and Dorothy knew that in a little while perhaps even dreams of her trouble would not disturb Zada. She waited until the Southern girl was ready to retire, and then left her, wondering what could be the worry that would work such havoc in her friend’s mind.

CHAPTER XX A SCHEME THAT FAILED

A whole week had passed, when, one evening, there was noticeably a great hurry among the girls to finish supper. Whispering was more popular than dessert, and glances were being shot like hot fire from one to another of those near enough to interpret them.

“Oh, she won’t go,” Tavia told Ned. “Better not tell her anything about it, or we won’t get there either.”

“But she has been so blue——”

“Ned,” interrupted Tavia, “if you are going to be on my staff do not argue. I cannot stand insubordination.”

“That means that you are going to get me into more trouble, Tavia,” Edna got a chance to say. “Really I don’t like the thing at all.”

“Miss it then,” replied Tavia tersely. “But it’s a chance of a lifetime.”

“And Dorothy not to know——”

“I tell you that would spoil it all. You know Dorothy’s idea of a thing like that. Now I’m going upstairs. The ‘T’s’ are making eyes at one another, until there is danger of eye-lock and that’s as bad as lock-jaw. Be sure to leave as soon as you seen Jean look at her watch. I’ll be there.”

It was almost dark, and against the rules for the girls to leave the grounds at that time, but, in spite of that, a shuffling of feet down the outside stairway told of a venture unusual.

Not a word was spoken until some of the girls had safely passed outside the gate.

“Oh, I’m just scared to death,” breathed one.

“Nothing to be afraid of,” came in Jean’s voice. “If you don’t want the fun you may go back.”

“Oh! what was that?” exclaimed another. “I saw something dart across the street!”

“Rabbits,” replied the girl in the raincoat.

“Don’t you suppose she will ever tell?” asked Cecilia Reynolds.

“And lose her trade? It isn’t likely,” and they scurried along.

“How do you know she’s good?” asked one as she stumbled over a string of bushes.

“She has a crystal ball,” said Jean. “They are all good!”

“We’ll be good if we get back before study hour is over. It’s all right though, when Dorothy Dale did not get to hear of it. I’m just crazy to know something.”

“We all are—you goose. That’s why we are risking our reports.”

A few minutes later the girls were crowded into a dingy little room where Madame Shebad had arranged to tell their fortunes.

It was, of course, Jean’s idea, for Glenwood was rather dull for a girl who had been accustomed to the city life that Jean Faval left to “finish up” at a fashionable school. Only a musty curtain divided the parts of the fortune teller’s cabin, and, one at a time of course, the girls were to go behind this and get dizzy, gazing into the big, glass ball, made in an Ohio glass factory, but supposed to come from some other mysterious place, not on the maps of this good government.

“You go first,” begged a girl who was really first in line.

“Come in proper turns, please,” said a voice from inside the curtain, and the timid one started.

“Let me have your hand,” commanded the same, lazy voice.

The hand trembled visibly, and the fortune teller was clever enough to say that the girl had a very nervous temperament!

“But you are talented,” she added shrewdly, “and you will get on in life. I see you on a ship—you are going on a long journey, and when you return you will be strong and well.”

So she went on, while Tillie (for it was she) shook more every moment, not alone because of the strained position she sat in, with her hand in that of the woman’s, and her eyes glued to the ball, but because she was worrying about getting back to school.

Several other girls went through the same sing-song fortune telling with the slight variations of letters coming, and light and dark friends of different grades and different shades.

Then it was Cecilia Reynolds’ turn.

“You are a leader,” the fortune teller told Cissy, noting that she carried a small purse, “but beware of a very light and pretty girl (Dorothy, of course). She has a way of making people think she is fond of them, but this is all for her own ends. I see——” and she paused significantly, “a child—a little dark girl. She cries! What is the matter with her? What has she done?”

Zada! Those who listened back of the curtains were dumbfounded.

“She has done something she regrets very much, and she wants to tell this light girl. Her home is far away, and she will soon return to it. Who told her to do that thing?”

The woman gave this chance to take effect, and, while doing so, took a fresh stick of gum. Cecilia looked on the glass. The woman came back to it, and almost kissed it, as she pretended to look deeper into its depths.

“Yes, and there is trouble,” she rumbled, “much trouble. But it isn’t well to foresee trouble,” and she sighed as if that “trouble” would break her own heart.

Cecilia was very restless. It would get late in spite of all calculations.

It was now Jean Faval’s turn. She walked in as if used to such scenes, had her glove off in advance, and handed out her hand as mechanically as if offering it to a manicurist.

The woman looked at her very sharply, and it was some moments before she spoke.

“The lines are crossed,” she said finally, “and so is your life to be. You have a great will, but you do not allow it to have its proper control. Your ambition is—money, and what about a letter? Who wrote the torn letter?”

She looked from the glass ball straight into Jean’s eyes, but the latter never flinched.

“Have you any questions to ask?” the woman inquired.

Jean hesitated. Then she said: “When will I get my answer to that letter? Is there anything in it?”

“No,” said the teller sharply. “The answer will surprise you very much. Don’t be too sure (common advice). But this very night you will dream. That dream is the answer to your letter.”

There was a perceptible titter from some place.

Then the seance was over!

Such a prattle, and such confusion as reigned among that party of girls as they hurried back to Glenwood!

Jean alone was silent. How did that woman guess about her letter? And she had warned her to be careful. Well, she would wait for a time at least. She would say nothing at school about Major Dale!

CHAPTER XXI A MISHAP

“For once we did something without being found out,” one of the “T’s” remarked, trying to get her breath as they reached the hall.

“Humph!” sniffed Jean. “It’s easy enough to have a little fun once in a while. Boys always manage it.”

“And to think that not one of the Glens knew about it! That’s what makes me feel good,” said Tillie.

“They don’t know everything,” again retorted Jean. “If they did——” she stopped short. The words on her lips she felt she should not speak. The influence of the crafty fortune teller was too strong for her.

Recreation hour, as well as study hour, had passed, and some of the more timid truants began to fear for the next day’s work. What happened when they reached their own rooms was that lights were kept burning very late, and the fun of running away began to dwindle.

Dorothy had been writing letters when suddenly Edna almost burst into her room.

“Oh, Dorothy!” she gasped, “the awfulest thing has happened. Tavia is hurt!”

“Hurt! How? Where?” and Dorothy turned pale.

“She is out on the road and I cannot get her in. If we are found to have been off the grounds, and it’s so dark now——”

She stopped, panting and frightened.

“Why were you off the grounds?” demanded Dorothy, while she hastily got into a sweater to go to the rescue of Tavia.

“Oh, I can’t tell you! It’s a real secret, not a foolish one. If only we could get Jake to carry her in! But I couldn’t go to the barn alone.”

“Come and show me where she is,” commanded Dorothy, “and I do hope you girls will get a little sense soon,” she added. There was no anger in her voice, but it shook with apprehension.

It was not easy to get through the hall unnoticed, and, when at last the grounds were reached, both girls drew a breath of relief.

“What happened?” Dorothy asked.

“We were hurrying back, and she tripped over something. Maybe she only turned her ankle, but she cannot move.”

It was just outside the gate that they found the suffering girl. She seemed to be in great pain, and begged to be taken to her room quickly, “even if she had to be expelled for going out.”

“If you will stay two minutes here with Edna,” said Dorothy, “I’ll get Jake. I saw a light in the stable a moment ago.”

“But you won’t go up that path alone!” cried Edna. “Through all those bushes!”

“I’m not afraid of bushes,” replied Dorothy. “I am only afraid that you will both be found out. There’s a faculty meeting to-night. That’s one blessing.”

Edna took Tavia’s hand in hers, and tried to soothe her while Dorothy was away. Presently the latter returned with Jake.

“You won’t tell on us, Jake, will you?” Dorothy asked before the man had a chance to see what he could do for Tavia.

“Tell on you? No, young ones must have a lark once in a while, and as long as you were not stealing any more dogs——”

“Can you carry her?” Dorothy interrupted, more practically.

“As easy as a bundle of hay,” replied he. “Only show me what’s hurt, so I can keep away from it.”

“It’s my ankle,” groaned Tavia. “Oh my, what luck! And just when I wanted to be spry!”

Why she wanted to be spry was not apparent, but it was taken for granted that Tavia always wanted to be that way. Jake picked her up in the dark, for a lantern was out of the question in keeping secrecy.

Dorothy and Edna led the way, and kept watch that no one appeared along the path. Finally they got safely to the side stairway. As Dorothy said, the teachers were at a meeting, and Edna knew, but did not tell, that the girls to be feared were too busy making up lost time to be outside.

“Here we are,” Dorothy whispered, as, at last, Room Nineteen was reached.

Jake laid Tavia down carefully on the couch, and with his finger on his lips to indicate the good-night he feared to express, he took himself off.

Tavia suppressed her groans with difficulty. That foot did hurt!

“Let me see,” said Dorothy. “Edna, get out the witch-hazel. And you will find a bandage in the little box at the side of the closet.”

Edna obeyed, while Dorothy undertook to make the necessary examination.

“I think you just turned on it,” she said, “but that’s bad enough. I’ll bind it up tight, and perhaps it will be all right, or nearly so, in the morning. But what took you out? I heard a lot of the girls coming in late.”

“That was what took us out,” answered Tavia evasively. “We didn’t care to be in all alone.”

She might have winked at Edna, but Dorothy had just turned to get the bandage and so the wink was safe if it was there.

“Ned, you had better clear out,” Tavia suggested, as the ankle was done up like a bobbin. “We might be discovered yet. I heard Cummings cough, and that always means trouble.”

“All right. I’m glad enough to do so,” said Edna, “I may have nervous prostration as a result of this, but that’s more respectable than an ankle hurt, and does not have to be hidden,” and with a word to Dorothy, to call her if Tavia went into any more trouble, Edna was stepping through the hall as lightly as a professional nurse.

“You seem to have a great many secrets lately,” Dorothy said to Tavia when they were alone. “Is Edna so much more than I?”

“Now, Doro,” and Tavia turned her brown eyes full upon the blue ones. “You know better. But Ned is a sport, and you are too careful. I just have to watch the ‘T’s’ or they would swoop down on us in the night, and at least carry you off.”

“If I do not hear from father in the morning,” said Dorothy, turning the subject abruptly, “I am going to telegraph. I can’t rest thinking what may be happening. And little Joe in an office!”

“Am I not trouble enough for to-night?” asked Tavia. “Surely you can let the Investment company go, in the sight of my agony. But wasn’t Jake good, after all the dog business?”

“Yes, Jake is good, and I tell you he saved you a lot of trouble. Only to-day Mrs. Pangborn had new notices put up in the hall warning the girls not to leave the grounds after dark, as there are many strangers in the village. But I suppose you never took the trouble to notice them.”

“I know better than to do so. If I read the rules I’d be gray. They are purely ornamental to me.”

“And you won’t tell me where you went? This may come up, you know,” Dorothy cautioned, “and, like a lawyer, if you expect help from me, I have to understand the case.”

“I’ll tell you some day—not far off Doro,” replied the other, “but I don’t mind saying I never had a better hour’s fun in my life.”

“Glad you enjoyed yourself,” Dorothy retorted. “I had to write to the Dalton folks, and, of course, make my letter both yours and mine. I can’t bear them to think that you never remember them.”

“But I do! I am worried to death about answering their letters. Did you tell them to cease corresponding with me?”

“Not in so many words,” said Dorothy, “but I did say you were awfully busy trying to have a good time, getting into mischief. Well, if you want me to pour some more witch-hazel on that ankle I will do so. Then I would like to go to bed.”

“Pour away; only be careful not to have it go through the mattress. I hid a red box under it and the color might rub off.”

“A red box?”

“Yes, I just took it from Cologne because she wouldn’t share. I’m going to give it back in the morning, so you needn’t look so shocked. It was almost empty, and I guess she wanted the box. I took the few scraps of mints that were in it,” and Tavia pulled off her hair ribbon, which sign meant she intended to go to sleep.

Tavia was soon sleeping, and Dorothy gently took the box from under the mattress, and opening it she found a note, with the name “Madam Shebad” scrawled across the corner.

Dorothy was perplexed, but carefully returned the box to its hiding place, sorry she had touched it.

The witch-hazel would not go through—and she had supposed the box empty as Tavia had said.

CHAPTER XXII THE THREAT OF THE “T’S”

A very early morning caller at Room Nineteen was Cologne, the president of the Glens. She carried a note for Dorothy to read. It was from the “T’s.”

Cologne was surprised at seeing Tavia not able to be up, for the hope of recovery was not fulfilled.

“Why!” she exclaimed, “whatever is the matter, Tavia?” Tavia stuck out the bandaged foot. “How did it happen?”

“It occurred,” said Tavia, “and you are never to think of it again. The trouble is limited to me, and I am bound to see it through without worrying others.”

“Noble sentiments,” said Cologne, “but involved. If that foot could but speak——”

“I would choke it,” said Tavia. “I do the talking for this concern. But what is your note about? The letter?”

“Yes. It was slipped under my door, sometime between night and morning,” said Cologne. “Let me read it.”

Dorothy sat down to listen. She had been busy tidying up—doing the “upstairs work” as Tavia said.

“It is signed like a threat,” began Cologne, “for there is some sort of foolish mark, with a lot of others tagged on. It says:

“You are hereby warned to make no reports to the teachers about the members of the ‘T’s.’ We have in our possession such knowledge as would send the pet of the Glens home sick, but are willing to withhold it if you will promise us immunity.”

“Now what do you think of that?” burst out Tavia. “Immunity! Aren’t they deep-dyed!”

“But send—the pet home——” and Dorothy turned pale. “They call me that in sarcasm!”

“As if they could know anything against you,” said Cologne loyally. “I will answer that, and tell them we will promise them nothing, but will add the threat to our report if they make any further insinuations.”

Dorothy looked very serious. She said—thinking of Jean Faval’s letter in a Marsall Investment Company envelope: “Perhaps it would be best not to antagonize them. It won’t cost us anything to wait.”

“It costs us this slur at you,” said Cologne defiantly. “And not one of the committee will have it so.”

“If you say I wish it?” pleaded Dorothy. And something in her voice told Cologne that all was not right.

“Why, Dorothy, is there really anything wrong? Tell me?” she begged, and she took up the trembling hand that lay on the chair arm.

“Not wrong?” she answered, “but we—have some financial dangers at home. Here, it seems, that—is wrong!”

Tavia was winking and blinking at Cologne, but could not get her attention. Finally, under pretense of stretching her well foot, she managed to reach Cologne with it.

“Let them alone, and they’ll come home,” she whispered. “They have troubles enough, poor lambs. But what’s to be done about this hoof? I can’t get to class?”

Dorothy seemed to have lost interest in the sore ankle. She was looking blankly at the rug.

“Why, you have a good excuse,” Cologne said to Tavia. “You can’t get to class.”

“If you know of a good excuse, will you please produce it? Remember I am a member of the Glens in good standing,” said Tavia.

“Your foot,” replied Cologne.

“But what happened to my foot?” went on Tavia.

“Oh, I see. Something happened that did not happen. Well, there’s a hole in the rug just at your door. How’s that?”

“The cream!” exclaimed Tavia, “if you will pardon the slang. Dorothy, I did trip in that hole, when I went out.”

“Send your own excuse,” replied Dorothy. “I am busy with my personal worries to-day.”

This was very unlike Dorothy, but Tavia understood it.

“Well, I must go,” said Cologne. “And I am sorry, Doro, that you refuse to sanction our terms of war. Cecilia Reynolds has been simply unbearable these last few days, and Jean Faval is getting wrinkled from spite. However, I’ll report, and let you know. By the way, will you fetch Zada to-night? She has been nominated?”

“If I go,” said Dorothy, “but I—may not. It depends.”

“And Cologne,” said Tavia, “will you send Ned to me at noon? I have some instructions for her.”

“Of course,” said the president of the Glens. “But don’t be too hard on Ned. She is not as reckless as you,” with a sharp glance at the girl on the bed.

When she had gone Dorothy turned to Tavia.

“I am sure,” she said, “that threat from the ‘T’s’ means father’s trouble. I will have to leave you to take care of yourself, while I go to the station. I must know.”

“Why don’t you wait for the mail?” suggested Tavia. “You may get word that everything is all right.”

“I have been waiting for mail after mail, and I feel now that Jean Faval knows more of the affair than I do. I cannot stand this suspense longer.”

“Well, if you run across Ned, be sure to send her to me. I am scared to death that Cummings will come in and find me. I have got to get my excuse ready, and you know what a beauty I am at fixing a clear story. I am going to make Ned do it for me, since you won’t.”

“If you told me how it happened, I might be able to do so, but, since you and Edna wish to keep the secret, of course I won’t interfere,” said Dorothy.

“Just as you like, but——”

Tavia was interrupted by a slight knock at the door, and the next moment Edna was in the room.

“Oh, there is a dreadful time downstairs!” she began, without a good morning. “An investigation! Every girl who left the grounds last night has been called to the court room!”

“I knew something was going on last night,” Dorothy said. “I do hope none of our girls are to blame.”

“They are not,” said Tavia, in a most positive way, “and I hope the ‘T’s’ get all that’s coming to them.”

“But you were out,” said Dorothy.

“We can prove an alibi,” went on Tavia. “I hurt my foot in the hall—that hole that Cologne spoke of.”

“Tavia!” Dorothy reproved.

“Oh, if it will make you feel better, Ned will drag me to the hole and I will fall over it now, but really I cannot see the necessity. Do they miss me, Ned?”

“If you would give me a chance to speak I’d be glad to tell you that Mrs. Pangborn sent me up here to summon you at once with the others. She does seem to suspect us, somehow.”

“That’s her wicked mind,” said Tavia jokingly. “But, Ned, you have got to go and tell her about my accident. Dorothy refuses.”

“Tavia, I have told you I would do all I could for you, if I really understood what to do.”

“Then listen. This is the real truth. Edna—note I only say Edna when I am deadly in earnest—she and I went off the grounds last night, on an errand of mercy. Honest, Dorothy, we were not with the others, and we went out to help a girl who needed our help. Now will you make my excuse?”

“I believe you, girls, complicated as the matter is,” declared Dorothy. “And I will go to Mrs. Pangborn. But I insist on telling her how your foot was hurt. If she wants to know more of it you will have to tell it all, I suppose,” she finished desperately.

Edna sat there trembling with excitement. She would be all right if only Tavia were able to lead her, but alone, Edna was very timid.

“Oh, I can trust you to fix it, Doro,” Tavia said, with relief in her voice, “Ned would be sure to spoil it.”

“Thanks,” said Edna, “and I have to get back. What shall I say?”

“Don’t say a word until you are quizzed,” Tavia advised. “They might get tired, or sick, or something, before they get to you.”

With the new perplexities Dorothy again felt obliged to put off the message to her father. “Perhaps,” she thought, “it is as well. I might only alarm them. But that threat to our club——”

Edna went with her to the office, where the investigation was to be conducted.

“Isn’t it awful!” she said. “But really, Dorothy, we are not in the scrape with the others, although we seem to be in a scrape of our own!”

CHAPTER XXIII THE INVESTIGATION

Mrs. Pangborn, stately and handsome, occupied the chair at her desk in front of which were assembled her pupils. Her secretary was with her, as were the teachers of the higher grades. Everyone felt the solemn moment when Miss Eastbrook was asked to call the roll.

Of the two higher grades every girl responded to her name except Tavia.

Then the principal said:

“I have been notified that a number of you young ladles visited a fortune teller last evening for the purpose of having your fortunes told. Now, let everyone who was off these grounds after tea time stand up.”

Poor Edna was with the “standers.”

“Please, Miss Eastbrook, mark these names as I put the question,” said Mrs. Pangborn.

Then came the examination. Ten of the girls answered to the question: “Did you go to that place to have your fortune told?”

When this query was put to Edna, of course, she answered in the negative. Dorothy was greatly relieved, for, in spite of Tavia’s affirmation, she feared the girls had been up to some trick.

The affair was one of the most serious of escapades that had ever occurred at Glenwood, and, when Jean Faval and her crowd owned to the offence, the face of Mrs. Pangborn might easily be read as suppressing deep indignation.

“The young ladies will go to their rooms,” she said, “and positively remain there until this matter is settled.”

That of course meant the culprits—all others were exonerated.

It took but a short time for the girls to leave, and when the room was practically cleared Dorothy approached the much-troubled principal.

“I must speak for Tavia Travers, Mrs. Pangborn,” she said. “She was off the grounds, too, but did not have her fortune told. She turned her ankle, and is not able to stand on it. The accident kept her from getting in on time.”

“Very well, Dorothy,” replied the lady. “I am really glad that none of the older pupils—those who have been here longest—have been so unruly. Tell Tavia she may have a doctor if she needs one, and I will send a teacher to attend to her, as soon as it is possible for me to collect my thoughts. I cannot tolerate such an unruly element. And only yesterday I had special notices posted in the corridors,” and the principal pressed her hand to her head.

“I am very sorry,” Dorothy said, “but perhaps these new girls did not realize the discipline of our school.”

“That is the difficulty—to make them realize it. By the way, how is my little friend, Zada? I have not had a chance to talk with her lately.”

Dorothy hesitated. Then she said: “Zada is happier now than she has been for some time. She is so sensitive—and the new girls seemed to claim her.”

“Well, dear,” Mrs. Pangborn replied, “I would rather she would associate with those who know the school better. But if she is happy I am satisfied. Her mother is very ill, and it is important that Zada shall be away from home for a while.”

It was quite like the old days for Dorothy to be alone, talking with Mrs. Pangborn, for many a time she had before approached her in some one’s behalf. For the moment Dorothy’s fears of leaving Glenwood were forgotten. The school was a second home to her, and to finish its course one of the hopes of her young life.

“Tell Tavia not to worry,” said the principal in finishing the interview. “Also say to her, that I am glad she was not with those silly girls who went to have their fortunes told,” this last with a scornful smile at the idea of “fortune telling.”

Dorothy went back to Tavia, and found Edna with her. The two were so happy over their escape, and likely a little happy that the others did not escape, that Tavia had ventured to stand on the strained foot, and make her way to the box where the sweets were kept.

“Doro, you are a brick,” she said with more meaning than English. “I never could have gotten out of it. You ought to take up law. You are a born Portia.”

“Thank you,” said Dorothy quietly. “Mrs. Pangborn said she will send up some one to see how much you are hurt. She also said——”

“Back to bed,” Tavia interrupted quickly. “I am so ill I shall not be able to go to class for days. And that will cover the first exam nicely. Now, Ned, why didn’t you break your neck, so you could be laid up?”

“What do you suppose will happen to the others?” asked Edna, not noticing Tavia’s remark. “Do you suppose they will be suspended?”

“I am sure I don’t know,” Dorothy said, “but Mrs. Pangborn feels dreadfully. That fortune teller is a woman of very low character.”

“She certainly is,” said Tavia, with a pronounced wink at Edna. “I would not let her tell my fortune.”

“And the girls are all so excited over the things she did tell them,” Dorothy continued. “Why, some of them say she told the positive truth.”

“Good for her!” exclaimed Tavia. “She really ought to tell the truth, once in a while. I find it that way myself. But I wish I could have seen Jean, when the court-martial was in progress. I shouldn’t wonder but she will suggest that the girls jump out of their windows. She can’t stand Glenwood. I wonder where she was brought up, anyhow? I can’t say anything about woods, but our woods were—green, I fancy she used to ride a bronco in Arizona. Not that I wouldn’t like that, either.”

“There’s the mail,” said Dorothy anxiously, “I hope I have a letter.”

“Oh, you will—you always do. I am the one neglected,” Tavia said as Dorothy left the room. “Now, Ned, be careful. Doro is not to know. Didn’t fate favor us? That’s because, I suppose, that for once we were on the right side. And the others in chains! And me with a limp! Ned, couldn’t you pour some of that stuff on my foot? It gets very hot when I get gay.”

“You will have to have the doctor,” Edna declared, “and I shouldn’t be surprised if a committee of the Glens came to wait on you at recess. They simply cannot get over the fact that you and I were not in the scrape.”

“Don’t blame them, but we were not. Where we were is not for them to know. Can I trust you, Ned, when I am not along?”

“Indeed I am only too glad to get off this far, but I keep thinking it will all come out. If it does——”

“We’ll load it on poor Doro. She’ll get us out of it, as she always does. With my brain, if I only had a trace of Doro’s character, I would make the world stand up and ignore the sun,” said Tavia.

By this time Dorothy had returned with her mail. Her pretty face was clouded, and she avoided the gaze of Tavia and Edna.

“What’s the news?” asked Tavia.

“Nothing very special,” she replied, putting her letter away. “There’s the bell. Edna, you and I, and the other good ones, are expected to answer questions as usual,” she said, whereat Edna jumped up and left the room.

“Father wrote,” said Dorothy to Tavia, when they were alone, “that I was not to worry, that things would surely straighten themselves out. Now is that not the very thing to make one worry?”

“It would put me fast to sleep,” declared Tavia, “but of course, I have not your fine instinct to scent danger. You ought to go stealing dogs with me, or breaking your ankles. That’s the sort of thing that knocks nerves out of joint. Doro, I am sure I hear Jean jumping out of the window!”

“Don’t be absurd,” Dorothy said. “I guess Jean has better sense than to get further into trouble. Well, I must go to class. Be sure, whoever comes to look after you, that you are at least civil.”

“That depends,” sauced Tavia. “If Higley comes I’ll plead smallpox to scare her off. She would sprain my other ankle.”

Dorothy went down the hall, and, as she passed Room Ten, Cologne was just coming out of her door.

“What do you think?” exclaimed the latter. “That Jean Faval blames us for telling about last night! Why, we never even knew about it, Dorothy! Can’t we do something to squelch her? She is ringleader of a crowd of insurgents, and they are all against us.”

“Or against me,” said Dorothy with a mock smile. “I think, Cologne, if we let them go for a while, it will be better for me at least.”

And her friends wondered what could have come over Dorothy Dale.

CHAPTER XXIV JEAN AGAIN

A week passed, and Dorothy heard nothing further about her father’s business troubles. Tavia’s ankle mended, and she declared that she had never missed a foot so much in all her life.

The disgrace of Jean and her friends, in having been disciplined for their escapade, also vanished, and the ringleader was now as fearless as ever.

Occasionally Tavia would pat herself on her back, and say to Dorothy:

“You can’t imagine our luck! I will never get over it.”

But Dorothy knew no more than before what Tavia referred to, although she did suggest that Tavia might go up to the stable, and thank Jake for his part in her escape.

It was one rainy morning, when the girls would not reasonably think of venturing out of doors, that Jean fixed herself for the storm and started for the post-office. This meant that she had mail which she did not wish to go in with that of the school.

She rushed along and in the gully, as she took the shortest cut across the woods, she saw approaching her a woman—the fortune teller!

In spite of Jean’s hurry the woman overtook her, and, slouching up to the narrow path, demanded Jean to stop.

“I can’t,” Jean replied, “I have only a few minutes in which to get to the post-office.”

“But my business is more important than mailing a letter,” said the woman. “I know you—I know all about you, and if you do not pay me well with the money which you spend so easily on candy, I will expose you at your school!”

For a moment Jean was startled, then, recovering her presence of mind, she said:

“There is nothing that anyone can know of me that would injure my reputation. Let me pass!”

“No, my fine young lady; I will not let you pass until you give me a dollar out of that shiny purse,” sneered the woman. “Do you suppose I do not know enough to have you expelled from Glenwood?”

“I don’t care what you know,” exclaimed Jean with ill temper. “But if you detain me longer I will let the town officer know what sort of place you conduct. How did you know about me and my letter? How did you tell my fortune?”

“From my ball, of course,” said the woman. “How else could I tell? And I remember it. You are to be careful about the girl you hate. If you say one word against her, you will be the one who will suffer. Give me my dollar.”

Jean was now perplexed. Plainly if she did not humor the woman she would be late for class, and she could not well risk a second offence after that which had caused her so much indignity.

“Will you promise to tell me how you knew about that letter if I give you a dollar?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed, I will,” the woman answered.

Jean opened her purse, and handed out a dollar bill.

“Now tell me,” she demanded.

The fortune teller fingered the dollar greedily.

“I knew about it—because I saw it in my ball. Tell the other girls that and Shebad’s luck will turn.”

Jean scowled at her, but did not deign to answer. She ran on quickly to the post-office, but her mind went faster than her steps. Somehow, the woman held an influence over her. She could tell nothing of Dorothy Dale’s father’s business! What could it matter? What could happen if she did? Yet she feared to do so.

At the post-office she found, as she expected, a registered letter awaiting her. She signed the book nervously, and without opening the missive, raced back through the woods.

If only she could find out where Edna and Tavia were on the night of the fortune telling! And how had Tavia hurt her foot? Perhaps the fortune teller knew!

There she was—across the marsh. Jean would just run over and ask her. She glanced at her watch. Yes, she had fifteen minutes. Picking her steps through the damp woods Jean hurried to the woman who was sitting down, evidently nursing that dollar.

The old fortune teller glanced up, as she saw the girl coming.

“What now?” she asked indifferently.

“I want to ask you a question,” replied Jean nervously.

“I have not my ball,” demurred the woman.

“But it is not about myself,” said Jean. “I want to know can you tell me, how a girl—a brown-haired and brown-eyed girl—hurt her foot on the night that we—came to your place?”

This was news to Madam Shebad—news that she might turn into money!

“What are her initials?” she asked.

“T. T.,” replied Jean.

The woman looked serious. “Let me see your hand,” she said.

“But it has nothing to do with me,” insisted Jean. “And I have to hurry back, or I shall be late.”

“Can’t you induce the girl to come to me?” the pretender asked.

“I am afraid not,” said Jean. “She is not a friend of mine.”

“Then I will tell you this. If you come to me any time before nightfall I will look into my ball, and find out what you want to know. It never fails.”

Jean ran off without replying. If she should be late!

So many things seemed to detain her. There was that cripple paper-boy. She had to take his paper, and wait for change. Then, at the little bridge, there was the cowboy with his cows, and they were so slow in crossing. After all it was a very nervous thing to do, to disobey rules. She would not risk it again.

The bell rang as she turned into the gate. She was breathless, and could not hide her confusion. Cologne had been out getting some berries. She saw Jean, and, Jean thought, looked at her rather suspiciously. That is the price of wrong-doing—always suspecting others.

“Hello! there!” called out Cologne defiantly. “Been out doing nature-work?”

It was cruel of Cologne, but she could not resist.

“Yes, human nature,” replied Jean sarcastically. “And I found a fine specimen.”

“Good,” said Cologne. “Be sure to produce it at class for we have gone stone dry.”

Jean was getting desperate. Everything went wrong with her, and all her plans to make a great “splurge” at school were falling flat. Her secret club could not be depended upon—she suspected everyone. While never the brightest of scholars, she had lately been so distracted that her lessons were not only neglected, but seemed to be too much for her tortured mind.

One thing only she never failed in, and that was in the matter of dress. Her pride in her personal appearance was a part of her very nature, but Jean, to-day, wished heartily that she could go home!

Home! She rarely thought of that. Her mother—Jean sighed heavily when the thought pressed itself upon her. Somehow, that fortune teller always made her gloomy. She would never see her again. With such a confusion of thoughts she entered the classroom.

Tavia had gotten back, and could not resist giving her a sharp glance. Dorothy was busy with her books—she was pale, but the sun shone through her hair, and cast a beautiful glow about her.

Little Zada was so bent over that she seemed a part of her desk. She had to work hard now to make up for the time lost in worry.

All the girls were in their seats when Jean entered the room. Why did they all seem to question her with looks?

“Miss Faval,” said Miss Cummings, the English teacher, “you are ten minutes late. This is a day for hard work, and we cannot afford to lose a moment. Please get to your lesson at once.”

Jean looked obediently at the teacher’s desk. Yes, she would get to work at once.

But somehow her head did not feel just right. She took out her books, and bravely tried to conquer her stupid feelings.

Suddenly the floor moved—her desk moved—and then—Jean Faval fell in a dead faint!

CHAPTER XXV TEACHERS

Mrs. Pangborn was not a woman to allow her pupils too much liberty—she felt the very responsibility of a mother, and, following Jean’s break-down, she at once started a personal investigation of the girl’s doings on the morning when she came late into the classroom.

She found out that Jean had gone to the post-office. One of the gardeners had seen her cross to where the fortune teller sat in the woods. Then, someone else remembered that she had seen her run all the way up the path. Mrs. Pangborn determined that this fortune teller should be put out of the place, as she was plainly an evil influence.

Taking the simplest and most reasonable course first, the principal of Glenwood found her way to the cabin of the alleged fortune teller.

Her dignity seemed offended, as she stepped into the ill-smelling room. Madam Shebad was not so stupid as to think that she had, in the white-haired woman, a customer, but, nevertheless, she was equal to the occasion.

“I have come to complain,” began Mrs. Pangborn without preliminaries, “about your receiving my pupils here for the purpose of telling fortunes. Those young ladies are in my charge. I am responsible for them to their parents, and if you again allow them to come here I shall have to make known your business to the proper officials. I suppose you know it is against the law.”

“I never told any fortunes to your girls,” said the woman. “I told them the truth. If they would tell you the truth, they would bear me out.”

“I did not come to discuss your methods,” said the principal, “but just to say to you that I will not allow my girls to visit this place——”

“But I would like to tell you,” interrupted the woman, “that I only told those girls what I really knew. I did not tell any fortunes.”

Mrs. Pangborn stopped to realize what the woman meant. How could she know, this stranger, such things as she had told those girls, for, since the happening, bit by bit, information was coming to the principal that aroused her suspicion. She had heard, for instance, that the torn letter was mentioned to Jean Faval. Mrs. Pangborn had handled that letter when it came to Jean, in the regular mail. A maid had reported that she had seen a letter at Dorothy’s door, but, believing it to be left there for some one, she had not carried it off in her cleaning. That was how Tavia came to get it.

“Will you tell me who informed you of my pupils’ affairs?” Mrs. Pangborn asked.

“No, I cannot do that,” replied the woman, “but you may know that some one did tell me of them.”

Here was a new problem—some one had come to this woman, and told her what to tell the girls! Who could it be, and what could have been their motive in doing so?

“You see,” said the woman, “you have no charge against me. I did not tell any fortunes!”

As she understood that this was why the woman had argued simply to clear herself, Mrs. Pangborn left the place.

It would not be well, she decided, to make any inquiry just then, as the girls had been through so many little troubles in the short term. But she, of course, would have to have them guarded—especially Jean, Zada and Tavia. She had no fear that Dorothy would do anything dishonorable.

Entering the classroom, the greatly respected principal looked about her. She saw Dorothy busy at her work, she saw Tavia bent over her books, with one eye on them and the other roaming about.

The visit of the principal was always regarded as a matter of importance. Now every pupil sat up straight, and took that opportunity of resting her eyes from letters.

“I just want to say, young ladies,” began Mrs. Pangborn, “that I have been surprised at the liberty some of you have taken, from this school. I have never felt it necessary before to give out such positive orders. I do not know who may be to blame, but I will not again excuse any girl for such lax order and discipline, as might seem to her a fitting reason for her to visit a common fortune teller!

“You must all know that there is no such thing as the possibility of any human being telling of future events. If such a thing were possible do you not see what a wonderful advantage it would be in the world’s greatest happenings? I do not think I need go further into this subject, other than to say that I positively forbid any member of Glenwood Hall from going to any fortune teller. If I find that any girl has disobeyed this rule I shall be obliged to dismiss her.”

A dead silence followed these few words. Tavia’s eyes only might be seen to show a glow of satisfaction. And yet Tavia had under her mattress a letter with this Madam Shebad’s name on the corner!

And no one had yet found out where Tavia and Edna had been when Tavia sprained her ankle.

Dorothy’s eyes glowed nervously. Zada looked directly out of the window, and, as she bit her lips, Mrs. Pangborn wondered why she should seem so strained. Edna settled all her movements on Tavia, and if the teachers had called a fire drill, likely Edna would have asked Tavia what to do before she did anything.

Jean was still suffering from her collapse, and was not in the classroom.

It was a beautiful autumn day, and when she had given her positive instructions, Mrs. Pangborn thought it might be as well for her classes to go out into the woods, for the last of the season’s nature work, as to remain in the room struggling with technicalities.

Miss Cummings, Miss Hays and Miss Boylan were told to take the classes to the woods. They were to bring back specimens of the dogwood, the late flowers of the underbrush, and such varieties of outdoor life as make the Autumn famous.

Dorothy was with Zada, Tavia of course was with Edna, and Cologne was so close to Molly Richards that one could scarcely tell whose sleeves were blue or whose white.

“Does any young lady know where to find iron-weed?” asked Miss Cummings, who was leading the party.

Iron-weed was as common in Glenwood as the grass itself, and therefore every girl wanted to go for it in a different direction. Finally it was agreed that the swamp, near the station, might furnish the best specimens.

Cecilia Reynolds and Hazel Mason rushed on ahead, without any regard to the teacher’s talk, as she tried to instruct the class on varieties of vegetation, and its relation to humanity.

Reaching the swamp, all sorts of nature “weeds” were discovered. The girls, glad to be entirely free from the schoolroom for that beautiful day, set to digging up roots and bulbs, hunting out frogs and snails, and doing all the absurd things that students usually do when allowed a day in the woods.

“Isn’t it too bad Jean could not be with us,” said Cecilia to Hazel.

“Yes,” replied Hazel rather doubtfully. “But what makes Jean so bitter toward the Glens? I think the best girls are in the older club.”

“Then why don’t you go with them,” replied Cecilia sarcastically.

“I would if I were eligible. I think Rose,—Mary and Dorothy the very nicest girls in the school,” said Hazel, just as Molly Richards found a little red lizard, not more than an inch long, and just cute enough for a stick pin.

The lizard was placed upon a flat stone and was, for the time being, the centre of all attraction. So beautifully red, so small, so perfect, and just like a pattern for an alligator!

“It must not be killed,” said Miss Cummings. “We will put it in our aquarium.”

“I’ll take it,” offered Tavia, for whom a bug, that could crawl, creep or fly, had no terrors.

“Thank you,” said Miss Cummings frigidly, “but I prefer to take care of it myself.”

With this she took the tiny terra-cotta crawler on a bit of paper, and carefully placed it in her handbag.

Fearful that the insect might die the teacher did not close the bag.

Have you ever seen a lizard in the woods in Autumn? Do you think you could keep one in an open handbag?

The woods were explored to the satisfaction of the teachers, and the delight of their pupils. Then they all started for the Hall.

At a little spring house, a shed built over a crystal spring, they stopped for a drink. Tavia, of course dipped her very nose in the water; and those who did not intend to do likewise did so without intending.

But how beautiful that little strip of woodland road was! No wonder teachers and pupils lingered.

Just at the old water-wheel, every one stopped again. Falling leaves made the spot a painting, and Miss Cummings undertook to explain what the wheel had been, and what its ruins meant.

Suddenly she squirmed. Dorothy was nearest her and asked if she could help her.

“It’s the lizard!” the instructor declared. “He has gotten out of my bag and is just now crawling up my arm, inside my sleeve to my collar bone!”

“Mercy!” exclaimed Dorothy instinctively! “Do you suppose we can catch him?”

“If you do not,” said Miss Cummings, “I shall have a spasm of nerves. I have heard of fleas, but a lizard——!”

Her remarks were cut short by the necessity for tracing the progress of the reptile. He was just under her left arm now.

“We will have to take your waist off,” said Tavia, overjoyed at the prospect.

“Do it quickly,” begged the teacher. “The thing is eating my cuticle.”

“Which part is that?” asked Tavia, as if she didn’t know.

They sat the teacher on a tree stump, and it did seem as if more girls wanted to help get that lizard than could possibly handle just one woman.

“Here it is!” shouted Cologne, grabbing something small and soft.

Miss Cummings was now almost hysterical.

“It’s worse than a mouse,” muttered Zada.

“Much worse,” sobbed the afflicted one.

“Did you get it, Cologne?” asked Dorothy.

“No, that was a sachet bag. I thought I had it though,” Cologne answered.

“Here!” yelled Tavia, as she held out, on the palm of her hand, the pretty little red lizard.

“You may bring it back to the aquarium,” said Miss Cummings calmly, as the three girls tried to hook up her waist.

CHAPTER XXVI A SCRAP OF PAPER

“Tavia!” pleaded Dorothy, “Do tell me about that letter father has written—” she hesitated, “there is grave danger of a great loss to him. Tell me all you know about it.”

“All I know about it? Why, Dorothy!”

“Yes. You did find a letter! It was written to Jean. Tell me Tavia. I will not wait to know that I must leave school—I am going to-morrow!”

“Going to-morrow! Then I will go with you,” declared Tavia. “I would never have seen Glenwood if it had not been for you.”

The girls were looking over their lessons for the day. Dorothy had just received a letter from home. Brave as she wished to be, and fearful as she had been, of that investment company, when her father wrote, in his careful way, that there might be trouble, Dorothy at once prepared to go to him, and to her two small brothers.

“Dorothy, I would have told you but really I felt it was a trick.”

“A trick! On such a serious matter?”

“You believe every one to be as noble as yourself,” said Tavia, “but there are people in this world born without the sense of kindness, or the instinct of charity. We seem to have a few such girls around here.”

Dorothy looked fondly at her friend. There was no use trying to use logic on the subject on which her head and heart were now centered.

“Tavia, tell me what was in the letter you found at my door! Or I shall go to Jean, and demand to know.”

“Never,” said Tavia. “I’ll give you the old letter. It isn’t worth looking at, and I am sure the writer is a—cheerful—well you would not let me say fabricator; would you?”

Tavia went to her desk and soon found the torn script that had so disturbed her, until she made herself believe that it was some sort of a forgery.

“There,” she said, “if Jean did not write that to herself she got someone else to write it.”

Dorothy took the paper with trembling hands. Unfortunately Tavia did not think to cross out the words concerning Major Dale, and the possibility of his arrest.

Nerving herself to know all she should know, Dorothy sat down to decipher the note. Suddenly her eyes fell upon these words:

“We may have the proud Major in the toils within a short time.”

Dorothy glanced for a moment at Tavia, and then fled from the room, her head held high, and her eyes flashing.

“Goodness!” exclaimed Tavia, “I wonder what she is going to do? I have always heard that a quiet girl ‘riled’ is worse than I am. But I don’t believe I will follow her. Dear Doro!” and the frivolous one’s eyes filled. “I would give anything to save her from all of this.”

Dorothy, leaving her room, had gone straight to the office of the principal. Delicate girl that she was, when a question of family honor arose, she had more courage than some who might boast of power.

She found Mrs. Pangborn looking over papers.

“Good morning, Dorothy,” she was kindly greeted. “What’s the trouble now? For I see trouble in your face.”

“Yes, Mrs. Pangborn, this is trouble. I fear I shall have to leave Glenwood.”

“Leave Glenwood!” exclaimed Mrs. Pangborn. “Why?”

Then Dorothy told what she could of the tangled affair. Told how the Major had written that it was now a serious financial question, but for her to keep up her courage.

DOROTHY TOOK THE PAPER WITH TREMBLING HANDS.
Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals Page 195

“It cannot be possible that my old friend Major Dale would do anything unwise,” said the teacher. “You must have patience child, and not think of such a thing as leaving school. Why, you are just getting to be one of our best pupils.”

In spite of herself Dorothy’s eyes filled.

“Yes, and I love it here, but I feel it is my duty to be ready to help father, and I have no idea what I should be able to do in business,” she replied.

“Go to business! Your Aunt Winnie would never allow it,” declared the other.

“But Aunt Winnie has had a great deal to do lately. She has had to make a long trip abroad, and then the boys have not finished college yet. I would insist upon doing my part,” answered the girl very seriously.

“But if that is all the information you have—that in your father’s letter——”

“It is not,” Dorothy admitted. “A letter was found at my door. It was evidently intended that I should find it. This letter said—father was—threatened with—arrest!”

“Arrest! Impossible! What could he have done to deserve such an indignity?”

Dorothy drew her hand across her eyes, but did not reply.

“To whom was the letter addressed?” asked Mrs. Pangborn.

“To Miss Faval,” replied Dorothy, “and I should not have looked at it except—I overheard—a remark. Then I knew it contained some serious news.”

“Who has that letter now?”

“I have it. I could not return it to her. I could not risk having it shown to anyone else.”

“Will you go and bring it to me? I must see about this. What could Miss Faval know of your family affairs?”

“I cannot tell,” replied Dorothy. “But she seems to know a great deal. Tavia first found an envelope with the name of father’s company on the corner. Then—this comes.”

“Well, get me the letter, dear. I shall do all I can, both to help you, and to help Major Dale. This is certainly a remarkable affair.”

Dorothy went to her room, and soon returned with the scrap of paper. She left it with Mrs. Pangborn without further conversation, except that the principal assured her that there was no need to worry, as Dorothy had been doing.

But that word “arrest” would neither leave the heart, head, nor eyes of the discouraged girl. Tavia did all she could to reassure her, but the facts were now too apparent to hide, and Dorothy was determined to be prepared for the worst.

It took some time for her to feel that she could enter the classroom. As she took her place, her eyes met those of Jean Faval, and in the latter’s was a glance so scornful, and so full of meaning that a shiver ran through Dorothy.

Little Zada tugged at Dorothy’s skirt, and, with eyes almost pleading, whispered:

“I want to see you at recess. Come out by the lake.”

Cologne and Molly Richards were late, and entered with flushed faces. They had evidently been running.

“Young ladies, you must be punctual,” warned the English teacher. “There is no excuse for this tardiness.”

Tavia pulled a wry face for the girls to see, but not intended for the teacher. Miss Cummings, however, noticed it, and asked Tavia to report to her at recess.

That almost settled Tavia’s work for the morning, as she, with a number of others, had planned how they were going to spend the hour of this beautiful day, when the frost was already in the air, and the leaves almost all off the trees.

And there were Tavia, Molly and Cologne to remain in, at least for a “lecture” which meant that the hour would be passed listening to their “sins,” as Tavia would have put it.

Whenever any of the original Glens were under the ban the “T’s” were jubilant, and Jean could now scarcely repress her smiles.

The morning had almost passed, when there came a summons for Jean to report to the office!

Then the tables were turned.

CHAPTER XXVII WHO STOLE THE PICTURE?

As Dorothy had promised, she met Zada at the lakeside, when the class was dismissed.

The Southern girl seemed so nervous, and so frightened, that Dorothy took her to the little nook that was sheltered by a rustic, summer house.

“The others will not see us here,” Dorothy said, “and I, too, feel as if I want to get away from all eyes.”

“You!” repeated Zada, “you have no reason to want to—hide. Oh, Dorothy, I don’t know how to tell you, but I must do so.”

“Now, Zada, you are just nervous, and I know perfectly well it is that old matter that you wanted to tell me of some time ago. Whatever it is I do not want you to distress yourself about it. It is all past and gone, I am sure.”

“No,” sobbed Zada, “it will never be passed while it is on my mind. It is like a terrible nightmare, and it just haunts me.” Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“There now, if you go on so you will have a nervous breakdown,” cautioned Dorothy. “I am sure you are over-rating it.” Dorothy took the little, trembling hand in hers. “If you had my troubles,” she suggested, and paused.

“Your troubles must be honorable,” replied the other, between her sobs, and the thought of that word “arrest” gave Dorothy a start. “But,” continued Zada, “mother always told me one can stand anything better than—disgrace.”

“Disgrace!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Why do you speak that way? You could do nothing to disgrace yourself!”

“I shouldn’t, but I did. But I didn’t know it was so wrong!”

“There, that entirely alters the case. It could not have been so wrong, if you did not think so,” declared Dorothy.

Two of the girls on the path, hearing even the whispering voices, at that moment stood before the entrance to the little summer house. They were Dick and Ned.

“Land sakes!” exclaimed Dick, “are you two thinking of jumping into the lake? Did one ever see such faces!”

Zada turned her head to avoid their eyes. Dorothy did not know what to answer.

“Whatever is the matter?” demanded Edna. “I will go and fetch Tavia, and we will appoint a board of inquiry. This looks serious.”

“Don’t joke,” Dorothy finally said. “Sometimes jokes are painful.”

“Oh, my dear! I beg your pardon. I did not mean to annoy you,” apologized Edna, sincerely.

“I know you did not, Edna,” said Dorothy, “but we seem to have trouble, in spite of our very good friends.” She sighed, and glanced at Zada. The latter had almost dried her eyes. “Zada, I am afraid, is homesick, and I am trying to cure her——”

“Homesick!” interrupted Dick. “I had that so bad the first year, that I broke out in shingles. But even that did not get me free. I had to stay, and I am glad of it. Don’t you worry, Zada. There are worse places than Glenwood,” she finished cheeringly.

“Oh, I know that,” said Zada sniffling, “but it is very different here than at home.”

“Of course it is. That’s why we are here. If home were like this my mother would go crazy,” said the girl laughing. “Just imagine us tearing around as we do here! Why, my father would be so shocked he would put me in close confinement. At the same time, here we think we are very nice and proper. Well, there goes the bell, and we haven’t had a bit of fun. I wonder what happened to Jean? She did not come out at all.”

“And where is Tavia?” asked Dorothy, rising in answer to the bell, and pressing Zada’s hand kindly. “She must have had to do her work over.”

“Oh, worse than that. She had to apologize. Poor Tavia! She never makes a face but she is caught at it, I guess. Cummings does not love her as a sister,” said Molly Richards.

“Well, we had better hurry, or we will be tardy,” suggested Dorothy. “I have a lot to do—I did not study much last night.”

As they walked along Dorothy fell in step with Zada.

“Now don’t worry, dear,” she insisted. “I am sure everything will be all right.”

“But I must see you this afternoon,” said Zada. “I have made up my mind not to go to bed to-night until I have——”

“Hush,” cautioned Dorothy, for the others had turned around. Then they all reluctantly went back to the classroom.

Jean was sitting at her desk as they entered. She kept her head well bent over her books, but it could be seen that her face was flushed.

Tavia sat back defiantly, as if to say “she couldn’t scare me.” Meaning, of course, that Miss Cummings’ remarks had little, if any, effect upon her. She had missed her entire recreation, because she refused to “apologize politely.”

Altogether the class was rather upset. An atmosphere of disquiet pervaded the room, and when the teachers changed classes, Miss Cummings left the room with a sigh of relief.

Miss Higley, the teacher of mathematics, was not one to be trifled with. She was one of the oldest of the faculty both in years, and in point of service, and when she came in every one sat up straight.

But the day wore on, and finally the work was over. Dorothy was wondering what could have happened, as the result of Mrs. Pangborn’s talk with Jean—wondering if the report about her father could be false. But no look, or word told her.

By a strange coincidence, however, Mrs. Pangborn asked Zada to ride to the village with her, and this again separated Zada from Dorothy. Of course the teacher had noticed the girl’s nervous manner, and “took her out,” hoping the ride would improve her spirits. But Zada would much rather not have gone. In fact every time Mrs. Pangborn asked her a question she shook—shook lest the question might be a dreaded one.

So that it was after tea before Zada sought Dorothy again, with the avowed intention of “confessing the terrible thing that was on her mind.”

She was indeed tired out, and when Dorothy insisted that she take the best chair, and rest back, Zada sighed and did as she had been invited to do.

“Dorothy,” began Zada, “when I did it, I never knew what trouble it meant, but I stole your picture!”

“Stole my picture! The one that was in the paper?”

“Yes,” and Zada gasped in relief, as if a terrible thing, indeed, had been lifted off her mind. “I was asked to do it. It was part of our club plan—the old club,” and she bit her lips at the memory. “I promised never to tell who asked me, or how I was asked, and I don’t feel yet I should tell. But when I found out all the trouble it made for you——”

She stopped, and Dorothy looked horrified. That this little harmless child could have been the one to steal into her room, and get that picture from Tavia’s dresser!

“Can you ever forgive me, Dorothy?” pleaded the girl.

“I am sure,” said Dorothy with hesitation, “you could never have realized what it would mean.”

“I thought it was one of the club jokes. I never had an idea it was to go to that horrible paper. Oh dear! What I have suffered! I wanted to tell Mrs. Pangborn, but she is such a friend to mamma——” and the girl sobbed beyond words.

“She need not know it,” said Dorothy. “Neither need anyone else. It was I who was affected, and now I am willing to let it rest, as it has rested.”

“Oh, you dear, noble girl!” exclaimed Zada, putting her arms around Dorothy’s neck. “I knew if I told you it would be all right, and I wanted to tell you before, but you would not let me. Now, I can rest,” and she breathed a sigh of relief. “But I must try to forgive the others, as you have been so good to me, I suppose.”

“I never knew I had such enemies,” said Dorothy. “Or perhaps they, too, thought it would be only a joke,” and Dorothy Dale endeavored, for her own peace of mind, and for the hope that her rivals might be friends—she tried to think it was intended for—a joke.

CHAPTER XXVIII THE ROADSIDE ROBBERY

Two whole weeks passed and Dorothy heard nothing but indefinite news from her father. The legal “hearing” had been postponed, he wrote, on account of some of the stockholders being away from the city. Just what “hearing” meant Dorothy did not know, but she did know that at least her father had not been deprived of his liberty.

Meanwhile Jean Faval became morose. All her defiance seemed to have turned into sulkiness, and except for Cecilia Reynolds, who was her very close friend, she scarcely noticed any of the girls.

Tavia she absolutely refused to speak to, much to the delight of the Dalton pupil, who said that was a positive evidence of guilt.

One afternoon, when Winter first showed its power, Jean again made her way to the post-office. She was thinking of what Mrs. Pangborn had said about the contents of the torn letter. She was thinking that, after all, it might have been as well for her to have paid no attention to that fortune teller, and to have told what she knew about the troubles of the Dales.

But the threat hung about her. She was somewhat superstitious, and, although she had only told it to Cecilia (who was so much a part of herself, that Jean denied to Mrs. Pangborn that she had told “anyone”), still now, that she had been blamed, and realizing that Dorothy still held her high place, a spirit of jealousy again made itself felt within Jean’s heart.

“If I could only find out how that old witch knew all she told me—if I could only induce her to tell,” Jean was thinking.

As was her custom, the fortune teller did not miss sight of anyone going to or from the post-office, and when she espied Jean she smiled sardonically.

“Now,” she muttered, “we will look for trade.”

Jean did not see her, as the fortune teller pulled her scarf over her head, and got into a position in the roadway where she might startle the girl as she passed along.

Two letters were in Jean’s hand—one of which she was reading with wrapt attention.

As she reached the white rock, the woman spoke, and as she expected, Jean gave a start.

“My dear,” began the imposter, “I have news for you. I have been waiting to see you for a whole week.”

“News for me?” repeated Jean.

“Yes. The other night, at the full of the moon, I took my crystal out, and asked the moon to tell who your enemies were. A flash came from the sky, and almost blinded me.” Here she stopped for effect. “But I can not give in to the planets. So I again asked.”

“What answer did you get?” inquired Jean.

“I saw the letters ‘T. T.,’” replied the woman.

“Tavia Travers!” exclaimed the foolish Jean aloud.

“And she is rather dark, roguish, full of mischief, but a dangerous enemy!” This last was said in the most dramatic way, and had the desired effect upon Jean.

“How could she do me harm?” asked the startled girl.

“In many ways. Already she has done you harm by——”

“By what?”

“I cannot tell you all this for nothing. Shebad has to live.”

So interested was the girl that she took out her purse, and handed the woman a silver quarter. The latter fingered it gleefully, and then looked deep into the girl’s dark eyes.

“You are anxious about something.” What news that is to any mortal! “But do not worry. Shebad will watch the ball, and when a danger comes she will let you know in time. The other girl—your best friend—she has short, thick hair” (this was Cecilia). “Why does she not come?”

“We are not allowed to visit your place,” replied Jean. “We would be expelled from school.”

“Bah!” sneered the woman. “That’s all because the white-haired woman wants all your money. She does not want an honest truth-seeker to live. For years she has threatened her girls. But they come, for they know Shebad tells the truth.”

“I must go,” exclaimed Jean, realizing that the time was not waiting for fortunes. “I thank you, and will remember your kindness.”

“You are a good girl—one who will be famous some day,” and, with these flattering words, the fortune teller bowed as Jean hurried off.

“So my enemy was Tavia,” thought Jean. “Well, I have always known that Tavia spilled that glass of water down my neck purposely. I’ll show her, however, that I’m no coward, and won’t be interfered with by a giggling country girl.”

So deep in thought was Jean that she did not notice, in the thicket that lined the path, a villainous looking man. As she reached him he stepped out in front of her.

“Oh!” she screamed. “What do you want?”

“Your purse,” he replied calmly, placing a dirty hand on her arm.

“My purse? There is nothing in it! I have no money!”

“Gave it all to the old woman?” he sneered. “Well, I’ll be satisfied with the purse, and the money order you have in that letter. I need it all.”

“You cannot have it,” cried the girl. “Let me go or——”

“Take it easy,” he said in that mocking way. “I might tell your fortune too. You—you won’t always get checks from—the investment company!”

At this Jean shrank back. Did every one know about that? As he tightened his hold on her she pulled the purse from her belt, and held it out to him.

“Here, take it,” she said. “It is solid gold, and worth a lot of money.”

“Then that check?” he demanded.

“What check?”

“The one you took out of the yellow envelope. Can’t let that go. It’s too handy,” and he attempted to snatch the letter from her free hand.

“OH!” SHE SCREAMED. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals Page 212

With a scream the girl flung the letter into the roadway, and, as she did so, the man, still sneering, allowed her to go free.

Almost too frightened to move, Jean forced herself to run, but when she reached the hill—Glenwood hill, she could go no farther. Feeling a sudden faintness, she managed to reach a spot where a roadside bench was constructed. Here she threw herself down, moaning and sobbing.

“Oh, my letter,” she cried, “he has all—my letter!”

How long she lay there seemed of no importance to one so weak. At that moment she did not care whether she lived or died. She hated Glenwood! She hated the girls! She hated everything as she sobbed hysterically.

Jake came out to gather up some leaves. He saw the girl lying there. At first he thought it was only some prank, but, as he looked into her face, he knew something was wrong.

“What is it, miss?” he asked kindly.

“I have been robbed—robbed of my purse, of my check, of my letter!” she moaned.

“And who did it?” inquired the man in astonishment.

“A ruffian in the woods. Oh, this horrible place!” and again she burst into tears.

“’Taint horrible at all,” objected Jake. “The young ladies have been going that path for years, and have never even been spoken to. Could it be any one who knew—you had money?”

“How would any one know?” Jean asked, and now she sat up. “Can’t you go and catch him? He’s in a thicket by the elm. Oh, I shall die!”

“Just you come right up to the hall with me, miss, and they’ll attend to you. Then, I look after the fellow. No tramps around here. Never saw one yet, but never mind. Come,” and he got her on her feet.

Staggering and leaning on Jake’s arm she managed to reach the school—a very much frightened girl.

Jake had his suspicions as to who her assailant might be, but he was too cautious to make them known just yet.

CHAPTER XXIX TEACHERS AND PUPILS

The excitement following Jean’s encounter brought up no end of surmises for the girls at school. Some said she made up the story, others declared she knew who took her purse, and check, while her friends, of course, were in deepest sympathy. For the shock really took the color from her cheeks, took all her courage, and it was difficult even for Mrs. Pangborn to interest her in anything.

Dorothy tried to show Jean that she bore her no ill feelings, and even brought some books to her room, when she was unable to attend class, but Jean would never make friends with Dorothy.

Then it became noised about that some one had seen Jean leave the post-office, had later seen her talking to the Shebad woman, and to this last fact was finally attributed, in some way, the robbery.

It was one week later, that Jake was at the general store, at Stone Bridge, when a man came in and asked the proprietor to cash a check for him.

Jake knew that checks were scarce among men of this type—for the man was none other than the husband of Madam Shebad—so he stepped close to the little office window, and watched while he listened.

“Fine day,” said Jake carelessly.

“Yep,” growled the other, turning his back directly on the Glenwood man.

“Been speculating?” persisted Jake.

“Old woman fell into luck,” replied the other sullenly.

Meanwhile the girl at the desk was scrutinizing the check which was made out to “Cash” so that any one could endorse it.

“You had better wait until Mr. Johnson comes in,” said the young bookkeeper cautiously. “He does not like to cash strange checks.”

“That check’s all right,” insisted the man uneasily. “Wish I had more like it.”

“Let’s see it?” asked Jake, as if to verify the man’s statement that it was all right.

“Oh, I guess I’ll wait,” said the man, folding up the blue slip, and preparing to leave the place.

Jake was disappointed. He wanted to see who had made out that check.

“Here’s Mr. Johnson now,” called the bookkeeper before the slouching figure had reached the door.

Jake stepped back and pretended to be in no way interested.

Mr. Johnson, the proprietor of the store, rubbed his glasses on the end of his coat, and took the check as it was offered. He scrutinized the signature.

“The—what’s that?” he asked. “The Marsall Investment Company? What in thunder is that?”

Then Jake almost jumped to the counter where the other man stood.

“Here!” he shouted. “That’s a stolen check! That was stolen from a girl at our school! Johnson, you’re a constable, arrest this man!” and Jake did not wait for anything as slow as the constable to make sure of the prisoner, but, with all his splendid, muscular power he grabbed him, and held him securely as any regular police officer might do.

By this time the other men, who were lounging about the store, realized that something interesting was happening, and they, too, “gave a hand.”

Binns, for that was the name by which the husband of the fortune teller was known, was too ugly to know how to help himself. He growled and squirmed and demanded his freedom, but shuffling of feet, and the use of strong words will never help a person in captivity to free himself, and the consequence was that he was taken off to the town lock-up, while Jake, claiming the check, actually took it from Mr. Johnson, and hurried back to Glenwood.

“I did it,” he explained to Mrs. Pangborn, when he had turned the paper over to her—“to save the girl from any of their nonsense about legal stuff. They’ll let the fellow off, but I’ll try to find out about the purse first. He’s got that, somewhere.”

Mrs. Pangborn knew of this man Binns, but had never heard of him attempting robbery before, and it now occurred to her that there was some mystery about the whole affair.

“How could he have known that there was a check in the letter he demanded of Jean?” she thought.

She thanked Jake heartily, but he only laughed, and said it was a pleasure to do anything for the “honor of Glenwood.”

“But,” he cautioned, “I would suggest that you say nothing to the young lady about it, just yet. Wait ’till we find out about that purse.”

Mrs. Pangborn willingly agreed, and, glancing at the check, she instantly thought of Dorothy’s story of the failure of the Marsall firm. How then could they be sending out checks? Why should Jean be profiting when Dorothy was evidently losing?

Mrs. Pangborn had already written a letter of sympathy to Major Dale, and expressed the hope that everything would come out well, finally.

In his reply, the Major stated his grave fears—fears that he would not have Dorothy know of. It seemed strange, indeed, that a purely business matter should so affect two of her pupils, but in her hand was the check stolen from Jean, made out by the company, and Dorothy’s fate, as to her very standing in the world seemed in the balance, held there by the same firm!

No wonder Dorothy could not hide her suspense!

Then, if Major Dale should really be arrested, accused of fraud——

The principal put the blue slip away carefully, but not without a sigh.

“If we all did not have to be so dependent upon mere money,” she thought. “But perhaps it is well we have to struggle for something.”

A light tap at her door interrupted these thoughts. It was Miss Cummings.

“Mrs. Pangborn,” she began, “I feel it my duty to inform you that there is an element of discord among certain cliques in your school. I made up a skating party yesterday, and in a race there was the grossest violation of rules. Simply a defiance of principles.”

“Who are the offenders?” asked the head of Glenwood calmly.

“There is a club they call the ‘T’s’.”

“The ‘T’s,’” repeated Mrs. Pangborn.

“Yes, and I am told that the letters stands for Tarters!”

“Tarters!” again repeated the principal.

“Yes. Such a choice of name might easily signify the character of the members,” said Miss Cummings frigidly.

“How long has this been going on?” asked the other.

“It seems the club was formed at the opening of the term, but when the regular sports of the classes came in vogue, the animosity between the different sets became serious. I hesitated to tell you before—I really thought the young ladies would find out their own error—but it seems they intend to carry things on to suit themselves,” added Miss Cummings.

“I cannot see how such an element got into Glenwood,” demurred Mrs. Pangborn, with a sigh, “but, of course, it is our business to curb it. We shall be obliged to stop all private meetings of the clubs, however innocent, they may be. Then we must endeavor to discover the one who instigates these enmities.”

“One young lady—Miss Travers is very mischievous,” went on Miss Cummings, “but I really have not discovered her in any particular wrong, or direct infringement of the rules.”

“I am glad to hear that,” replied Mrs. Pangborn, “for in her first season here she was too reckless. But her associations with some of our best pupils have, of course, helped her greatly.”

Following this conversation Mrs. Pangborn sent for Cecilia Reynolds. She knew her to be one of the most bitter opponents of the original Glenwood club, and she determined to question her.

Cecilia entered the office with a nervous look on her round, and rather pretty, face. Her eyes did not directly seek those of her superior, but, instead, looked at the Persian rug upon the polished floor.

“Cecilia,” began the principal, “I have sent for you to ask you about the club you call the ‘T’s’! I understand there have been some infringements of our rules—in fact that there have been some happenings, lately, not to be expected from polite young ladies. Now, will you tell me what your club stands for? That letter T, I mean.”

“Tarters,” replied Cecilia quietly.

“And why should young ladies choose such a name for a seminary club?”

“We thought it would show—it might stand for—our courage,” she replied again.

“Well, there can be no harm in a name,” said Mrs. Pangborn, “however ill-chosen it may be. But I should like to see a copy of your rules, if you have any.”

“I have none,” replied the girl, now nervous to the point of tears. “We would not have gone against the others, if they had not opposed us first.”

“In what way?”

“Even on the train coming here,” almost snapped Cecilia. “Tavia Travers and Dorothy Dale’s set showed they hated us!”

“Hush!” demanded the teacher. “That is no language for a pupil of mine to use. Why should they dislike almost perfect strangers? I have heard of the doings of some of you in the train. How Miss Faval refused to go with her companions and—other improper conduct. But I have not heard anything against the girls you mention.”

“Then ask Tavia Travers how she sprained her foot the night—the night we were out,” Cecilia stammered. “We were blamed for going to the fortune teller, and she and Edna Black got off free. No one knows where they went that night.”

It was a bold stroke, but Cecilia took courage quickly when she heard her friends blamed, and her enemies praised.

“I am quite satisfied with an explanation I have had of that occurrence, but it is useless for me to discuss matters with a pupil who argues. You may go,” and Mrs. Pangborn showed she meant dismissal.

Cecilia turned, glad to get away.

Immediately she sought Jean. This last humiliation was too much for the new girls, and they now determined to “strike,” as they termed it.

CHAPTER XXX A CLIMAX

In order to carry out their plans to “strike,” the dissatisfied ones decided they would tell all they knew about those who were held in high favor with the teachers. But in this they were forestalled by events unexpected.

Jean received a letter that seemed to crush her to the very earth. She would take no part in anything, but simply went through her routine work like one in a dream.

It was on this same day, very close to the closing exercises for the holiday term, that Tavia and Dorothy (the latter more despondent than ever about her father’s business), also received news that changed their despondency into gladness.

It was Dorothy’s letter from home. As she finished reading it she exclaimed:

“Tavia! whatever do you think? Mr. Armstrong—our Mr. Armstrong—is father’s lawyer!”

“Our Mr. Armstrong,” repeated Tavia, “you mean your Mr. Armstrong,” Tavia finished teasingly.

“Well, father says this case has taken a new turn. That Mr. Armstrong has discovered some flaws somewhere in the case of the other side. I could not understand just what they are, but, at any rate, it makes things look much brighter for father.”

“Good! May his brightness increase with the days,” replied Tavia. “Of course I knew it would come all right——”

“But it is not all right yet. It is only brightening up. But a ray of hope is a great thing, when one is really blue,” admitted Dorothy.

“Then Zada must have had several rays, for I never saw such a changed girl. She actually went skating with us yesterday. That child was creepy last Fall,” said Tavia.

Dorothy smiled when she thought of the reason for Zada’s improvement, but much as Tavia wanted to know the story of the lost picture, Dorothy could not dream of telling her of Zada’s confession.

“Father knows that we met Mr. Armstrong, and says he wishes to be remembered to us,” added Dorothy.

“He shall never be forgotten,” said Tavia. “If I really ever felt foolish enough to marry, I would advertise for a man like him. He is so real. And how he rode on the hand car! I call that inspiring!”

Dorothy smiled. The relation between riding on a hand car and inspiration seemed remote.

“Did they find out who took Jean’s purse?” asked Tavia. “I believe Jake said he would do so, and Jake usually does what he says.”

“Haven’t you heard? Is it possible I have any news that you have been deprived of?” said Dorothy. “Why, it was the husband of that fortune teller!”

“Whew!” whistled Tavia. “Bad as that! Jean had better be careful or they will get her inside that crystal ball.”

“But I do wonder how that woman ever told her the things she did? I know she told her about the torn letter,” said Dorothy.

Tavia laughed merrily. “Don’t you ever wonder how I strained my foot?” she questioned in answer.

“Well, yes, of course, but then you did not want to tell me,” Dorothy replied.

“I will, some day, but just now I want to tell you I had the best time I ever had in my life that night. But about your father. Dear Major Dale! How kind he always was to me, and I was such a problem to be kind to,” said Tavia gratefully.

“We always liked you, Tavia,” added Dorothy equally moved. “But about father. He says that Mr. Armstrong is a wonderful young lawyer.”

“All things come to her who waits,” put in Tavia. “Now I know what that chap’s business is. It was really worth while for the investment company to fail, to get me that news.”

“Don’t joke about so serious a matter,” objected Dorothy. “But you have no idea how much better I feel. I could sing and dance.”

“That’s Mr. Armstrong,” again teased Tavia. “He made me feel like that first—before I saw how you made him feel——”

“Now stop, Tavia,” begged Dorothy, blushing. “Mr. Armstrong has really proven himself a good friend. First he helped us so much the night we were traveling; then he came to my assistance at the lunch counter, and now he is assisting father.”

“You have overlooked the fact that he bound up the sprained arm—whose was it?”

“I wonder how he came to have a medicine case along?” reflected Dorothy.

“Likely feeling he would need it,” suggested Tavia. “That would be right in line with his other saintly characteristics.”

“No, I believe he was carrying it for some friend. However, we have our tests to-day. Oh, I am so glad this term is nearly finished. Not that I dislike the work so much, but everything has been so upset.”

“I am glad, too,” agreed Tavia. “I suppose you are going to North Birchland for the holidays?”

“Aunt Winnie may not be home, but, of course, the boys will be, and we always have Christmas together,” replied Dorothy.

Tavia fell to thinking. It was rarely she ever looked quite so serious. “I will stay on here,” she said. “I can’t afford to go to Dalton. And besides, home is so changed——”

“You will do nothing of the sort,” exclaimed Dorothy. “You can depend upon it if I can afford to travel, something will turn up to give you the same privilege. And here I am talking—how do I know but that failure may come yet? Then I would have to go—and stay!”

“You are forgetting about David Armstrong,” Tavia said quickly, to dispel the little blot of gloom. “‘Dave’ will surely win out.”

There was not more time for talking, for, as Dorothy said some of the mid-year tests were to be prepared for that very day.

Tavia, never fond of study, but doing better than she had expected to do, worked uneasily over her geometry. Dorothy was making an outline for a thesis. The morning was dark, and it was plain that the upper world was burdened with snow.

One more week and Glenwood would be in an uproar, with girls leaving for home for the Christmas holidays. Everyone seemed happy that morning, when the classes were called—everyone except Jean. Dorothy pitied her in her heart, for, though she might have made some mistakes, still, thought Dorothy, “we all make mistakes in different ways.”

When the day’s work was done and the papers had been examined Dorothy’s thesis was pronounced the most perfect, and for it she would receive the usual holiday prize, a gold pin, the gift of the faculty. This was one of the most desirable tributes that could be bestowed upon a pupil of Glenwood. It was enamelled with the Glenwood flag and the school motto.

The next evening, with some pleasant exercises, it was presented, and every girl, even the “T’s” cheered, for no one could honestly dispute Dorothy’s right to popularity. Little Zada stole up to her, as they were leaving the assembly room, and reaching high, put her arms about Dorothy’s neck, and kissed her affectionately.

Then the Glens held a meeting, and gave her a “shower.” What was not in that shower could hardly be imagined. Cologne, of course, gave her a box of perfume, Edna, a silk flag, Tavia, a shoe bag with a little white dog “Ravelings” painted on. (Tavia did not paint it but that was of no account.) Other trifles and pretty trinkets came in a real shower, so that the evening, so close to the end of the mid-year term, ended most happily.

As there was still some school work to be done this part of the program had to be “inserted” so to speak, early.

First, because as the holidays drew nearer, the excitement of going home obscured every other occurrence, and second, because the records to be made by the teachers for the beginning of the next term occupied all their time.

“Where is Jean?” asked Dorothy thoughtfully, when, after all the confusion, she was alone in her room with Tavia.

“I don’t know. No one has seen her to-day. What could have happened, I wonder? She came out well, and would have received a certificate.”

“I heard Cecilia say she was not well. I wonder should we go over and see if she is all right? We are her nearest neighbors,” proposed Dorothy.

“Well, we couldn’t go to-night,” replied Tavia. “But honestly, Doro, I do feel sorry for her. She seems to have had nothing but scrapes since she came here. I don’t usually feel that way for a rebel, but maybe Jean was born that way.”

“It is an unhappy thing to have such a disposition,” said Dorothy, “and as you say it may be lack of home making—or training. She appears like a girl who sprang up suddenly.”

“I can sympathize with her in that,” replied Tavia with a sigh. “See all the trouble I have had! Just because I got to be someone else. I mean that I had to be made over.”

“Oh, nonsense, Tavia. You were always the best girl in the world. We were not speaking of polish, but disposition,” insisted Dorothy.

“Well, we will see about Jean in the morning. It appears to be our duty, since you and I have given her the most cause to be mean,” decided Tavia, in her queer way of reasoning.

Dorothy smiled as she looked fondly again at the riot of pretty things about her dresser. “I think it was too much for the girls to give me all these things,” she remarked. “I wonder how they could spare them from their home presents?”

“Oh, they were the things they could not get in their boxes,” said Tavia, plaguing her companion. “But say, let’s snooze. Ned and I walked all the way to town to-day and I am almost dead.”

“What did you go away in there for?”

“To ask the Gleaner man who gave him your picture.”

“Did he tell you?”

“He said it came by mail, anonymously.”

Then Dorothy smiled as she touched the button that extinguished the light.

CHAPTER XXXI A MEETING OF THE BOARD

“Jean is gone!”

It was Dorothy who gave this news to Tavia.

“Gone where?”

“Gone home!”

“So early?”

“Gone, not to come back? Poor Jean!”

“Don’t cry over it. Likely she was glad to get away from the work,” said Tavia, although she knew that something unexpected must have happened.

“She left a note for me and said I might read it to you,” Dorothy continued. “In fact she said she would be glad if I would tell all the girls that she—had done—foolish things—through jealousy. But, of course, I won’t. She seems to be heartbroken.”

A messenger appeared at the open door. It was the boy from the post-office, and he held in his hand a special delivery letter for Dorothy. This interrupted the story of Jean.

Dorothy opened it nervously. She had been hoping for good news that might come before the courts closed for the holidays.

Tavia watched her closely as she read. Then she saw the change in her expression, and there was scarcely need to tell her that the good news had come.

“Oh Tavia! It is all right! Father has recovered all his money! And—what do you think? It was Jean’s uncle who was at fault! He had committed a forgery, and was keeping the funds for his own use! That is why Jean left!”

Both girls were speechless with excitement after this startling information was realized. It was Dorothy who spoke first.

“I am so sorry for her,” she said. “Think, if it had been father who lost all!”

“But your father would not commit a forgery,” said Tavia, in her own way.

“Yes, but neither did Jean,” objected Dorothy.

“Well, at any rate, let us be glad,” insisted Tavia. “Here is the first act,” and she tried to do a tom-boyish somersault over Dorothy’s hat box.

Then there was a rush through the hall. It meant that the girls were coming to Room Nineteen. The rush continued until Dorothy was placed on the floor, and Cologne occupied her chair while Tavia had been, not too carefully, lifted to the top of the chiffonier, from which all things had previously been removed.

The “T’s” were there as well as the Glens, but Cologne was “spokesman.”

“We have come——” she began.

“You don’t say,” interrupted Tavia.

“For that you shall be gagged—if you do it again,” threatened Cologne.

Molly Richards, or Dick as we know her, fell off the upturned jardiniere upon which she had been vainly trying to balance herself.

“This is awful,” said the chairman, “and I may have to postpone——”

“Never!” came a shout. “We came for a full meeting of the board, and we demand it.”

“Then let the Tarters elsewhere speak first. They are our—visitors,” decided Cologne.

Cecilia Reynolds was not as merry as the others, but she had come to do her part, and was determined not to flinch.

“Well,” she began, “we feel we made a mistake in having a club opposed to the Glens.”

“Splendid feeling,” put in Tavia again. “Hurray!”

“And we did—some things—that now we see were not as funny—as we thought they might be,” went on Cecilia, with an effort. “We voted, at a meeting, to have Dorothy’s story of the lunch wagon published. We did not think it would amount to so much, and we decided that the smallest member—the one least to be suspected, should take the picture off Tavia’s bureau. Zada was the smallest.”

Tavia could not stand this. She jumped up, and although she was only joking now, since all things had turned out so well, she did throw a scrap basket at Cecilia. It hit another member of the Tarters, Nell Dean, and when the latter tossed it back it landed nicely over Tavia’s head, and extinguished her, for which all were thankful.

“Then Jean,” went on Cecilia, “thought we could get ahead of the older members, and we tried all sorts of tricks to do so.”

“We will not talk of those absent,” said Cologne, kindly. “Let us hear from the Glens. Tavia and Ned, where were you the night of the fortune telling racket?”

Tavia stretched out her hands in mock entreaty.

“Oh spare me!” she gasped. “Spare me the shame of my bare foot.”

“Tell us,” demanded Cologne.

“Help, Ned!” begged Tavia.

“No, we have questioned you,” insisted the chairman.

“Well, then, I will tell the story of the mystery of the crystal ball,” said Tavia, making her way to the center of the group, and knocking over a few girls who were squatted on the floor in doing so. “That night we, Ned and I, heard of the fortune-telling scheme. So we made up our minds we would have her tell the truth for once. We hurried off, and gave the old lady a dollar. Ned chipped in, though I had to take it from her, and we gave her all the information she needed. We had the girls marked so she could easily tell them apart, and we, Ned and I, had the delightful, pleasurable excitement, of listening at the broken window, while the old lady fulfilled her contract. Then, when we were scurrying home, I slipped——”

The uproar that followed this confession could only be described as a human earthquake. Dorothy was supposed to have known of the fraud, although she did not, and she was not spared in the efforts of the fooled ones, those who had paid money to have their fortunes told—by Tavia!

“But we had a good time,” said Ned, timidly, when some of the excitement had subsided.

“Anything else?” asked Cologne. “Remember we are consolidating now—no more secrets?”

“Yes. I know how that man knew about Jean having her check,” said Nita Brant. “The old fortune teller used to wait for Jean and that day she had seen her go to the post-office, and get the letter. She kept Jean talking on her way back until the man got farther up in the woods, to wait for her. Jake got her purse back yesterday from a place where the Shebad woman had pawned it. And we learned, too, that Jean purposely dropped that scrap of paper near Dorothy’s door to worry her.”

This was nothing to laugh at. And the bright faces turned serious.

“Now, Dorothy,” and Cologne looked into the blue eyes of her friend, “you have a letter to read to us.”

Dorothy had not yet read Jean’s note, and she objected to doing so first in public.

“But Jean left a note to me saying she insisted on her letter being read,” went on Cologne.

Then Dorothy was compelled to yield.

Everyone sat up quietly while the message from Jean, like a sad note from another world, was read.

Dorothy began:

“My Dear Companions:

“I am going away. I can no longer be a pupil of any boarding school, and I deeply regret that I made such poor use of my time while I had the chance to do better. While I had plenty of money I felt no responsibility, but since my uncle’s failure, and the showing to me of his true character, I feel more like a woman than a girl. I want to apologize for any disturbance I made at Glenwood, particularly to Dorothy Dale, whom I thought it was sport to distress. It is I, and not Dorothy, who will now have to go out into the world to work. But perhaps in that I may be able to give up the nonsense I have been lately plunged into, and in which, my own dear mother never took part. I could say much more but take this message and—good-bye.

“Jean.”

There was not a dry eye when Dorothy ceased. The coming of Mrs. Pangborn saved them from actual weeping.

“Young ladies,” she said, “I have a surprise for you. I guessed in which room I would find you. I have received a letter from Major Dale, Dorothy’s father, sending me a check with which to give you all a merry time before parting. As the snow is so beautiful to-day I thought you might like a full, school sleigh ride. So I have hired some vehicles, and——”

“Hurrah! Hurra! Hurroo!” shouted the girls, forgetting all dignity in face of such a treat.

And on the hills of Glenwood, in three big sleighs, with Jake leading in the Glenwood, its plumes flying, let us leave our friends, to meet them again, in another volume, to be called, “Dorothy Dale in the City.”

“Well, ‘all is well that ends well,’” murmured Tavia, as they flew along the snowy road, the sleighbells jingling merrily.

“Yes, and I am glad of it,” answered Dorothy. “But poor Jean, I am so sorry for her!”

“We all are,” came from Edna.

Then came a burst of song from the sleigh ahead. And with that song we will say good-bye.

THE END

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  or The Farm That Was Worth a Fortune

From Washington the scene is shifted to the great oil fields of our country. A splendid picture of the oil field operations of today.

• 4. BETTY GORDON AT BOARDING SCHOOL
  or The Treasure of Indian Chasm

Seeking treasures of Indian Chasm makes interesting reading.

• 5. BETTY GORDON AT MOUNTAIN CAMP
  or The Mystery of Ida Bellethorne

At Mountain Camp Betty found herself in the midst of a mystery involving a girl whom she had previously met in Washington.

• 6. BETTY GORDON AT OCEAN PARK
  or School Chums on the Boardwalk

A glorious outing that Betty and her chums never forgot.

• 7. BETTY GORDON AND HER SCHOOL CHUMS
  or Bringing the Rebels to Terms

Rebellious students, disliked teachers and mysterious robberies make a fascinating story.

• 8. BETTY GORDON AT RAINBOW RANCH
  or Cowboy Joe’s Secret

Betty and her chums have a grand time in the saddle.

• 9. BETTY GORDON IN MEXICAN WILDS
  or The Secret of the Mountains

Betty receives a fake telegram and finds both Bob and herself held for ransom in a mountain cave.

• 10. BETTY GORDON AND THE LOST PEARL
  or A Mystery of the Seaside

Betty and her chums go to the ocean shore for a vacation and there Betty becomes involved in the disappearance of a string of pearls worth a fortune.

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THE BARTON BOOKS FOR GIRLS

By MAY HOLLIS BARTON

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. With colored jacket

Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid

May Hollis Barton is a new writer for girls who is bound to win instant popularity. Her style is somewhat of a mixture of that of Louise M. Alcott and Mrs. L. T. Meade, but thoroughly up-to-date in plot and action. Clean tales that all girls will enjoy reading.

• 1. THE GIRL FROM THE COUNTRY
  or Laura Mayford’s City Experiences

Laura was the oldest of five children and when daddy got sick she felt she must do something. She had a chance to try her luck in New York, and there the country girl fell in with many unusual experiences.

• 2. THREE GIRL CHUMS AT LAUREL HALL
  or The Mystery of the School by the Lake

When the three chums arrived at the boarding school they found the other students in the grip of a most perplexing mystery. How this mystery was solved, and what good times the girls had, both in school and on the lake, go to make a story no girl would care to miss.

• 3. NELL GRAYSON’S RANCHING DAYS
  or A City Girl in the Great West

Showing how Nell, when she had a ranch girl visit her in Boston, thought her chum very green, but when Nell visited the ranch in the great West she found herself confronting many conditions of which she was totally ignorant. A stirring outdoor story.

• 4. FOUR LITTLE WOMEN OF ROXBY
  or The Queer Old Lady Who Lost Her Way

Four sisters are keeping house and having trouble to make both ends meet. One day there wanders in from a stalled express train an old lady who cannot remember her identity. The girls take the old lady in, and, later, are much astonished to learn who she really is.

• 5. PLAIN JANE AND PRETTY BETTY
  or The Girl Who Won Out

The tale of two girls, one plain but sensible, the other pretty but vain. Unexpectedly both find they have to make their way in the world. Both have many trials and tribulations. A story of a country town and then a city.

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BILLIE BRADLEY SERIES

By JANET D. WHEELER

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors

Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid

• 1. BILLIE BRADLEY AND HER INHERITANCE
  or The Queer Homestead at Cherry Corners

Billie Bradley fell heir to an old homestead that was unoccupied and located far away in a lonely section of the country. How Billie went there, accompanied by some of her chums, and what queer things happened, go to make up a story no girl will want to miss.

• 2. BILLIE BRADLEY AT THREE-TOWERS HALL
  or Leading a Needed Rebellion

Three-Towers Hall was a boarding school for girls. For a short time after Billie arrived there all went well. But then the head of the school had to go on a long journey and she left the girls in charge of two teachers, sisters, who believed in severe discipline and in very, very plain food and little of it—and then there was a row! The girls wired for the head to come back—and all ended happily.

• 3. BILLIE BRADLEY ON LIGHTHOUSE ISLAND
  or The Mystery of the Wreck

One of Billie’s friends owned a summer bungalow on Lighthouse Island, near the coast. The school girls made up a party and visited the Island. There was a storm and a wreck, and three little children were washed ashore. They could tell nothing of themselves, and Billie and her chums set to work to solve the mystery of their identity.

• 4. BILLIE BRADLEY AND HER CLASSMATES
  or The Secret of the Locked Tower

Billie and her chums come to the rescue of several little children who have broken through the ice. There is the mystery of a lost invention, and also the dreaded mystery of the locked school tower.

• 5. BILLIE BRADLEY AT TWIN LAKES
  or Jolly Schoolgirls Afloat and Ashore

A tale of outdoor adventure in which Billie and her chums have a great variety of adventures. They visit an artists’ colony and there fall in with a strange girl living with an old boatman who abuses her constantly. Billie befriended Hulda and the mystery surrounding the girl was finally cleared up.

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THE LINGER-NOT SERIES

By AGNES MILLER

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors

Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid

This new series of girls’ books is in a new style of story writing. The interest is in knowing the girls and seeing them solve the problems that develop their character. Incidentally, a great deal of historical information is imparted.

• 1. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THE MYSTERY HOUSE
  or The Story of Nine Adventurous Girls

How the Linger-Not girls met and formed their club seems commonplace, but this writer makes it fascinating, and how they made their club serve a great purpose continues the interest to the end, and introduces a new type of girlhood.

• 2. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THE VALLEY FEUD
  or The Great West Point Chain

The Linger-Not girls had no thought of becoming mixed up with feuds or mysteries, but their habit of being useful soon entangled them in some surprising adventures that turned out happily for all, and made the valley better because of their visit.

• 3. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THEIR GOLDEN QUEST
  or The Log of the Ocean Monarch

For a club of girls to become involved in a mystery leading back into the times of the California gold-rush, seems unnatural until the reader sees how it happened, and how the girls helped one of their friends to come into her rightful name and inheritance, forms a fine story.

• 4. THE LINGER-NOTS AND THE WHISPERING CHARMS
  or The Secret from Old Alaska

Whether engrossed in thrilling adventures in the Far North or occupied with quiet home duties, the Linger-Not girls could work unitedly to solve a colorful mystery in a way that interpreted American freedom to a sad young stranger, and brought happiness to her and to themselves.

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THE GIRL SCOUT SERIES

By LILIAN GARIS

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors

Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid

The highest ideals of girlhood as advocated by the foremost organizations of America form the background for these stories and while unobtrusive there is a message in every volume.

• 1. THE GIRL SCOUT PIONEERS
  or Winning the First B. C.

A story of the True Tred Troop in a Pennsylvania town. Two runaway girls, who want to see the city, are reclaimed through troop influence. The story is correct in scout detail.

• 2. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT BELLAIRE
  or Maid Mary’s Awakening

The story of a timid little maid who is afraid to take part in other girls’ activities, while working nobly alone for high ideals. How she was discovered by the Bellaire Troop and came into her own as “Maid Mary” makes a fascinating story.

• 3. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT SEA CREST
  or The Wig Wag Rescue

Luna Land, a little island by the sea, is wrapt in a mysterious seclusion, and Kitty Scuttle, a grotesque figure, succeeds in keeping all others at bay until the Girl Scouts come.

• 4. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMP COMALONG
  or Peg of Tamarack Hills

The girls of Bobolink Troop spend their summer on the shores of Lake Hocomo. Their discovery of Peg, the mysterious rider, and the clearing up of her remarkable adventures afford a vigorous plot.

• 5. THE GIRL SCOUTS AT ROCKY LEDGE
  or Nora’s Real Vacation

Nora Blair is the pampered daughter of a frivolous mother. Her dislike for the rugged life of Girl Scouts is eventually changed to appreciation, when the rescue of little Lucia, a woodland waif, becomes a problem for the girls to solve.

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THE JANE ALLEN COLLEGE SERIES

By EDITH BANCROFT

12mo. Illustrated. With cover inlay and jacket in colors

Price per volume, $1.00

This series is a decided departure from the stories usually written of life in the modern college for young women. An authoritative account of the life of the college girl as it is lived today.

• 1. JANE ALLEN OF THE SUB TEAM

When Jane Allen left her home in Montana, to go East to Wellington College, she was sure that she could never learn to endure the restrictions of college life.

• 2. JANE ALLEN: RIGHT GUARD

Jane Allen becomes a sophomore at Wellington College, but she has to face a severe trial that requires all her courage and character. The result is a triumph for being faithful to an ideal.

• 3. JANE ALLEN: CENTER

Lovable Jane Allen as Junior experiences delightful days of work and play. Jane, and her chum, Judith, win leadership in class office, social and athletic circles of Sophs and Juniors.

• 4. JANE ALLEN: JUNIOR

Jane Allen’s college experiences, as continued in “Jane Allen, Junior,” afford the chance for a brilliant story. A rude, country girl forces her way into Wellington under false pretenses.

• 5. JANE ALLEN: SENIOR

Jane and Judith undertake Social Service, wherein they find actual problems more thrilling than were those of the “indoor sports.”

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THE PATSY CARROLL SERIES

By GRACE GORDON

12mo. Illustrated. With cover inlay and jacket in colors

Price per volume, $1.00

This fascinating series is permeated with the vibrant atmosphere of the great out-doors. The vacations spent by Patsy Carroll and her chums, the girl Wayfarers, in the north, east, south and west of the wonderland of our country, comprise a succession of tales unsurpassed in plot and action.

• PATSY CARROLL AT WILDERNESS LODGE

Patsy Carroll succeeds in coaxing her father to lease one of the luxurious camps at Lake Placid, for the summer. Established at Wilderness Lodge, the Wayfarers, as they call themselves, find they are the center of a mystery which revolves about a missing will. How the girls solve the mystery makes a splendid story.

• PATSY CARROLL UNDER SOUTHERN SKIES

Patsy Carroll and her three chums spend their Easter vacation in an old mansion in Florida. An exciting mystery develops. It is solved by a curious acrostic found by Patsy. This leads to very exciting and satisfactory results, making a capital story.

• PATSY CARROLL IN THE GOLDEN WEST

The Wayfarers journey to the dream city of the Movie World in the Golden West, and there become a part of a famous film drama.

• PATSY CARROLL IN OLD NEW ENGLAND

Set in the background of the Tercentenary of the landing of the Pilgrims, celebrated in the year 1920, the story of Patsy Carroll in Old New England offers a correct word picture of this historical event and into it is woven a fascinating tale of the adventures of the Wayfarers.

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THE RADIO GIRLS SERIES

By MARGARET PENROSE

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors

Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid

A new and up-to-date series, taking in the activities of several bright girls who become interested in radio. The stories tell of thrilling exploits, out-door life and the great part the Radio plays in the adventures of the girls and in solving their mysteries. Fascinating books that girls of all ages will want to read.

• 1. THE RADIO GIRLS OF ROSELAWN
  or A Strange Message from the Air

Showing how Jessie Norwood and her chums became interested in radiophoning, how they gave a concert for a worthy local charity, and how they received a sudden and unexpected call for help out of the air. A girl wanted as witness in a celebrated law case disappears, and the radio girls go to the rescue.

• 2. THE RADIO GIRLS ON THE PROGRAM
  or Singing and Reciting at the Sending Station

When listening in on a thrilling recitation or a superb concert number who of us has not longed to “look behind the scenes” to see how it was done? The girls had made the acquaintance of a sending station manager and in this volume are permitted to get on the program, much to their delight. A tale full of action and fun.

• 3. THE RADIO GIRLS ON STATION ISLAND
  or The Wireless from the Steam Yacht

In this volume the girls travel to the seashore and put in a vacation on an island where is located a big radio sending station. The big brother of one of the girls owns a steam yacht and while out with a pleasure party those on the island receive word by radio that the yacht is on fire. A tale thrilling to the last page.

• 4. THE RADIO GIRLS AT FOREST LODGE
  or The Strange Hut in the Swamp

The Radio Girls spend several weeks on the shores of a beautiful lake and with their radio get news of a great forest fire. It also aids them in rounding up some undesirable folks who occupy the strange hut in the swamp.

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THE CURLYTOPS SERIES

By HOWARD R. GARIS

Author of the famous “Bedtime Animal Stories”

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Jacket in full colors

Price per volume, 65 cents, postpaid

• 1. THE CURLYTOPS AT CHERRY FARM
  or Vacation Days in the Country

A tale of happy vacation days on a farm.

• 2. THE CURLYTOPS ON STAR ISLAND or Camping out with Grandpa

The Curlytops camp on Star Island.

• 3. THE CURLYTOPS SNOWED IN
  or Grand Fun with Skates and Sleds

The Curlytops on lakes and hills.

• 4. THE CURLYTOPS AT UNCLE FRANK’S RANCH
  or Little Folks on Ponyback

Out West on their uncle’s ranch they have a wonderful time.

• 5. THE CURLYTOPS AT SILVER LAKE
  or On the Water with Uncle Ben

The Curlytops camp out on the shores of a beautiful lake.

• 6. THE CURLYTOPS AND THEIR PETS
  or Uncle Toby’s Strange Collection

An old uncle leaves them to care for his collection of pets.

• 7. THE CURLYTOPS AND THEIR PLAYMATES
  or Jolly Times Through the Holidays

They have great times with their uncle’s collection of animals.

• 8. THE CURLYTOPS IN THE WOODS
  or Fun at the Lumber Camp

Exciting times in the forest for Curlytops.

• 9. THE CURLYTOPS AT SUNSET BEACH
  or What Was Found in the Sand

The Curlytops have a fine time at the seashore.

• 10. THE CURLYTOPS TOURING AROUND
  or The Missing Photograph Albums

The Curlytops get in some moving pictures.

• 11. THE CURLYTOPS IN A SUMMER CAMP
  or Animal Joe’s Menagerie

There is great excitement as some mischievous monkeys break out of Animal Joe’s Menagerie.

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