DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS

“DON’T BE AFRAID,” TAVIA CALLED TO THE ONE IN THE WATER. “IT CAN’T SINK.”
Dorothy Dale’s School Rivals Page [79]

DOROTHY DALE’S
SCHOOL RIVALS

BY
MARGARET PENROSE

AUTHOR OF “DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY,” “DOROTHY
DALE’S GREAT SECRET,” “DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING
DAYS,” “THE MOTOR GIRLS,” “THE MOTOR
GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH,” “THE
MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW
ENGLAND,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

BOOKS BY MARGARET PENROSE

THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES

Cloth. Illustrated.

• DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
• DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
• DOROTHY DALE’S GREAT SECRET
• DOROTHY DALE AND HER CHUMS
• DOROTHY DALE’S QUEER HOLIDAYS
• DOROTHY DALE’S CAMPING DAYS
• DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS

THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES

Cloth. Illustrated.

• THE MOTOR GIRLS
  Or A Mystery of the Road
• THE MOTOR GIRLS ON A TOUR
  Or Keeping a Strange Promise
• THE MOTOR GIRLS AT LOOKOUT BEACH
  Or In Quest of the Runaways
• THE MOTOR GIRLS THROUGH NEW ENGLAND
  Or Held by the Gypsies
• THE MOTOR GIRLS ON CEDAR LAKE
  Or The Hermit of the Fern Island

Cupples & Leon Co., Publishers, New York

Copyright, 1912, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY

DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL RIVALS

Printed in U. S. A.

CONTENTS

DOROTHY DALE’S SCHOOL
RIVALS

CHAPTER I
THE START

Dorothy’s blue eyes looked out of the car window, but she saw nothing. All her faculties were bent upon thinking—thinking of something that evidently was not pleasant. Tavia fussed around in the next seat, scattering books, candy boxes, wraps, gloves and such “trifles.” She finally left the things to their fate and climbed in with Dorothy.

“We’ll soon be back to the old Glen, Doro,” she said, “and I know you’ll be glad. As for me, I count this my last hour of freedom, and feel as if I were going to——”

“Now, Tavia, you know perfectly well that you are just as fond of Glenwood as I am,” replied Dorothy, with something akin to a smile. “But of course, you have to get your fun out of growling. Really, I think this time you won’t be able to get it out of me. I am—glum!”

“That will be the best fun ever. To have you glum! Have you been to a fortune teller, or anything like that, Doro?”

Dorothy looked harder than ever out of the window, and did not bother to reply.

“Because, Doro,” went on Tavia, “if she told you a friend is going to be married it’s me. If she said you would get a letter, asking for money, that’s from me. If she said a very dear friend was going to get in some new kind of trouble, that will also be me, and last, if she said you were going to cross water, it will be on account of my health. I love fortune tellers, they pick out such good news,” and Tavia glanced across the aisle at a rather good-looking young man, who was reading a theatrical paper.

Dorothy touched Tavia’s hand. “There,” she said, “I am not going to have any more blues. I can’t manage well with them, and I have to manage you, Tavia.”

“Now, have you only just discovered that? Well, all I can say is that I am glad the other girls did not get these seats. They are—ahem—so convenient!”

“But there is one vacant place just back of the young man whom you are watching,” said Dorothy, teasingly.

“And there comes one of our girls,” exclaimed Tavia. “I wager she flops into it.”

The prediction was correct. A new girl, with very up-to-date apparel, and very flashy jewelry, had taken the vacant seat. The book she carried showed its title plainly, and was, of course, one of “the best sellers.”

“Next she’ll drop the book under his seat, and he’ll have to speak to her in returning it,” said Tavia. “Now, why didn’t I think of trying that? Such a chance!”

Dorothy was interested in the new girl and paid little attention to the talk that Tavia was making for her benefit, for, though Tavia always loved to do absurd things, she would not have spoken to the stranger.

“She is the young lady we were introduced to on the depot platform,” Dorothy remarked. “Her name is Jean Faval.”

“Ought to be Bean Flavor,” said Tavia, trying to pun on the name. “She looks sort of—canned.”

“I think her very stylish, but that skirt is tight. I wouldn’t wear one like it myself,” Dorothy replied.

“And a Dutch neck on the train,” continued Tavia, looking at the very white neck of the new girl, who wore no collar. “I believe she wears slippers, and the very thinnest silk hose.”

“It’s warm enough for both, and I shouldn’t mind having forgotten my heavy walking shoes,” Dorothy said.

Just then the book dropped. Tavia almost jumped out of her seat. She actually gasped. The young lady across moved her foot, and the book came out in the aisle.

In an instant Tavia had it in her hands, and was passing it back.

“Oh, thank you so much!” spoke the owner, in a suspicious tone. “I could have gotten it.”

“It was not the least bit of trouble,” and Tavia uttered a false note that caused the young man to turn and observe her.

“Anything I can do?” he asked, politely. “Have you lost anything?”

Both girls answered in the same words.

“Oh, no; thank you.”

He glanced over at Dorothy, then resumed his paper. Miss Faval found her place in her book, and Tavia turned to her chum.

“Didn’t I tell you? Am I not a prophet? But I spoiled it, and I am dying laughing from head to foot.”

“She will think you rude,” cautioned Dorothy.

“I hope she thinks me the entire conjugation, and the worse ones on the last page. I can see some fun with her at Glen.”

“Please, Tavia,” begged Dorothy, “don’t try to get into trouble before we arrive there. You have plenty of time during the term,” and she looked bored—quite unlike the real Dorothy.

“Say, Doro,” exclaimed Tavia, “I actually believe you want to get rid of me. I’ll run off and leave you to your dismals. I know Dick and Ned have a brand of chocolates I am particularly fond of, and your own Cologne always tips the porter for ice water. So be good, and,” she added in a whisper, “don’t miss any of the circus,” nodding her head toward the other side of the aisle. “Be sure to render me a satisfactory and full report.”

Tavia flaunted off, and Dorothy again pressed her pale face to the window pane. The hills and vales were rolling away, and of course the fast train seemed to be standing still. The wonderful changes of scenery, that had never failed before to interest her, she now scarcely saw.

In the rear of the car were a number of her companions, but she was really glad to be alone. There was Rose-Mary Markin, known as Cologne; Edna Black, called Ned Ebony; Molly Richards, titled just Dick, and others picked up along the route to Glenwood School, in the mountains of New England.

Dorothy was not sick. She was gloomy, and whatever caused this gloom had occurred just before the girls left for school, for up to that time she had been the same vivacious, sprightly girl who had ever been a favorite with her acquaintances and companions. The change in her manner was, therefore, so marked that even the reckless Tavia noticed it instantly, as did the other girls, who were wise enough (on advice of Cologne, Dorothy’s most intimate friend after Tavia) to let Dorothy alone, and not bother her.

The sun was fading into shadows, and soon the train would pull into the familiar little Glenwood station. Then what a time there would be! Dorothy thought of it, and again determined to be cheerful. Tavia would be, as Tavia herself had declared, “on top of the heap,” for while there was no hazing allowed, something that made a splendid imitation was ever practiced on the first night, the “fun” not being confined to new scholars, either.

The car attendant came through the train, and turned on the lights. The strange gentleman with the paper across the aisle asked him if they would get in on schedule and he replied they had lost a little time, but were making it up now.

“Thought you had an extra clip on,” commented the stranger.

Scarcely were the words uttered than Dorothy and everyone else was thrown from their seats, and then there was a terrific crash.

Instantly there followed screams and commotion. The lights went out, and many passengers rushed for the doors. Dorothy realized she was not hurt. Next, the other girls from the rear of the car were hanging around her, displaying very little of the common sense that had been drilled into them at Glenwood.

“Oh, Dorothy, what is it?”

“Oh, Dorothy, my arm is broken!”

“Oh, Dorothy, I am sure we will all be killed!”

“Doro, are you all right?”

This last was from Tavia, while the other gasps came from various girls, too intermixed to separate.

It seemed a long time, but was, in reality, only a few seconds, until the conductor and porter made their way to the girls’ car, and assured them that nothing at all had happened, more than the rather too sudden stopping of the train, made necessary by a special and unexpected signal. The lights were again turned on, and everyone might see that there really had been no accident. The seats were as straight and as smooth as ever, and most of the frightened passengers were gathering up their trinkets from the floor, and replacing them in the holders and seats.

Edna Black was rubbing her arm, and wincing.

“Is your hand hurt?” Dorothy asked.

“I’m afraid it is. I got quite a jolt against the seat arm. But I guess it isn’t much,” Edna replied.

Tavia gazed across the aisle. The young man was looking at Edna. The new girl was groaning dramatically. She was also trying to get back into her skirt, that had, in the excitement sprung up like a deep girdle around her waist.

“Can’t flop nicely in a skirt tight as that!” Tavia whispered to Molly Richards. “I wish it had all ripped to pieces. Wouldn’t it be sport for her to have to get out in a buttoned raincoat?”

“She’s pretty,” Mollie said, simply.

“That’s why I hate her,” replied Tavia. “I always hate what I can’t have—even beauty.”

“Strange you get along so well with—well, with some people,” answered Molly, casting an appreciative glance at Tavia, with the hazel eyes, and the shade of hair every one loves—no color in particular but all combined in one glow. “Every one envies you, Tavia.”

Dorothy was examining Edna’s wrist.

Meanwhile the new girl kept exclaiming, “Oh, my!” Finally the young man turned to her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked kindly.

Tavia gripped Molly’s arm.

“Oh, I don’t know,” whimpered Miss Faval, “but I am so—nervous.”

It was the greatest wonder in the world that Tavia did not shout “hurrah” or something equally absurd.

“You are shaken up,” said the stranger, “but nerves soon adjust themselves, when there is not any real injury. I see some one else has trouble.” He crossed to Dorothy and Edna. “Can I help you?” he asked. “I know something of medicine.”

“And he was reading a theatrical paper!” Tavia managed to get in line with Molly’s ear. “I’ll wager he turns out to be a baseball player.”

“My friend has hurt her arm,” Dorothy told the young man, who had already taken the trembling hand of Edna in his own firm grasp. “She fell against the arm of the seat.”

All eyes were upon them. Of course Tavia was whispering: “Wouldn’t be my luck! Just like Ned! Do you suppose he will need help to set it? I’ll get a glass of water—that’s safe,” and off she raced, making jolly remarks to the frightened ones, as she made her way to the water cooler.

“I’m afraid it is sprained,” said the man, holding Edna’s hand, “but I have some bandages in my grip.”

Tavia had returned with the glass of water before he found the bandages.

“I’m so sorry, Ned dear,” said Tavia truthfully. “I’m so sorry it is not my arm. Isn’t he handsome!”

Edna smiled, and Dorothy held the water to her lips. As the young man with the antiseptic cloth crossed the aisle Dorothy motioned Tavia to stand back and make room for the work to be done. Tavia stepped back, and just then the train gave one, single jerk.

The contents of Tavia’s glass of water went over the “Dutch neck” of Jean Faval.

“Oh, mercy!” screamed the girl.

Tavia recovered herself from the jerk and was just about to apologize when Amy Brooks rushed up to them.

“Whatever do you think, girls?” she blurted out. “The railroad bridge is down, and we can’t leave this spot to-night!”

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.

“Glenwood! Glenwood! Rah! Rah! Rah!

Back again, back again, Margery Daw!

Left the boys behind us! Hah! Hah! Hah!”

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——”