Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School

"Then you think it would be a good plan to send Dorothy to Glenwood?" and the major's voice showed that he looked favorably upon the proposition.

"Glenwood School, in the mountains of New England! I can see the tags on Dorothy's trunks," she replied merrily. "Nothing could be better. And that splendid mountain air! Why, you won't know the child when she comes home for her holiday. But I am going to write this very morning. Or will you do it? And I will write in reply to the next. Yes, I think that would be better. And now I am going right up to Dorothy and tell her all about it. The child had such a headache from her experiences yesterday that I insisted upon her lying down. Wasn't that the most absurd thing for those children to ride to town in the police patrol? The boys will never stop talking of it. And Tavia Travers thinks it the joke of her life. But Dorothy is not keen on that sort of jokes. She does not relish the curiosity which the incident has stirred up. I could see that this morning, when those school friends were talking it over with her."

"Dorothy is a very sensitive girl."

"All fine natures are sensitive, Allen. They neither offend nor relish being offended. It is perfectly natural that the child should resent such remarks as some of those I have heard passed about the patrol ride."

"Of course they only came from children," apologized the major, "and youngsters will have their say."

"Yes, but sometimes the 'say' of jealous young girls may go a long way. A jealous girl is, I believe, even a more dangerous enemy than a woman scorned, about whom so much is written and said. But I am sure Dorothy can hold her own in spite of any girl."

Why had Mrs. White been so apprehensive about the small talk she had overheard? What could any one say against Dorothy Dale?

That afternoon a school friend called on Dorothy and brought with her a young girl who had been spending part of her vacation at the MacAllister home. She was introduced as Miss Viola Green of Dunham, and while rather a pretty girl she had something in her manner that made Dorothy feel uncomfortable. This unaccountable dislike on Dorothy's part was heightened when Tavia went over to the veranda where the girls were sitting, and upon Alice introducing Tavia to her friend the latter merely bowed stiffly, and refused to accept the hand that Tavia had offered in greeting. This was all the more strange since Alice was so splendid a girl herself.

But Viola Green had made a serious mistake in refusing to accept the honest hand of Tavia Travers, although strange to say the incident was a most fortunate happening, as far as Tavia and Dorothy were concerned – it told them the kind of girl Viola was. Alice, seeing the slight, winked slyly at Tavia, who, after flushing furiously, managed to return the secret sign of Alice by snapping her own brown eye open and shut.

"I simply thought I should die," began Alice, anxious to start conversation. "When I saw you step out of that wagon last night. Viola and I were just down to the post-office and when the crowd gathered of course, we had to see what was going on. Well, when I saw Tavia – "

A burst of laughter stopped Alice. She had a way of seeing humor in things and of enjoying the process of extracting it. Tavia joined her in the merriment, but Viola sat there with a curled lip. Dorothy was not laughing either – she was observing the stranger.

"Wasn't it great!" exclaimed Tavia. "I wish you could have been along. Dorothy was scared to death, but the very idea of any one being afraid while surrounded by four strapping policemen!"

"And when your cousin came into the post-office to send his telegram – to his mother, wasn't it? And we beheld – a dude in overalls and jumper!" and Alice laughed again. "Really," she continued, finally, "I thought I should pass away!"

"Was that your cousin?" asked Viola unpleasantly.

"Why, Ola," exclaimed Alice, the ring of something like anger in her voice, "I certainly told you the young man was Mr. Nat White from North Birchland, Dorothy's cousin."

"Oh," sniffed the other. "I am sure I thought you said he was Tavia's cousin."

"That's good," chimed in Tavia. "Wish he was; he would make all kinds of nice cousins, for he is the dandiest boy – "

"So!" almost sneered Viola.

"Yes, that's so," declared Tavia, with a challenging look at the stranger.

"Viola thinks nice boys should not be cousins," remarked Alice, trying to patch up the squabble. But Dorothy had risen from her seat and was toying with the honeysuckle. Evidently she had no intention of joining in the unpleasant argument.

"I declare, Doro," said Alice suddenly. "I have scarcely heard your voice to-day. And all the stories that I have been contradicting about you. That you were hurt in an auto accident; that your chauffeur was arrested for speeding and you were obliged to go to police court to make a statement; that some lunatic chased you, and you had to get in the wagon to save your life – Oh! I tell you, Doro, you never know how popular you are until you take a ride in the 'hurry up' wagon. I would have given my new dog (and I love him dearly) to have been in that tally-ho with you," and Alice threw her arms about Dorothy, whose face, she could not help observing, was white and strained.

"It certainly was an experience," admitted Dorothy, joining the group again.

"But what in the world makes you act like such a funeral?" Alice blurted out.

"I have just heard something that makes me serious," answered Dorothy. "I may as well tell you now. I am going away to boarding school!"

"This term?" exclaimed Viola, before either Alice or Tavia had time to speak.

"Certainly," replied Dorothy coolly. "Why not?"

"Oh, nothing, of course," returned Viola, "Only after yesterday folks might think – oh, you know country folks can never understand the trick of deciding things quickly. You had not thought of it – of going away before, had you?"

Dorothy was too indignant to speak. What ever could the girl mean by such insinuations? Even Alice seemed dumbfounded, and Tavia positively dangerous. She walked straight up to the chair Viola occupied.

"Miss Green," she called. "'After yesterday,' as you express it, is precisely the same as before yesterday, to all concerned. The experiences were unusual – "

"I should think so – " the stranger had the temerity to remark, but Alice had risen to go, while Viola stepped down from the porch, without offering a word of apology or explanation. "And where are you going, Dorothy dear?" asked Alice tenderly, trying to undo the harm that her visitor had been so successful in creating.

"To the Glenwood School, in the mountains of New England, I believe," answered Dorothy.

"Indeed?" spoke up Miss Green again. "That is where I attend. How strange we should meet just before the term opens," and she smiled that same unpleasant smile that had chilled Dorothy when Alice introduced them.

"You do!" exclaimed Tavia rather rudely. Then she added: "Dorothy Dale, who told you you could go away to school? You have not asked my permission yet. To the mountains of New England! I would like to see you run away and leave me!"

"It would be unpleasant indeed!" called back Viola. "You had better come to Glenwood too!"

"Maybe I will," snapped Tavia. "One thing is certain. Dorothy Dale will have friends whereever she goes and if I could go, I would be most happy to look on while she reaps her new conquests. Dorothy is a regular winner, Miss Green. You will have to look out if she goes to Glenwood. She will cut you out with your best friends. She always makes one fell swoop of the entire outfit!"

A look of deep scorn was the answer Viola made to Tavia's attempt at raillery. Evidently she had made up her mind that Dorothy Dale would never "cut her out" at Glenwood.

And Mrs. White had remarked to her brother, Major Dale, that a jealous girl was a dangerous enemy!

CHAPTER VII

TAVIA'S DANGER

"Whatever can that girl mean?" exclaimed Dorothy, when Alice and Viola had passed down the walk.

"Mean! The meanest thing I ever met! Did you see her refuse my hand?" asked Tavia. "Well, it's a good thing to be able to size up a girl like that at the first meeting; it saves complications. But who cares for green violets? What I want to know is, are you really going away, Doro?" and the look on Tavia's face could not be mistaken. She would be dreadfully grieved if compelled to part with Dorothy's companionship.

"Aunt Winnie thinks I should go, and father has decided it is best. Of course I shall hate to leave you, Tavia," and Dorothy wound her arm affectionately around her friend. "In fact I shall never, never, find any girl to take your place in my heart," and something very like tears came into Dorothy's voice.

"I knew it! I just knew you would go away when you got that hateful Indian money. And what in the world will I ever do in Dalton? Now I have learned how much pleasure I could have, visiting your friends and riding in automobiles, and then, just when I get to realizing what a good time we could have, you up and leave me! I might have know better than to go out of my own limits!" and here Tavia actually burst into tears, a most remarkable thing for her to do.

"I am so sorry," said Dorothy with a sigh, putting her arm around the weeping girl.

"There! What a goose I am! Of course I would not have done differently if I could do it all over again. The good times we have had are the most precious spots in all my life. And, Doro dear, you did not drag me out of my shell – I was always running after you for that matter, so you need not think the loneliness will be any fault of yours – except that you are such a dreadfully dear girl that no one could help loving you. You really should try to curb that fault."

Tavia had dried her tears. She was that sort of girl who is both too proud and too brave to show "the white feather" as she often expressed the failing of giving away to emotion that might distress others.

"I do wish you could go along," said Dorothy.

"Well, I don't believe I would really like to go, Doro," Tavia surprised her by saying. "I should probably get into all kinds of scrapes with that Green Violet, and the scrapes would likely make it unpleasant for you. Besides I have been thinking I ought to go to work. I am old enough to do something – fifteen next month you know – and I would just like to get right out into the world – go with the tide."

"Tavia!" exclaimed Dorothy in alarm, for these rash sentiments had of late been strangely common with Tavia. "You do not know what you are talking about. Go with the tide – "

"Yes, I just mean take my chances with other girls. I had a letter from a girl in Rochester the other day. She had got work and she is no older than I am."

"At what?" asked Dorothy.

"On the stage. She is going to take part in some chorus work – "

"Tavia, dear!" cried Dorothy. "You must not get letters from such girls. On the stage! Why, that is the most dangerous work any girl could possibly get into."

"Now, Doro, I have not got the place, worse luck. And you must not take on so just because I happened to mention the matter. But you must realize there is a vast difference between poor girls like me, and those of your station in life!"

What had come over Tavia lately? Why did she so dwell upon the difference between Dorothy's means and her own? Was it a natural pride or a peculiar unrest – that unrest, perhaps, that so often leads others, who are older, stronger and wiser than Tavia Travers, into paths not the most elevating? And then they may urge the excuse that the world had been hard on them; that they could not find their place in life, when in reality they scorn to take the place offered them, and instead of trying for a better or higher mark they deliberately refuse the prospects held out, and turn backward – then they blame the world!

This condition is called "Social Unrest," and Tavia Travers, though young and inexperienced, was having a taste of its bitter moral poison.

"Promise me you will never write another letter to that girl," begged Dorothy, solemnly. "I know your father would not permit it Tavia, and I know such influence is dangerous."

"Why the idea! You should have read her letter, Doro. She says the killingest things – But mercy, I must go. I have to go to the Green before tea," and, with a reassuring kiss, Tavia darted off.

Dorothy looked after her friend as she skipped down the path, and a sense of dread, of strange misgivings, took possession of her. What if Tavia should actually run away as she had often threatened in jest! Then Dorothy remembered how well Tavia danced, how she had practiced the "stage fall" after seeing the play in Rochester, and how little Johnnie Travers had barely escaped the falling ceiling that came down with Tavia's attempt at tragedy. Then, too, Dorothy thought of the day Tavia had painted her cheeks with mullin leaves and how Dorothy then remarked in alarm: "Tavia, you look like an actress!"

How strangely bright Tavia's eyes seemed that day! How wonderfully pretty her short bronze locks fell against her unnaturally red cheeks! All this now flashed through Dorothy's dazed brain.

How could she leave Tavia? And yet she would so soon have to go away – to that far-off school —

And that strange girl who had come with Alice. What could she have meant by those horrid insinuations about Dorothy so "suddenly making up her mind" to go to boarding school; and that it would be "too bad to leave Tavia alone in Dalton just then!" as if everyone did not know by this time just what had happened on the auto ride, and that Ned had actually been offered the reward for the capture of Anderson. Not only this but her two cousins, Ned and Nat, had received public praise for brave conduct, and the two girls, whose names were not mentioned (Major Dale had asked the reporter to omit them if possible from the report), were also spoken of as having taken part in the capture, inasmuch as they allowed Anderson to remain quietly in the car until the young owners of the machine arrived upon the scene.

Dorothy sat there thinking it all over. It was almost dusk and on the little vine-clad porch the shadows of the honey-suckle shifted idly from Dorothy's chair to the block of sunshine that was trying so bravely to keep the lonely girl company – every other ray of sunlight had vanished, but that gleam seemed to stay with Dorothy. She did not fail to observe this, as she always noticed every kindness shown her, and she considered the "ray of light" as being very significant in the present rather gloomy situation.

"But I must not mope," Dorothy told herself presently. "I simply must talk the whole thing over with Aunt Winnie."

How much better for Tavia it would have been had she too determined to "talk the whole thing over" with someone of experience?

Dorothy found her aunt busy writing the boarding school letters, and when that task had been finished Mrs. White was entirely at the girl's service. Dorothy tried to unfold to her the situation, without putting unnecessary blame on Tavia, who was such a jolly girl and so absolutely free from dread – never had been known to be afraid of anything, Dorothy declared, and of course there was therefore, all the more reason to be worried about her risks. To Tavia, a risk was synonymous with sport.

"I had no idea she would be interested in that sort of thing," said Mrs. White, referring to the matter of going on the stage, "and, perhaps, Dorothy – "

"But I am not at all sure that she is interested in it, auntie," Dorothy interrupted. "I am only afraid she may get more letters from that girl – And besides, I will be so lonely without her, and I know she will miss me."

"Well, there, little girl," and the aunt kissed Dorothy's cheek, "you take things too seriously. We will see what can be done. I, too, like Tavia, She is an impulsive girl, but as good as gold, and I will always be interested in her welfare."

"Thank you, auntie dear. You are so kind and so generous. It would seem enough to be bothered with me, but to give you further trouble with my friends – "

"Nonsense, my dear, it is no trouble whatever. I heartily enjoy having your confidences, and you may rest assured very little harm will come to the girl who chooses a wise woman for her adviser. And I do hope, Dorothy, I am wise in girls' ways if not in points of law, as your dear father always contends."

"And auntie," went on Dorothy, rather timidly, "I want to tell you something else, Alice MacAllister brought a girl to visit me this afternoon, and she said such strange things about yesterday's accidents. She was positively disagreeable."

"You are too sensitive, child. Of course people will say strange things every time they get a chance – some people. But you must not bother your pretty head about such gossip. When you do what is right, good people will always think well of you and, after all, their opinion is all that we really care for, isn't it?"

"But why should she be so rude? She is a perfect stranger to me?"

"Some girls think it smart to be rude, Dorothy. What did she say that troubled you so?"

"That's precisely it, auntie, no one could repeat her remarks. They were merely insinuations and depended upon the entire conversation for their meaning."

"Insinuations? Perhaps that you had been arrested for stealing melons?" and the aunt laughed at the idea. "Well, my dear, I believe it will be well for you to be away from all this country gossip."

"But Viola Green goes to Glenwood School!" declared Dorothy.

"No! Really? Who is she?"

"A friend of Alice MacAllister, from Dunham. I was so surprised when she said she went to Glenwood."

"But, my dear, what will that matter? There are many girls at Glenwood. All you will have to do is to choose wisely in selecting your friends from among them."

"If Tavia were only with me I would not need other friends," demurred Dorothy.

"Does she want to go?" asked Mrs. White suddenly.

"I believe she does, but she denies it. I think she does that because she does not want me to bother about her. She is such a generous girl, auntie, and dislikes any one fussing over her."

"There's a step on the porch," and both listened. "Yes," continued Mrs. White, "that's Tavia looking for you. Run down to her and I will speak with both of you before she leaves."

CHAPTER VIII

AN INVERTED JOKE

"Dorothy! Dorothy!" called Tavia. "Come here just a minute. I want to speak to you."

"Won't you come in?" asked Dorothy, making her way to the side porch.

"No, I can't, really. But I couldn't wait to tell you. I know what the Green Violet meant by her mean remarks. And it's too killing. I am just dead laughing over it."

"I'm glad it's funny," said Dorothy.

"The funniest ever," continued Tavia. "You know when we got out of the wagon Miss Green was standing a little way off from Alice. That dude, Tom Burbank, was with her (they say she always manages to get a beau), and she was watching us alight – you know how she can watch: like a cat. Well, Tom asked Nat what was the matter, and if he had been speeding. Everybody seemed to know we had gone off in the auto, for which blessing I am duly grateful. I don't often get a ride – "

"Tavia, will you tell me the story?" asked Dorothy with some impatience.

"Coming to it! Coming to it, my dear, but I never knew you to be so keen on a common, everyday story before," answered Tavia, with provoking delay.

"The remarks?"

"Oh, yes, as I was saying, Tom asked Nat were we speeding. And Nat said no. Then, looking down at his farmer clothes, he added: 'Not speeding, just melons.' And the dude believed him, – the goose! Then Viola took it all in and she too thinks we were arrested for stealing muskmelons."

The idea seemed so absurd to Tavia that she went off into a new set of laughs, knotted together with groans – she had laughed so long that the process became actually painful.

"Who told you?" asked Dorothy, as soon as Tavia had quieted herself sufficiently to hear anything.

"May Egner. She stood by and heard the whole thing. But you must not mention it to Alice," cautioned Tavia, "for she didn't hear it, and I just want the Green Violet to think it is true, every word. It's a positive charity to give that girl something definitely mean to think about. I can see her mental picture of you and Nat and myself standing in a police court pleading 'Guilty' to being caught in a melon patch. Wish we had thought of it: there were plenty along that road, and I have not tasted a fresh muskmelon since I stole the last one from the old Garrabrant place. Ummm! but that was good!"

"Well, I am glad it is no worse," remarked Dorothy. "I had a suspicion she was trying to insinuate something like that. And the idea of her not believing that Nat was my cousin!"

"Oh, yes, and that was more of it," went on Tavia. "Tom asked Nat if I was his cousin and he said yes. Wasn't Nat funny to tease so? But who could blame him? I wish I had a chance to get my say in, I would have given Greenie a story! Not only melons, but a whole farm for mine!"

"Lucky you were otherwise engaged then. I noticed you had your hands full answering the questions of that crowd of small boys," remarked Dorothy, smiling at the remembrance of Tavia's struggle with the curious ones.

"But, Doro, are you really going away?" and Tavia's voice assumed a very different tone – it was mournful indeed.

"Yes, I think it is quite decided. I would not mind it so much if you were coming."

"Me? Poor me! No boarding school for my share. They do not run in our family," and she sighed.

"But perhaps your fairy godmother might help you," went on Dorothy. "She has granted your wishes before."

"Yes, and I promised her that time I would never trouble her again. There is a limit, you know, even to fairy godmothers."

At that moment Mrs. White appeared on the porch.

"What was that I heard about godmothers?" she asked. "You know, Dorothy, I hold that sacred position towards you, and you must not let any one malign the title," she said, laughingly.

"Oh, this was the fairy kind," replied Dorothy. "Tavia was just saying she had promised to let hers off without further requests after the last was granted."

"When Doro goes away to school," interrupted Tavia, "I shall either become a nun or – "

"Go with her! How would that do?" asked Mrs. White, convinced that the parting of Dorothy and Tavia would mean a direct loss for both.

"If I worked this year and earned the money to go next? Or do they consider the wage-earning class debarred from boarding school society?" asked Tavia.

Again the sentiment Tavia had expressed to Dorothy: the difference in the classes. This was becoming a habit to Tavia, the habit of almost sneering at those who appeared better off than herself. And yet, as Mrs. White scrutinized her, she felt it was not a sentiment in any way allied to jealousy, but rather regret, or the sense of loss that the lot of Tavia Travers had been cast in a different mold to that of Dorothy Dale. It had to do entirely with Tavia's love for Dorothy.

"Now, my dear," began Mrs. White, addressing Tavia, "you really must not speak that way. You know there is a class of people, too prominent nowadays, who believe that the rights of others should be their rights. That there should be no distinction in the ownership of property – "

"Gloriotious!" exclaimed Tavia. "Do you suppose they would let me in their club?"

"I'll tell you, girls," said Mrs. White. "Squire Travers is going to call here this evening by appointment. And if you are both very, very good little girls, perhaps I will have some very important news to give you in the morning."

At this both Tavia and Dorothy "took steps," Tavia doing some original dance while Dorothy was content to join in the swing that her partner so violently insisted upon taking at every turn.

Mrs. White laughed merrily at seeing the girls dance there in the honeysuckle-lined porch, and she was now more positive than ever that their companionship should not be broken.

"All hands around!" called Tavia, at which invitation the stately society lady could not refrain from joining in the dance herself, and she went around and around until it was Dorothy who first had to give in and beg to be let out of the ring.

"Oh!" sighed Mrs. White, quite exhausted, "that is the best real dance I have had in years – quite like our dear old German."