Dorothy Dale's Great Secret Part 13

That night she dreamed of it all, and for three days following the mailing of her letter she could scarcely think of anything other then why the expected answer did not arrive.

Finally, Dorothy felt that she must take some one into her confidence.

All the nervous energy of her young nature had, for days, been so set upon that one point-to hear from Tavia-that the whole circ.u.mstance had a.s.sumed great importance. She could think of nothing else. Every hour added to her anxiety. She imagined all sorts of dreadful things. Yes, she must tell somebody of it and thus relieve her mind or she felt she would be ill. This seemed to her the greatest trouble she had ever encountered.

It was a delightful summer evening when Dorothy, dressed in her sea-foam mulle gown, with its dainty silver white tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs stepped out on the porch, and had the good fortune to find Nat there alone. It was to her young cousin that she had made up her mind to confide her worries, and here he was, as if he was just waiting to help her in this matter of her own heart and Tavia's.

"Great Scott! But you startled me!" exclaimed Nat, jumping up from the hammock. "I do believe, Doro, that I had clean forgotten that you were with us-no offense-but you see I was sort of dreaming and when you glided through that window-well-I say, Doro, I thought my dream had come true!"

"Nat, could you come for a little walk?" asked Dorothy. "You should not dream so early, and besides, you should not, at any time, dream of young girls. You admitted as much, you know. But Nat, I just want a quiet talk-come out along the road as far as the bridge. I want to make sure we are entirely alone."

"Now you don't expect me to move the bridge, do you, Doro? We may be all alone with the exception of the old stone walls and the planks."

Tucking Dorothy's arm under his own, Nat led the way down the path, then out upon the open road, which was now streaked with faint beams of moonlight, that filtered down through the trees. Nat seemed to feel that Dorothy wanted to talk of Tavia, for he had not been slow to notice the growing look of anxiety that had come upon his cousin's face in the last few days.

"Heard from Tavia?" he asked in a matter-of-fact way, thinking to help Dorothy on with her story.

"No, Nat," she answered, "and that is just what I want to talk about. I am almost worried to death about her. Whatever do you think it means?"

"Think what what means? That Tavia has not answered a letter? Why that doesn't mean anything-at least it didn't last winter, when she would write me for something she wanted me to get for her, and forget to write again saying she had received it. I suppose all girls think they should take their time writing to a fellow, but Tavia was about the limit. So you have no reason to fret, as she will probably write to you the day she packs her trunk to come to the Cedars. Then she won't have time to mail the letter, so, when she gets here, and steams off the uncancelled stamp, she will calmly hand over the note. Now that's Tavia and her way of being prompt."

"But this is different," said Dorothy. "I did not know Tavia wrote to you last winter."

"Now don't go to romancing. I believe I did get two letters from Miss Travers in answer to five I had written to her. It was about that little colored boy you heard me joking about-some imp Tavia had taken a fancy to, and she wanted to get him a small express wagon. So she wrote to me, being aware of my unusual ability in the line of selecting suitable express wagons for little colored boys."

"But listen, Nat," exclaimed Dorothy, eagerly, "I wrote to Dalton a week ago to-day, sent a special delivery stamp for a quick reply, and I haven't heard a word since."

"Oh, that's it. You sent a special stamp. That was where you made a big mistake. Miss Tavia wanted to write to that girl in Buffalo-had been putting it off as usual-and when she saw your blue stamp it brought her the inspiration. She wrote to 'Dolly,' if Dolly is her name, used your stamp, and 'Dolly' answered 'come.' Tavia went. There you are. Now what do you think of me as a wireless sleuth?"

"Do you really think Tavia is in Buffalo?" asked Dorothy, endeavoring to bring her cousin down to a common-sense viewpoint.

"Sure of it. But, say, Doro. I'll tell you what! I'll just take a fly in the Fire Bird to-morrow morning, and find out for you for sure. That will be better than the special delivery boy on his bicycle that never moves.

I'll be back by lunch time."

"Oh, that will be splendid!" cried Dorothy, giving her cousin's arm a tight squeeze. "You see I could not trust another letter, and I'm so anxious to know. Oh, Nat, you are the very best cousin-"

"Not so bad," interrupted Nat, "when it comes to special messengers. But, little cousin, you can depend on me. I won't let any one hold up the automobile mail coach."

CHAPTER XIII LITTLE URANIA

The soft moonlight was now peeping through the screen of maple leaves that arched the old stone bridge, as the s.h.i.+fting shadows of early evening settled down to quiet nightfall. Dorothy and her cousin did not at once turn their steps toward the Cedars; instead they sat there on the bridge, enjoying the tranquil summer eve, and talking of what might happen when all their schooldays would be over and the long "vacation" of the grown-up world would be theirs to plan for, and theirs to shape into the rolling ball of destiny.

Nat declared he would be a physician, as that particular profession had ever been to him the greatest and n.o.blest-to relieve human suffering.

Dorothy talked of staying home with her brothers and father. They would need her, she said, and it would not be fair to let Aunt Winnie do so much for them.

"But I say, Dorothy," broke in Nat. "This moonlight is all right, isn't it?"

Dorothy laughed at his attempt at sentimentality. "It is delightful," she replied, "if that is what you mean."

"Yes, that's it-delightful. For real, home-made sentiment apply to Nat White. By the pound or barrel. Accept no subst.i.tute. Good thing I did not decide to be a writer, eh? The elements represent to me so many kinds of chemical bodies, put where they belong and each one expected to do its little part in keeping things going. Now, I know fellows who write about the moon's face and the sun's effulgence, just as if the poor old sun or moon had anything to do with the lighting-up process. I never speculate on things beyond my reach. That sort of thing is too hazy for mine."

"Now, Nat, you know very well you are just as sentimental as any one else. Didn't you write some verses-once?"

"Verses? Oh, yes. But I didn't get mixed with the stars. You will remember it was Ned who said:

"'The stars were s.h.i.+ning clear and bright When it rained like time, that fearful night!'

"I was the only one who stood by Ned when he penned that stanza. It could rain like time and be a fearful night while the stars were s.h.i.+ning-in China. Oh, yes, that was a great composition, but I didn't happen to win out."

The school test of versification, to which both had reference, brought back pleasant memories, and Dorothy and Nat enjoyed the retrospection.

"What is that?" asked Dorothy suddenly, as something stirred at the side of the bridge on the slope that led to the water.

"Muskrat or a snake," suggested Nat indifferently.

"No, listen! That sounded like someone falling down the path."

"A nice soft fall to them then," remarked Nat, without showing signs of intending to make an investigation.

"Ask if anyone is there," timidly suggested Dorothy.

At this Nat jumped up and looked over the culvert.

"There sure is some one sliding down," he said. "Hi there! Want any help?"

"A stone slipped under my foot," came back the answer, and the voice was unmistakably that of a young girl or a child.

"Wait a minute," called Nat. "I'll get down there and give you a hand."

The path to the brook led directly around the bridge, and it took but a moment for the boy to make his way to the spot whence the voice came.

Dorothy could scarcely distinguish the two figures that kept so close to the bridge as to be in danger of sliding under the stone arch.

"There," called Nat. "Get hold of my hand. I have a good grip on a strong limb, and can pull you up."

But it required a st.u.r.dy arm to hold on to the tree branch and pull the girl up. Several times Nat lost his footing and slid some distance, but the street level was finally gained, and the strange girl brought to the road in safety.

The moonlight fell across her slim figure, and revealed the outlines of a very queer little creature indeed. She was dark, with all the characteristics of the Gypsy marked in her face.

Dorothy and Nat surveyed her critically. Whatever could a child of her age be doing all alone there, in that deserted place after nightfall?

"Thanks," said the girl to Nat, as she rubbed her bare feet on the damp gra.s.s. "I almost fell."

"Almost?" repeated Nat, "I thought you did fall-you must have hit that big rock there. I know it for I used to fish from the same place, and it's not exactly a divan covered with sofa cus.h.i.+ons."

"Yes, I did hit my side on it," admitted the girl, "but it doesn't hurt much."