things—why, Dorothy, it is very unlike you!”

“Perhaps I am silly,” Dorothy agreed, smiling brightly as she looked up, “but you know Tavia has been so odd lately. And then she was sick, you know.”

Dorothy looked off across the lawn, but she seemed to see nothing. Perhaps she had a day-vision of her friend far away, but whatever Dorothy imagined was far from what Tavia was actually engaged in at that moment.

“Well, come, my dear,” said her aunt at length. “The boys are waiting with the auto. See what a spin through the country will do for tired nerves. I tell you this winding up of school is always trying—more so than you can imagine. You are, after all, pretty well tired out, in spite of your pretty pink cheeks,” and she tilted Dorothy’s chin up to reach her own lips, just as Nat swung himself up on the porch and demanded the immediate presence of his aunt, and cousin, in the Fire Bird that panted at the door.

But, somehow, the afternoon was all lost on Dorothy. Those words “stage-struck” echoed in her ears and she longed to get back to her room and write to Tavia and then to receive the answer that she might show it to Aunt Winnie, to prove that Tavia was as reliable as ever—that she would soon be with them all at North Birchland.

When, after a spin, that on any other occasion would have been delightful, Ned alighted at the little village post-office, Dorothy asked him to bring her out two special delivery stamps. Her cousin inquired what the rush of mail was for, but she only smiled and tried to hide the fact that she really had occasion to provide for sending a letter in a hurry, and receiving its reply as fast as Uncle Sam could bring it.

They started off again, and a long, exhilarating spin brought them out upon the direct road to the Cedars. Then, after helping their mother and Dorothy out, the boys “shooed” the Fire Bird back to its “nest,” and made a dash to witness the last inning of a ball game that had been in progress all the afternoon on the grounds, just across the broad meadow, that stretched in front of their home.

This left Dorothy to herself, for the major had finally listened to Roger’s earnest appeal to take him to the ball game. Joe went with the boys who carried the bats—as the latter was always sure to be on time. Then, as Mrs. White would be busy for some time, giving orders for dinner, Dorothy hurried to her room, and sat down, to think it all out, before she undertook to put into written words what 

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