she wanted to say to Tavia.

As Dorothy had said to her aunt the loss of Tavia’s companionship was like missing that of a dear sister, for the two girls had been inseparable since early childhood. They had always been together, or they knew they would be apart but for a few days at most.

But now it was different. Heretofore each time that Dorothy thought she would have to be obliged to leave Tavia, either to attend school, or take some new step in life, it so happened that Tavia went along, so that the chain of companionship that began at Dalton had not yet been broken.

And, of course, Dorothy’s worries might all be unfounded. As Mrs. White had said, Tavia might be safe at home with her mother.

So it was to Dalton that Dorothy addressed her letter. She needed to be particular in wording it, so that no misunderstanding would arise, should the letter fall into other hands than Tavia’s. Dorothy enclosed a special delivery stamp for a hurried answer, which she begged Tavia to send, and she put another of the stamps on the envelope of her own missive.

“There,” she said with a sigh of relief as she slipped the little cream-colored square into her blouse. “I shall just have time to run to the office with it before dinner. Somehow I feel better already. It almost seems as if I had been talking to Tavia. I will surely have an answer by to-morrow night. I do wonder—Oh, I wonder where Tavia is—and what she is doing just now!”

It was a pleasant walk to the country post-office, and Dorothy hurried along in a happier frame of mind than she had enjoyed during all that day. The small worry that had been smouldering in her heart for some weeks (ever since the night of Tavia’s queer actions in her sleep when she painted her face with the red crayon) did not need much encouragement to burst forth into a live flame.

And that was precisely what happened when Nat also expressed the opinion that Tavia should have come to North Birchland and that Buffalo was “a big place for such a small girl.” Then, that Dorothy’s aunt should state plainly her fear regarding Tavia’s love for the stage,—surely all this was enough to throw Dorothy into a very fever of anxiety.

That Dorothy knew of Tavia’s strange actions on that one occasion, and that she alone, was aware of this, added to the anxiety. The book “How to Act” had betrayed Tavia’s secret in clearer terms than even Dorothy would admit to herself. But if Tavia should run away! And if Dorothy had not warned the 

 Prev. P 55/126 next