Travers folks in time!

That evening, after mailing her letter, Dorothy made an excuse to leave the rest of the family and so remained in her own room. She wanted to be alone—to think. In fact, she had been so accustomed to those little solitary thinking spells in Glenwood that the time at the Cedars seemed to be a trifle too exacting. The boys wanted to be with their sister, and Mrs. White had so much to talk over (it was so delightful to have a “big daughter” to converse with), then the major needed Dorothy’s counsel in many small, but important matters, so that, altogether, the girl from Glenwood found herself busy—just a little too busy, considering the problem she was trying to solve, which was how to get immediately into communication with Tavia.

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 circumstance had assumed 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 trimmings 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 

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