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?”

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