into her windows, called her to get up to begin another day.

As they had planned, Nat was to start early for Dalton. He could easily make some excuse for his solitary trip—say that he wanted to see some friends who were off camping, or that he wanted to go fishing. He mentioned these two objects vaguely as he started off.

Dorothy warned him not to let an inkling of her fears concerning Tavia reach the ears of any one in Dalton, but there was no need for this, as Nat was as anxious as was his cousin to keep the matter secret between them.

“It’s an easy thing to start gossip in a place like Dalton,” he whispered to Dorothy as he threw in the clutch to send the auto on its way, “and you can depend upon me to give them another ‘think’ if they’re looking for news.”

As the Fire Bird swung out along the path Nat turned to wave a reassuring good-bye to Dorothy who stood on the porch watching him spin away.

The morning which had begun so bright and pleasant now took on a gloomy aspect for Dorothy. How could she wait for Nat’s return? And what would he find out concerning Tavia and her plans? Suppose she should really be in Buffalo? That would not necessarily mean that she had gone away—she might be visiting her friend, Grace Barnum.

It seemed impossible for Dorothy to become interested in anything save Nat and his mission. She tried to sew, but soon laid aside the dainty little work basket Aunt Winnie had provided for the summer hours on the porch. Then Ned invited her to go bicycling, and she had to make some excuse for refusing the invitation. Even writing some letters for the major did not distract her, and she could think of nothing but Nat and his trip to Dalton.

But, somehow, the morning wore on, and it was almost time for Nat to return, as Dorothy knew in his swift car he could make the journey in record time over the good roads.

“But I’m sure something will delay him,” said Dorothy to herself. “I feel as if something will surely happen!”

And a well-grounded fear it was for, meanwhile, something was happening to Nat—something quite unexpected.

Having reached, in due time, Dalton and the little cottage where the Travers family dwelt, Nat steered the machine up in front of the door. Then he remembered he had to tighten the bolt of the clutch pedal, and decided to do it before 

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