 CHAPTER X. THE THORNES OF A HOLLY ROOTH. Lofing is not resting. Labor is the grindstone of life's dull edges. Quoted Dorothy Dale on the evening of her return from the city. Copywriter asked Tabbier in a grave tone a voice. No, but all rites are reserved, answered her chump. It took me all the way from the city to North Birchland Station to work that out. What do you think of it? Great for the grindstone, but hard on life, commented Tabbier. No sharpening for mine. I make it labor is the sharp knife that cuts all the good things out of life. But your motto will not stand the test, declared Dorothy. I happen to know I found out today. Going in on the train, I loafed all the way. And the process tired me. Coming out, I was tired from shopping. And that tire rested me. Well, if you're all right, I'm glad I'm praising, declared Tabbier facetiously. There's just one thing I want to get to heaven for. One great, long, delicious loaf. If I cannot rest without labor, then please pass along the loaf. But seriously, Tabbier, I particularly want to speak to you. Began, Dorothy, putting away numerous small packages, and then dropping into her favourite seat, the window bench in her own room. Go ahead and speak then, answered Tabbier. I hope what you have to say has nothing to do with work. Now, dearie, listen, Commander Dorothy, who do you think was on the train with me this morning? The conductor likely replied, Dorothy. But he did not occupy the entire ten coaches, although he managed to circulate through them rather successfully. But I did not refer to him. I sat in the same seat with our little woman in black. Our little woman in black? Please do not include me in that class. Did she want your purse? Now, really, Tabbier. I am almost convinced that we have greatly wronged that woman. She was just as nice as she could be. Oh, of course, she was nice. That's what the laws are for. Keeping people nice. They don't have much trouble to make that clear to you, Dorodea. Well, of course, you are entitled to your own opinion. But I do wish you would listen. She sent you a message, sent me a message, and with you she owed the apology. She has her cases mixed. Tabbier, she gave me this card to hand to you with the request that you call upon her on Thursday morning. Tabbier glanced at the card, then she read the inscription aloud. Of all the nerve, she exclaimed, seemingly at a total loss to grasp any other word. To ask me to call on a handwriting expert, did she think I want her services? I was, and am still, just as puzzled as you are, Tabbier. But she seemed so serious. Said you were young, and that perhaps she could help you. Tabbier seemed to catch her breath. The next moment she had recovered herself. I might call, just for fun. Then, again, I might not. She said indifferently. So many queer things contrived to happen, continued Dorothy, noting the slight agitation her chum betrayed. The clerk at the dual recounter, Miss Allen, the pleasant girl, told me the woman detective, Miss Steering, had been discharged. Nothing queer about that exclaimed Tabbier. The wonder is, they ever employed such a person in that capacity. Why, I fancy she would arrest a baby to fix her case. Too ambitious, I guess. Perhaps, acquiesced to Dorothy. But Miss Allen said she asked for my address. Now, what could she want that for? To apologise, likely. Surely she owes you some sort of apology. She was merely mistaken, correct to Dorothy, and did what she considered her duty. The sweetness of forgiving, soliloquized Tabbier. Simply a matter of justice at a Dorothy. But it does seem strange to me. However, we will have to await developments. Meantime, we must get ready for Christmas. I sent my things off today, said Tabbier, in a relieved tone. So early. It is a little early, but they say express packages are always sure to be delayed at this season. And I would simply not live through it if Johnny did not have his steam engine for Christmas morning. It was awfully sweet of you, Dorothy, to lend me that money. Why shouldn't I, when you had to spend yours for needed things? I only wish it had been twice as much. You would have been welcomed to it, Tabbier. I don't forget chewing gum days in dear old Dalton. Tabbier's brow was clouded. What an opportunity for her confession. Why did she so dread to tell Dorothy what her own five dollars had gone for? Nat said it would, positively, leak out some day. Yet he promised not to tell. Do you want me to go with you to see Miss Brooks? Asked Dorothy suddenly. Why, stammered Tabbier, I don't know that I will go at all. Such a wild goose chase. I am really not so curious, as some might think me. I can overcome a desire for further knowledge of that peaked little thing. In fact, she makes me creepy. Just as you like, of course, replied Dorothy. Her manner somewhat strained. I only thought you might not like to go alone. But Tabbier had made up her mind to precisely that thing. I must say the ribbons on Aunt Winnie's bag went on Dorothy pleasantly, after a pause. Don't you think it's pretty? And she displayed a small bag made of white oiled silk and fitted up with all the little pockets needed in travelling. One for the wet sponge, another for the toothbrush, then a place for soap. In fact, a place for everything necessary in the emergency of travelling. It is dear, agreed Tabbier, looking the prospective gift over carefully. I don't see how you have patience to do such fine work. Oh, that is not fine, replied Dorothy. See my lace pieces? They are what I call fine. Oh, they are simply beyond my understanding altogether, like geometry, you know. But I forgot to ask Nat something. I wonder if he has gone up to his room yet, and Tabbier rose to a certain. It's nearly ten, Dorothy told her, and he usually retires before ten o'clock. Well, I'll just run down to the library and find out. I may forget it by morning. Dorothy could not help thinking that so urgent a matter, as one which required that attention, would scarcely be so easily forgotten. But when Tabbier left the room, she put her little gifts away, and soon forgot all about Tabbier's sudden determination to seek Nat. Dorothy had so many other more interesting things to dwell upon. But I do hope she will not sit up late, came the thought. When sometime after Tabbier's exit, Dorothy remembered that no sound had since indicated that her chum had come toward the room. Aunt Winnie does not like these little late conferences. Then she turned off her light and continued to listen for Tabbier's footstep. Meanwhile, Tabbier was talking very seriously to Nat. She had told him about Dorothy's message from the strange woman, and he had suggested that the handwriting expert might in some way be connected with the Chicago firm to which Tabbier had written, and through which she had made her financial mistake. But how would she know me? asked Tabbier, deeply perplexed. You said she saw your name on the envelope that dropped in the car. Nat reminded her, and she might have had an envelope with your name on. Those sharks send names all over the country. Then do you think I ought to see her? asked Tabbier in a whisper. Certainly she can't eat you, replied the young man, and she might be able to help you. Then I'll go next Thursday, decide at Tabbier, but I'll have trouble to slip away from Dorothy. Course you will, Nat assured her promptly, and you'll have trouble all along the line if you don't do, as I say, and make a clean breast of it. But Tabbier, having so long delayed that telling, felt unequal to going through with it now. She would simply await developments, as Dorothy herself had suggested doing in the other matter. By Margaret Penrose Chapter 11 Gathering Evergreens I have it all planned, announced Mrs White the next morning. The boys are to go for evergreens, and the girls are to assist me here. It is rather early, but it is best to have the greens on time. Net and net grown, it would be dull enough to go for evergreens, but with the possibility of a scare in the woods for Dorothy and Tabbier, it might be bearable, whereas if the girls would be obliged to remain at home. But Mrs White's sons did not object. She had planned the day, and that settled it. Joe and Roger were delighted. They felt that girls often proved unequal to all. The bear hunts and wild bees chasing, so dear to the hearts of healthy young boys. We might build a campfire, suggested Roger enthusiastically, when Joe told him he was to go to the woods. Too cold for camping, Joe reminded his small brother, that the fact of it being very cold seemed to Roger all the more reason why a campfire should be built, and he said so. Well, I'll ask Ned, agreed Joe, and if he says so, we'll take bacon and things to roast. Net and net thought seriously over the prospect of hunting evergreens with two kids. They liked their little cousins, in fact, were very fond of them, but it did seem to the larger boys that there would not be much fun in scouring the woods for greens, and answering small boys' questions unlimited. Let's ask Roland Scott and Tom Jennings, suggested net. They came home yesterday, and likely would enjoy a fly in the thighbird. Good idea, agreed net, just run over and do the asking. I saw Tom cross the lawn a short time ago, he sure to stick close to Roland. One hour later the fly bird was on the wing, and in the car were the boys from the cedars and their guests. Two young men just home from college for the holidays. Wow, whistled the handsome Roland, as soon as the party got away from the cedars. What a stunning young blonde cousin is, net. Seems to me you might have prepared a fellow. I almost had a spell when she came to greet me. Now, net White never relished hearing other fellows admire Dorothy. It was a strange fact that while he knew Dorothy to be pretty, he was never prepared to hear others say so. Net picked up the end of Roland's remark. He knew net would not say anything very agreeable to it. But what do you think of the other, asked net. Now I prefer the burnish type. A Tom boy, isn't she, ventured Tom, referring to Tabia. Oh, just a good fellow, answered net. Always ready for a lark, if that's what you mean. Jolly, I thought so, responded Tom. Well, I do like a girl with some go in her, if she doesn't happen to put all the go in my direction. In other words, assumed net. You like the Tom boy type, in the abstract. Guess that's it, answered Tom. But certainly those two girls are equal to putting you through a lively holiday, which we had a pair like them down to the alms for this spell. Gee, I just read this Christmas stuff. Aunt's and Uncle's had my bedroom lined with secret packages already. I went on the collar button crawl this morning, and nearly fainted when I saw the stuff under my bed. Aunt Molly runs some kind of a charity jinx. You know, and she has picked out my room as the safest place to hide her trash. Oh yes, remarked net. I heard Dorothy say something about it yesterday. Seems to me she said she was going to help. Oh, then the stuff may remain under my bed, quickly spoke Tom. If Miss Dorothy is interested, so am I. I had her first objected roll on, joking. I may buy a couple of rag dolls myself. Does Miss Dorothy prefer the rag variety? Ned seemed all the attention to the car. Occasionally he turned to speak to Joe and Roger, but otherwise he took little part in his friend's bait-in-age. Where are you bound for, asked Tom, as Ned guided the firebird into a narrow lane. We'll try old hemlock Grove first. There should be plenty of green stuff there, replied Ned. Yes, and if I mistake not, added nap. There is, in those woods, a cabin, old Hume's place. We may be able to lay out there for dinner. Goodie exclaimed Roger, whose eyes have been continually on the big basket of stuff, which Nora, the good-natured cook at the cedars, had put up for the boys. Right, concluded Ned. There's a chimney and all, just the place for a lay-out. Let me see, where did that shanty used to stand? I see something like a cabin over there, said Joe, pointing to a corner in the woods, where great oak trees towered above all others in the Grove. Even in December, some brown leaves clung to these giants at the forest, and now rustled a gentle welcome to the boys in the firebird. Ned swung up as close as the wagon-road would allow, and presently the party had disembarked, and were scampering through the woods, toward the abandoned hut of an old wood-chopper. Great catch, exclaimed Tom, if there is one thing I like, it is an outdoor hut with an indoor place on a cold day. We've got a bag of charcoal, you know, Roger reminded them. For Nora had secretly given that part of the equipment to Roger personally. That's right, assented Ned. Then run over to the car and fetch her. Nora is an all-right girl, isn't she? I would call her a pooch, whoever she may be, added roll on, as he gathered up some dry bits of wood on his way to the cabin. Nora's out cook declared Roger with an implied rebuke in his voice, for it did seem to him everyone should have been aware of that important fact. Beg your pardon, said Roland. I have a profound respect for such a cook as your refreshing Nora. I say refreshing advisedly, making a grab at the basket Joe and Ned were carrying. Here we are, called Tom, who is somewhat in advance, and the door is not barred. Roger was back with a bag of charcoal, and now they all entered the old hut. The place had evidently been long ago left to the squirrels and wood birds, but it was clean, save for the refuse of dry leaves and bits of bark, remnants of other winters. When the broken windows accepted what the winds chose to hurl in and scatter about the old wood chopper's cabin. Hooray, shouted Roger, inadvertently, spilling his prized bag of charcoal. We don't like the fire there, said Ned. Better pick that up and dump it on the fireplace. Isn't this great, though? Glad I came, fellas. Help yourselves, and he stretched out on a rude board bench that lined one side of the place. Get up, insisted Tom. Do you suppose for one instant that you do not have to work? I assign you to the task of striking the matches. It occurred to Roger that some boys, big ones at that, might be just as silly as girls, in fact, more silly than most girls. For when they said foolish things, they invariably took the trouble to laugh at their own attempts. Now, thought Roger, girls never do that. Close upon the heels of that thought sprung into the little fellow's heart the wish that Dorothy might have been along. She would know just how to arrange the dinner, so that the big fellows did not get the best pieces. Ned had already begun at his task. He was striking matches furiously by the old stone fireplace, watching the dry leaves blaze up and then die out quickly. Here, quit, call Roland. Do you think we fellows are lined with matches? We really might want one for the fire, you know. Oh, certainly, assented Nat, discontinuing his pastime. I was just trying the flu. But I say, fellows, remark time seriously. Isn't this great? What do you suppose the place stands for? A woodchopper's cabin, Ned replied. There was fine wood in these parts some years ago, before the telephone company bought up all the tall trees. Uncle Frank, Major Dale, you know, was telling us only the other night about it. Some ten years ago, a telephone inspector came out here and bargained for the whole grow. That is, all the good, sound trees. Then the woodchoppers went back to Canada. Glad they left their hut at any rate, remarked Tom, tossing an armful of dry wood onto the stone half. What do we cook? Bacon, potatoes, cheese to toast, and let me see. What else? Queered Nat, rummaging through the basket of supplies. Bread and butter, pepper and salt, and a whole cake, announced Roger with unconcealed glee. I guess that'll do, drawled Tom. Sorry we didn't think to fetch something ourselves. Oh, this is my treat, replied Nat. It was I who thought about the lunch, Roger reminded him. That's right, kid, you did. But then you are always hungry, which may, in a measure, account for your wonderful forethought. The blazing fire had by this time warmed the place comfortably. And it was jolly, indeed, to prepare the meal over the strong embers of good solid oak. An old grate had been found about the place, and upon this the sliced bacon was spread, while the potatoes were dropped directly into the embers. Nora had thought of everything, even paper napkins and picnic knives and forks. There was, too, a bottle of olives and some cold ham in the very bottom of the basket. What to drink? asked Ned. His tone implying that anything to drink had been forgotten. Oh, the jug of coffee, exclaimed Joe. That's in the car, I'll run and fetch it. The jug of coffee had been placed in a deep, enamel pan, which was to serve as coffee pot in the warming process. Well, I say, exclaimed Roland. Think I'll change quarters. I would like first rate to meet you, Nora. I'm first there, putting Tom. I met her at the kitchen door as I went around for the oil can, and I must say I rather like that shade of hair. Our shortstop had it, and he claimed it was classic, called it mahogany, too. The bacon sizzled merrily, the potatoes smelled brown, and soon all was ready. It was a queer sort of picnic, a smoker, Tom insisted, for something happened with the fire that caused the smoke to flare back into the cabin, instead of going peaceably out of the little chimney. But the boys did not mind that. They were too interested in the meal. Even Nora's good nature could scarcely estimate on a dinner of this kind. Eating seemed to cause hunger, instead of allaying the sensation. But when everything was really gone, and each boy knew it was not possible to get another crumb, each declared he had had plenty. Certainly it was jolly, that when Ned glanced at his watch and discovered that the noon hour had longed since past, he hurried his companions along. Look here, he reminded them. We are out for evergreens. This is not a food-grabbing affair. Let's get back to the car. I don't see a blade of green around here. Neri Esprit declared Tom, looking over the woodland. Well, I suppose we will have to leave this retreat, but I hope we find it next summer. Wouldn't it be a great place to camp? All agreed the spot would be ideal for a summer camp, and when they had entered the firebird and swung again out upon the wagon road, some of the party rather blamed the kind of holiday that required greens, when such a fine day might have been spent in the woodchoppers' cabin. End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, this reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays by Margaret Penrose Chapter 12 The Scream from the Castle Ned White thought he knew all the roads about Ferndale and the Birchlands, but on this afternoon he stumbled with his party into a perfectly strange byway. It did not seem to lead to any place in particular. It was one of those wagon roads cut through private property and public places alike, without regard to direction or terminus. This meant that the firebird was lost, couldn't tell which way to fly, and its driver did not know which way to direct the big red machine. Where in the world is this, asked Tom, noting Ned looking from one side to the other, in a puzzled sort of way. Well, if it is only in this world we are lucky, answered Ned. I rather feared we had slipped off into another planet. It's cold too, murmured Joe. For as the afternoon sun slowly set, the bleak wind went today, hastened forward, in all its penetrating bitterness. What time is it anyway, asked Roland of Ned. Four, and going to get dark in an hour. Jingle, I wish we had found some greens. The girls want to get the roots made up tomorrow. Why didn't we go to Tanglewood Park, asked Roger. There were plenty of nice evergreens there. Yes, why didn't we? That's the question. Let's try this road, and Ned turned into a branch of the highway he was driving on. Perhaps we may get out there yet. Now, see here, interrupted Roland. I've got a dinner date tonight. Sort of a return of the prodigal. You know, I can't be late. So please, don't go too far from Mother Earth. If necessary, we can get the greens some other day. All right, agreed Ned. If we can't make the park in half an hour, we will turn back. But I wonder some of you smart ones did not think of it before. There certainly were plenty of green bushes out there. The turn brought our friends out on the road they had been looking for, and it took but a short time to reach the lane to Tanglewood Park. Under the heavy trees it was almost like night, and it was not an easy task to distinguish one bush from another, especially as Roland kept hurrying everybody in his anxiety to be on time at the dinner party. Joe and Roger secured some fine branches at the spruces that Dorothy had wished for. Ned got a quite a supply of pine branches, which he declared could go up just as they were, while the other boys devoted themselves to the Laurel Hunt. Finally a large hedge of this all winter green shrub was discovered, and in a short time the firebird was loaded up with a splendid supply of Christmas evergreens. I guess that will do, announced Ned, as the little boys piled in their armfuls. We have to sit someplace, you know. What's that? Ask Ned as something rustled along the path. A lady almost whispered Roland, as if fearful that they might be blamed for their pillaging. At that instant a small woman hurried down the other branch of the path and called lightly to someone on the roadway. She evidently did not see the firebird party, for she was on an opposite path with a deep hedge between them and her. The ghost, whispered Roger, all eager for some new excitement. Sure as you live, answered Ned. That's not human, it's too flimsy and flighty. It did seem that the person flitted about in a strange sort of way, first calling then whistling, but there was someone waiting. There's a carriage, said Joe, crawling under a bush to get a better view of the other path. The boys held their breath. What if this might be the owner of the park, who would object to there taking the other greens? It was well the automobile had been left in a secluded spot. Perhaps the woman would go off without discovering them. A light carriage entered the driveway. The woman stopped to give some directions. The driver seemed to hesitate. She was urging him to go toward the castle, and he evidently wanted to go out on the main road. That driver's old aide, declared Roger, the fellow from the station. It sure is, answered Ned, but don't speak so loud. And he wants to go to the station, which I wish he would do promptly, observe Rowan in some suspense. But she wants him to drive up to the house. See, she points that way, said Nat. The woman climbed into the carriage, and the driver turned toward the castle. The boys prepared to make their escape. They'll go out the back way, ventured Nat. Now's our time. At that instant a shrill scream rent the air. It was the same, only much louder, that had startled the party before. The ghost gasped Roger, jumping into the car. The others followed. The carriage had made a quick turn, and was now almost upon them. Ned put on full speed, and was soon out on the open road. What's the answer? asked Tom, who could not make out what all the fuss was about. Did you see Abe's face? asked Nat, as they once more felt that it was safe to exchange remarks. Almost went white, replied Ned, none as so frightened at ghosts as a darkie. Ghost, repeated Tom, do you mean to say there really is a ghost up there in that old rat trap? Something, replied Nat. We have heard that same scream before, and it does not sound like anything human. Why in the thunder didn't we go up and swat it? asked Tom, quite disgusted that such an opportunity should have been missed. Because Roland has a dinner date, and because we were trespassing. You don't suppose we just want to walk into trouble like that, do you? Inquired Nat. Well, I'd take chances when it came to bagging a real life ghost. I hope we get another shot at it. There's the carriage, exclaimed Joe. Just look at old Abe, scared stiff at a nap. Well, I don't blame him. He was dangerously near that scream. Perhaps his passenger is a ventriloquist, and through a scream. The voice certainly came from the castle. The carriage passed the firebird at that moment. Ned had slackened speed after his first spurt. That woman doesn't look as if she could throw anything, not even her voice, remarked Roland, when the carriage had passed. But I fancy the old coloured fella is about ready to throw a fit, at any rate. Wait till Abe tells it, said Joe, laughing. Abe had a reputation for telling things. It certainly is queer, Muse Ned. I'm not exactly a ghost theme, but there must be something uncanny up there in that old castle. Tavia says there are real magazine ghosts, spoke up Roger decidedly. What particular variety is that, asked Tom. Oh, Tavia declares that in magazines, scientific fellows are materialising the immaterial, said Nat quite learnedly. That is what we call magazine ghosts. But that howl was never immaterial, persisted Tom. I should say it emanated from a well-developed thorax. The firebird was spinning along at a lively rate now, for his night neared it grew colder, and the party were anxious to get within doors. I hope the girls, like the greenstuffs, remarked Roland as the home road was reached. Let us out here, said Tom, as Ned prepared to run into the Elms. We can get our blood in circulation before we reach the fire. Wow, it is cold. Well, say, we've had an awfully jolly time, fellas. Hope we can make it up to you. Don't mention it, interrupted Ned, as the young men are lighted. Never had a better time, added Roland. My love to the girls. Nora's got a bow, called back Nat, as the firebird rolled into the cedars, and the carload of evergreens were stopped at the door. Dorothy, Tabia, and Mrs White stood in rapt surprise and admiration over the greenstuff that had been gathered, in spite of all the difficulties which had been encountered in the attempt. End of Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays by Margaret Penrose Chapter 13 College Boys and Glenwood Girls Isn't he stunning, Garth Tabia? Do you think so? I never call a pretty boy stunning, replied Dorothy. I like Tom's looks best. He's so vigorous and athletic, but Roland's curly hair and that complexion so high a synthy. Precisely my objection, argued Dorothy. I always object to higher synthy boys. Well, I'm just a little glad of it, Doro. For the fact is, I think I might invagle him into taking care of me at the doings. Now, I happen to know he fancies you, and my only chance is that you may turn him down. Dorothy laughed merrily. She was no prude and made no pretense of being one. She enjoyed most of the nonsense that girls between 15 and 18 years of age usually enjoy. The strange young men, Tom Jennings and Roland Scott, whom the white boys had taken to the woods on their evergreen hunt, called that very morning, came to make their party call, they said. Dorothy and Tabia were busy with the Christmas wreaths when the strangers happened in. Ned and Nat had gone to town, and had devolved upon the girls to be civil to the new boys. To be sure, Joe and Roger helped some, but Roger managed to say rather embarrassing things about bows, and Roland's love that youth having asked the little chap to take some regards to Nora. Tom laughed, but Roland almost blushed. Dorothy and Tabia could scarcely appreciate the joke that managed to guess that the boys had been talking about them. Finally, Tom came to the rescue by telling about the ghost scream. Tabia was much interested, but Dorothy laughed at the idea. She had any amount of explanations to offer for the queer occurrence, but none of them was accepted as being plausible. Tom and Roland both declared they would go out again some day and look the whole thing over carefully. Then Dorothy told the visitors at the Christmas plans, at least she attempted to tell them, but was interrupted by the coming of Ned and Nat, so the girls were excused and the boys to their own resources. It was after all this that Dorothy and Tabia gave their personal views at the two young men from college. They may help along at charity play, suggested Dorothy. They look as if they might be able to act, especially Mr. Jennings. Yes, I fancy he could act some parts. A big part with a whole lot of sitting down in it, said Tabia. And Mr. Scott might be something on the Christmas tree, returned Dorothy. In a pretty striped dress he would make a dear little cornucopia. His blonde head sticking out at the top like a sweet little doll. I'm just going to tell him that, threatened Tabia, then I will be more sure than ever of his attention. Tabia, you wouldn't do anything like that. Why not? You are only complimenting him. Now, really, if you do, Tabia, I shall be positively angry and Dorothy frowned indignantly. When we are exchanging confidences, I don't think it's fair to betray them. Oh, all right, if you feel that way about it, but I really do think these two boys quite an acquisition. They will help out wonderfully. But college boys are old enough to be engaged, said Dorothy. And perhaps we will get no more of their attention than was bestowed upon us today. And she made a right face to express her fears on that school. Engaged? All the more fun. I just simply love to make girls jealous. Now, what girl on earth would be able to hold her admirers against you? Don't be silly, snap Dorothy. It's all very well to joke. But when you get personal, oh, I beg your pardon. And theirs aren't winny. I promised to line the darling bag. Tabia's love for idleness was no hidden sin. She seemed to glory in it. But occasionally it betrayed her good intentions. She really did intend to put the pretty blue lining in the dainty darling bag, which Mrs. White was making as a gift for old Mrs. Brown, the family mender. Now the chatter about the college boys had completely driven the task from her mind. As Mrs. White appeared in the hall, Tabia grasped the neglected little article. Dorothy had been sewing as she talked. She loved to do certain kinds of stitches, particularly those of floss silk on fine flannel. And this morning she had almost finished the shawl for John's wife's new baby. Mrs. White had been out and was just returning. She wore a handsome prune colored gown with her mink tail furs and both Dorothy and Tabia looked up in undisguised admiration as she entered the room. Dorothy rose to assist her in removing her wraps. Well, it has finally settled. Mrs. White begun. I do think these charity affairs are growing more complicated every year. I have not told you all about it yet. In fact, I could not do so until the morning's meeting was over. Now it is all arranged, so I must tell you about it. Aren't you cold, Aunty? Ask Dorothy. Shall I get you a warm drink? No, my dear, we had chocolate at Mrs. Davis's. There, now, I am quite comfortable. And as Dorothy laid the wraps aside, her aunt, settled among the blue cushions, which, as Nat said, grew in Dorothy's room. Is it to be a play, asked Tabia, always impatient where acting might be concerned? Well, not exactly, answered Mrs. White. We think scenes from Mother Goose will be simpler and just as entertaining. Mrs. Brown Lye has offered her house, and I am to do most of the coaching. This last was uttered with a note of dismay. To coach young people did not seem a very delightful task, so many difficulties being sure to come up unexpectedly. And we are to select the scenes went on Mrs. White, so you may start in to think of Mother Goose just as soon as you like. For my part, all I can remember is the old woman who lived in a shoe, and I am going to get the boys to make me a shoe big enough to hold all the small children in the birchlands. And let me be the mother, asked Tabia. I want to whip those man children, and this would be my chance. They ran a pole out in the road against my wheel last fall, and you may remember the consequences. Oh, yes, and Mrs. White laughed heartily. That would be a great opportunity for you, Tabia, but I rather thought of Miss Baker for the old woman. She has that compelling manner, don't you think? She ought to be splendid, agreed Dorothy. Are there to be boys? asked Tabia. Why, of course, my dear, there are to be boys who ever heard of a hospital benefit without them. We have to raise $100 this year, and I feel the whole responsibility, as I am the local member at the board of directors. I hope someday we will be able to have a hospital of our own. Supporting a ward in a city institution is not very satisfactory. But are there enough boys? asked Tabia. It seems to me the Birchlands are populated mostly with girls. Oh, that is quite natural for you to think that way, tease Mrs. White, but haven't you taken into consideration Mr. Scott and Mr. Jennings? Why, they are capable of impersonating a number of characters. Think it all up, girls, and you will help me greatly. I have asked Ned to fetch a mother goose book from the village, and this evening we will devote our time to selecting the characters. Somebody whistled outside, and going to the window the girl saw Ned with Tom Jennings in the firebird. Come on, called Ned, we're going for a ride and want you to come along. Don't keep us waiting. And he turned the machine without waiting for the girls to answer. Run along, advised Mrs. White, you have been in all morning and the air is delightful. It took but a few minutes for Dorothy and Tabia to make ready. Stormcoats and scarves, besides their muffs, seemed sufficient for their touring costumes. Dorothy climbed into the machine and Tabia followed. Wouldn't one of you young ladies prefer to sit here? Inquired Tom, with a view of making it more convenient for the boys to entertain the girls. Tabia was out of the back seat and ready to take her place beside Ned before anyone had a chance to answer. This, of course, left Tom to entertain Dorothy. As long as it is not Roland, whispered Tabia into Ned's ear, you will put up with me this time, won't you? Tabia was too frivolous to suit Ned's serious ways. She always bored him, and she knew it evidently. Dorothy was glad to get acquainted with Tom. Somehow he made her think of soldiers, of fearless brave men like Major Dale, and perhaps her uncle Winthrop White, who had died a way off in a foreign country, fighting for science. Perhaps he was of this type when at college. Nor did it take Tom Long to discover what sort of conversation would interest Dorothy. He talked to Biscule and asked about Glenwood. Then she introduced the mother goose subject, and he told of a college play his class had given, wherein all the characters were taken by the students. And you should have seen Roland, declared Tom laughing. If he didn't make the prettiest yum-yum, the house went mad over him. I'm sure he could assume such a role, replied Dorothy, and you were? The Mercado, of course. I always come into the terrible Turk proposition. We have to select the scenes this evening, remark Dorothy prudently. Then I'm going to get Ned to let me come over, said her companion. It will help fill in. Our folks are just choked to death in Christmas stuff. Aunt Emily is interested in the hospital benefit too, I believe. Yes, Aunt Winnie said so, replied Dorothy. I guess most of the Bertie and ladies helped with this benefit. Mrs. Brownlie has offered her house. The lady with the fluffy-haired daughters, asked Tom. Yes, the twins, said Dorothy. Either and Edith Brownlie are considered the very prettiest girls around. Oh, are they? remarked Tom, in seeming earnestness. Well, to tell you the truth, I have given up attempting to judge of girls' looks lately. It seems to me to be all a question of hair, how deep it can be piled up. Dorothy laughed, to call hair deep, like such much grass. But Tom did not notice the discrepancy. Tabby turned around and shouted so Ned covered his ears. Are you going to be the Piper's son? she asked Tom. If there's anything to be stolen, you may put me down for the steal. Replied Tom, good natureedly. Even the proverbial porker might be pressed into service for a camp outfit. A Ned? Ned replied that there were some real attractive porkers about the Birchlands, and that they would probably not mind being stolen for a hospital benefit. During all this time the firebird had been gliding along at the even pace, which Ned always selected for a real pleasure ride. A joyride with no business end, he argued, should be run off gently. No fun in trying to talk above an atmospheric buzzsaw. I suppose Ned and Rowan had bowled till their stiff remarked Tom. For my part, I preferred the open to those alleys on a day like this. Mother told me to ask you both over this evening to help fix up the play business, said Ned, if you have nothing else on. Gladly, replied Tom, I was just hinting for an invitation. You know how I love classics. Mother Goose will be just pie for me. Oh, I forgot, exclaimed Tabby as suddenly. I have an engagement for this afternoon. I ought to go back, Ned. It must be lunchtime. And as she spoke, Dorothy remembered that the day was Thursday, and that Tavia was to go on that day to see Miss Estelle Brooks, the little woman in black. End of Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, this reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays by Margaret Penrose Chapter 14 Tavia's Troubles You must contrive to help me, Nat, urge Tavia, when, an hour or so later, she managed to get a word alone with him. I can never deliberately go off alone on an afternoon like this when everyone is so busy. You certainly cannot walk out to Ferndale on a day like this, and, said Nat, I'll have to take you if you must go. But why don't you wait until next week when we might get a better chance? Oh, I simply can't, sighed Tavia. I feel so mean over the whole thing, and, honestly, I'm so nervous about it. Do you suppose that woman has anything to do with the matter? Seems to understand it at any rate. It won't do any harm to talk with her. I'll manage to get the machine out, and then, all in a flash, you ask if I won't take you, pretending you did not plan it. I don't see any other way out of it. Oh, Nat, you are a dear, exclaimed Tavia in real joy, but I do hate so to get you into trouble. Oh, never mind me, replied the youth, good naturedly. Guess I'm big enough to take care of myself. Clear off now, and when you hear three toots, you will know that is the signal. I'll get ready, under pretense, of going into town for something, and it won't take long to get out to Ferndale. Tavia ran back to where Dorothy and Mrs White were busy putting bows of bright ribbon on gifts, and sealing up parcels with the merry Christmas stamps. Her cheeks were blazing, and her eyes dancing from pent-up nervous strain. She grew more nervous each moment. Surely Dorothy would notice it, she thought. And then, too, Dorothy had told her Miss Brooks had asked to see her on Thursday. Would she remember that now? Tavia picked up the unfinished dining bag, but her fingers trembled so she could scarcely thread her needle. Mrs White glanced up from her work. You have had a lot of trouble with that bag, Tavia dear. She said, I guess you don't like lining things. Oh, I don't mind it at all, stammered Tavia, but you see, I have had no practice. I'll know how better next time. She fancied she heard that coming along the drive. Yes, surely that was the machine. She waited for the toots. Her thimble rolled to the floor, then her thread tangled. Toot, toot, toot. Other boys going out asked Dorothy suddenly. I didn't think so, replied Mrs White. Oh, I have to go on an errand, exclaimed Tavia, as if she had just thought of it. Perhaps Nat will take me. Either package I have to mail. She was down the stairs before either Dorothy or Mrs White had a chance to speak. They looked at each other, questioningly. Nat, Nat, called Tavia from the front door. Take me, wait a moment. She had her things on and was out instantly. Oh, I'm just scared to death. She exclaimed as she climbed into the seat beside Nat. Goodbye, she called up to the window. And then they were off. Neat little job, exclaimed Nat. Didn't they ask you where? I didn't give them a chance. I just stammered something about a package at the post office. But Nat, it is such mean work. I can't bear to deceive Dorothy, and Tavia felt dangerously like crying. And do you feel yourself that you are deceiving her? Ask the cousin. I'll bet she comes pretty near guessing it all. And for my part, I cannot see why you do not up and tell her. It is no great crime to. Oh, please, don't Nat, beg the girl. It's bad enough. Goodness knows. But don't let's go over it again. The Griswold is quite a swell place, remarked Nat. She must either have money or make money, to put up there. And I feel that she put that ring in Dorothy's bag. Oh, perhaps she is only trying to get me into some other trouble. Well, don't get, advise Nat. I'll be outside within call. And if you get suspicious, just raise your finger, and I'll be Johnny on the spot. The Griswold was a large stone building, originally intended to be used as a handsome private residence, but of late years converted into a rest resort or sanitarium. Tabbier mounted the broad steps timidly and touched the old-fashioned knocker. In a moment, a butler appeared and took her card for Miss Brooks, while Tabbier waited in the spacious reception room. She noticed that this apartment was almost overcrowded with guilt-framed pictures, some paintings, others evidently family portraits. Presently, Miss Brooks entered. She wore a simple, close-fitting black gown, and Tabbier felt instinctively that this little woman possessed a powerful personality. She was even inclined to fear her. Although, this sentiment might be a matter of nervous excitement rather than the result of well-founded antipathy. Tabbier noticed she was not poorly dressed. She looked very different now. The woman in black on the train had presented such a distressed, worn-out appearance. Come right up to my room, said Miss Brooks pleasantly. I received your note and have been expecting you. Tabbier smiled and murmured something as she followed Miss Brooks up the soft, carpeted stairs. At the first landing, the woman opened the door and motioned Tabbier to step in. The room was large and well furnished after the regulation boarding house plan, dressing table, desk, couch bed and curtain bookcase. But no article or furniture indicated any line of business that might be carried on in the room. Tabbier observed. Miss Brooks closed the door gently, that made sure it was well closed. Then she took a chair directly opposite Tabbier. You are Miss Travers. She begun in a most business-like way. Yes, replied Tabbier simply. Well, I asked you to come, Miss Travers, because I felt I could help you. I make few friends. The will played me false long ago. But when I see a young girl like you in danger, I am not too bitter to warn her. Thank you. Tabbier managed to utter. You no doubt think me a strange woman. Everyone does. But I have a motive in travelling about. I had a very dear sister whom I lost years ago. Lately I have learned that she died in this section of the country. She left a child, a baby girl. And I hope some day I might find that child. Miss Brooks paused to cover her eyes with her slim hand. Tabbier noticed that her hands were white and shapely. After a moment's hesitation, Miss Brooks continued in the same business-like voice she had at first assumed. As I have said, I think I can help you. She crossed to the dressing table, opened a door, and took from it a large envelope. From this envelope she unfolded a sheet of closely typewritten paper. This she showed to Tabbier. Is this your signature? She asked, pointing to the name, signed to the letter. Why, yes, stammered Tabbier startled and surprised. You are astonished that I should have your letter, said the woman. But so-called confidential correspondence travels many miles these days. I addressed letters and do penwork for business firms, and have received your letter among hundreds of others. A flash of indignation crossed Tabbier's face. She wanted to snatch that letter and tear it into a thousand pieces. But Miss Brooks was quick to discern her indignation. Of course, I am responsible for every letter, she said. In fact, I run a great risk in even showing this to you. But I felt I would have to make sure that you were the party involved. Tabbier felt like a culprit, involved. She sighed heavily as Miss Brooks fumbled with the tell-tale letter. You lost five dollars, asked Miss Brooks. Yes, five of my own and ten of her friends. Oh, and the woman's eyebrows went up in surprise. Yes, I see. Nathaniel White, and she ran her fingers through a package of coupons. Of course, he belongs here. He is one of the gentlemen from the cedars. Yes, stammered Tabbier, feeling as if her cheeks would ignite if something did not promptly relieve the tension. Strange, I had overlooked that. I thought you were the only party about here whose name I had received. Is he the young man outside? Yes, but I would rather not bring him in, Tabbier said. He knows, of course, the money is lost. But I had not the slightest intention of speaking to him, child. In fact, it would not do for me to make known my business to the patrons of this house. You see, I came here, as I was told. This was one of the oldest established sanitariums in the state, and I hoped, in a vague way, to hear something of my poor sister, Marie. Tabbier was silent. She felt instantly relieved at the idea that Nat would not hear or Miss Brooks might choose to say. The only way I might be of service to you, said Miss Brooks, as she folded up the letter, would be by giving you some advice. You see, I cannot betray a firm I am employed by, but the method I would advise you to follow is being used every day by victims. It is merely a matter of threatening to expose to the scheme. They know the business is unlawful. Oh, I could never do that, exclaimed Tabbier. My father is so well known. He is a squire, you know. All the more reason why they would pay attention to your letter, argued Miss Brooks. But, of course, if you feel that way about it, all I can say is that you know how easily a young girl may be deceived, and, in the future, avoid such alluring promises. You could never expect any return from that sort of advertising. Tabbier was on her feet to go. She was disappointed. She felt the advice painfully unnecessary. In making mistakes, she boasted at the faculty of always finding a new one. She never was known to repeat a downright error. I am very much obliged, she faltered, and would do as you ask, but I am afraid to write any more letters. Miss Brooks smiled. I shall drop you a line, she offered, if I find any other way of assisting you. Tabbier thanked her again, made her way down the stairs, and, with a sigh of relief, climbed up beside Nat, in the car awaiting her. What did she say? Asked Nat, impatiently. Oh, let me get my breath, big Tabbier. I don't know what she did say, except she wanted to write a letter and threaten to expose it, as if I could do that. Why couldn't you? asked Nat pointedly. Oh, I am just sick of it all, replied Tabbier helplessly. I want to drop it. I see no good in keeping it up now. Well, Tabbier said Nat not unkindly, but with more determination than it was usual for him to show. I don't believe in letting money go as easily as all that, and if there is any possibility of us recovering it, it is up to us to try. You know I am no knocker, but I would rather have my tenor than that slipper baby blue paper. Tabbier did not answer, she was beginning to feel the consequences of her error. She never could stand being thus obligated to Nat, and she a guest at his house. Her humiliation was crushing. Nat had never spoken to her that way before. The ride home was made with little conversation. Tabbier was planning. Nat was evidently thinking very seriously about something, something he could not care to discuss. All the Christmas preparations had lost interest for Tabbier now, and when that afternoon Dorothy and Mrs White went on with their work of love, she sat up in her own room writing and rewriting a letter. Finally it read, Dear old Mumsy, I hope you have received your pin, and that you have carefully hidden away Johnny's steam engine. I know he will be delighted with it. Now Mumsy dear, I have a great favour to ask. Could you possibly let me have five dollars more? I will send it back before my holiday is over, because I only want to lend it to someone, and I am sure to get it back. But you see, no one has ever asked such a favour of me before, and I do wish I could accommodate them. Don't say anything to Dad about it, but just send it along if you possibly can, and I will surely send it back very soon. I am having a lovely time, but feel I ought to be home with you all for my real Christmas. Lovingly, your daughter Octavia. There, she finished. I guess that will do. I do hate to bother poor darling, little hard working mother. But what can I do? Perhaps I will be home for Christmas too. Then she wrote another letter to her father. She made the same request, couched in different terms. Perhaps I would each send the money, and then she could pay net. End of Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays. This is a Librebox recording. All Librebox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librebox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays, by Margaret Penrose. Chapter 15, Dorothy as a Comforter. Roland Scott and Tom Jennings were on hand that evening, when the young folks at the Seeders put their heads together for the selection of Mother Goose characters. Mrs White presided, and in the matter of reading rhymes and impersonating the characters, it must be admitted the young gentleman had the advantage. It was decided that the Tableau, or charades, would be presented without labels, and the audience would be permitted to guess what they stood for in nursery law. They won't need another guess on Dorothy's bow-peep, said Tom. That crook is more famous in history than that of the original shepherds. Bow-peep is always a winner. I am sure, retaliated Dorothy, they will know yours instantly. But it is a pity we have to make them living pictures. You will hardly be able to refrain from actually putting in your thumb if we provide one of Nora's pies. And what a perfectly darling little Jack Horner and a Tavia, for the characters were being selected with a view to making them as ridiculous as possible. And Tom would make a very funny Jack Horner. Tom surveyed his thumb in anticipation. Rowland and Tavia were assigned Jack's frat, and his wife. Rowland could be made up to look very lean, indeed. And Tavia was just doubt enough to be practical for building purposes. Her face was of the broad, good-natured type, and so her figure could readily be built up to correspond. Nat insisted on being Peter Peter pumpkin eater, and wanted to have the privilege of selecting the pretty Eva Brownlie to put in his pumpkin shell, for argued Nat, that is the only way any fellow will ever be able to keep the wily Eva. The character of old King Cole was assigned to Nat, with the instructions that he should get his fiddle is three. Also the pipe and bowl insisted Nat, and said to it that you don't take my pipe or my bumper I brought from the doings the other night, you wouldn't carry one home yourself. I'll tell you a table, hard to guess, suggested Dorothy, the beggars coming to town, we could have half a dozen ragged people in that, and Nat could bark behind the scenes. And we could have Mary Mary quite contrary, proposed Tavia, make Lily Bentley take that. Lily is a real sweet girl, spoke Mrs White, I hardly think she would like such a character. She would make a dear, Miss Muffet, said Dorothy, and I'm sure Nat can make up a wonderful spider, all strung by electrical wire, squirming and wiggling at a tom, that ought to make a hit. And so they went on, selecting from the familiar rhymes and their illustrations. There was some discussions as to just what this part of the entertainment should be called. Living pictures seemed to be the young folks rather too ordinary, and it was finally decided to call it, Mother Goose Illustrated. A large frame was to be built, and Mrs White offered to go to town to procure what costumes could be found appropriate to assist the young people's auxiliary. In order to give a dozen illustrations, the same persons had to impersonate more than one character. When the last were being decided upon, Roland took Jack Beemble, and to show how well he understood the part, he jumped over the piano still for the candlestick. It was not a difficult matter at all, but Roland landed wrong and strained his ankle painfully. At first he pretended it was nothing, and tried to laugh it off, saying if that was the only accident they encountered during the show, they would indeed be fortunate. But a strained ankle has the faculty of getting more painful, as the victim begins to realise that something hurts. In about an hour it becomes almost like a very bad toothache. This was how it was with Roland, and on account of the trifling accident, the party was obliged to break up before all the arrangements had been completed, and Tom had to assist Roland back to the alms. How unfortunate, said Mrs White, do you think it will be very bad, Ned? Oh, nothing at all, mother, answered Ned. We often do that at school, and it is all gone in 24 hours. I do hope this will be, she added in concern. Don't let it worry you, the least bit, continued Ned. Roland will be around for rehearsal, as bright and as pretty as ever tomorrow evening. From that time on, the play was the thing, at the cedars, and, indeed, the whole little village of North Birchland seemed deeply interested in the affair to be held for the hillside hospital benefit. Naturally, there was considerable rivalry when the parts were assigned that Mrs White, with the other ladies on the board of managers, understood and expected this, so they were ready to meet the objections of some and the requests of others. We have decided upon these pictures, said Mrs White, at the first rehearsal, and if anyone is unwilling to take the part assigned, we must simply look for substitutes. Roland was there, as Ned had promised, spry and as pretty as ever. He appeared to hang around Dorothy, but she was too busy to notice the attention. Tavia, however, did not miss observing the young man's attempts to attract Dorothy, and she also noted that the same matter seemed distasteful to Ned. Tom had a way of helping everyone. He laughed with all the girls, and had plenty of jollity, left for the boys. He was considered an all-around good fellow. Naturally, Dorothy felt at ease with him, but Edith Brownlie made no pretense of hiding her intentions. She wanted to be in a picture with Tom. Agnes Sinclair, considered the richest girl in Ferndale, proposed doing a picture with Ned. The maiden all forlorn. To this, Ned readily agreed, with the result that the rehearsal of the part caused no end at merriment. Agnes was a jolly girl, and showed a decided preference for the white boys. Those from Ferndale never appeared to interest the wealthy Agnes. When the rehearsal was finally over, Dorothy was very tired, for she felt a personal interest in the affair, as it was almost entirely in Mrs. White's hands. The others had all congregated about Mrs. Brownlie's tea table, where the lady was dispensing the refreshing beverage. But Dorothy sank down for a few moments in a secluded corner of the parlour, where the practice had been held. Presently she thought she heard something stir near her, then she distinctly heard a sob. Brushing aside the heavy portia, Dorothy found little Mary Manning, her face hidden in her hands, and a whole slender form shaking convulsively. What is the matter, Mary dear? Asked Dorothy, her arms instantly about the little sufferer. Oh, I'm so unhappy, sob Mary. I wanted a part and nobody thought of me. It then occurred to Dorothy that surely enough no one had thought of Mary, third from the time when the parts were given out until all the rehearsal was over, Mary had never once either been seen or heard from. She was poor, not pretty, and not popular, but since she belonged to the auxiliary it was certainly too bad to have overlooked her. Why, I guess no one saw you, faulted Dorothy. You surely would have been given a part, had aunty seen you. Well, the girls looked so queer at me, sobbed the miserable Mary. I felt I had to keep back, but I do know how to play. My own mother was a real actress. Dorothy looked down at the child in wonderment. Mary's mother, an actress, no one seemed to know who the child's mother was, as she had always lived with the Mannings, an elderly couple. Well, we must give you a pretty part, promissority, and I tell you, just come over to the cedars tomorrow, and Aunt Winnie, Mrs. White, will have it all made out for you. There, now, don't cry another tear. Come out to the tea room with me and forget all your troubles. No, your eyes are not red, come along, and she slipped her arm through that of the little Mary, while she led the child out to the party of gay young folks, there to entertain her and bring to the queer little girl that sort of enjoyment, which often follows acute grief, a reaction as uncontrollable as had been the bitterness which had caused the sorrow. End of Chapter 15. Chapter 16. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays by Margaret Penrose. Chapter 16. A Delicate Discovery. It was very near Christmas and events were crowding about the cedars. Dorothy, as usual, had assumed more than her share of responsibility for Tabia somehow acted clearly. She spent much time running back and forth to the post office, and it was evident to all that she and Nat were not the friends they had been previously. Besides this, Ned had spoken to Dorothy, and had actually asked her not to flirt with those college boys. This was unlike Ned, and a positive shock to Dorothy, to be sure he chose the word flirt, indifferently. But to Dorothy it had an ugly sound, and that night, after all her worries at the rehearsal, she went to bed with a pair of very red eyes. Perhaps it was the rush and excitement that caused everyone to be so irritable, and to so misunderstand things. Certainly Tabia had some worry, and Ned did not act like himself, while Nat looked miserable. It would be a queer holiday unless things mended promptly. It was a pleasant morning, and Dorothy, feeling that a run in the open air, would do her nerves good, seized upon some excuse to go to the village. She wanted to be alone, to think about what Ned had said, to look over everything carefully, and see if he had any excuse for such a remark. Had she acted foolishly, could her innocent freedom with Tom Jennings be misunderstood? Was it not possible for a girl to act naturally, after she had passed the age of fifteen years? Her head filled with such thoughts as these, in all the power that they may assume, when first encountered by a young girl. Dorothy hurried along. She would simply tell Ned all about it. She decided. He surely would understand that she never dreamed of flirting. From the main highway, she was obliged to turn into a branch of the road from Furndale to reach the post office, that little building being situated at the junction on both thoroughfares. In her excitement, she had scarcely glanced before her. But now, as she turned into the Furndale road, she observed a woman coming along the same path. It was Miss Brooks. Somehow Dorothy was glad to meet her. After all, it was not pleasant to think too seriously. Good morning, said Dorothy, with all the vivacity she could summon. Looking for Christmas mail too? Yes, replied Miss Brooks, with something of a sigh. There are many kinds of Christmas mail, I suppose. The reply confused Dorothy. She did not want to bring sad reflections to the little woman in black. I guess we will have pleasant weather. Dorothy hurried to say vaguely. I hope so, at any rate, for we must depend considerably upon the weather for the success of our hospital entertainment. You know, we are to have one. Yes, I've seen the tickets, said Miss Brooks, walking along with Dorothy. They both paused. Both had evidently exhausted the common place. Miss Brooks looked keenly at Dorothy. The latter could feel her searching gaze, and wondered secretly what it could mean. Presently Miss Brooks said, I believe you are a prudent girl, Miss Dale, and I wonder if I might trust you with a delicate matter. If I can help you, yes, answered Dorothy promptly. It is not to help me, said the other, but to help your friend, Miss Travis. Dorothy felt instantly that she referred to Tabia's troubles, those troubles which Tabia herself had refused to confide in her. Should she hear them from another? In her direct way, without mincing words or risking any misunderstanding, Dorothy said decidedly, If you are sure I can help my friend, I will be glad to do so. But I have no wish to interfere in any personal affair of hers. Miss Brooks did not weaken. Dorothy's honesty, in speaking, as she did, only seemed the more to convince her that Dorothy Dale could and ought to help Tabia Travis. I know, she went on, that Miss Travis is greatly worried over a matter of money. I advised her how she could be relieved of that worry. But in spite of my advice, I have reason to think that she has only made matters worse by writing to her folks at home and asking them for more money. Writing home for money, gasped Dorothy. Yes, I am sorry to seem a meddler, but I feel that she will greatly complicate matters unless you are clever enough to step in and interfere. It is the old story of the tangled web. Miss Travis had no idea of doing anything irregular. She simply did as thousands of others do. Though I must say boys are usually the victims. A girl rarely takes such chances. Dorothy was too surprised to speak. They were near the post office and both stood in the road to finish the conversation. How can I help her? Asked Dorothy simply. Well, I must confess it may be difficult, but I see no other way to get her out of her troubles, for she is surely multiplying them. The latest phase of her difficulty I may tell you of without any risk of betraying professional confidence. And Miss Brooks smiled faintly. She has lately written to her father and to her mother for money, urging some trifling excuse. Letters intended for her have fallen into her father's hands. He is a lawyer or in some way connected with legal affairs. Is he not? A squire. Oh yes, that's it. Well, he has put two and two together and has sent the last letter she wrote him out to a firm in Chicago, asking them to state clearly and at once what their business has been with his daughter, as he has reasoned to believe that it is because of this business that his daughter is worried about money and is trying to get it for some secret purpose. You see, he has inferred that she is trying to get the money on account of her dealings with this firm. The letters written to her show that. Dorothy tried to understand that it was all very strange what sort of business dealings could be so dishonorable. And how can I help her? She repeated. In one of two ways, either get $10 for her in some way that she may return the money to her parents if they have already sent it, or induce her to write at once to her father, telling him frankly all about the matter and stating that she does not now require the $10. She evidently wants that amount to pay someone who has lost on her account. Dorothy was amazed she could scarcely believe that Tavia would have gotten into any complex affair and that someone should lose money on her account. Could have been Nat, was the thought flashed through her brain. She had overheard some part of a conversation between Nat and Tavia, and now Tavia showed some ill-feeling toward Nat. Well, I must get along, said Miss Brooks, finally. I am glad I met you, and hope I have not given you too great a task. Good morning. Dorothy smiled and bowed that her anxiety had promptly written the lines of care on her fair young face, and even the aged postmaster did not fail to ask her if anything was wrong at the cedars when he handed her the mail. Among the many letters was one for Tavia, and aboard the Dalton Postmark. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, all to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays by Margaret Penrose Chapter 17 Spruce Bows and Laurel Wreaths Mrs. Brown Lies immense parlours were stripped of all movable furniture in preparation for the charity entertainment. Strong linen crash covered the handsome carpets, and the camp stools to be used on the evening of the performance had already arrived. That afternoon the firebird brought the evergreens from the cedars, those which had been gathered some few days before, and had since been stored carefully in the garage. And an additional supply came from Ferndale, the result of an enterprising expedition to the woods under the management of Miss Agnes Sinclair. Besides a necessary rehearsal, the evening was to be spent in decorating for the play. Mrs. White had requested everyone to be on hand early, and now the young folks were arriving. Little Mary Mann was the first to come, in accordance with Dorothy's arrangements, for Mary was to rehearse her part before the others would get there, and just what her number would be was to be kept secret. The Brown Lies girls, Eva and Edith, understood the remark Dorothy made as she entered, and so left the palace entirely at her disposal, even locking the door from the hall and throwing open the library to accommodate anyone who might come before Mary's practice was over. A recitation had been selected for Mary, one that afforded ample opportunity for the girl's natural talent to act, for she had talent, and both Mrs. White and Dorothy were delighted with the prospect of what the queer child would add to the program. There was something so weird about Mary, if that word might be fitly used to denote her peculiar characteristics. She was not deformed, but she surely was deficient physically. She was thin to emaciation, she had fiery red hair, and Roger always declared her eyes and eyebrows were just as red as her hair. The recitation chosen for her was guilty or not guilty, and it seemed to suit her strangely. Of course, when a child is almost constantly in the company of aged persons, and takes no pleasure in play, besides being overstudious, she is bound to be queer, and such was Mary Marn. When Dorothy threw open the parlor door after the rehearsal, her face was radiant, she was pleased, delighted with Mary, and the girls waiting to be admitted to the hall exchanged no-ing glances. When Dorothy told them the room was ready, Tom and Rowland were there, Agnes Sinclair, Mabel Hastings, Ned and Nat. Of course, Tavia was with Eva Brownlie, chatting as if there was nothing else to be done that evening. Betty Binley managed to get her dented little self secure with Harold Osborn. Handsome Harold, they called him, and others of the Exori and their friends were there ready to begin the work of rehearsing and decorating. Besides the pictures there was to be music, the Brownlie girls played the violin beautifully, and Dorothy was an acknowledged pianist. Then Agnes Sinclair was to entertain with monologues, and the boys were to have a vocal double quartet. The arranging of this program involved considerable work, so tonight there was no time to be wasted. Let's get the rest first, propose Dorothy. We shall need such long strings to go all around the room. While some of us are at these, others can be going through their parts. Tom grabbed a huge mass of broken laurel branches, made his way to a corner, placed two chairs before the pile of greens, and deliberately sought out Dorothy. Come, he said very kindly, I've got a quiet job for you. You usually get too much of the all around business. Let us run a race making the wreath or strings. I suppose you want. Here Ned, he called across the room. Get your stuff and your girl, and I'll race you for a mile of green string. Could anything be more inopportune? To select Dorothy to be his partner against Ned in a race. But the idea of a contest was quickly taken up by the others, so that soon the party had peered off, and racing with the strings of laurel became a matter of enjoyment, and not a question of work. Dorothy took her place with Tom, Agnes Sinclair was with Ned, Nat went to work with Eva Brownlie, and Tavia sat beside Rowland. How quickly the fingers flew, and how soon the small sprigs of green were twined into long soft garlands. I'll keep telly, proffered Edith Brownlie, glad to escape the more certain duty of tying the cords about the boughs. For an hour all worked and chatted gaily, the boys continually betting against bets, while the girls would complain that too much conversation interfered with the progress of the race. When the full hour had passed Edith called time, then the measuring began. No stretching, worn Ned, as he held his rope a green, against that which Tom and Dorothy had woven. Ours called Tom, as the one string pulled out two yards longer than the other, then every other string was measured against that. Not one came up to the garland made by Dorothy and Tom. O, of course, powdered either, Dorothy and Tom could not possibly have been beaten, there's such a strong team. The others laughed, although Dorothy did not like the remark. Ned lifted his eyebrows thoughtfully, but never once smiled at Dorothy's triumph. Tavia has the booby, announced Tom, who had done all the measuring. Now distribute the prizes please. Tavia protested, of course, and soon the room was in an uproar. Finally the ladies insisted the race should be put up, and when the chairs and step-ladders had been brought, the boys began festooning the long strings of green about the room, over windows and doors and about the finely fluted posts that mark the arches. Dorothy purposely took Ned's rope to hold for him. Won't it look pretty? she asked, trying to show her interest in his work. Guess so, he answered indifferently, without looking at his cousin. Here, Dorothy, call Tom. You are not to work. This sofa is especially provided for our comfort. Here, sit down, and taking her arm, he attempted to lead her away from the ladder, upon which Ned stood. Let me have it, said Ned, jerking the rope from Dorothy's grasp. Instinctively, she held to it, and looked up in some astonishment at her cousin. A moment later, Ned swayed toward her. She had released her hold of the rope, and the sudden easing of the strain, which the youth had put upon it, caused him to lose his balance. He swayed still farther away from the ladder, and thrust out his hands to grasp the rungs. He dropped the rope, and as Dorothy gave a frightened scream, he crashed to the floor, right at her feet, narrowly missing, striking her. She had barely time to jump aside, when the ladder crashed down beside the prostrate form of Ned. Instantly, the room was in an uproar. Ned was hurt. He did not attempt to move, but lay there, almost unconscious. Oh, my bullet, cried Mrs White, bending over him. Ned, Ned, implored the frightened Dorothy, with her white face very close to his. It was all my fault. No, spoke up Tom. I should not have distracted him while he was up so high. Come, boy, to Ned, let me lift you. The strong arms of Tom Scott encircled the helpless one, and very tenderly, Ned was lifted, then carried to a lounge in the library. Oh, I'm all right, he managed to say, when Tom had placed him on the couch. I just hurt my knee, I guess. The expression of pain that crossed his face, showed plainly some member was injured, and Mrs Brownlight, in spite of his protests, insisted on calling a doctor. Dorothy wanted to cry. She felt it was somehow her fault, if only Tom had not interfered. But, of course, he meant no harm, yet she knew how Ned felt. Oh, dear, she sighed aloud. I did feel that something would happen. I'm sorry, said Ned Feedly. I was a goose to snap it so, Dorro. Tom had gone out to the telephone in the hall. Mrs White and Mrs Brownlight advised the others to leave off the decorating until the next day, as it would be best to get the house quiet. Every shock has a nervous reaction, explained Mrs Brownlight, in dismissing her guests, thus suddenly, and it will be best to keep him quiet until the doctor comes. Tabia wanted to stay, but not even Dorothy was accorded that privilege. Tom remained with Mrs White, and Ned went for the firebird, in which to take his brother and mother home, there being no room for the others in it now. How did it happen, Tabia asked of Dorothy, as they walked the short distance home in Rowan's company. I had hold of his rope, replied Dorothy, still showing her distress, and he attempted to take it. He acted so clearly all evening, commented Tabia. I never saw him so cross. I did not notice it, said Rowan, touching the bell at the door of the cedars. I thought him in the best of spirits. Of course, it was simply an accident, added Dorothy, how he felt could have had nothing to do with it. Well, everything seems queer, declared Tabia. I just wonder how it will all turn out. That must depend entirely upon ourselves, insisted the practical Dorothy, but we will have trouble in getting someone to take Ned's place. Oh dear, if I had only, but there's no use lamenting. And when Rowan said good night at the door, Dorothy went directly to her own room. She was too depressed to join the family's expression of anxieties. The queer holidays were surely nearing a climax. End of Chapter 17. Chapter 18. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays. This is LibraVox Recording. All LibraVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibraVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays. By Margaret Penrose. Chapter 18. Dorothy's Distress. Complication upon complication. Dorothy could scarcely think. She was stunned, bewildered. The thought of Ned's disapproval of Tom's attention to her seemed the most bitter thought of all. She did love Ned, her own cousin. How could any girl not appreciate the joy of being a cousin to Ned White, and that he should misunderstand her? Think her frivolous, and even accuse her of flirting. Dorothy felt that even the cedars now belonged to Ned, and she, with her father and brothers, were merely his guests. However, could she make him understand why the girls neither women nor children in all the troublesome between years. Then Tavia's troubles. Dorothy had thought to do all Miss Brooks advised, that how could she do so tonight, and the letter Dorothy had given Tavia was certainly from Mr. Travis. Thoughts of the play of Little Mary's part, then the responsibility of ensuring a success crowded through Dorothy's confused brain. If the play was a success, she had hoped to get Little Benny Baglan into the hospital. He suffered so, and surely could be helped, if not cured, by proper treatment. But the hospital would only accept patients from the Birchlands according as money was contributed from the place, and it would cost considerable to have and incurable as Benny was taken in. But Dorothy had quietly planned his Christmas. She had saved a little tree from the decorating greens, and had already gathered and bought enough trinkets to trim it. If only Ned is not badly hurt, she prayed as the night grew very late. I do wish they would come. The sound of automobile wheels on the path answered her wish. The next moment she was at the door. Open both doors, Mrs. White said to Major Dale, who stood beside Dorothy. He cannot walk and must not be yard. Mrs. White's voice betrayed excitement and anxiety. Dorothy was too anxious to speak. She dreaded to know the actual trouble. Tom and Dr. Whitehorn carried the injured boy into the library. How's that? asked the doctor as Ned fell back amid the cushions of a couch. All right, replied the latter with evident effort. Now just keep quiet and don't attempt to move unaided, said the doctor, and we'll see how it is in the morning. I think, Mrs. White, you might make him comfortable tonight on this floor. It will be safer. Ned was very pale. Dorothy could not bear to see his white face, with the deep dark rings under his eyes. Tom did what he could and then was ready to leave. He took Dorothy's arm and let her out into the hall. See here, little girl, he begun. You are not to blame yourself in any way for this. If anyone was at fault, it was I. I saw how he felt, and should not have tantalised him. It was simply an accident, argued Dorothy feebly. Certainly, answered Tom. But Ned was out of sorts. He seemed to have a personal grudge against me. Oh, you must have imagined that, answered Dorothy. Ned is sensitive, but not unreasonable. Tom pressed her hand warmly in parting. The action brought warm colour to her cheeks. He was trying to cheer her, of course, but Ned would not have liked it. When the doctor had left, Mrs. White told the major that her son's hip was hurt. And that does take so long to mend. She lamented. The hip is such a network of ligaments. Acting on the doctor's advice, the injured young man was made comfortable in the library for the night. Ned wanted to stay with him. There were plenty of demands and couches that might be used in the emergency that Mrs. White insisted upon caring for the boy herself. She noticed he was becoming feverish and so hurried the others off to bed that the house might be quiet. Dorothy took Ned's warm hand in hers and touched his forehead with her lips. But she knew better than to utter one word. He must be quiet, very quiet. How strangely depressing was the house, now with the gloom of sickness upon it, the awful uncertainty of an accident, what the result might be, how serious or trifling every possibility seemed weighted with terrible consequences. Dorothy fell upon her knees beside her bed. Her heart was very full. Everything seemed dark and gloomy now. All the difficulties of yesterday were engulfed in that one sorrow, Ned's accident. Dorothy seemed unable to pray and in her sadness came the thought of her own unwilling part in the little tragedy. If only I had told Tom, asked him not to. But how could I do that? She argued against argument. What would he think of Ned, of me? A step in the hall roused her from her reverie. There was a slight tap on the door. Then Tavia entered. Although it was late, she was still entirely dressed and her face showed she had been crying. Dorothy, she said, her voice trembling and the tears welling into her eyes. I must go home. Why? asked Dorothy, surprised and startled. Dad says so. I must go first thing in the morning. Your letter? Yes, it was from Father. Has anything happened? Yes and no. Father has misunderstood some letters of mine. He found them since I came away, and he blames me. Oh, Doro! And Tavia covered her face with her hands. How I wish I had told you before. Tavia was sobbing bitterly. Instantly they came to Dorothy's mind, the thought of Miss Brooke's warning. Her advice to tell Tavia before it was too late, before all the harm was done, and had she delayed too long, even that one day might have been sufficient time in which the threatened danger had become a certainty. Tavia, dear, don't go on so. It cannot be, so very dreadful. Oh, but it is. I never should have done such a thing. I knew better, and I tried to convince myself that I did not. Then I should never have taken your money. Oh, Doro, I deceived you, and I have deceived everybody. You are excited, and everything seems worse to you now, dear. Try to become and tell me how I can help you. You cannot. Nobody can. Father is angry. He wrote such a terrible letter, and how I dread to face him. Perhaps we can arrange it so you will not have to go, said Dorothy in her own way of promptly attempting to save Tavia from the consequences of her own folly. It is all about money, I know. You know. Yes, Miss Brooke's told me that much. Miss Brooke's told you? She merely said you were in some difficulty, and asked me to advise you to tell your father all about it. Dorothy said cautiously. Miss Brooke's has no right to interfere, snap Tavia, immediately taking offence. Advice is always cheap. But surely she did it out of kindness, continued Dorothy, and she really seemed very much concerned. I don't want to hear or know anything more about that person. She is evidently trying to cover up her little mistake in putting a ring in the wrong bag. She knows absolutely nothing about me. She is merely guessing. Tavia felt she was making bad worse. It was not a time to attempt further deception, but somehow the idea of Miss Brooke's speaking to Dorothy angered her. She was the one to do that. Then followed the accusing voice of conscience. But why did you not do so? Why do you not do so now? I suppose she told you that I… She told me nothing, interrupted Dorothy, but that you had made some mistake in a money matter, and then suggested that the way for you to rectify it would be to write to your father and tell him all about it. I wonder she did not essay to do that herself. She seems perfectly qualified to attend to it all for me. Now Tavia begun Dorothy, assuming a voice at once commanding and kind. It is utterly useless for you to take that view of the matter. If you dislike Miss Brooke's interference, pay no attention to it. Do what you think best. Look the whole question squarely in the face, and then decide. All Tavia's contrition and her determination to do what was right, which sentiment had entirely possessed her when she entered the room, seemed to have gone with the mention of Miss Brooke's name. If she has told Dorothy, thought Tavia, there is no need for me to repeat it. So vanished the blessed power, truth, and so did the confusing and conflicting powers of deceit throng about her, and more than ever preclude the possibility of a happy solution through her difficulties. I must go home, she said dejectedly. Dad said I should be home by noon tomorrow. Ender Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Lucy Burgoyne. Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays By Margaret Penrose Chapter 19 Between the Lines When Tavia had left her, Dorothy felt utterly helpless in facing the problems that now confronted her. One thing is certain, Dorothy told herself, Tavia must not go home. In her state of mind, and with her temper, there is no telling what she might do, leave home, or something else dreadful. If I could only see Squire Travers first, she argued, I am sure I could manage it some way. But I cannot possibly go to Dalton now, she decided, with Ned Sick and the play tomorrow night. And how can I persuade Tavia not to go? I suppose she has her bag packed already. Dorothy seemed incapable of reasoning further. She threw herself down on her bed and gazed fixedly at the ceiling, as if expecting some inspiration to come from the dainty blue and gold papery. How long she lay there she had no idea of computing. It was not, now, a question of time. Although the night must be far advanced, but to the perplexed girl everything about her seemed to surge in one great sea of difficulties. She jumped up suddenly. I wonder how Neddys, she thought, if only he is not seriously hurt. The doctor said if he slipped and no fever arose, he would do well. I wonder how I can find out. I might slip downstairs and listen. She drew a heavy blue robe around her, put on her slippers, and softly opened the door. There was no light in the upper hall, and a turn from the first flight of stairs hid the dim light below. Directly at this turn a push button connected with an electric drop lamp, and this button Dorothy touched as she passed. At the broad window seat she hesitated for a moment, looked out at the clear, wintry night, and then slipped down the stairs so lightly that even the cushioned velvet carpet took no impress of her footfall. At the last step she stopped. A terrible fear clutched her heart. The library door was open, but no sound came from the room. She clung to the broad post and listened. Could Neddys be worse? Then the chime of the hall clock startled her. It was just midnight. Dorothy had no idea it was so very late. She would just go to the library door. Involuntarily she turned toward the vestibule. A strange sensation of someone watching her from without possessed her terrified her, and at the same instant a light tap sounded upon the plate glass door. Someone was watching her. For the moment Dorothy could not move or utter a sound, then the thought of her sick cousin brought her back to a realization of the emergency. She must answer the knock and not arouse anyone. Summoning all her self-control, Dorothy moved toward the front door. Only the glass and a thin lace drapery separated her from without, as the storm door had been left open. Someone stood within the small entrance hall. The shadow was clearly outlined. She drew aside the lace curtain. There stood Tom Scott. Open the door, he whispered. I don't want to detain you. More surprise now than frightened. Dorothy shoved back the heavy bolt, and gently opened the huge door. I had no idea of startling you, begun Tom, without waiting for her to speak. But I had been so anxious. I had been watching the house, and when I saw the light flash upstairs, I felt as if something must have happened, the doctor said by midnight. Oh, exclaimed Dorothy, now realizing the cause of Tom's unexpected visit. I was coming downstairs to see how he was. If you just wait, I'll peek in at the door and see. Won't you step inside? Oh, no, indeed. Tom replied in an undertone. I had no idea of disturbing anyone. I thought just to look around the house and see if all was well. I am on my way home from the telegraph office. Aunt Margaret thought of an important message, which she insisted had to go out tonight. Dorothy turned toward the library. Scarcely had she rounded the Elko when Tom noticed someone at the top of the stairs. It was Tabia. She stood for a moment looking at Tom. Then she nodded her head in a friendly way and disappeared as quietly as she had come. Awkward thought Tom, but anyone would know I am here to hear about Ned. Dorothy was coming back now, and she was smiling. Sound asleep, she whispered. Good, breathe, Tom. Now I won't keep you another second. Awfully good of you to let me in. Not at all, stammered Dorothy. I was just a little frightened first. I will know better than to light up at midnight again. The midnight alarm, quoted Tom, making his way out. Don't stand in the draught. It's cold enough. Good night. Then he was gone. Dorothy flew back to her room, agitated, but comforted that Ned was resting. This knowledge seemed to assure her that he was not seriously injured, and now she took up the Tabia question. She must not go home. Dorothy repeated. I will see if she is still up. A glimmer of light stole under Tabia's door. Dorothy tapped lightly, but opened the door unbidden. She found her chum bent over pen and paper, but as Dorothy came in Tabia dropped the pen and looked up in surprise. Tabia begun, Dorothy. I came to coax you to stay. You must not go home tomorrow. I will telegraph your father. He was always so kind to me, and when he hears all about it, about Ned and all, I am sure he will not be angry. I cannot, answer Tabia. I must go. Oh, please, Tabia, do listen. If you go, what will you say? What will you do? I don't know. Tabia pleaded Dorothy, a note of distress in her voice. The two girls looked into each other's eyes. Dorothy's were brimful, but Tabia's were too frozen for tears. Tabia, dear, whispered Dorothy. Tabia's arm stole about Dorothy's neck. She touched the flush cheek with her dry lips. Then she straightened up in an attitude of defiance. I'll stay, she exclaimed. I don't care what they think of me. In the cheek,