Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

“Buffalo?” repeated Nat, vaguely.

“Any objections?” asked Ned pointedly, to tease his younger brother.

“Well,” replied Nat, lamely, “Buffalo is a big city and Tavia is – is – merely a little girl.”

This remark only made matters worse for Nat, as the others joined in the “jollying” and he was obliged to admit that he did miss Tavia, and was very sorry she had decided not to visit Birchland first.

“I don’t blame you, little brother,” declared Ned. “Tavia certainly is a winner, and when it comes to an all-round jolly, good-natured – er – ah – um – help me out, Dorothy! Any new adjectives at Glenwood?”

“Try ‘dandy,’” suggested Joe.

“Oh, great!” put in little Roger, to whom ‘dandy’ always meant something great.

“Thanks! Thanks!” acknowledged Ned. “I think if Lady Tavia stands for all of that she surely will be well done.”

“Oh, she can stand for more than that,” insisted her champion. “She once confided to me that she ‘stood’ for a colored baby. It was christened in the Dalton canal I believe, and no one, in the crowd of spectators, had the nerve to stand for the little one but Tavia.”

“And did she give him his name?” asked Roger, all at once interested in the black baby in the canal.

“She did for a fact,” Nat replied. “Yes, Tavia called that coon Moses, and, if you don’t believe it she still has an active interest in the modern human frog; let me tell you she sent him a goat cart on his last birthday.”

“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Ned significantly. “So that was the goat cart you bought down at Tim’s, eh? Now, I call that real romantic! Mother, you must include Mosey when next you invite folks from Dalton.”

“Oh, yes, Aunty, please do,” begged Roger, clapping his hands. “I just love little colored boys. They talk so funny and warble their eyes so.”

“‘Warble,’” repeated Nat. “Why not ‘scramble’? Scrambled eyes would look real pretty, I think.”

“Well,” retorted Roger, “I watched a coon boy look that way one day and the – yolk of his eye stuck away up behind the – the cover. Yes it did – really,” for the others were laughing at him. “And I told him it was a good thing that the looker didn’t rub off.”

Everyone agreed with Roger that it was a very good thing that “lookers” didn’t rub off, and so the small talk drifted from “Mose” to more substantial topics.

Directly after dinner Dorothy went to the library to sing and play for the major. She had, of course, improved considerably in her music, and when the usual favorites were given, including some war songs, besides “Two Little Boys in Blue” for Roger’s special benefit, the boys kept her busy the remainder of the evening playing college songs, one after the other, for, as fast as they discovered they did not know one they would “make a try” at the next.

“Now they miss Tavia,” whispered Mrs. White in an aside to the major. “She is a genius at funny songs. What she doesn’t know she has a faculty for guessing at with splendid results.”

“Yes indeed. It’s a pity she didn’t come along with Dorothy. They have always been inseparable, and I rather miss the little imp myself tonight,” admitted the major.

But when the singers came to the old classics, “Seeing Nellie Home” Ned cut “Nellie” out and substituted Tavia’s name whereat Nat insisted that he could not stand any more of the “obsequies,” and so broke up the performance with a heart-rending and ear-splitting discordant yell.

“Well, you’ll feel better after that, old boy,” remarked Ned. “It must be something awful to have a thing like that in your system.”

But Nat was not altogether joking. In fact he had more reason than was apparent for wishing Tavia was with the little party. Tavia had written one or two letters to Nat – just friendly notes of course – but the tone of them caused the youth to think that Tavia Travers when with Dorothy Dale was one girl, and Tavia Travers with others – the Buffalo people for example – might be quite a different person.

“She’s like an hour glass,” thought Nat, as he stood on the side porch and tried to laugh at himself for being “spoony.” Then he went on: “She’s full of ‘sand’ all right, but too easily influenced. Now with Dorothy – ”

But at that Nat turned suddenly and went to join the others in the library. It was nonsense for him to worry about a girl – probably she would not thank him for his trouble, could she know that he had the audacity to question her conduct.

But, in spite of this, thoughts of Tavia persisted in thrusting themselves upon him. After all, sincerity of purpose is a power that, once aroused, is not easily cast aside. It is, without question, one of the greatest factors for good in all this big and complicated system of endeavor – in reality the tie that binds.

So that Nat had taken Tavia’s affairs “to heart” as he admitted to himself, when thinking the entire matter over very late that night, and, from that time on, whether he willed or not, it seemed to him that these affairs of Tavia’s had a queer way of “following him up,” although he little realized that this was the price he would be called upon to pay for his sincerity of purpose – the live factor that exists in spite of all obstacles of indifference.

CHAPTER XII

DOROTHY IS WORRIED

Dorothy had been at the Cedars one short, delightful week when again the question of Tavia and her plans came up for serious consideration. Mrs. White and her niece sat out on the veranda, with the early summer flowers perfuming the soft zephyrs that came through the vine-covered lattice, and they were talking of the absent one – wondering why she did not come to Birchland and instead went to the city in the summer – to Buffalo when everybody in the place (except the tourists on the way to Niagara to the Falls), were leaving for more quiet and recreative surroundings.

“I’m afraid,” said Mrs. White finally, “that Tavia is ‘stage-struck.’”

These words came to Dorothy like a blow – something long dreaded but materialized at last – in spite of hopes and promises.

“Oh, Aunt Winnie!” exclaimed Dorothy with a sigh, “you don’t really think Tavia would do anything wrong?”

“No, that I do not, my dear,” promptly answered Mrs. White. “A thing is not wrong unless we intend to make it so. But Tavia has a queer idea of right and wrong. You know she has had no home discipline – no training in character building. She has grown to be as good as she is through the commonest law of nature – she was born good. But she has not gone beyond that same law in growing better than she started out to be – that is moral development, and requires careful culture and prudent discipline.”

“But the stage,” whispered Dorothy, as if afraid the very word would breathe contamination. “Do you think – Tavia would – would ever try to – to go on a public stage?”

“On that point I could not now express an opinion,” answered the aunt kindly, noticing how seriously Dorothy had taken her words. “Of course if she happened to get in with persons interested in that line of work – she might be tempted to try it.”

“But what could she do? There are no plays now – it is summer time!”

“The very time, my dear, when small companies try to get a hearing. There are no good plays to attract persons, and the stay-at-homes need some amusement.”

This had not occurred to Dorothy before. Her dread of Tavia going on the stage had been kept within bounds by the thought that there were no plays given in any of the theatres, for Dorothy knew little about such things, and had never given a thought to those small companies – the “barnstormers.”

“Well,” she announced with a sigh, “I believe I will have to write to her. I can not rest and not know just where she is. Somehow I feel as if my own sister had deserted me – as if she were out among strangers. Oh, Aunt Winnie, you can not realize how much Tavia has always been to me!” and Dorothy dropped her head in her hands to hide the expression of sincere grief that marked her face.

“Well, child, there is absolutely no need to worry. No doubt Tavia is snugly home at this moment, with her own, little, old-fashioned mother – or even out in Buffalo enjoying the visit to her mother’s friends. To sit down and imagine all sorts of horrible things – why, Dorothy, it is very unlike you!”

“Perhaps I am silly,” Dorothy agreed, smiling brightly as she looked up, “but you know Tavia has been so odd lately. And then she was sick, you know.”

Dorothy looked off across the lawn, but she seemed to see nothing. Perhaps she had a day-vision of her friend far away, but whatever Dorothy imagined was far from what Tavia was actually engaged in at that moment.

“Well, come, my dear,” said her aunt at length. “The boys are waiting with the auto. See what a spin through the country will do for tired nerves. I tell you this winding up of school is always trying – more so than you can imagine. You are, after all, pretty well tired out, in spite of your pretty pink cheeks,” and she tilted Dorothy’s chin up to reach her own lips, just as Nat swung himself up on the porch and demanded the immediate presence of his aunt, and cousin, in the Fire Bird that panted at the door.

But, somehow, the afternoon was all lost on Dorothy. Those words “stage-struck” echoed in her ears and she longed to get back to her room and write to Tavia and then to receive the answer that she might show it to Aunt Winnie, to prove that Tavia was as reliable as ever – that she would soon be with them all at North Birchland.

When, after a spin, that on any other occasion would have been delightful, Ned alighted at the little village post-office, Dorothy asked him to bring her out two special delivery stamps. Her cousin inquired what the rush of mail was for, but she only smiled and tried to hide the fact that she really had occasion to provide for sending a letter in a hurry, and receiving its reply as fast as Uncle Sam could bring it.

They started off again, and a long, exhilarating spin brought them out upon the direct road to the Cedars. Then, after helping their mother and Dorothy out, the boys “shooed” the Fire Bird back to its “nest,” and made a dash to witness the last inning of a ball game that had been in progress all the afternoon on the grounds, just across the broad meadow, that stretched in front of their home.

This left Dorothy to herself, for the major had finally listened to Roger’s earnest appeal to take him to the ball game. Joe went with the boys who carried the bats – as the latter was always sure to be on time. Then, as Mrs. White would be busy for some time, giving orders for dinner, Dorothy hurried to her room, and sat down, to think it all out, before she undertook to put into written words what she wanted to say to Tavia.

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

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

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