"Come, Tavia," she said, "the more the merrier. Girls we will be back in time for the picnic," and, taking the "cue" from Alice, Tavia also stepped out, and with her, marched off behind the squire.
And that was to be picnic day!
A queer holiday, indeed, with two girls taken from the classroom—arrested!
Yes, that was what it amounted to, in spite of the jolly way Tavia and Alice trooped off, making "faces" and doing fancy "steps" back of the squire.
Miss Ellis sat at her desk dazed, and stunned. She could not realize it all—a squire coming into her room—threatening her with dismissal, and taking two girls off to the common police court for a "hearing."
She was not a woman given to showing her feelings, but this seemed more than she could bear; tears came into her eyes, fell upon her books and then she bowed her head—she had to cry! Dorothy was at her side instantly.
"Dear Miss Ellis," she murmured, "don't take it so seriously. It will be all right. I'm sure those two girls are well able to take care of themselves, and I suspect Alice went more for mischief than for anything. Perhaps I had better run down to father's office, and tell him about it; he will know exactly what to do."
The girls all looked on with sad faces. They had never before seen Miss Ellis cry in school. But she raised her head now, and seemed better able to control her feelings.
"I think, Dorothy," she said, "it may be better to wait awhile. Something may happen to—save the girls from really going to his office. We will try to study, and perhaps we may have our picnic yet."
But it was a difficult matter to apply minds to books that morning; too much had happened to be turned readily aside for mere school work. Such whispering had never been permitted before, although the girls did try to be kind to Miss Ellis, she looked so sad and worried.
Meanwhile the two girls, Tavia and Alice, had been having their own experiences.
Upon reaching the street they stepped up along side the squire, so that persons in passing thought they were merely walking along to keep the aged man company.
But Ralph Willoby was not so easily misled.
He was just leaving the Bugle office as they came along, and he instantly detected a "story."
"Come on," said Alice, "you can be our counsel. We are under arrest."
"No need," objected the squire, "I am well able to attend to this case."
"But your office is public," answered Ralph, "and I guess I'll go along and see what happens."
"But I say I don't want any interference," and the squire raised his voice. "You newspaper scamps always get things wrong anyway."
"Probably because you do not give us a chance to get them right," retorted Ralph. "This time we will try to stick to facts."
"Well, when I'm ready to give them out you can have them, but not before," insisted the angry squire.
"But I'm going along, just the same," declared Ralph, as Tavia stepped back to walk with him, so that the squire was obliged to go on with Alice, who really seemed to be enjoying the experience.
The office of the justice of the peace was a dingy, dirty little place. It had served Dalton for the small needs of a public office for some years, Squire Sanders, of course, collecting a good income for its yearly rental.
An old bench was stretched in front of the desk.
The girls sank down on this, making queer "faces" and comical gestures.
"My first offense!" sighed Alice, with mock sadness.
"Same here!" said Tavia in similar tone.
"Since you wish it," said Ralph to Alice, "I can act as counsel. You know I really am studying law, and there is nothing like taking cases for experience."
"Now, no skylarking here," called out the squire, "I want to hear all about that case, let me see—the case of—I've got it somewhere," and he turned the soiled pages of the "records" over rather roughly, considering they were supposed to belong to the town of Dalton.
Tavia was biting her lips. She felt every moment the laugh would get the better of her and get out on its own accord, but she tried bravely to suppress it.
Ralph was whispering to Alice. Evidently he was pleased with the information she imparted, for he, too, smiled broadly as the squire called:
"Octavia Travers, step up to the bar!"
"What for?" asked Tavia saucily.
"To swear—take your oath—make your affidavit," called the squire sharply.
"What's the charge?" interrupted Ralph.
"'Sault an' batt'ry," snapped the squire.
"Who signed the warrant?" questioned Ralph further.
"See here young feller!" and the squire rapped his cane vigorously upon the desk, "if you don't let me go on with this case I'll kick you out."
"Oh, no, you won't. I have as much right here as you have, and I intend to see that you do not, in any way, insult the young ladies!"
"You young scamp!" yelled the squire, making a dash for Ralph and bringing his cane down squarely on the young man's head, at which Alice and Tavia screamed.
A moment later the men were scuffling on the floor.
"I'll teach you!" the squire kept yelling.
"Let me go!" shouted Ralph.
"Oh, we must get help!" screamed Alice. "Tavia, run quick, to the office next door. That man is crazy. He will kill Ralph," and, while Tavia ran to one side of the place, Alice hurried to the other, so that all possible help would be called at once.
In a short time the little place was crowded. Some came to aid, and others came to see what was wrong. Alice and Tavia stood by with very white faces. Alice had pulled the squire away from Ralph and the aged man finally had been subdued, that is two men had succeeded in keeping him away from Ralph, but not until the young man had been considerably injured. The squire was still sputtering and those who tried to quiet him had a hard task of it. Every time they would let go his arms he would throw them up with new energy, trying to get at Ralph again, until at last it was found necessary to go to the constables' desk; get out the only pair of handcuffs in Dalton, and put them on the wrists of the obstreperous official.
This, of course, was great fun for the boys who had gathered about, and who had more than one grudge against Squire Sanders. Many a time he had chased them off the coasting hill, he had often spoiled a good day's swimming, and as for apples—a boy never knew when he was safe to "borrow" one from any orchard in Dalton.
But the tables were turned now—and the boys were glad of it. A taste of his own medicine would do the aged man good, they declared.
Not being able to do more than shout and kick, Squire Sanders soon "gave out" and fell back sullenly in a chair near a window. Ralph's head was bleeding.
"Oh, we must get Ralph to the drug store," insisted Alice. "Perhaps Dr. Gray will be there. He is hurt, I am sure," and she was almost in tears, for indeed Ralph looked very much injured—his lip was cut, and girls cannot well stand the sight of blood.
Ralph felt quite well able to walk, he declared, and assured the girls, laughingly, that their case and his would now likely "come up" together in the next term of court.
But just as Alice, Tavia, Ralph, and a few sympathizing friends were ready to leave the office Franklin MacAllister, president of the Selectmen of Dalton, and father of Alice, stepped into the place. He had heard of the disturbance, and having power to act in any such emergency, he hurried to the scene.
"Well," he exclaimed, seeing his daughter there, "what in the world are you doing here?"
"Oh, I made all the trouble," replied Alice, "that is, Tavia and I made it. We were arrested—"
"Arrested!" repeated the father, incredulously.
"Yes, indeed we were. And Mr. Willoby only stepped in to help us when he got in trouble."
Mr. MacAllister talked earnestly to Ralph. Plainly both men were of the same opinion—either Squire Sanders was crazy or he was too old and incompetent to hold office.
"What are we going to do with him, Mr. President?" asked one of the men who had the unpleasant duty of standing by and keeping guard over the squire.
"Bind him over to keep the peace," replied the president. "Squire Sanders," he called, and thereat every one held his or her breath, "this is a sad predicament to find an officer in. In fact the occurrence is a disgrace to the town of Dalton."
The squire shifted uneasily in the chair. He had not spoken coherently since the struggle with Ralph, and was still in an ugly mood. At the same time he understood who now addressed him; the president of the board; the man who had authority to bring matters about so as to deprive him of the office he had held for years.
"Stand up!" called the president, and the squire shuffled awkwardly to his feet.
"What have you to say in this matter? We have a quorum of the board here present and we may as well dispose of this case. There is also another count pending against you. How did you come to let that man Anderson slip out of Dalton so easily—help him out in fact? Was his money better than that of the people of this town, who for years have been paying you for duties that you have never honestly performed?"
At the mention of Anderson, Squire Sanders' face turned from red to a deadly ashen.
"Look out," cautioned Ralph aside to the president, "he is old you know, and might drop at any moment."
"Not a bit of it," went on Mr. MacAllister. "He is too tough for that.Speak up, Sanders. This is your last chance."
But the man never moved his lips. Sullen and beaten he sat there whileMr. MacAllister, recounted some of his misdeeds.
"You have disgraced your office," he declared, "but the most outrageous of your offenses was that of bringing into this office two innocent schoolgirls—doctoring up a charge against them, trying to force them to acknowledge they had taken part in an affair that they had absolutely nothing to do with—and all this you did for the paltry fee that goes with each case on your books. Now, Sanders, I have spoken to the members of the board here present and the verdict in your case is—that you leave Dalton inside of ten days. The penalty for contempt in the matter will be a public trial, and, no doubt, imprisonment."
It was a difficult matter to restrain the boys present. They wanted to cheer—to shout, but were not allowed to do so. Ralph had quite recovered himself now, and so insisted on going alone to the drugstore to have his slight wounds dressed if necessary. Two of the selectmen looked after Sanders, releasing him of the handcuffs, and advising him "to make himself scarce" around Dalton, until the feeling against him had quieted down some. All the defiance had left him now; he scarcely raised his head as he crept out the back way to his rooms next door.
Upon hearing the school story in full Mr. MacAllister decided to take his daughter and Tavia back to the school room himself, and set every thing right with Miss Ellis and her pupils.
"You have had a rough time of it lately," he commented as he and the two girls made their way to the school.
"But Alice is a—a brick!" declared Tavia, in appreciation of her friend's assistance. "She helped us splendidly."
"Glad to hear it," answered the father, "Alice is our tom-boy, but she is true-blue, eh, Bob?" he said patting his daughter affectionately. "You knew what I meant about the man Anderson, did you not, Tavia?" he went on. "That was your 'special friend' I believe."
"Oh, I have met him," replied Tavia laughing, "but I think now the reason the old squire wanted to get me into this trouble was because he thought it might affect Dorothy Dale, as she is my special friend. Somehow the Burlock-Anderson affair seemed to be aimed at the Dales."
"Oh, yes, no doubt of it," answered Mr. MacAllister, "but we think we are on the track of settling the matter now."
Tavia felt she could scarcely wait to tell all this to Dorothy, for she had been wondering what had become of the Anderson affair. Alice looked proudly up at her father as they neared the school.
"They may think you have come to take someone else away," she said laughing. "This has been a queer picnic day."
"Don't worry about that," he answered. "You must have an extra good time to make up for your troubles and disappointment, I will see what I can do for you."
Alice cast a meaning glance at Tavia. If her father undertook to give Dalton school a treat it would surely be something worth while, Alice was sure, and so, with that bright prospect uppermost in her mind, she led her father into the school room.
It took but a short time for Mr. MacAllister to explain everything satisfactorily to Miss Ellis and her pupils. He was a gentleman any daughter might well be proud of, and, indeed, Alice showed a pardonable pride as he stood there smiling and assuring the teacher that, as president of the Selectmen of Dalton, he would promise a holiday to the class that would make up in every way for the disappointment of the morning.
When the visitor had departed, Miss Ellis announced she would carry out the intended program as far as a half session was concerned, but, as it was too late to go on the picnic then the pupils might go home and enjoy themselves as they wished.
Tavia and Alice were now regarded as heroines. To think they had really been in the court, and that they had been witnesses to—"a fight," as Tavia declared Squire Sanders' attack on Ralph was "nothing more nor less than a common roll around fight."
Finally the picnic lunches were disposed of, and Tavia took Dorothy's arm as they walked homeward—she had much to tell Dorothy and knew that no girl would interrupt such apparent confidence as "arm in arm" indicated.
"And what do you think Mr. MacAllister said?" began Tavia. "That old Squire Sanders let that horrible man get out of Dalton—the man who frightened us so!"
"Did he?" replied Dorothy, absently.
"And you knew, of course, about poor Miles Burlock—he died when you were sick, so I did not tell you anything about it."
"Yes, father told me."
"What are you thinking of, Doro? You are not listening to me at all."
"I have so much to think of," answered Dorothy, smiling. "I can hardly keep my thoughts in line."
"But you should have seen Alice—Oh, she just pulled the old squire by the collar. She didn't wait for a man to come. And look at my dress! Isn't it a sight? I might have known there would be an earthquake or a fight when I attempted to wear anything like this."
"It is too bad, but that is a straight tear. You can easily mend it."
"But Ralph's eye; that will not darn so neatly. I hope that hateful old squire never shows his ugly 'phiz-mahogony' in Dalton again."
"Do you think Ralph is much hurt?" Dorothy inquired anxiously. "Wasn't it disgraceful?"
"Perfectly rambunctious!" declared Tavia, "although it might have been jolly good fun if Ralph had another fellow in his place—one not quite so careful of the squire's feelings and features. But you should have seen the squire with the handcuffs on! Oh! it was better than the play I saw in Rochester," and Tavia relieved her pent-up jollity by tossing into the air the borrowed lunch box and making "passes" at it, with queer pranks in imitation of the jugglers she had seen at Rochester.
"Tavia," asked Dorothy, very seriously, "do you think you could keep a secret?"
"Keep a secret? Dorothy darling, Dare-me!"
"Now, no joking, Tavia," insisted Dorothy, "this is a matter of importance."
"Oh, I just love importance. That was what mostly happened to me andAlice to-day in the squire's office—importance!"
"Well, if you really can't be serious—
"Oh, but, Doro dear, just try me. I shall weep if you say so, only—pardon, mamselle, but do not, if you please, make that weep too long, a few sniffs only, for I have not with me in this fleshling costume ze 'kerchief," and she made a most ridiculous little French "squat," further evidence of the Rochester play.
"I am afraid Tavia, that trip to your Aunt Mary's has affected your head; they say nothing can do so more effectively than certain kinds of plays."
"Well, the one I saw was the certain kind. Why, last night mother nearly had nervous prostration because I was practicing up in my room. I was trying to do a fall—and I did it all right."
"How foolish you are, Tavia," said Dorothy slightly frowning, "I would not think of such nonsense if I were you."
"Yes, it was awfully foolish, for it knocked the ceiling down in the kitchen, just dusting Johnnie's pompadour. The escape, however, made mother happy, so that the ceiling did not count."
Dorothy "gave in." She had to laugh and did laugh so heartily she was obliged to sit down on the grass to enjoy the "tragedy" as Tavia described the stage fall and the "ceiling drop."
"But the secret?" demanded Tavia, making sure her skirt would not be stained, before taking her place on the grass beside Dorothy.
"Yes, I do want to tell you," answered Dorothy, "Now listen. You know Squire Sanders was particularly anxious that you should stand all the blame for Sarah's accident."
"Particularly anxious? He was dead set on it. Polite language doesn't fit the case."
"Tavia, you really are too slangy. It may be all right just for fun, in talking to girls, but some day you will be sorry. It will become a habit."
"Like Jake Schmid taking the pledge. I saw him yesterday very close to—a saloon!"
"Poor Jake!" said Dorothy with a sigh. "But he does seem to try—"
"To take the pledge? Indeed he does and I admire his perseverance.That's just the way I try to avoid slang."
"I am afraid, Tavia, we will not accomplish much in the way of confidences, if you persist in being—ridiculous," and Dorothy made as if to continue on her way home.
"Sit right down there, Dorothy Dale," insisted Tavia, pulling her friend's skirt, and bringing Dorothy down beside her rather suddenly. "I will have to play the villain and demand that 'secret'!"
"Well, it is simply this: I think I see the motive Squire Sanders had in trying to disgrace you."
"Let me see it quick!" snapped Tavia.
"Didn't your father run against him last year for the office of TownSquire?"
"Certainly," said Tavia, briefly.
"And the only reason he did not get the office was because the squire was so old the men thought it best not to disturb him just then."
"Right, again," answered Tavia.
"Election time is now almost here. Your father would be up for the office again. Don't you see by bringing trouble to you and your folks your father would become unpopular?"
"And get left!"
"Yes; be defeated."
"But he will not!" and Tavia's brown eyes danced significantly. "The squire is down and out. And worse yet he has to run for his money. Now my own dear dad will have a chance. Oh, Doro, I love politics better than eating. I hope some day soon, while Tavia Travers is still in circulation, the women will vote in Dalton same as they do in Rochester—they don't just exactly vote in Rochester, but a lot of them talk about it."
"Now you must not mention my suspicions," cautioned Dorothy, "for I must speak to father first. It does not seem fair that the Fords should be blamed for making statements about you that, perhaps, the squire put into their heads."
"Dorothy Dale, you would make a first class lawyer, and when you want a job at it I will engage you to defend my case. But I do not see how I am to keep all that momsey. It would be so good to have father back at a desk again. They say he really was a first class justice out in Millville. And he just hates his work now—so little wages; mom cannot seem to make them go around—me and Johnnie; Johnnie mostly gets the knot at the end."
"It certainly would be splendid to have him get the position. And I am sure father will do all he can for him: but I would not mention it to your mother, just yet."
"All right Doro, I have given you my promise, but you have made me so happy!" and Tavia hugged Dorothy so enthusiastically that the latter was obliged to beg off.
"And I tell you what," went on Tavia, "when Pop gets Squire Sander's place I—this—me—you know" and she made another wonderful, sweeping all-around bow, "I will be 'city clerk.' I will keep the books and Dorothy Hill-and-Dale, if ever your name gets on the books it shall be promptly eliminated, elucidated, expurgated—there now! Don't you think I should be in the grad. class? I was looking up words with 'ate' in—my favorite pastime,—and I came across that bunch."
"I do really think, Tavia, that you would do better at school if you only tried. We cannot always have studies that we are especially interested in. It is like the scales in piano practice, they give us the mechanical work for pretty dances and other brilliant pieces."
"Well, we have no piano, so I do not have to worry about that. I suppose you will play at the closing exercises?"
"Miss Ellis has asked me to. But Tavia, we really must be going. I have promised to go over to Sarah's this afternoon."
"May I go with you? I just would like to feel that we had talked it all off, you know. I do not want to think Sarah has any hard feelings."
"Certainly; come, I am sure Sarah will be glad to see you, and her mother is very pleasant. Be careful not to tell too much about to-day's affairs, It might worry Sarah."
"If I forget myself you just squint, and I'll be as mum as a mummy."
So Dorothy and Tavia started off homeward, arm in arm.
The news of Squire Sanders' downfall spread rapidly throughout Dalton. To the men interested in public affairs it was no surprise, for they had known, of course, of his shortcomings; but there were those in the town who looked upon the "disgraceful scene" in the office that morning as something too serious for ordinary treatment—it should be brought to the attention of the sheriff, they declared.
Among those of that opinion was Mr. Ford, father of Sarah. He was one of the men who felt they had been wronged, personally, by the squire, and in reference to this matter Mr. Ford called upon Major Dale.
It was late that same afternoon, when Dorothy and Tavia were visitingSarah, that Mr. Ford arrived at the office of Major Dale.
"I have been a fool," he told the major, "to listen to such arguments as that man made against mere children. Of course my daughter was injured and that angered me; but it was the foolish talk of that old man which made me think I should have revenge—revenge upon a girl no more guilty than a babe in its cradle."
Mr. Ford spoke with much bitterness. Men do not like to make such mistakes, but those of high character are always ready to do what they can to right such wrongs.
"But there was no real harm done?" interrupted the major.
"No harm done! To take two innocent girls into that office and accuse them of—I don't know what! Why, Major, it was simply outrageous," and Mr. Ford paced the floor impatiently.
"It was a lucky thing that my young man, Ralph Willoby, happened along, although it seemed unlucky enough for him. But I believe he is not injured beyond a cut lip and bruised eye. The old squire seemed to have entirely lost control of himself. This comes from keeping incompetent men in office—just through sentiment."
"Exactly. They can do more harm than one would imagine. Think how he talked me into the idea that this poor Travers family should pay my daughter's doctor bill! And I told him to go ahead and collect it!"
Each time that this thought came to Mr. Ford it seemed to him more repugnant. First, that he should have blamed Tavia without investigating the matter himself; next that he should have allowed a man like Squire Sanders to "humbug" him.
"Well," said the major, "we now have it in our power to put the right man in the office of Justice of the Peace. You know John Travers was up for it last year."
"I do, but—he is not of our party."
"Yet you admit he is the right man?"
"I know of no one better fitted for the office."
"Then make it the man this time, and leave the party aside. Franklin MacAllister was in this afternoon. He says the appointment must be made at once, but that your faction in the council will oppose Travers. Your vote can decide the matter."
Mr. Ford was silent for a moment. Men think it almost a sacred obligation to "stick to their party," especially when that party puts the member in office with the understanding that their interests shall be looked after.
"It may cost me my place on the board—" said Mr. Ford thoughtfully, "but that will not affect my family, or my pocket-book—"
"Still you have been a good member," interrupted the major, "and we cannot afford to lose you, either."
"But you said Mac. stated my vote would carry it one way or other?"
"Yes, he has canvassed it."
"Then Travers shall be the man!" and Mr. Ford brought one hand down on the other in a most determined, and defiant manner.
"Strange," said Major Dale, "but the children have settled this for us. My little girl Dorothy had the whole thing planned out, and talked me over to her way. She is very fond of the Travers girl, you know."
The office door opened and Mr. MacAllister entered.
"Hullo!" he said cheerily. "Been lobbying, Major?"
"Seems so."
"Well, Travers has my vote," Mr. Ford hurried to say.
"What, going back on your party?" said Mr. MacAllister, laughing.
"Either that or go back on my own daughter," commented Mr. Ford. "It seems this is the girls' election."
The major could hardly disguise his pride—Dorothy had certainly "been busy" lately, and every undertaking of hers had met with success. A girl, after all, may be something more than a pretty doll, he thought. But the whole thing is to get them to exert their influence in the right direction. See how Dorothy had helped in the liquor crusade. And without "soiling her finger tips," thought the major, proudly.
And while this caucus was being held in the major's office, Dorothy was conducting another sort of meeting at the Ford home.
Tavia and Sarah had "made up" most affectionately. Sickness, sometimes is a powerful teacher, and afforded, in Sarah's case, time to think reasonably which was plainly what she needed.
"I always thought the girls disliked me," she told Tavia, "that, of course, made me dislike most of them. But I did love Dorothy," she hastened to declare, "and I was jealous of her love for you."
"I don't blame you a bit," answered Tavia, in her direct way. "If she should turn 'round and fall in love with you—why then no telling what might happen."
Sarah was now able to walk around with the aid of a cane, and this afternoon she sat out on the porch entertaining her friends.
"I do hope," said Dorothy, "that you will be able to go on the picnic with us, Sarah. Perhaps that, too, will be all the better for being postponed."
"Only my lunch," sighed Tavia, melodramatically. "I shall never be able to put up another such!" and she smacked her lips in remembrance of the good things the borrowed lunch box had contained.
"Perhaps, then, I will be able to invite you to take some of mine," said Sarah politely. "Mother just loves to do up dainty lunches."
"Accepted with pleasure," replied Tavia, imitating society manners."Make it enough for yourself, plenty for me, and a little to spare.Then we will be sure to come out all right."
Mrs. Ford came out to ask the visitors to remain to tea, but they politely declined. She was especially kind in talking to Tavia, and invited her to come again with Dorothy.
"They say," remarked Dorothy to Tavia, as the girls hurried along the lane, "'that love scarce is love that does not know the sweetness of forgiving,' and it does seem that way, don't you think so?"
"Oh, that was what ailed us all, was it? Not our fault at all, but the fault of some old mildewed poet, that wanted to make good his verses. The 'sweetness of forgiving,' eh? Well, it is better than scrapping, I'll admit, but I wish poets would make up something handier. We went through quite something to find the sweetness."
"Hurry," whispered Dorothy, "I thought I heard something move in the bushes!"
"So did I," admitted Tavia, quickening her pace.
"It is always so lonely in the lane at night, we should have gone around."
"Let's run," suggested Tavia. "One row a day is enough for me."
The bushes stirred suspiciously now, and both girls were alarmed. They were midway in the lane, and could not gain the road, except by running on to the end of the lonely path. Each side was lined with a thick underbrush, and—there was no mistaking it now—someone was stealing along beside them!
Taking hold of hands the girls ran. As they did the figure of a man darted out in the path after them. Not a word was spoken—all their strength was put into speed—to get to the end of the lane before that man should overtake them!
They knew the footing well, although the path was rough with tree stumps and rocks thrown there from the fields at the side.
Suddenly there was an exclamation. Turning quickly Tavia saw the man's form rolling in the deep grass.
"He has fallen over the big stump," she said, "and has rolled into the thick briars. Hurry now, we will get out all right." And, with renewed courage, the girls ran on, reaching the end of the lane in full view of houses, before the "tramp" could possibly overtake them.
"That was the same fellow," declared Tavia. "What in the world does he follow us for?"
"It's all the Burlock business," Dorothy answered. "But hurry, we must give the alarm this time. Perhaps they will be able to catch him."
Out of breath, and very much frightened, the girls reached the center of the village, going directly there instead of turning into a side street to go home.
"Perhaps father is in his office," remarked Dorothy.
"There's Ralph," said Tavia, as that young man emerged from a doorway.
Quicker than it takes to tell it a searching party was formed. The three men who had been talking politics were still in the major's office, and when told of the girl's fright they promptly started out for the lane picking up more help at every turn.
"We will get him if we have to burn down the woods," declared the major, deeply incensed at his daughter's peril.
"And not a gun in the crowd," remarked Mr. MacAllister. "This is where we need our constable."
They had reached the lane now, and it was quite dark. Numbers of men, who had been taking a quiet evening smoke at their own doors joined in the "rounding up" as Mr. Ford called it.
"No Squire Sanders to help him out this time," some one remarked.
Then the men scattered—completely surrounding the place where the tramp had been last seen.
"The only way he could get away from us would be in a balloon," saidMr. MacAllister.
"Or an airship," spoke up someone else.
With heavy clubs and every available weapon to beat down the brush they started out through the lane on the man hunt.
Surely twenty good men should be able to find the one "tramp" now.
But would they?
It was an entirely new experience for Dalton men—searching for a miscreant that spring evening in the lane. But evening wore into nightfall and no trace of the "tramp" had been discovered.
From either end of the lane the men came together at last, and admitted they had been again outwitted by the "slick rascal."
Mr. MacAllister, in dismissing the party, urged them to be at the town meeting that night to vote for a constable, and never had the need of such an official been so plainly demonstrated.
"We must go about to-night," he said, "and notify business persons to be on the lookout for a fellow of this description. Of course, if we had a regular constable we might save ourselves that trouble."
To the old politicians of Dalton, those who always voted promptly, but put off paying taxes until the very last notice had been served upon them, the appointment of John Travers to succeed Squire Sanders, came as a surprise. Poor men are not always popular, and the other candidate, Baldwin Blake, was the sort of fellow it was pleasant to meet—around election times. But John Travers got the office without a dissenting vote in the council—a matter quite as surprising to Mr. Travers as to any man present. Mr. MacAllister whispered aside to Major Dale, when the result of the ballot was made known:
"Travers does not know what a strong pull our young politicians have.This is the girls' campaign."
But when a few hours later, the new squire told his own girl of the good fortune, Tavia declared Dorothy had managed it all.
It was a fact, however regrettable, that Mrs. Travers was not at home to hear the good news. She had gone to see a sick friend that afternoon, and had sent word later that she would remain away all night.
But Mrs. Travers was probably not as blamable in her home-making delinquencies as it might appear. She simply did not know how to make a home. She belonged to that unfortunately large class of women, who have received a so-called "education" from books, but who have never been trained in either discipline or character, which might give the forbearance necessary in meeting the actual trials of life, or in the management of the great American dollar, which might make up, in a measure, for lack of discipline, when that dollar, like the proverbial charity, must cover a multitude of wants. Mrs. Travers had attended a school where embroidery was the chief number in the curriculum, and mathematics (after decimal fractions) made elective. Hence it was that the burden of responsibility came so early to Tavia, who was scarcely better able to undertake it than the mother.
The unfortunate result of this total lack of management might have discouraged a man less optimistic than John Travers, but he always "made allowances," just as he did to-night when the indifferent wife was not there to share in the family's happy hour.
"Maybe I can help you with the books," suggested Tavia, when the possible details of the new position were being discussed.
"Oh, I will have plenty of time to attend to them, daughter," her father replied. "The books I want you to attend to are those at school—I want you to make up for lost time. Dalton people will expect more from us now that they are giving us a chance."
"Dorothy says I do better than I imagine," replied Tavia. "I did not expect to pass—I had been home so much—but if only I could get a 'conditional,' and leave when Dorothy does!"
Ambition had come to Tavia—at last.
Her father wished her to get through school, and she determined, if such a thing was possible she would do it.
"I could study very hard," she told herself, when thinking the matter over very seriously, that night, in her own little cheerless room. "Dorothy has all her work done, and I am sure she will help me."
And what a surprise it would be to every one if she really did get "conditioned" in the studies she failed in, and should actually graduate in the general work.
What a wonderful thing it was to have something definite to work for! Dorothy and Alice had always felt that way, but until to-night Tavia had never known the real joy of doing good work, with the actual reward in sight. Home life had been dreary indeed, school had been little better, the only bright spot in the misplaced life had been put in by Dorothy Dale. And what a power for good had been the quiet, unobtrusive influence!
"I owe every single thing to Dorothy," Tavia declared to her own heart that eventful night, "and I hope some day I will be able to show her I am not ungrateful."
Tavia's plans took shape next morning—there was nothing visionary about them. She did surprise her father with a neat breakfast table, and Johnnie surprised himself with a clean linen suit.
"Nothing succeeds like success," said the father, pleased and happy that, at last something had "happened" to brighten the make-shift home.
"And when mother comes," Tavia announced, "she will find that I have discovered how to keep house, for I have already provided for dinner. Now Johnnie, be careful that you do me credit—go right straight to school when it's time, and don't, as you value your place in—in—my heart, miss a single lesson!"
"Good!" said the father, actually taking a tiny rosebud from the clean milk bottle, in the center of the table, and putting it in his buttonhole.
"Would it be silly for a boy to wear a flower?" faltered Johnnie, "JoeDale often does."
"Indeed every boy in school will know to-day that pop is the 'head constable' so why shouldn't you decorate?" and the sister put in the fresh linen waist a bud that exactly matched the one chosen by the squire.
Mr. Travers recalled that this was the first morning he could remember when his two children sat at table with him. They were always busy or sleeping—any place but where they should be at breakfast time.
"Now, I must see Dorothy before school," said Tavia, leaving the table. "Johnnie, just eat all your toast while I clear up. Then you can bring in fresh water, and some wood to have ready for noon, in case mother should not get home in time to do everything."
Mr. Travers was also in a hurry to get down to the Green, he had made an appointment to talk with Major Dale and he did not delay after breakfast. A new world had been discovered by him—the land of prosperity; ambition for his children, and perhaps even contentment for the incompetent little woman who had suffered too, and who now might find a way and heart to do what seemed not worth while before.
But Dorothy had "anticipated" Tavia's visit and was at the door before the latter had entirely cleared away the table.
"Why!" exclaimed Dorothy, when her eyes rested on the flowers, "you are celebrating!"
"Good reason why!" responded Tavia proudly, "my dad's a squire!"
"I am so glad," murmured Dorothy, giving Tavia a kiss. "Now you will be somebody, won't you?"
"I am already—somebody else. You won't know me; better ask for an introduction," and she walked haughtily to the sink with the last of the dishes.
"Delighted, I'm sure!" simpered Dorothy, imitating the society voice.
"Pray be seated," went on the new Tavia, "I'll be disengaged directly."
Tavia's happiness was so entirely self-evident there was no need for her to make formal expression of it to Dorothy, yet, as she had promised herself to be "just like other girls" Tavia felt the obligation to say something polite.
"I know, Dorothy," she began, "we owe everything to you. But it has really made a new world for us, and now, you will see how we appreciate it. I am going to get through school, if I can, and perhaps, when we get better off, I may go on with you at school and grow up—like you."
"Tavia dear," said Dorothy earnestly, "I am sure you will always be my friend, whether you have a fancy education or not. We have learned more than can be taught from books—we have learned to help each other, and to understand each other."
"Yes, I cannot imagine anything ever coming into our lives that would keep us apart—even distance does not separate minds and hearts."
Tavia had finished her work now, and surprised Dorothy by neatly washing out the dish towels.
Dorothy was ready to go now for it was getting close to the hour for school.
"I must tell you something in confidence," said she, "father thinks he has a clew to the little Burlock girl's whereabouts."
"Yes, and I thought the same thing when what do you suppose?—Aunt Mary writes me that the woman—Mrs. Burlock—is dead!"
"Dead!" exclaimed Dorothy.
"Yes, and the society cannot now find her girl—she did have a daughter."
"But surely, in a place like Rochester, they should be able to trace a little girl," Dorothy insisted.
"They should be, but they were not. Aunt Mary wrote that the charitable society had buried the woman, and when a young lady from the organization went back to the rooms with the little girl she allowed her to escape. That is, the young lady went out to buy something and when she came back the girl was gone."
"Did she run away?"
"Haven't the least idea. But say, Doro, we will be late, sure pop, and me putting on airs this morning. Quarter of nine. Now let's see if we can beat last night's record. I'll set the pace," and so saying the girls started off on a run, for it was most desirable that they reach the school a few minutes, at least, before the bell rang.
Dorothy insisted Tavia should go straight to Miss Ellis and tell her how she was so anxious to keep up with her class.
"You might change your mind," Dorothy remarked laughing, "and Tavia, there is nothing like outside help for keeping troublesome resolutions."
"Guess you're right," said Tavia with a sigh. "I may as well clinch it."
"No slang now," interrupted Dorothy. "Graduates never use slang."
"Then I've changed my mind already," pouted Tavia, "I must have slang or die—'Liberty of speech or death!'" she exclaimed with a dramatic gesture.
"Come on," pleaded Dorothy, who was really anxious that Tavia should speak to Miss Ellis before the classes assembled.
To her surprise Tavia learned from her teacher that she had not so very much to make up, and could, no doubt, do it if she tried.
"You have been doing very well lately," said Miss Ellis, "and during the days you were away we had scarcely any new lessons—nothing but review. You were always fair in mathematics when you put your mind to your work. Now let us see if you cannot surprise everyone by getting all through—not conditioned in anything."
Such encouragement was all Tavia needed. She went to work with a will that day, and every time Dorothy glanced over at her (for Dorothy was as anxious for her success as if it were entirely her own affair) she would see Tavia "poring" over her book as if her very life depended upon her accomplishing just so much work and she was bound she would do it.
How quickly the morning passed! It was so different to be busy in school, Tavia thought, so much better than having the hours drag along. At recess Alice hugged her in congratulation.
"I knew he would get it," she said, referring, of course, to the new position of Mr. Travers, "and father says we girls elected him. I see you are already doing credit to the confidence with which Dalton people have intrusted your family."
"I am sure father will give satisfaction," Tavia answered, ignoring the intended compliment for herself. "He had a splendid record in Millville."
"And the picnic," said Alice. "Have you heard it is really coming off this time? Next Monday."
"Then Sarah will be able to come," remarked Tavia, "I am just glad we waited for her."
All the girls agreed it would be especially nice to have a genuine reunion, as this would be the last holiday until vacation, and that, of course, would mean a scattering of classmates.
"It will be a star picnic," declared Alice, as the girls returned to the school room.
"If nothing else happens," said Dorothy with apprehension for which she could not account.
"Why did you say that?" asked Tavia.
"I don't know. But somehow I feel as if something will happen," andDorothy had sufficient reason afterward to remember the premonition.
Picnic day came at last, and with it there drew up to the gate ofDalton School two four-horse wagons, the regular "straw-ride" variety.
Mr. Ford had provided the conveyances, and when all the girls had been seated on the big side benches with parasols, lunch boxes and "happy smiling faces," the ride itself constituted a thoroughly enjoyable outing.
Sarah was there, between Dorothy and Tavia, and upon her arrival at the school (the wagon had stopped for her as it came up) she received a hearty welcome—an ovation, Tavia called it.
Her face was pale, and her manner nervous, but she whispered aside to Dorothy that she was so happy, and that she could never have been happy with the girls after the trouble if Dorothy had not "straightened every thing out for her."
Miss Ellis, too, seemed very much pleased at the prospect of a happy day—"after all," she thought, "her girls were well worth working for." It was a beautiful day in June and the ride to the woods was perfumed with that rare and wonderful incense—vapory sweetness of flowers warmed by the soft sunshine of early summer.
Blossoms brushed the faces of our friends as the picnic wagons rumbled on and many a wreath of "laurel" was pressed to the brow of fair graduates as the maple leaves in the hands of willing weavers, were made into crowns for the "grads."
A secret was plainly lurking in the eyes of Alice MacAllister. Dorothy had remarked that girls, alone, would probably be lost in the great, dark picnic place, for the pine trees grew so close there, the grounds were often called "Twilight Grove"; but Alice only smiled broadly and replied:
"You just wait—the woods may be enchanted."
"Splendid idea," declared Tavia, "I do need so much a little Brownie or a goblin to help me with my housework. Fancy going home with a dear little Jackanapes to carry my 'dinner pail'!" and at this suggestion every one seemed to enjoy the grotesque idea that Tavia had outlined.
The grove was finally reached, and the happy picnic party lost no time in leaving the wagons, and making for the "best spots."
But no sooner had they entered the great tall gateway than they were set upon by a tribe of very lively goblins, for, from behind tree and bush there darted upon the unsuspecting girls a rollicking, frolicking band of boys—the boys' school having come to the grove to surprise the girls, and help them enjoy the breaking up picnic.
"I told you we might find the woods enchanted," said Alice who, of course had learned of the secret, as it was Mr. MacAllister who provided the wagons for the boys as well as for the girls.
Such running about and such shouting! Some lads had hidden in the pines and now as the girls ran through the grove, the "goblins" dropped down upon their unsuspecting heads.
Tavia and Alice helped make things livelier by gathering up parasols and lunch boxes that had been left in the wagons for safety. These they gave to the boys, who lost no time in forming a brigade, parasols in the air and boxes under arms, to the distress and dismay of the unlucky owners.
But there was still another surprise in store for the school children.When everything was fairly settled down for a day in the woods, a twoseated carriage drove in, and in this were President of the TownCouncil, Franklin MacAllister; the Treasurer of Dalton, Major Dale,Squire Travers and Ralph Willoby.
Wild cheers went up from the woods as the party entered the grove; first for the president, then for the major and a "hip-hip" and series of hurrahs for the new squire.
Certainly it was jolly to have such a crowd in the shady woods. The officials told Miss Ellis they came to get acquainted with the pupils of the Dalton schools. Also, they said, it was quite necessary to look after so important a gathering officially, as there was the lake, and other dangers, to which over enthusiastic youths might be more or less exposed.
Major Dale and Mr. MacAllister only remained long enough to see that everything was satisfactorily started, and then left, charging Ralph Willoby and Squire Travers to act as special officers. That this was a wise precaution was plainly demonstrated before the day ended.
Toward noon the merry-makers scattered throughout the spacious grounds, looking for particularly pleasant spots to eat lunch. This was by no means a difficult matter, for there were rustic benches built around wonderful trees, besides little caves lined with soft pine needles and covered with brown mounds of them.
The diversity of natural beauties made this grove famous, for many miles around, and never before, perhaps, was every nook and corner so thoroughly explored.
Ralph and the squire roamed around, seeing to it that boys in boats kept a safe distance from the falls coming from the gates and old water wheel.
From this falls the roaring of the water could be heard for a considerable distance, and so noisy were the rapids a person might shout at another but a few feet away without being able to make his voice heard.
But the falls had a strange charm for Dorothy, and after lunch she wandered there all alone, just to see, to think and to be quiet. Other attractions had now claimed the attention of her companions, and she sat there, enjoying the falls alone.
She could scarcely hear a voice through the woods, so loudly did the falls splash and splatter.
Who, in her place, could have heard a man stealing up to that very spot? Who could know a scoundrel was there, at that moment ready to seize Dorothy?
A rough hand clutched her slender arm!
That man—Anderson—was glaring into her eyes! Dorothy screamed shrilly.
"Hush!" commanded the man, "or I'll throw you over the falls!" and his hand was upon Dorothy's throat, preventing further outcry.
"Tell me," he growled, "did Miles Burlock leave his money with your father?"
Poor Dorothy felt as if the world had gone, and all the woes of death were upon her!
Looking about him hastily the man loosed his hold on her throat for an answer, but instead another shrill scream rent the air.
"You little fool!" he muttered, "do you want me to throw you over?"
But at that moment an answer came—Ralph Willoby bounded through the grove and had Dorothy in his arms before she could realize he was there! Then with a look of baffled rage the man disappeared.
"Ralph!" whispered Dorothy.
"You are all right now," the young man assured her, putting his arm firmly around the trembling girl, "if you feel faint I can carry you. Do not try to walk."
The noise of the falls was gone now—the sky was all black.
"Oh," gasped Dorothy, "I can't hear, or see, I am—"
It was welcome oblivion, however painful that clutch at her heart.
She could not remember—was it Ralph, or the squire?
She had been thinking how brave Ralph was—But now she could not think, it was all dark night!
When Ralph Willoby carried his senseless burden to the platform, where, so short a time before, the girl had been as merry as any of her playmates, Squire Travers determined upon one thing—to form a searching party of all the boys to scour the woods from tree to stump and if possible run down the villain who had attacked Dorothy.
The fainting girl was soon revived by the careful ministrations of Miss Ellis, assisted by pupils following her directions; and, before the half-conscious girl realized what had happened to her, the boys were running through the woods, led by the squire and Ralph, bent on finding Anderson.
But such reflections were of little use now that the harm was done. Dorothy was very weak indeed. She felt as if those sinuous fingers were still about her throat, and she could see those terrible eyes peering into hers in spite of all her efforts to forget her awful experience.
Some boys had already been sent off to the nearest place where it would be possible to get a conveyance to take her home, and they now returned with a covered carriage.
Into this Miss Ellis and Dorothy were assisted, while the remainder of the girls were soon ready to leave the grounds in the large picnic wagons.
The boys "to a man" remained in the woods, helping diligently in, what now seemed to be, a useless search.
Over the narrow plank, just above the dam, the man no doubt had escaped to the other side, where the old ruins of a mill, with a big water wheel, made a safe hiding place for the fellow.
Squire Travers was much annoyed and worried over the occurrence. To think such a thing could happen with him right there, in the woods, seemed incredible.
But Ralph assured him a similar thing had happened in the public streets of Dalton, and the same man had gotten away. Why should it be strange then that he would be able to make his escape in a dense woods?
"But he must be caught," insisted the squire, "if we have to canvass the entire town and surrounding places to get him."
Some boys suggested that they disguise themselves as girls impersonating Dorothy and Tavia, and then wait to be "caught" while help remained close at hand. But it was decided such a ruse would hardly work that day, as the man would know well enough the girls would not again leave themselves liable to attack.
It was a very discouraged band of boys, with Squire Travers and Ralph Willoby as their leaders, that wended their way back to Dalton Center that evening. The picnic, of course, had been spoiled, but that did not amount to anything—it was the attack on Dorothy, and the escape of her assailant that concerned the searching party.
The squire and Ralph upon reaching town went directly to the office of President MacAllister, and the result of the meeting held there marked an epoch in the history of the township of Dalton. The new squire had outlined a plan that every suspicious character found in the place should be apprehended at once, and no sooner had this edict gone forth than the suspected ones very quietly took their departure. While it was generally believed the trouble had to do with a personal affair, there seemed danger of course to all, while such persons as this "tramp" were at liberty.
But confidence was at once established by the ruling of the squire, which put an end to the reign of terror, and Dalton became once more a pleasant place to live in.
The details of government had little interest now for Dorothy Dale, as she tossed feverishly about on her bed that night dreaming of the awful man. Dr. Gray had recommended that some one remain with her, on account of her nervous condition, and Tavia insisted on being allowed to sit up with her friend.
A cot was arranged in Dorothy's room for Tavia, but she was too anxious about the sick one to sleep. What if Dorothy should die? What a lonely world this would be for Tavia without her.
Several times during the night Aunt Libby came in and tried to induce Tavia to take another room, and allow her to stay with Dorothy, but the volunteer nurse would not leave her post.
"Do go, Tavia," said Dorothy, who had just opened her eyes, and heardAunt Libby's argument, "I'm all right now; only nervous."
"But I've promised myself a whole night with you, and I'm not going to be chased away, just at the witching hour," Tavia insisted.
But tired nature produced an argument incontrovertible, and when Tavia stretched out on the comfortable cot, and tried to chat as lively to Dorothy as if it had been mid-day on the side porch, she began to feel drowsy, then she noticed Dorothy did not answer promptly, and so she made her words "long and draggy" as mothers do when babies show signs of "giving in." Presently there was a hush—both nurse and patient were sound asleep.
When Dr. Gray called the next morning he advised a complete change for Dorothy. She was physically well enough, he said, but the shock to her nervous system might result in complete prostration, unless her mind was speedily disabused of the unpleasant memory.
Major Dale knew this advice was wise, and he concluded to send Dorothy to visit his sister, Mrs. Winthrop White, of North Birchland.
"Pleasant company," said the doctor to Major Dale as he left, "is all the girl wants. I wouldn't wonder but that little friend of hers—the lively one,—would help her, if it could be made convenient for her to go along."
Convenient? That uncertainty had nothing to do with circumstances important to his daughter's health, Major Dale decided. If Tavia's company would be beneficial to Dorothy's health Tavia should go to North Birchland with Dorothy.
The question of school did not signify, either, the major reasoned, for if Tavia could not afford to lose the remaining weeks in the term he would see that they were made up for, amply.
Arrangements were quickly made, letters dispatched back and forth, and before the girls had time to think it over themselves, they were told to be ready for the morning train.
"Oh, isn't it perfectly grand!" exclaimed the excited Tavia, "but do you think, Doro, I will be able to behave myself, to eat properly and all that?"
"Why, Tavia," answered Dorothy, "you will find real aristocratic people are as simple as we are in manners; it is only those who try to be 'somebody,' and who do not know how, that make such a fuss over everything. Aunt Winnie is a lovely lady—we call her Winnie from Winthrop, because her own name is Ruth and we have another Aunt Ruth out West."
"Lucky thing I had my 'new' dress, and all the other things Aunt Mary sent by express last week. And father's new suit case his men presented him with when he left the factory—wasn't that providential?" asked Tavia.
Dorothy admitted it was fortunate, and so, as this was the very evening before their departure, the girls arranged such matters as required consultation and then hurried off to attend to so many little things necessary for travelers.
Aunt Libby could not hide a tear when Dorothy put her arms about the wrinkled neck, but when Major Dale helped his daughter to step upon the train platform he was smiling; glad to have her go it seemed. Joe told Johnnie afterwards that was the way soldiers always act when they face trouble.
Mrs. Travers was really glad to have Tavia go, and she did not deny it. It was such a chance for her, she told Aunt Libby, as they went home from the depot, and Tavia, she declared, was a girl who always made the most of her chances.
As the train flew along, or Dalton flew away, as it seemed from the car windows, both girls indulged in a very creditable sentiment—a streak of homesickness.
"It will be fun, of course," remarked Tavia, "but it's creepy to leave them all."
Passengers about them soon attracted their attention sufficiently to make the journey interesting. Tavia had such a way of seeing things to make Dorothy laugh, that little of interest escaped her.
Old ladies with black silk bags were her especial prey, and these she never failed to analyze—according to her own special method.
Women with babies also afforded no end of amusement to Tavia, and when she found a regular nursery cooking outfit in the "end room" of the car she could scarcely be restrained.
"I could make you the nicest clam bouillon," she told Dorothy, "and besides cooking, that little alcohol lamp is just the thing for hair crimping. I will crimp mine if I can find anything to make a hot poker of in this train."
"You really must not touch anything," Dorothy insisted, alarmed lestTavia should do something reckless.
"Touch anything? Why my dear girl I have tested the entire outfit, andI am going to get one just like it for my hasty breakfasts."
The woman to whom the "entire outfit" belonged was now almost asleep beside her baby, on the end sofa, and Tavia assuring Dorothy she would stay there indefinitely, sallied forth to further investigate the mysteries of a nursery cooking outfit, en route.