"There's a special messenger," exclaimed Dorothy, with a little flutter. "I hope there's nothing the matter—"
The boy with the bag strapped over his shoulder had dismounted from his muddy bicycle, and was now at the door of the Cedar mansion.
Tavia slipped through the hedge after Dorothy. It seemed the message must be from Dalton, somehow, and she too, like Dorothy, felt a trifle agitated.
The maid had answered the ring, and now the boy was wandering along the path, content that his time-mark allowed a few moments for such recreation.
Mrs. White appeared on the piazza presently. Dorothy and Tavia were within its portals, waiting to be summoned.
"My dear," began the hostess, "I have just received a message from Major Dale. He wants you to come home—at once. He is called to Rochester on important business, and as he says Mrs. Martin is not well, so he cannot leave without having his little housekeeper in charge of things—Dorothy, you are a real Dale, able at your age to keep house."
"Aunt Libby sick," was Dorothy's first thought and exclamation.
"The Rochester case," declared Tavia. "That means the Burlock mystery is going to be cleared up."
"The major did not, of course, hint at the nature of his business, but I am really so sorry to lose you just now. And the boys at camp—they will be painfully disappointed," said Mrs. White.
"We have had a perfectly splendid time," declared Dorothy, "and I am sure we can hardly thank you for your—attention. You have so many calls upon your time and you did all that shopping for us."
"My dear," and the aunt tilted Dorothy's chin to kiss it, "that was a real dissipation. To shop for my own girls. Why, it made me feel like a youngster, myself. And besides, I had orders from Dalton."
"Even so," insisted Dorothy, showing some surprise at the word "orders." "It took a lot of time and it was such a warm day. But you did a great deal more than that for us, Aunt Winnie, you must remember how much I can do, too, and give me a chance some day, when you want a rest."
"Bless the baby's heart! Hear her talk!" and the woman in the soft gray robe threw her arms about Dorothy. "All the same, when my heart gets unconquerably lonely for my daughter, I shall command her to come to me."
Tavia was "standing afar off." Her burning cheeks grew more scarlet every moment, and were plainly a matter of great embarrassment to her. She did want to offer her thanks with those of Dorothy, but somehow, her words were scorched when they reached her lips, and they "stuck there."
"My dear," exclaimed Mrs. White, presently noticing Tavia's confusion."Have you been in poison ivy? Your cheeks show a poison!"
"Only mullen leaves," answered Tavia promptly, relieved to have made the confession without further parleying.
"Mullen leaves," in a surprised voice, then adding quickly, "Oh, of course, we all used to do that. You were painting to go out to camp," said Mrs. White.
"Tavia was going to help play a joke on Rosabel," interrupted Dorothy, anxious to make the matter as light as possible, and help Tavia with her honesty.
"Why, that would be too bad," said Mrs. White, "Poor Rosabel has trouble with her skin. It is always flaming red, and it seems almost impossible to cool down the sudden flashes. It is caused by a nervous condition."
Tavia dropped her eyes. What if Dorothy had not spoken against the joke, and if they had really gone to camp?
"Your train leaves shortly after lunch," continued Mrs. White, "so you had better be getting ready. I am sorry the boys are not here to see you off, but I will drive you over myself and see that you are safely en route for Dalton. I almost wish I were going myself. It seems an age since I have seen the dear major."
"Oh, do come!" exclaimed Dorothy joyously, "Wouldn't it be splendid."
"If I only could, my dear, but I cannot this time. I will surprise you some day. Then I will see whether you or Tavia is the better housekeeper."
"Please do not surprise me," begged Tavia, "although I should be so very glad to see you—give me notice, so that you may be able to get in. Whenever I take to sweeping and bar up the doors with furniture my Sunday school teacher calls."
"I always was considered a good player at hopscotch," joked Mrs. White, "so you need not worry about that, Tavia, dear."
The dress suit cases were to be packed. They had been full enough coming, but it was soon found impossible to get all the new things in them for the journey back. Tavia discovered this first, and called it in to Dorothy's room.
"I can't get my things in either," answered Dorothy back, through the summer draperies that divided the apartments. "We will have to send a box."
This seemed a real luxury to the girls—to come home with an express box.
Mrs. White had given Dorothy a fine bracelet as a good-bye present, and to Tavia a small gold heart and dainty gold chain.
Tavia could not speak she was so surprised and pleased at first.Dorothy had a locket and chain, but Tavia had hardly ever expected toown such a costly trinket. The maid had brought the gifts up. Mrs.White was busy dressing.
"I'll have to hug her," declared Tavia, kissing the heart set with a garnet.
"Just do," agreed Dorothy, "she would be so pleased."
Down the stairs flew Tavia. Lightly she touched the mahogany paneled door at Mrs. White's boudoir.
"Come," answered the pleasant voice.
"I came to thank you," faltered Tavia, glancing with misgivings at the handsome bared arms and throat before the gilt framed mirror.
"For your heart?" and Mrs. White smiled so kindly.
"Yes," said Tavia simply, and the next moment she had both arms around that beautiful neck.
The woman held the girl to her breast for a moment. Tavia's heart was beating wildly.
"My dear," said Mrs. White, "I do hope you have enjoyed yourself," and she kissed her again. "But you must promise me not to paint with mullen leaves any more. Sometimes such jokes lead to habits—one looks pale you know when the blaze dies away."
Tavia felt as if her blaze never would die away. Why had she been so foolish? She would have given anything now to rub those horrid, prickly leaves off forever.
"I never will paint—" she stammered.
"I hope you will not, dear, you should be grateful for such coloring as you have. But let me warn you in all kindness. It is usually pretty girls who make such mistakes—they want to be more and more attractive and so spoil it all. Think right, and of pleasant things, and the glory of happiness will be all the cosmetic you will ever need," and again she pressed her own white cheek to the burning face of the girl she still held in her arms.
Later, when Tavia was thinking it all over, she pondered seriously upon those words. No one had ever spoken to her just that way before—at home it was taken for granted she knew so much more than those around her, that such counsel as she needed was withheld. Alas, how many girls lose valuable advice by appearing to be over-smart for their years! And then the awakening is always doubly sad. So it was with this mistake of Tavia's, trivial enough, yet for her—it appeared like a crime to have put those mullen leaves to her cheeks; to be thought vain; to have Mrs. White warn her about other girls!
It seemed a very short time indeed, from the arrival of the special message at the Cedars until the train was speeding back toward Dalton. And the journey had lost all its novelty, for Dorothy and Tavia were so intent upon the possible happenings when they should reach home, that the wait, even on a flying train, seemed tiresome.
"Do you suppose," ventured Tavia, as she laid her book down, after a number of unsuccessful efforts to become interested in the story, "they have captured that Anderson?"
"I am sure I cannot guess," answered Dorothy, "but I feel certain it is about that affair that we are called home in such a hurry. I wish I could soon keep the promise I made to poor Mr. Burlock. I said I would some day find his daughter Nellie, and it does seem the detectives have been a long time in finding any tangible clew. Father hired two of the best he could get to trace the child—that was her mother who died, the one you told me of, you know. I did not talk about it because father thought it was best to say nothing that might possibly give Anderson a hint that they were on his track."
"And have they tracked him?" asked Tavia.
"Yes, they know he left Mr. Burlock in Rochester. He cashed a check there that Mr. Burlock gave him for what the poor man thought would be a possible clew to little Nellie's whereabouts, and to think that the disappointment killed the disheartened father!"
"Well, I only hope they have him now," said Tavia, "I would like to have another chance at his—hat."
Then the conversation drifted back to North Birchland. Both girls looked much benefited by their visit, and even Tavia's short hair and unnatural red cheeks did not detract from the noticeable improvement. Dorothy's face had rounded some too, and the Lake air had given a ruddiness to her naturally delicate tinting, that was most becoming to her as a summer girl.
"I never saw such nice boys," remarked Tavia, "I think, after all, it takes money to polish people."
"Not at all," insisted Dorothy. "It is not money but good breeding. There are plenty of poor persons who are just as polished as you call it. Father often told us about a family he visited when he was abroad. They were so poor in clothes—pathetically shabby, and yet they went in the very best society. Father used to make us laugh by his funny descriptions of the ladies at dinners. At the same affairs would be Thomas Carlyle, and just think, these poor people—he was a parson, lived on the very ground that was once part of the garden of Sir Thomas Moore. Father saw the famous mulberry trees there, that so much has been written about. I hope I may be able to go there some time—we have relatives in England."
"I would not care to travel," said Tavia impatiently. "This seems a long enough trip for me."
"Only two more stops," said Dorothy as the train rattled past the stations. "Oh, I shall be so glad to see them all."
"And lonesome for the Cedars after you have seen them all," Tavia hinted. "That's the worst of it, home is always with us—"
"Get your hat box down," Dorothy interrupted. "We are slackening up now."
"Dalton! Dalton!" called the brakeman at the door, and the next minute the girls were being kissed heartily by Joe, Roger and Johnnie, "the committee on arrival," as Tavia said. The lads were fully qualified to carry off the honors in the way of boxes and small bundles.
"How is Aunt Libby?" asked Dorothy as soon as she could say anything relevant.
"Better," said Joe, "but father does not feel well—you are not to worry—" seeing how her face clouded, "he is only tired out. He has been working at the office and writing so many letters—"
"That I should have written. Poor dear father! I hope he is not going to have another spell," and Dorothy sighed.
"No, the doctor said he would be all right if he would only stay quiet, but he is about as quiet as my squirrel in its new cage," said Joe.
"Home again," called Dorothy, waving her hand to the major who now appeared on the piazza. "Here we are, bag and baggage," and then it seemed all the "pain of separation" was made up for in that loving embrace—the major had the Little Captain in his arms again.
"Dorothy," said the major, when all the news from Aunt Winnie's had been told and retold to Joe and Roger, "I want you to come to my study after tea. I have something to say to you."
The major was seated in his favorite chair at the open window. Dorothy thought he looked handsomer every day, as his hair became whiter, and now as she came to him for the business talk, she wondered who in all the world could have so loving and so noble a father.
"I had expected to go to Rochester in the morning," he began, as Dorothy dropped to the stool at his feet, "but that dear old meddling doctor says no. I feel well enough—"
"But you are not, daddy dear," interrupted Dorothy. "You have been working too hard, I should not have left you."
"Tut, tut, child, it is you who have been working too hard. I did not realize it until I picked up the loose ends. But we must not play pot and kettle. We must talk business."
Major Dale went across the room and opened his desk. The letter he wanted was at his hand and he glanced at it hurriedly.
"Yes, it is to-morrow morning," he said. "I was to appear in court to identify Anderson."
"They have him then?" Dorothy could not refrain from asking.
"Yes, your man—Squire Travers—refunded him up, so you see he has returned your compliment, he has captured your enemy."
"But how could you identify Anderson? You have never seen him."
"Yes, I had that pleasure once. I saw him with Burlock and I could identify him. Travers did some fine work on the case, walked right over the detectives, and he deserves credit. He will get it too, in the way of a second term as squire, for he has completely broken up the factions—it seems like one party now."
"I am so glad," said Dorothy. "They did have such a hard time of it."
"Yes, but about to-morrow. Do you think Ralph could identify Anderson?Ralph is out of town and I have wired him to be back to-night."
"I don't think he ever saw the man," Dorothy answered thoughtfully."But I saw him very distinctly. Wouldn't I do?"
"You? Why, child, could you go into a big police court and say: 'There, that's the man;' without fainting from fright?"
"Indeed, I could," declared the girl. "I could do more than that to find Nellie Burlock."
"If I really thought so—"
"But you must know it," said Dorothy, quick to take advantage of the major's hesitation. "If you just give me instructions I will carry them out to the letter. And oh! if we can only give that money to its rightful owner at last."
"Yes, if we only could, I think I would feel like a new man. It has weighed heavily upon me, particularly since that rascal attacked you at the falls."
"I have it!" and Dorothy's eyes flashed in unison with her brain. "Telegraph to Mr. Travers to meet us, and let Tavia and me go. Tavia has an aunt in Rochester, you know, and she will take care of us when we have finished with the other business. Indeed, I can hardly wait."
"I cannot seem to think that you should go," objected the major. "It is a big city, and suppose Travers should fail to meet you?"
"Then I'll meet him," promptly answered Dorothy. "Just give me all the directions and I will find any police station in Rochester. Besides, I'll have Tavia, and she has been there—through the city—often."
"Well, it does seem the only way, for if we fail to identify Anderson he may be released, and I fancy he would never walk into our hands again."
"Now, not another thought, but how we are to go?" and Dorothy drew her chair up to his desk. "Tell me all about it now, so I can have it all settled in my mind to-night. Then to-morrow, all we will have to do is depart. My! we are becoming famous travelers!"
Very late that night Major Dale still sat at his desk. It was a serious matter for him to allow his only daughter to go into a strange city and then to a police court to identify a criminal. But how else could he carry out his sacred obligation to Burlock? How else could he fulfill his duty to the lost child?
And Dorothy too, was troubled that night. Would she really have courage to undertake the trip to a big city and then—?
But she, too, had made a promise, and she, too, felt the voice of the dead father and the voice or the neglected child crying for justice.
Dorothy Dale did not hesitate—she would go.
Next morning Tavia bounced around like a toy balloon. To think of going to Rochester, and into a police court—what could be more delightfully sensational? And perhaps they would have their names in the papers, their pictures, she ventured to suggest. "The two girls from Dalton!" "A striking scene in the police court!" These and other "striking things" she outlined to serious Dorothy, who now in the early morning sat so close to the car window, and seemed to hear nothing of the foolish prattle, as the train rattled on.
"Don't be a funeral, Doro," objected Tavia. "It's the best fun I ever dreamed of. Wait till they call on me to testify! Ahem! Won't I make a stir!"
"But we are not going to testify at all—"
"Same thing. We are to go before a lot of handsome officers, and they will be so careful of our feelings, of course. I hope I blush! It's always so nice to blush in print!"
Whether her nonsense was all frivolity, or somewhat calculated to distract the over serious Dorothy, would have taken an expert in human nature to decide, and there were many other things about Tavia quite as bewildering; but Dorothy was patient, she knew Tavia would not disappoint her when the test came.
"Wasn't it mean," grumbled Tavia, "I thought it would be so dramatic."
"Dramatic enough for me," answered Dorothy. "I felt a chill steal all over me when I put my hand on that man's arm, and said, 'This is he!' Ugh, I have the rub of his sleeve still on my palm," and Dorothy tried to efface the memory of it on her small white hand by rubbing it briskly on her linen skirt.
"Well, I am disappointed," pouted Tavia, "and I don't want any more mock trials."
"We must hurry, your father will soon be here. And how anxious I am to go to that place. What if the man has deceived the police as he did poor Mr. Burlock?"
"No danger. He is caught in his own trap now, and his only hope is from good behavior—they make it lighter for him as he makes it easier to clear up the case. I heard pop talking to the folks last night about it."
This was the day after the identification of Andrew Anderson by Dorothy in the Police Court. The man had disguised his appearance by taking off his beard, but there were other marks, and the girl could not be shaken in her positive identification.
The man had denied his guilt at first, but finally broke down whenconfronted with the evidence against him and admitted he had theBurlock child in hiding, but she was now in charge of some woman.Dorothy was to go for her to-day.
Mr. Travers, though having many important affairs to attend to, was on time, and he agreed to take Dorothy and Tavia with him to find Nellie.
"Keep close to me," he told the girls, making their way through dirty and uncertain streets. "This is a rough part of town."
House after house he stopped at, leaving the girls in each instance waiting anxiously to be told to follow. But the places were so much alike in their squalor the search was becoming more and more tiresome.
"Maybe he gave the wrong address," ventured Tavia, discouraged and dissatisfied with the many mistakes.
"No, but these people change homes so often," explained her father."Here, this looks—wait a minute!"
Down the steps of a dark basement Squire Travers hurried. The girls looked after him—that place was not dirty, merely poor and bare.
Presently he called to them:
"Come in, girls," and Dorothy felt she could hardly move—she was so anxious and expectant.
A woman, with a kind face, greeted them sadly, but with that unmistakable air of one whom poverty cannot drag down from self-respect.
"Yes, I have a child with me," she answered nervously, "but I cannot allow you to see her."
Then Squire Travers produced his credentials.
"You need not fear us," he told her kindly. "We have the best of news for little Nellie Burlock, and we are only too anxious to make her acquainted with it."
"But we have been disappointed so often," objected the woman, "and that man Anderson—"
"You need not think of him now," said Squire Travers. "We have just left him in the hands of the sheriff. This little girl," placing his hand on Dorothy, "has brought it all about. She showed the child's father how to die happily—made it possible for him to see the hope beyond, and then she and her good father have worked untiringly to find the child. Cannot we see her now?"
[Illustration: Instantly Dorothy had her arms around the little girl]
The woman took Dorothy's hands, and looked straight into her eyes. Then, without a word, she turned and opened a narrow door, that seemed to run under a stairway.
"Nellie!" she called softly.
Dorothy's heart felt as if a life was dependent upon those few moments.What if it should not be the right one?
A child—pale and wan, but with an inexpressibly sweet face—stood before them. She clung to the woman like a frightened little bird.
"They have good news for us, Nellie," said the woman. "This child isNellie Burlock, only child of Miles Burlock."
Instantly Dorothy had her arms around the little girl.
"To think we have really found you," she tried to say, but the words choked for very joy in her throat.
"Have you any papers?" asked Squire Travers of the woman.
"Yes," she answered, "and more than papers. I took that child from her dying mother's arms, and no threats nor promises of that villain Anderson have taken her from me. She is all I have now—my own darling has been spared the hardships we have to suffer."
"But we will not take her from you," said Squire Travers. "I know something of your affairs. Your husband is a printer out of work? His name is Mooney?"
"Yes," answered the woman sadly.
"Then how long will it take you to get ready to leave for Dalton?Yourself, Nellie and Mr. Mooney?"
"Leave?" gasped the woman, "we have until to-morrow morning to get out of this place—"
"Very well," replied the squire, "then you can come with us promptly, for Major Dale will not rest until we get back. Here, you two Dalton girls, don't smother that child. Save a kiss or two for those at home. They will want to know Nellie, too," and Dorothy looked from the little stranger's face to smile at the jolly squire.
When the next afternoon train from the west pulled into Dalton there alighted from it a party that attracted the attention of all who chanced to be about the depot. The little blue-eyed girl, Nellie Burlock, was very pale, but "wonderfully pretty" Tavia declared. Mrs. Mooney had also that frightened, tired look, but her husband seemed to have left all Rochester behind him. He was a first-class printer and was to work on Major Dale's paper, and was not that a bright prospect for an ambitious man?
Dorothy brought Nellie in alone to the major, He raised his head to kiss his daughter, then he kissed the fatherless one—a new light came into his eyes.
"Dorothy," he murmured. "My own Little Captain! You have led us all to victory! God bless you!"
Of course there were a hundred and one explanations to make, and many stories to tell besides. Nellie Burlock told of her life with Mrs. Mooney, and of how she and the woman had been threatened more than once by Andrew Anderson. To Mr. Mooney the affair was nothing but a mystery and he had not bothered his head much about it.
"The authorities will take care of Anderson," said the major, and told the truth, for the rascal was sent to prison for a term of years. Then Major Dale was regularly appointed as little Nellie's guardian, although the girl continued to reside with Mrs. Mooney. But she often came to see Dorothy, and to see Tavia, too.
"It has all turned out for the best," said Dorothy, one day, to Tavia.
"I wonder if anything so wonderful will ever happen to us again," remarked her friend.
"I doubt it," answered Dorothy; yet she was mistaken; something wonderful did happen, although of an entirely different nature. What it was we shall discover in another story about her, to be called, "Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School."
Schooldays at Dalton were rapidly drawing to a close now. Both Dorothy and Tavia applied themselves diligently, and, wonder of wonders, both passed!
"I can't believe it!" cried Tavia, and she began to dance around the room. "Isn't it sublime!" And then she caught Dorothy and made her dance too.
"It certainly is grand," answered Dorothy. "Oh, I am so happy!" and then she kissed her girl friend; and here let us say good-bye.
The End
THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES By MARGARET PENROSE
Author of "The Motor Girls Series" 12 mo. Illustrated. Price per volume, 80 cents, postpaid.
Dorothy Dale is the daughter of an old Civil War veteran who is running a weekly newspaper in a small Eastern town. Her sunny disposition, her fun-loving ways and her trials and triumphs make clean, interesting and fascinating reading. The Dorothy Dale Series is one of the most popular series of books for girls ever published.