Thedisappointment was keen—Dorothy had felt Urania must be near, but instead of finding a lonely girl, she and the Major encountered a group of school girls on a nutting party, all joyous and seemingly filled with the very enthusiasm of the autumn day itself.
No need to make inquiries of them—Urania would never allow herself to be seen by this party.
“I suppose we will have to go home,” said Dorothy sadly, as Major Dale showed plainly signs of fatigue.
“If you are satisfied we have looked thoroughly,” answered the Major. “But I am not willing to give up the search until you say so.”
“I don’t know where else we can look,” replied Dorothy, with a catch in her voice.
“But there may be spots nearer home,” suggested Major Dale. “You know we made sure of the faraway places, but how about those in our own neighborhood?”
“Oh, yes. We never looked in the swamp!”
“And there is a cave there?”
“Indeed there is. Oh, do let us hurry before it gets too dark. How queer I should never think of that cave!”
“Not so very queer, either,” replied the father, “considering the good reason you had to forget it. However, we will make just one more look.”
It seemed to Dorothy that the shadows of night came down immediately—she wanted the light so much!
Over small hills and along winding paths they went, Major Dale keeping up with small effort to the light step of his daughter beside him.
“I would be frightened to death if you were not along,” Dorothy took breath to say. “I think this is the most lonely part of all our woodlands.”
“Is that the swamp?” asked the Major, looking toward a deep ravine that indicated a drop in the grade of the forest land.
“Yes,” replied Dorothy, “and the cave is at the other end.”
“Why, there are the ruins of the old Hastings homestead. Queer I never explored these parts, as long as I have been around here. We used to tramp through the Hasting’s farm years ago, but of late I had entirely forgotten the place.”
“The cave is the old ice house, I believe,” said Dorothy. “See, there it is, against that hill.”
“And I just thought I saw something dart through those bushes. See that brush move?”
“Oh, do you suppose it might be tramps?” asked Dorothy, trembling.
“Not likely. Tramps, as a rule, do not move with that speed. It might be a young deer, or—a young girl!”
They were but a few feet away from the cave now, and Dorothy drew back while her father advanced.
“Anybody in there?” he asked gently, fearing that a male voice might alarm the gypsy girl, were she in the old ice house.
There was no answer.
“I could almost say that darting figure went in there,” said Major Dale. “Suppose you call, daughter.”
“Urania!” called Dorothy, “Urania, it is only Dorothy and Major Dale. You need not be afraid!”
The Major was close to the door of the cave. It made Dorothy think of the dreadful hour she had hidden there, and how she then feared to answer the call of her friends.
“I heard something. I’ll just take a look—”
Major Dale put his head under the brick arch at the door. “Well, girl—” he exclaimed. “Come out, we are friends.” And the next instant Dorothy, too, was in the cave, standing beside the speechless gypsy girl!
“Oh, come! Hurry, do!” pleaded Dorothy, but the girl neither spoke nor moved.
“Are you ill?” asked the Major, looking around the dark place, hoping to find some means of making a light.
“Urania!” Dorothy kept pleading, holding the hand of the girl who was now crouching on the damp ground. “Do try to come outside. No one will harm you. We came to tell you that it was all a mistake, and that you are free to come and go as you please. You will even be given some money. The men know they have wronged you—” She was talking hurriedly without regard to word or sentence. She was trying to make Urania understand—to rouse her to some consciousness.
“Have you any sort of light?” asked the Major, for he had searched in vain, and it was now really dark.
Urania crawled over to a huge stone, then she put her hand up to the brick wall that lined theplace. For a few moments she fumbled about, but seemed too weak to make further effort.
“I can’t,” she said at last. “There is—a candle there—behind the lose brick!”
It took but a second for Major Dale to locate the spot, and but a moment longer to have the candle lighted.
Then they could see Urania! And they could see that place!
“Oh, you poor, dear child!” sobbed Dorothy. “Why did you not let me know?”
The dark eyes flashed and Urania showed she was not yet too weak to smile.
“And it is all safe?” she asked, wearily.
“All entirely safe,” answered Major Dale. “But you are not safe here. It is a wonder you have lived—hurry! We must get across the swamp quickly to reach the road before it is dangerously dark.”
“Can you walk?” asked Dorothy, anxiously.
“Oh, yes—I can now,” replied Urania, “but I was so scared at first, and I have been—out looking for some berries. I can’t believe I will not have to run—any more.”
“And I can’t believe that I have really found you,” said Dorothy. “We have been looking all day long.”
“Come, come,” urged the Major, “you young ladies may talk after we get home.”
They made their way to the door, and the Major extinguished the candle.
“Oh, wait!” exclaimed Urania, “I must go back. I forgot something.”
“Can you see?” asked the Major.
“I don’t believe I can,” replied Urania. “Would you mind holding the light?”
The Major re-lighted the candle and again entered the cave. Urania walked over to the far corner and took some bricks out of the wall. Major Dale held the candle close to her shoulder.
“It was here to-day,” she said. “Oh, yes, I have it. Just move that brick—”
Dorothy pressed closely to Urania, and she drew away the brick that now threatened to fall in on the hand of the gypsy girl.
“There!” said Urania, “Do you know what this is?”
“Oh!” screamed Dorothy, “Aunt Winnie’s East Indian cup!”
“Well—I give—up!” was all Major Dale seemed able to say, as he took from the hand of the gypsy girl the treasured relic.
“And you hid it there?” asked Dorothy, takingthe cup from her father and holding it up to the candle light.
“No, indeed,” answered the girl. “I found it there. The men had the hole in the wall for their stuff, I suppose, and they saved the cup to drink out of.”
“Oh, how delighted Aunt Winnie will be,” exclaimed Dorothy. “Do let us hurry. She has been constantly worrying over the loss of this—it was to be given to Ned when he came of age.”
“That cup was the gift of an East Indian nobleman,” remarked Major Dale. “Urania, you have repaid us now for all our trouble.”
An hour later Urania had been bathed, dressed and fed by her friends at the Cedars. Mrs. White personally helped the maid to look after the girl’s wants, while Dorothy and Miette brought from their own belongings such articles as seemed fitting to make the poor, miserable, haunted gypsy girl comfortable at last.
Mrs. White had already telephoned to the boys at Cadet Hall, telling them the cup had been found. Major Dale took delight in imparting the same news to the local authorities.
“And now,” said Mrs. White, “since we have found Urania, and she has found the cup, I supposeI shall have to give her that brand new one-hundred-dollar bill I have been saving as the cup reward.”
Dorothy and Miette tried to make Urania understand—she seemed so queer, stunned, or shocked.
“Won’t that be wonderful?” said Miette, smiling.
“And won’t we have great times?” went on Dorothy, slightly lowering the head of the steamer chair in which Urania was pillowed.
Urania looked around her, in a strange, startled way. Then she took Dorothy’s hand. “I think I’ll like to go to school now,” she stammered.
“Of course you will,” spoke Mrs. White. “You want to be just like the other girls, smart, clean and—pretty. Then you, too, may be one of Dorothy’s chums!”
“Yes! yes! always!” murmured Urania. “She is so good!”
Here let me add a few more words, and then bring my tale to a close.
Some days later Dorothy and Miette returned to Glenwood and were royally received by both teachers and scholars. Miette gave her party, and never had the school seen a better time.
On the same day that the girls returned to theirstudies word came in that the last of the thieving gypsies had been captured and put in jail. When Urania heard this she breathed a sigh of satisfaction.
“I want never to see them again—never!” she told Mrs. White.
At the school, Dorothy was also glad the men had been captured. She ran to tell Tavia.
“Well, that ends all your troubles, Dorothy,” said Tavia. “Now you can study—and win that prize you are after!”
“I trust my troubles are over,” answered Dorothy. But she could not look into the future. Many things were still to happen, and what some of them were I shall relate in another book, to be called, “Dorothy Dale’s Queer Holidays.” Queer indeed were the doings of those days—and wonderful as well.
“It is such a grand thing to have you back at Glenwood!” cried Rose-Mary, one day, as she caught Dorothy in her arms and hugged her. “When you were away—it was just as if something was missing!”
“We moped and moped,” said Edna. “Just like hens in wet weather.”
“We can’t do without our Dorothy!” finished Tavia. “We want her with us—always!”
And then the girls joined hands in a circle and began to caper and dance; and thus let us leave them.