DOROTHY’S COURAGE
Mrs. Pangborn listened first to Dorothy, and then to Miette. That the
little French girl had been abandoned by her relatives, as Miette
claimed, was hard to believe, but it was also a fact that Mrs. Pangborn
had received no reply to a letter she had written to the address of
Miette’s guardian. In her story all the wrongs that Miette had been
trying in the past so assiduously to hide were now poured out in a
frenzy of indignation. She declared her aunt had brought her out to
Glenwood “to get rid of her,” and that all her mother’s money had
been stolen by this relative. She repeated the wrong she was made to
endure while acting as “cash girl” in a New York department store, and
declared that “only for Marie, she would have died.”
“And now it is Dorothy who helps me,” finished the girl, “and if
she had not so insisted on being my friend I should have run right
away--why should I stay here now? Where shall I go after the term
is finished? I must at once let my own aunt in France know how these
people in America have treated me!”
“But, my dear,” counseled Mrs. Pangborn, “we must wait. You are not
at all sure that your aunt has gone away. And if she has, you need
not worry--we can take care of you nicely until some of your other
relatives come.”
“But my money!” wailed Miette, “they have it all!”
“Perhaps it is all safely put away for you,” replied Mrs. Pangborn.
“You must not be too quick to judge.”
“But they made me work, and I knew it was my money that bought all the
new things.”
“Well, my dear, you must try now to be calm, and we will attend to all
your troubles at once. I am sorry you did not trust me before--”
“But I dared not tell,” insisted Miette. “My aunt particularly said I
should go to some awful place if I told. And that is why I should not
have written the note to Marie. But I do so love Marie.”
When Miette left the office Dorothy stayed to speak alone with Mrs.
Pangborn.
“I would like,” said Dorothy, “to take a little trip down to North
Birchland. I need to see my aunt about--”
“The funny little boy,” interrupted the president of Glenwood. “Well,
I do think he is a queer chap, and only for your recommendation I
should be quite afraid to have him around Glenwood,” said Mrs. Pangborn
good-naturedly.
“Then you haven’t seen--”
“Oh, indeed, I have, but I must still call him a queer little chap,”
went on the president. “I think the disguise rather clever, but of
course it was dangerous.”
“And may I go to North Birchland?” asked Dorothy.
“If you think it necessary, of course,” replied Mrs. Pangborn, “but you
cannot afford to leave your school work unless it is necessary,” she
finished.
“I will make it up,” agreed Dorothy. “I feel I must talk to Aunt
Winnie. She will know exactly what is best to do.”
“I am sure I can depend upon you to do your best,” replied the
president.
“I suppose,” ventured Dorothy, “it would not be possible to take Miette
along? She has been almost ill, you know, and if she could do better
work after the change--”
“Oh, you dear little schemer!” said Mrs. Pangborn, smiling. “Here, you
have arranged it all. You are to carry Miette off to North Birchland,
and then you are to fix it up for the queer boy. Why, my dear, I do
not see why you take other people’s troubles so seriously,” and Mrs.
Pangborn gave her a reassuring glance. “But I must not forget,” she
hurried to add, “that it was I who imposed Miette’s worries upon you.”
“I am sure it was no trouble at all,” declared Dorothy, “and I love to
do what I can--”
“Exactly. It is a case of willing hands. Well, my dear, if you really
must go to North Birchland, I can’t see but the trip would serve
to--straighten out Miette. In fact, you will be near New York, and it
might be just possible that Mrs. White would be kind enough to make
some inquiries for me. It is really quite impossible for me to go to
New York at present.”
“I am sure she would be glad to,” answered Dorothy. “We always go to
New York when I am home.”
So the interview ended, and Dorothy found herself plunged deeper than
ever into the mysteries of others’ affairs.
“But no one else can just do it,” she argued to herself, “and surely I
can spare the time--I’ll work at night, if necessary, to make it up.”
The prospect of a trip to the Cedars was pleasant in itself to Dorothy,
and then to have Miette with her, to show her to Aunt Winnie, besides
being assured that no one could so wisely act in the case of lost
relatives as could Aunt Winnie--Dorothy could scarcely sleep that night
thinking of it all.
She simply told Tavia she was going to the Cedars “on business.”
“And why can’t I go?” demanded Tavia, always ready for a trip,
especially with her chum.
“Why, you have already got work to make up,” explained Dorothy, “and
how could you expect to leave now?”
“I’ve a mind to, anyway,” declared Tavia. “We are all going to strike
if that ‘Bylow--baby-bunting’ does not come to terms. She’s perfectly
hateful, and not a girl can get along with her.”
“I’ve managed to keep out of trouble,” remarked Dorothy abstractedly.
“Oh, you!” exclaimed Tavia, “you don’t go in for that kind of trouble
lately. But I notice you have plenty of other domestic brands.”
“Yes,” sighed Dorothy, “I have some--just now.”
“Well, I may as well sleep it off,” answered Tavia. “But I surely would
like a trip just now--to cut that ‘condition’ I have to make up. Seems
to me school days get harder every twenty-four hours,” and she turned
away, without any apparent worry, in spite of her declaration of “too
much to do.”
But Dorothy did not turn over to rest. Instead, she lay wide awake, the
“Hunter’s Moon” shining full in her window, and making queer pictures
on the light-tinted walls.
To take Miette--and to take Urania (for my readers must have guessed
that the “queer boy” was none other than the gypsy girl), now seemed
to Dorothy something more than a mere matter of going from Glenwood to
North Birchland. Miette would be no trouble, of course--but Urania?
A reward had been offered for the capture of the gypsy girl. And
country officers are “keen” where a cash reward is in question.
Certainly Urania would have to be disguised. She could not wear the old
torn boy’s clothes in which she had come to Glenwood--Dorothy could
not travel with her in that garb. She was too small to be dressed
as a woman--anyone could see that disguise, thought Dorothy. But one
thing seemed possible to do to work out the plan of getting into North
Birchland without detection. Urania must impersonate Tavia, she must
dress in Tavia’s clothes, and look as much as she could be made to look
like Tavia Travers.
That much settled, Dorothy bade the “Hunter’s Moon” good-night, and
passed from the realm of waking dreams into the depths of slumber
visions.
It was a very early morning call that Dorothy made at the room across
the hall with her news for Miette.
“You are to come to the Cedars with me,” Dorothy told the surprised
little French girl, “and perhaps Aunt Winnie will take us over to New
York.”
“Oh, how splendid!” exclaimed Miette, clapping her hands. “I may then
see Marie?”
“Well, I cannot tell, of course,” replied Dorothy, “but I always go to
New York when I am at the Cedars, and I am sure Aunt Winnie will want
to go,” she added, thinking of Mrs. Pangborn’s message to Mrs. White.
“Perhaps we will all go together.”
“It will be splendid,” declared Miette. “I can hardly do anything until
I am sure--about my aunt.”
“That is the reason Mrs. Pangborn has been so good and lets you have
the holiday,” said Dorothy. “I promised we would both work doubly hard
when we came back.”
“Indeed I will!” assented Miette. “But what time must we start?” she
asked, all eager for the journey.
“On the ten o’clock train. You see, I have to bring back with me the
other girl--she whom we found in the woods.”
“And she is a girl? I thought so. I saw her yesterday in girl’s
clothes--”
“We must not talk about that now,” interrupted Dorothy. “I have to do
a great deal for her before we start. And I am trembling lest Mrs.
Pangborn might change her mind--think it all too risky.”
At this Dorothy was gone, and Miette began to make ready for the trip.
And Dorothy was right--Mrs. Pangborn was apt to change her mind: in
fact, a call for Dorothy to come to the office directly after breakfast
confirmed her suspicion.
“I am almost afraid, Dorothy,” said the president of Glenwood, in the
after-breakfast interview, “that I was rather too hasty in agreeing
with you that you should take the trip to the Cedars. I would not mind
you going alone, or even taking Miette. But this gypsy girl--I don’t
quite like all that.”
“But, Mrs. Pangborn,” pleaded Dorothy, “I am perfectly safe. And if I
do not take her back I am afraid some officer may find her--”
“But if she is such an unruly girl--”
“Indeed, she is not,” declared Dorothy. “Urania has never done anything
really wrong. I have known her for a long time, and she has done
many good turns for us. I really feel that I can do this, and not be
detected, whereas anyone else might--spoil it all.”
“Well, my dear, I like your courage. And I also believe there are quite
as important things as book lessons in life for young girls to learn,
and helping their fellow creatures is certainly one of these. And,
besides, I would not like to disappoint you. So if you will promise to
follow my advice carefully, in regard to telegraphing either to your
aunt or to me at once, should you get into any difficulty, I will give
my permission.”
Dorothy willingly agreed to these conditions, and then Mrs. Pangborn
gave her a note for Mrs. White.
“This will explain all I can tell her about Miette’s affair,” said Mrs.
Pangborn, “and if she can possibly attend to it personally for me, I
shall be greatly obligated. I will be so glad to know about the child’s
relatives.”
Dorothy took the note, and thanking Mrs. Pangborn for the privileges
she had given her, hurried off to “fix up Urania.”