TAVIA'S DANGER
"Whatever can that girl mean?" exclaimed Dorothy, when Alice and Viola
had passed down the walk.
"Mean! The meanest thing I ever met! Did you see her refuse my hand?"
asked Tavia. "Well, it's a good thing to be able to size up a girl
like that at the first meeting; it saves complications. But who cares
for green violets? What I want to know is, are you really going away,
Doro?" and the look on Tavia's face could not be mistaken. She would
be dreadfully grieved if compelled to part with Dorothy's companionship.
"Aunt Winnie thinks I should go, and father has decided it is best. Of
course I shall hate to leave you, Tavia," and Dorothy wound her arm
affectionately around her friend. "In fact I shall never, never, find
any girl to take your place in my heart," and something very like tears
came into Dorothy's voice.
"I knew it! I just knew you would go away when you got that hateful
Indian money. And what in the world will I ever do in Dalton? Now I
have learned how much pleasure I could have, visiting your friends and
riding in automobiles, and then, just when I get to realizing what a
good time we could have, you up and leave me! I might have know better
than to go out of my own limits!" and here Tavia actually burst into
tears, a most remarkable thing for her to do.
"I am so sorry," said Dorothy with a sigh, putting her arm around the
weeping girl.
"There! What a goose I am! Of course I would not have done
differently if I could do it all over again. The good times we have
had are the most precious spots in all my life. And, Doro dear, you
did not drag me out of my shell--I was always running after you for
that matter, so you need not think the loneliness will be any fault of
yours--except that you are such a dreadfully dear girl that no one
could help loving you. You really should try to curb that fault."
Tavia had dried her tears. She was that sort of girl who is both too
proud and too brave to show "the white feather" as she often expressed
the failing of giving away to emotion that might distress others.
"I do wish you could go along," said Dorothy.
"Well, I don't believe I would really like to go, Doro," Tavia
surprised her by saying. "I should probably get into all kinds of
scrapes with that Green Violet, and the scrapes would likely make it
unpleasant for you. Besides I have been thinking I ought to go to
work. I am old enough to do something--fifteen next month you
know--and I would just like to get right out into the world--go with
the tide."
"Tavia!" exclaimed Dorothy in alarm, for these rash sentiments had of
late been strangely common with Tavia. "You do not know what you are
talking about. Go with the tide--"
"Yes, I just mean take my chances with other girls. I had a letter
from a girl in Rochester the other day. She had got work and she is no
older than I am."
"At what?" asked Dorothy.
"On the stage. She is going to take part in some chorus work--"
"Tavia, dear!" cried Dorothy. "You must not get letters from such
girls. On the stage! Why, that is the most dangerous work any girl
could possibly get into."
"Now, Doro, I have not got the place, worse luck. And you must not
take on so just because I happened to mention the matter. But you must
realize there is a vast difference between poor girls like me, and
those of your station in life!"
What had come over Tavia lately? Why did she so dwell upon the
difference between Dorothy's means and her own? Was it a natural pride
or a peculiar unrest--that unrest, perhaps, that so often leads others,
who are older, stronger and wiser than Tavia Travers, into paths not
the most elevating? And then they may urge the excuse that the world
had been hard on them; that they could not find their place in life,
when in reality they scorn to take the place offered them, and instead
of trying for a better or higher mark they deliberately refuse the
prospects held out, and turn backward--then they blame the world!
This condition is called "Social Unrest," and Tavia Travers, though
young and inexperienced, was having a taste of its bitter moral poison.
"Promise me you will never write another letter to that girl," begged
Dorothy, solemnly. "I know your father would not permit it Tavia, and
I know such influence is dangerous."
"Why the idea! You should have read her letter, Doro. She says the
killingest things--But mercy, I must go. I have to go to the Green
before tea," and, with a reassuring kiss, Tavia darted off.
Dorothy looked after her friend as she skipped down the path, and a
sense of dread, of strange misgivings, took possession of her. What if
Tavia should actually run away as she had often threatened in jest!
Then Dorothy remembered how well Tavia danced, how she had practiced
the "stage fall" after seeing the play in Rochester, and how little
Johnnie Travers had barely escaped the falling ceiling that came down
with Tavia's attempt at tragedy. Then, too, Dorothy thought of the day
Tavia had painted her cheeks with mullin leaves and how Dorothy then
remarked in alarm: "Tavia, you look like an actress!"
How strangely bright Tavia's eyes seemed that day! How wonderfully
pretty her short bronze locks fell against her unnaturally red cheeks!
All this now flashed through Dorothy's dazed brain.
How could she leave Tavia? And yet she would so soon have to go
away--to that far-off school--
And that strange girl who had come with Alice. What could she have
meant by those horrid insinuations about Dorothy so "suddenly making up
her mind" to go to boarding school; and that it would be "too bad to
leave Tavia alone in Dalton just then!" as if everyone did not know by
this time just what had happened on the auto ride, and that Ned had
actually been offered the reward for the capture of Anderson. Not only
this but her two cousins, Ned and Nat, had received public praise for
brave conduct, and the two girls, whose names were not mentioned (Major
Dale had asked the reporter to omit them if possible from the report),
were also spoken of as having taken part in the capture, inasmuch as
they allowed Anderson to remain quietly in the car until the young
owners of the machine arrived upon the scene.
Dorothy sat there thinking it all over. It was almost dusk and on the
little vine-clad porch the shadows of the honey-suckle shifted idly
from Dorothy's chair to the block of sunshine that was trying so
bravely to keep the lonely girl company--every other ray of sunlight
had vanished, but that gleam seemed to stay with Dorothy. She did not
fail to observe this, as she always noticed every kindness shown her,
and she considered the "ray of light" as being very significant in the
present rather gloomy situation.
"But I must not mope," Dorothy told herself presently. "I simply must
talk the whole thing over with Aunt Winnie."
How much better for Tavia it would have been had she too determined to
"talk the whole thing over" with someone of experience?
Dorothy found her aunt busy writing the boarding school letters, and
when that task had been finished Mrs. White was entirely at the girl's
service. Dorothy tried to unfold to her the situation, without putting
unnecessary blame on Tavia, who was such a jolly girl and so absolutely
free from dread--never had been known to be afraid of anything, Dorothy
declared, and of course there was therefore, all the more reason to be
worried about her risks. To Tavia, a risk was synonymous with sport.
"I had no idea she would be interested in that sort of thing," said
Mrs. White, referring to the matter of going on the stage, "and,
perhaps, Dorothy--"
"But I am not at all sure that she is interested in it, auntie,"
Dorothy interrupted. "I am only afraid she may get more letters from
that girl-- And besides, I will be so lonely without her, and I know
she will miss me."
"Well, there, little girl," and the aunt kissed Dorothy's cheek, "you
take things too seriously. We will see what can be done. I, too, like
Tavia, She is an impulsive girl, but as good as gold, and I will always
be interested in her welfare."
"Thank you, auntie dear. You are so kind and so generous. It would
seem enough to be bothered with me, but to give you further trouble
with my friends--"
"Nonsense, my dear, it is no trouble whatever. I heartily enjoy having
your confidences, and you may rest assured very little harm will come
to the girl who chooses a wise woman for her adviser. And I do hope,
Dorothy, I am wise in girls' ways if not in points of law, as your dear
father always contends."
"And auntie," went on Dorothy, rather timidly, "I want to tell you
something else, Alice MacAllister brought a girl to visit me this
afternoon, and she said such strange things about yesterday's
accidents. She was positively disagreeable."
"You are too sensitive, child. Of course people will say strange
things every time they get a chance--some people. But you must not
bother your pretty head about such gossip. When you do what is right,
good people will always think well of you and, after all, their opinion
is all that we really care for, isn't it?"
"But why should she be so rude? She is a perfect stranger to me?"
"Some girls think it smart to be rude, Dorothy. What did she say that
troubled you so?"
"That's precisely it, auntie, no one could repeat her remarks. They
were merely insinuations and depended upon the entire conversation for
their meaning."
"Insinuations? Perhaps that you had been arrested for stealing
melons?" and the aunt laughed at the idea. "Well, my dear, I believe
it will be well for you to be away from all this country gossip."
"But Viola Green goes to Glenwood School!" declared Dorothy.
"No! Really? Who is she?"
"A friend of Alice MacAllister, from Dunham. I was so surprised when
she said she went to Glenwood."
"But, my dear, what will that matter? There are many girls at
Glenwood. All you will have to do is to choose wisely in selecting
your friends from among them."
"If Tavia were only with me I would not need other friends," demurred
Dorothy.
"Does she want to go?" asked Mrs. White suddenly.
"I believe she does, but she denies it. I think she does that because
she does not want me to bother about her. She is such a generous girl,
auntie, and dislikes any one fussing over her."
"There's a step on the porch," and both listened. "Yes," continued
Mrs. White, "that's Tavia looking for you. Run down to her and I will
speak with both of you before she leaves."