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DOROTHY DALE'S QUEER HOLIDAYS
by
MARGARET PENROSE
Author of _Dorothy Dale: A Girl of To-Day_, _Dorothy Dale at Glenwood
School_, _Dorothy Dale's Great Secret_, _The Motor Girls_, etc.
Illustrated
New York
Cupples & Leon Company
1910
BOOKS BY MARGARET PENROSE
THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES
Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated
Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid
DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY
DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL
DOROTHY DALE'S GREAT SECRET
DOROTHY DALE AND HER CHUMS
DOROTHY DALE'S QUEER HOLIDAYS
(Other volumes in preparation)
THE MOTOR GIRLS SERIES
Cloth. 12mo. Illustrated
Price per volume, 60 cents, postpaid
THE MOTOR GIRLS
Or, A Mystery on the Road
THE MOTOR GIRLS ON A TOUR
Or, Keeping a Strange Promise
(Other volumes in preparation)
[Illustration: "SHE PROCEEDED TO BRING OUT FROM THE CLOSET THE
'GHOST'"--_Page 78_.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE SAME OLD TAVIA
II WHAT HAPPENED TO TAVIA
III A LIGHT IN THE WINDOW
IV THE TANGLED WEB SHE WOVE
V SHOPPING AND SHOPLIFTERS
VI WHO STOLE THE RING
VII THE HAUNTED WOODS
VIII A MAGAZINE GHOST
IX THE LITTLE WOMAN IN BLACK
X THE THORNS OF A HOLLY WREATH
XI GATHERING EVERGREENS
XII THE SCREAM FROM THE CASTLE
XIII COLLEGE BOYS AND GLENWOOD GIRLS
XIV TAVIA'S TROUBLES
XV DOROTHY AS A COMFORTER
XVI A DELICATE DISCOVERY
XVII SPRUCE BOUGHS AND LAUREL WREATHS
XVIII DOROTHY'S DISTRESS
XIX BETWEEN THE LINES
XX THE ENTERTAINMENT
XXI A STRANGE CONFESSION
XXII STORMBOUND AT TANGLEWOOD
XXIII THE GHOST THAT REALLY WALKED
XXIV THE RESCUE
XXV YOUTH AND OLD AGE
XXVI THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS
XXVII ALL IS WELL
CHAPTER I
THE SAME OLD TAVIA
"She very probably will miss her train, we will miss her at the station,
she will take a ride up with old Bill Mason, stay talking to him until
dinner is too cold to wait any longer; then--then--well, she may steal in
through a window and give you a midnight scare, just for a joke. That's my
recollection of Miss Tavia."
"Nat, you're too mean--Tavia is not always late, and she doesn't purposely
upset plans. Some things can't be prevented."
"Right, little coz, they can't. That's right. Tavia is one of the things
that can't be prevented from--"
"Quit! quit there! Easy with young ladies' names! You don't have to--to
put her up for the registry," and the last speaker swung around in mock
challenge, with his fist very close to his brother's aristocratic nose.
The three were Dorothy, Ned and Nat. Dorothy Dale was the "coz," a very
pretty and attractive young girl, while her two good-looking cousins, Ned
the elder and Nat the jollier, were sons of Mrs. Winthrop White, of North
Birchland.
Dorothy, with her father, Major Dale, and her two brothers, Joe and Roger,
the latter about two years younger than his brother, who was not yet in
his 'teens, made her home with Major Dale's sister, Mrs. White, where they
had lived for the past few years. It was now holiday time, and Dorothy was
awaiting the arrival of her chum, Tavia Travers, of Dalton, the former
home of the Dales.
We may say Dorothy was waiting, but the boys were--well, they may have had
to wait until Miss Tavia got there, but one of them, Nat, evidently did
not find "waiting" very pleasant employment. The fact was, Tavia was a
very good friend of Nat, and because of this his brother enjoyed teasing
Dorothy about her chum's shortcomings, especially when Nat was within
hearing.
"She said the 4:10, didn't she?" asked Nat for the fourth time in as many
minutes.
"And meant the 10:04," put in Ned, before Dorothy could reply.
"Neddie, I've warned you--" and Nat "squared off" in a threatening
manner.
"Boys! boys!" pleaded Dorothy, stepping in between them with her hands
raised to prevent possible trouble.
"Well, if you insist," said Nat, with a very gallant bow. "In deference to
a lady's presence I will not exterminate the--the bug."
"Bug!" echoed Ned, stepping closer.
"Yes, I said bug," repeated his brother. "They are such--such unpleasant
things to have to exterminate."
The two boys had now assumed attitudes generally supposed to be the very
best possible in preparation for a fistic encounter, and Dorothy had just
jumped upon a chair to be able to reach her taller cousin and prevent
anything serious happening, when a very gentle voice from the doorway
interrupted the little scene.
"Children! children!" exclaimed Mrs. White, "Boxing in the library!"
Instantly the trio turned toward this beautiful woman, for she was
beautiful indeed.
So stately, so tall, so queenly, and gowned in such a simple yet
attractive house robe. Youth may have its glories, but surely mature
womanhood has its compensations, for a queenly woman, in the ease and
luxury of home costume, is to the eye of love and to the eyes of
discriminating persons the most beautiful of all the pictures that
femininity is capable of inspiring.
Such was Mrs. White, and no wonder, indeed, that she had such good-looking
sons, and no wonder, either, that Dorothy Dale was proud to be told that
she resembled her Aunt Winnie.
Mrs. White's Christian name was Ruth, but the Dale children, having
another aunt of that name, had always called this one Aunt Winnie, a sort
of contraction from the name of Mrs. White's late husband--Winthrop.
This afternoon, when our story opens, was one of those tiresome "strips of
time," with nothing to mark it as different from any other occasion, but,
as Nat expressed it, "everything seemed to be hanging around, waiting for
Christmas, like New York, on Sunday, waiting for Monday."
The little party were vainly trying to make themselves happy in the
library, where every reasonable comfort and luxury surrounded them, for
The Cedars, as this country estate was called, was a very beautiful place,
its interior arrangements reflected not only ample means, but a display of
the finely original and cultured taste for which Mrs. White was famous.
Mrs. White was not afflicted with the "clutter" habit, and, in
consequence, her room rested instead of tiring those fortunate enough to
be welcomed within the portals of The Cedars.
So on this afternoon the wintry winds outside accentuated the comforts
within, and our friends, while restless and naturally impatient for the
arrival of Tavia, could not but appreciate their happy circumstances.
You may not all be acquainted with the books of this series, in which are
related many important events in the lives of Dorothy Dale, her family and
her friends, so something about the volumes that precede this will not be
out of place.
In the first book, "Dorothy Dale; a Girl of To-day," was told of Dorothy's
home life in the little village of Dalton. There Dorothy and her friend
Tavia grew like two flowers in the same garden--very different from each
other, but both necessary to the beauty of the spot.
The dangers of the country to children who venture too far out in the
fields and woods were shown in the startling experience Dorothy and Tavia
had when Miles Anderson, a cunning lunatic, followed them from place to
place, terrifying them with the idea of obtaining from Dorothy some
information which would enable him to get control of some money left to a
little orphan--Nellie Burlock.
Real country life had its joys, however, as Dorothy and Tavia found, for
they had many happy times in Dalton.
In the second volume, "Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School," there is given
the natural sequence to such an auspicious beginning as the days at
Dalton.
There were jolly girls at Glenwood, and some strange "doings" took place,
all of which went to show that a girl need not go to college to have
plenty of fun out of her schooldays, but that the boarding-school, or
seminary, is well qualified to afford all the "prank possibilities" of
real, grown-up school life.
In "Dorothy Dale's Great Secret," the third of the series, there is shown
what it means for a girl to be allowed too much liberty; to grow ambitious
before she has grown wise; to act imprudently, and then to have to suffer
the consequences.
It was Tavia who ran away to go on the stage, it was Dorothy who found her
and brought her back. And Dorothy kept her "secret," though what it cost
her only she knew.
The book immediately preceding this volume, entitled "Dorothy Dale and her
Chums," tells the story of Dorothy, Tavia, Urania, a gypsy girl, and
Miette, a little French lass. Dorothy had plenty of trouble trying to
civilize Urania, and quite as much trying to save Miette some strange
hardships. Dorothy was instrumental in bringing Miette into her own family
rights, and if she did not entirely succeed in "taming" Urania, she at
least improved her marvelously.
In all four of the preceding books the friends, whose acquaintance some of
you are forming for the first time, played their respective parts as best
they might, and now, as we find them on this wintry afternoon, they are
ready to take part in other scenes, no less interesting, I hope.
Dorothy, Ned and Nat, at the sound of Mrs. White's admonition as she
entered the library, turned to look at her in some surprise, for they were
taken unawares.
Ned and Nat were always going to "fight," but they never actually did get
at it. In fact, they were both blessed with a reasonable amount of good
nature, and this, coupled with correct training, was destined to make them
men of patience and common sense.
Of course, this time they were only joking, so the "boxing" their mother
had somewhat jestingly accused them of was all part of the game.
Dorothy smoothed the cushions of the divan as her aunt advanced into the
room. Ned and Nat both attempted to poke the same log in the open grate
with the same poker, and the blaze that most unexpectedly shot up at this
interference with a well-regulated fire, attending strictly to its own
affairs, caused both young men to leap quickly back out of reach of a
shower of sparks.
"Whew!" exclaimed Nat, falling over an ottoman that Dorothy had been
lately sitting on, and landing very ungracefully at his mother's feet.
"Mother, I adore you!" he suddenly exclaimed as he found himself in a
suppliant attitude. "Only," he went on ruefully, rubbing his shins, "I did
not intend to adore you quite so hard."
"A three-bagger," joked Ned, for indeed his brother's position over the
"bag" was not unlike that of a baseball player "hugging the base."
"But you were just saying, as I came in," spoke Mrs. White, "something
about Tavia's coming. She has not sent any word--any regrets, or anything
of that sort, has she?"
"Why, no," answered Dorothy, "We were just saying that she might be here
before we know it--"
"Who said that?" demanded Nat, promptly scrambling to his feet.
"_Before_ we know it," repeated Ned, with special emphasis on the
"before."
"However do you bear with them, Doro dear?" asked Mrs. White. "They seem
to grow more unmanageable every day."
Then Dorothy, making herself heard above the argument, said:
"Boys, if we are going to meet Tavia--"
"_If_ we are going to meet her!" exclaimed Nat, interrupting his pretty
cousin, and putting a great deal of emphasis on the first word. "There's
no 'if' in this deal. We are going," and he sprang up and continued
springing until he reached his own room, where he proceeded to "slick up
some," as he expressed it, while Ned, and Dorothy, too, prepared for the
run to the depot in the Fire Bird, as speedy an automobile as could be
found in all the country around North Birchland.
"Take plenty of robes," cautioned Mrs. White as the machine puffed and
throbbed up to the front door. "It's getting colder, I think, and may snow
at any moment."
"No such luck," grumbled Nat. "I never saw such fine, cold weather, and
not a flake of snow. What's that about a 'green Christmas, and a fat
graveyard'? Isn't there some proverb to that effect?"
"Oh, I surely think it will snow before Christmas," said Dorothy. "And we
have plenty of robes, auntie, if the storm should come up suddenly."
"Come down, you mean," teased Ned, who seemed to be in just the proper
mood for that sort of thing.
Dorothy laughed in retort. She enjoyed her cousins' good nature, and was
never offended at their way of making fun at her expense.
Presently all was in readiness, and the Fire Bird swung out on the
cedar-lined road and into the broad highway that led to the railroad
station.
"I would just like to bet," remarked the persistent Ned as the station
came into view at the end of the long road, "I would just like to bet
almost anything that she will not come."
"Take you up!" answered Nat quickly. "I know she'll come."
"Oh, you feel her presence near," joked Ned. "Well, if she comes on time
this trip there may be some hope for the poor wretch who may expect her to
make good when he has fixed it up with the parson, the organist and--"
"Silly!" cried Dorothy gaily. "A man never pays the organist at--at an
affair of that kind," and she blushed prettily.
"No?" questioned Ned in surprise. "Glad to hear it. Here, Nat, take this
wheel while I make a note of it. A little thing like that is worth
remembering," and he pretended to take out a notebook and jot it down.
When the train glided into the station, with a shrill screeching protest
from the sparking wheels and brakes, and when quite a number of persons
had alighted and gone their several ways, Dorothy and Nat, who had peered
hopefully and anxiously at each passenger, looked rather ruefully at each
other. Tavia had not come.
"Well?" asked Nat.
"Let's wait a little longer," suggested Dorothy.
Finally the train started up again, the private carriages and hired hacks
had been driven off with scores of passengers and their baggage. Then, and
not until she had looked up and down the deserted platforms, did Dorothy
admit to Nat:
"She hasn't come!"
"Looks like it," replied the lad, plainly very much disappointed.
Ned, who could see what had happened, clapped his gloved hands in unholy
glee.
"Didn't I tell you she'd duck?" he demanded triumphantly. "Didn't I tell
you so?"
"Aw shut up!" growled Nat in pardonable anger.
"Ha! ha!" laughed his brother.
"Well, you're enough to hoodoo the whole thing," retorted Nat.
But Ned simply had to laugh--he couldn't help it, and when Dorothy and Nat
took their places again in the machine Ned was chuckling and gasping in a
manner that threatened to do serious damage to his entire vocal apparatus.
"It would have been a pity to have disappointed you in your fun," remarked
Nat sarcastically after a particularly gleeful yelp from Ned. "What you
would have missed had she come!"
"But I can't understand it," said Dorothy. "There is no other train until
eight o'clock to-night."
"And that's a local that stops at every white-washed fence," added Nat.
"Oh, well, then she'll have plenty of time to think of the fine dinner she
has missed," went on his brother. "Of all mean traits, I count that of
being late the very meanest a nice girl can have."
"Oh, so then she is nice?" inquired Dorothy with a smile.
"Well, she can be--sometimes. But she was not to-day--eh, Nat?"
"For the land sake, say your prayers, or do--do something!" exclaimed his
irritated brother.
"I might," retorted Ned, "but, being good is such a lonesome job, as some
poet has remarked. Now, having fun is--"
"Look out there!" cautioned Nat suddenly. "You nearly ran over Mrs.
Brocade's pet pup."
A tiny dog, of the much-admired, white-silk variety, was barking
vigorously at the Fire Bird on account of the danger to which it had been
subjected by the fat tires. And the dog's mistress, Mrs. Broadbent,
nicknamed "Brocade" on account of her weakness for old-time silks and
satins, was saying things about the auto party in much the same sort of
aggrieved tones that the favorite dog was using.
"Wait until she meets you at the post-office," Nat reminded Ned. "Maybe
she won't rustle her silks and satins at you."
But Ned only laughed, and kept on laughing as his mother appeared in the
vestibule with a puzzled look at the empty seat in the tonneau of the Fire
Bird.
Dorothy was the first to reach the porch.
"She didn't come," was her wholly unnecessary remark as Mrs. White opened
the outer door.
"Isn't that strange!" replied the aunt. "Do you suppose anything could
have happened?"
"I don't know. I hope not. She promised so definitely that I can't
understand it," went on Dorothy.
Nat remained in the car as Ned drove it to the garage.
"I'm so sorry, after all the extra trouble to get up a good dinner,"
apologized Dorothy as she laid aside her wraps.
"Oh, well, we can all enjoy that," replied Mrs. White, "although, of
course, we had counted on Tavia's presence. She is so jolly that the boys
will be much disappointed."
"I'm just ashamed of her," went on Dorothy in a burst of indignation. "She
should have learned by this time to keep her word, or else send some
message."
"Yes, I am afraid Tavia does not care for the conventionalities of polite
society," remarked Mrs. White. "In fact, I almost suspect she enjoys
disregarding them. But never mind! we must not condemn her unheard."