THE THORNS OF A HOLLY WREATH
"Loafing is not resting; labor is the grindstone of life's dull edges,"
quoted Dorothy Dale on the evening of her return from the city.
"Copyrighted?" asked Tavia in a grave tone of voice.
"No; but all rights are reserved," answered her chum. "It took me all the
way from the city to North Birchland station to work that out. What do you
think of it?"
"Great for the grindstone, but hard on life," commented Tavia. "No
sharpening for mine. I make it 'Labor is the sharp knife that cuts all the
good things out of life.'"
"But your motto will not stand the test," declared Dorothy. "I happen to
know--I found out to-day. Going in on the train I 'loafed' all the way,
and the process tired me. Coming out I was tired from shopping, and that
tire rested me."
"Well, if you're all right, I'm glad I'm crazy," declared Tavia
facetiously. "There's just one thing I want to get to heaven for--one
great, long, delicious loaf! If I cannot rest without labor, then please
pass along the 'loaf.'"
"But, seriously, Tavia, I particularly want to speak to you," began
Dorothy, putting away numerous small packages and then dropping into her
favorite seat--the window-bench in her own room.
"Go ahead and speak, then," answered Tavia. "I hope what you have to say
has nothing to do with work."
"Now, dearie, listen," commanded Dorothy. "Who do you think was on the
train with me this morning?"
"The conductor?"
"Likely," replied Dorothy; "but he did not occupy the entire ten coaches,
although he managed to circulate through them rather successfully. But I
did not refer to him. I sat in the same seat with--our little woman in
black!"
"_Our_ little woman in black! Please do not include me in that class. Did
she want your purse?"
"Now, really, Tavia, I am almost convinced that we have greatly wronged
that woman--she was just as nice as she could be--"
"Oh, of course, she was--nice. That's what the laws are for, keeping
people nice. They don't have much trouble to make that clear to you,
Doro, dear."
"Well, of course, you are entitled to your own opinion, but I do wish you
would listen. She sent you a message."
"Sent me a message! It was to you she owed the apology. She has her cases
mixed."
"Tavia, she gave me this card to hand you with the request that you call
upon her on Thursday morning."
Tavia glanced at the card. Then she read the inscription aloud.
"Of all the--nerve!" she exclaimed, seemingly at a total loss to grasp any
other word. "To ask me to call on a handwriting expert! Does she think I
want her services?"
"I was, and am still, just as puzzled as you are, Tavia; but she seemed so
serious. Said you were young, and that perhaps she could help you--"
Tavia seemed to catch her breath. The next moment she had recovered
herself. "I might call--just for fun. Then, again--I might not," she said
indifferently.
"So many queer things contrived to happen," continued Dorothy, noting the
slight agitation her chum betrayed. "The clerk at the jewelry
counter--Miss Allen, the pleasant girl--told me the woman detective, Miss
Dearing, had been discharged."
"Nothing queer about that," exclaimed Tavia. "The wonder is they ever
employed such a person in that capacity. Why, I fancy she would arrest a
baby to fix her case. Too ambitious, I guess."
"Perhaps," acquiesced Dorothy. "But Miss Allen said she asked for my
address. Now, what could she want that for?"
"To apologize, likely. Surely she owes you some sort of apology."
"She was merely mistaken," corrected Dorothy, "and did what she considered
her duty."
"The sweetness of forgiving," soliloquized Tavia.
"Simply a matter of justice," added Dorothy. "But it does seem strange to
me. However, we will have to await developments. Meantime, we must get
ready for Christmas."
"I sent my things off to-day," said Tavia in a relieved tone.
"So early?"
"It is a little early, but they say express packages are always sure to be
delayed at this season, and I would simply not live through it if Johnnie
did not have his steam engine for Christmas morning. It was awfully sweet
of you, Doro, to lend me that money."
"Why shouldn't I when you had to spend yours for needed things? I only
wish it had been twice as much. You would have been welcome to it, Tavia.
I don't forget chewing-gum days in dear old Dalton."
Tavia's brow was clouded. What an opportunity for her confession! Why did
she so dread to tell Dorothy what her own five dollars had gone for? Nat
said it would positively leak out some day. Yet he promised not to tell.
"Do you want me to go with you to see Miss Brooks?" asked Dorothy
suddenly.
"Why," stammered Tavia, "I don't know that I will go at all. Such a
wild-goose chase! I am really not so curious as some might think me. I can
overcome a desire for further knowledge of that peaked little thing. In
fact, she makes me--creepy."
"Just as you like, of course," replied Dorothy, her manner somewhat
strained. "I only thought you might not like to go alone."
But Tavia had made up her mind to precisely that thing.
"I must sew the ribbons on Aunt Winnie's bag," went on Dorothy pleasantly
after a pause. "Don't you think it pretty?" and she displayed a small bag
made of white oiled silk and fitted up with all the little pockets needed
in traveling. One for the wet sponge, another for the toothbrush, then a
place for soap; in fact, a place for everything necessary in the emergency
of traveling.
"It is dear," agreed Tavia, looking the prospective gift over carefully.
"I don't see how you have patience to do such fine work."
"Oh, that is not fine," replied Dorothy. "See my lace pieces. They are
what I call fine."
"Oh, they are simply beyond my understanding altogether. Like geometry,
you know. But I forgot to ask Nat something. I wonder if he has gone up to
his room yet?" and Tavia rose to ascertain.
"It's nearly ten," Dorothy told her, "and he usually retires before ten
o'clock."
"Well, I'll just run down to the library and find out. I may forget it by
morning."
Dorothy could not help thinking that so urgent a matter as one which
required that attention would scarcely be so easily forgotten, but when
Tavia left the room she put her little gifts away and soon forgot all
about Tavia's sudden determination to seek Nat. Dorothy had so many other
more interesting things to dwell upon.
"But I do hope she will not sit up late," came the thought, when some time
after Tavia's exit Dorothy remembered that no sound had since indicated
that her chum had come toward the room. "Aunt Winnie does not like these
little late conferences."
Then she turned off her light and continued to listen for Tavia's
footstep.
Meanwhile, Tavia was talking very seriously to Nat. She had told him about
Dorothy's message from the strange woman, and he had suggested that the
handwriting expert might in some way be connected with the Chicago firm to
which Tavia had written, and through which she had made her
financial--mistake.
"But how would she know me?" asked Tavia, deeply perplexed.
"You said she saw your name on the envelope that dropped in the car," Nat
reminded her, "and she might have had an envelope with your name on.
Those--sharks send names all over the country."
"Then do you think I ought to go see her?" asked Tavia in a whisper.
"Certainly. She can't eat you," replied the young man, "and she might be
able to help you."
"Then I'll go--next Thursday," decided Tavia. "But I'll have trouble to
slip away from Dorothy."
"Course you will," Nat assured her promptly; "and you'll have trouble all
along the line if you don't do as I say, and make a clean breast of it."
But Tavia, having so long delayed that telling, felt unequal to going
through with it now. She would simply "await developments," as Dorothy
herself had suggested doing in the other matter.