THE RUNAWAY
Dorothy was not sure whether she dreamed it, or really heard sounds
stirring under the trees. She had been thinking of the Gypsy girl, and
Tavia, as she fell asleep, and when she suddenly awoke in the middle of
the night, there seemed to be some one moving about just under the window
of her room. It was so quiet that even faint sounds could be heard, and
Dorothy lay there listening for some time, after being aroused. Presently
something banged—like a blind being slammed back. There was no breath of
wind—surely someone must have opened the shutter!
The moonlight came in through the casement and illuminated the room
enough for her to see to get up and reach her door. It was but a step to
the boys’ apartment. She would call them, she decided, but was most
anxious not to disturb her father or aunt.
Strange to say when Dorothy had slipped on her dressing gown and slippers
and knocked at the door of the boys’ room, she found them both awake, for
they had answered her light tap at once. A moment later they were in the
corridor, attired in their big bath robes.
“I’m sure I heard a footstep at the side porch,” whispered Dorothy.
“So did I,” answered Ned. “I’ve been awake for a long time, listening.”
“Perhaps you had better go down,” suggested Dorothy nervously. “It might
be a tramp.”
“Tramp nothing,” declared Nat boldly, as he made his way softly to the
front door. “I’ll bet it’s our friend Urania. I was sure she would call
this evening.”
Without the slightest fear the brothers opened the door, and searched
about for a possible intruder. They even looked under the lilac bush at
Dorothy’s window, but no midnight prowlers were discovered.
Dorothy bravely stood at the front door, waiting to call for more help in
case the boys should need assistance, but they finally returned from
their hunt more disgusted than alarmed. Dorothy was entirely satisfied
now that no one was about the place.
“I call that mean,” grumbled Nat. “I was all primed for an adventure.”
“You should be careful what sort of acquaintances you pick up after
dark,” cautioned Ned. “Your little Urania may turn out troublesome if you
cross her. Gypsies have a way of making people ‘pony up’ with the money,
you know.”
“Don’t wake the folks,” cautioned Dorothy, leading the way back to the
sleeping rooms. “I’m not a bit afraid now.”
“Well, if she comes back again, ask her in,” spoke Nat in a hoarse
whisper. “I think Urania needs a talking to.”
Dorothy fell asleep again, after listening for some time, and was not
disturbed any further that night, until the bright sun shining into her
windows, called her to get up to begin another day.
As they had planned, Nat was to start early for Dalton. He could easily
make some excuse for his solitary trip—say that he wanted to see some
friends who were off camping, or that he wanted to go fishing. He
mentioned these two objects vaguely as he started off.
Dorothy warned him not to let an inkling of her fears concerning Tavia
reach the ears of any one in Dalton, but there was no need for this, as
Nat was as anxious as was his cousin to keep the matter secret between
them.
“It’s an easy thing to start gossip in a place like Dalton,” he whispered
to Dorothy as he threw in the clutch to send the auto on its way, “and
you can depend upon me to give them another ‘think’ if they’re looking
for news.”
As the Fire Bird swung out along the path Nat turned to wave a reassuring
good-bye to Dorothy who stood on the porch watching him spin away.
The morning which had begun so bright and pleasant now took on a gloomy
aspect for Dorothy. How could she wait for Nat’s return? And what would
he find out concerning Tavia and her plans? Suppose she should really be
in Buffalo? That would not necessarily mean that she had gone away—she
might be visiting her friend, Grace Barnum.
It seemed impossible for Dorothy to become interested in anything save
Nat and his mission. She tried to sew, but soon laid aside the dainty
little work basket Aunt Winnie had provided for the summer hours on the
porch. Then Ned invited her to go bicycling, and she had to make some
excuse for refusing the invitation. Even writing some letters for the
major did not distract her, and she could think of nothing but Nat and
his trip to Dalton.
But, somehow, the morning wore on, and it was almost time for Nat to
return, as Dorothy knew in his swift car he could make the journey in
record time over the good roads.
“But I’m sure something will delay him,” said Dorothy to herself. “I feel
as if something will surely happen!”
And a well-grounded fear it was for, meanwhile, something was happening
to Nat—something quite unexpected.
Having reached, in due time, Dalton and the little cottage where the
Travers family dwelt, Nat steered the machine up in front of the door.
Then he remembered he had to tighten the bolt of the clutch pedal, and
decided to do it before making his inquiries, as it was important that
the pedal be tight. He turned back to the machine, from which he had
jumped, to get his wrench from the tool box under the rear seat. He
unbuttoned the leather curtain that reached down to the floor of the
tonneau, and was feeling about for the wrench when he started back in
surprise.
There, under the seat, stretched out so as to be concealed while the
curtain was down, was Urania, the Gypsy girl! The confined space made her
hump up like an angry cat, and her dark face peered sharply into Nat’s
from under the leather flap.
For a moment Nat could not find words to speak to the girl, who remained
in her hiding place, grinning out at him with a mocking look on her elfin
face.
“Hello!” she exclaimed presently. “I had a lovely ride.”
“Get out of there instantly,” exclaimed Nat, in angry tones. “How in the
world did you ever get in there?”
“Oh, easy enough. You locked the door, but you left the shed window open
last night, and I crawled in. I was almost a goner, though, when you and
your brother came out on the porch looking for spooks. I was just trying
your hammock then. That’s a softer cradle than this stuffy place.”
“I guess I’d better hand you over to a constable,” went on Nat, realizing
what it might mean to try to drag the girl from her hiding place just
then.
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” was the cool answer. “I believe I’ve had
enough of riding, and I’d like to stretch out a bit.”
By this time the Travers family had become aware of the presence of the
Fire Bird at their door, and Mrs. Travers, impressed with the
distinction, had stepped back quickly to her room to tidy herself up a
bit. This gave Nat a few moments longer to think of what he had best do
with the Gypsy girl.
“Here,” he said to her, rather fiercely, “you just stay under that seat
until I’m ready to take you to a place of safety. Now, if you dare to
move while I’m in this house I’ll—I’ll have you arrested,” and with that
Nat fastened down the curtain securely, with a catch that snapped on the
outside and was incapable, as he supposed, of being opened from the
inside.
He walked up the path to the front door and, after a few seconds, his
knock was answered by Mrs. Travers. With unlimited protestations of
welcome she showed Nat in, and offered him a seat in the far corner of
the room, some distance from the front windows. He felt that he had
better keep his eye on the machine, because of his concealed passenger,
so, after a moment’s hesitation, he took a chair near the front of the
apartment, remarking, as he did so, what a pretty view there was from the
window.
“What brings you to Dalton?” asked Mrs. Travers.
“I was—er—just passing through, and I thought I’d stop to inquire—about
the family. Dorothy would like to know,” said Nat.
“Oh, we’re about as well as usual,” said Tavia’s mother.
“How’s Tavia? Is she home?” asked Nat quickly, feeling that this was as
good an opening as he could desire.
“No, and I’m very sorry, for she’d be delighted to see you. She went to
Buffalo just after coming from school. We scarcely had a good look at
her. I wanted her to stay home for a week, but she was so set on going
that she started off bag and baggage, and I’m sure I can’t say when she
will be home. Of course she’s with friends,” the mother hastened to add,
seeing the look of surprise that flashed over Ned’s face in spite of his
effort at self-control.
“My cousin, Dorothy, wrote to her,” Nat hastened to say, to cover his
confusion, “and, not receiving an answer, thought it likely that she
might be ill, or away.”
“Tavia’s father forwarded the letter to her,” said Mrs. Travers. “She
should have answered it by this time. We have only had one souvenir card
from her since she went away, but it was a real pretty one; I’d like to
show it to you, but I guess I’ve mislaid it. I can’t think where I put
it.”
“Never mind. I suppose it takes some time for a letter to travel when
it’s been forwarded from one place to another. I dare say Dorothy will
soon hear from her. I’m glad all the family are well. Major Dale is
always glad to hear news of the Dalton folks.”
“And indeed we all miss the major,” spoke Mrs. Travers with a show of
feeling. “Not to say we don’t miss the entire family, for the boys were
fine little fellows, and, as for Dorothy—”
The intended tribute to Dorothy ended with a little catch in Mrs.
Travers’s voice, for she was very fond of her daughter’s companion, and
sometimes showed her feelings with a touch of sentimentality.
Then, as Nat was really in a hurry (for he could not stop thinking of
Urania under the seat) he made his excuses as quickly and as politely as
the circumstances would allow, and was soon out of the house. He lost no
time in cranking up and, in a few minutes, was chug-chugging at top speed
down the country road.
He had made up his mind to take the Gypsy girl back to North Birchland,
and was vaguely wondering, as he dashed along, why she did not knock on
the seat and demand to be let out of her uncomfortable quarters.
“I think I’ll stop and just take a look at her. She may be crying,” the
lad remarked to himself, and, bringing the machine to a halt alongside
the road, he stepped out.
He assumed a determined look before unfastening the curtain, for he was
bound not to let his sympathies run away with him in dealing with the
unruly girl. He shoved back the catch and raised the leather flap.
Urania was gone!
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” cried Nat aloud, so great was his astonishment
at the second surprise the Gypsy had given him. “If she isn’t a dandy!
How in the world did she slip out without me seeing her?”
But Nat had forgotten the few moments when he sat on the sofa at the rear
side of Mrs. Travers’s parlor, some distance from the front windows, and
it was in those few moments that Urania had managed to undo the catch, in
spite of its supposed security, and slip out of the Fire Bird. Swiftly,
as no girl but a Gypsy can run, she had fled down the street, across the
Dalton bridge, and into the deep woods beyond, where she would have time
to plan out the remainder of her day’s travels.
“Well, she’s gone—good riddance,” thought Nat, as he started up the
machine once more, and turned, at a swift speed, into the turnpike
leading to North Birchland.