Dorothy Dale's Great Secret
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The rough boys, playing nearby saw the girl sitting beside the road and, whether out of kindness or curiosity they hastened over to the place and stood looking down at Dorothy in respectful silence.
“Did they do anyt’ing to youse?” asked a little fellow with a ring of vengeance in his small, shrill voice. “Dem hotel guys is too fresh, an’ me fader is goin’ – he’s goin’ t’ do somet’ing to dem if dey don’t look out.”
“Dat’s right,” spoke up another. “His fader is de sheriff an’ he’s goin’ t’ ’rest ’em, if dey don’t pay der own bills, fer all der talk of holdin’ de show trunks.”
Dorothy raised her head. Surely these boys were trying to comfort her in their own rough but earnest way. Perhaps they could help her look for Tavia.
“Do any of you know where the girls of this company are now?” she asked of the boys collectively. “I am searching for a girl with brown hair – ”
She stopped abruptly, realizing how useless it would be to give these boys a description of Tavia.
“I sawr a girl wit a big kind of a hat and a little satchel, an’ I know she was wit de show,” volunteered a red-haired urchin. “I was right alongside of her when she bought five cents’ wort’ of cakes at Rooney’s, an’ after dat I seen her sittin’ on a bench in de green.”
“Honest?” asked an older boy severely, turning to the one who had given the information. “No kiddin’ now, Signal, or we’ll blow out your red light,” this reference being to the boy’s brilliant hair. “We want t’ help dis gurl t’ find de young lady, don’t we fellers?”
“Sure,” came in a ready chorus.
“I did see her,” protested Signal, rubbing his hand over his fiery locks and rumpling them up until they looked like a brush heap ablaze. “I sawr her less ’n hour ago.”
“Where?” asked Dorothy, eagerly.
“On a bench in de green.” And the lad pointed out the direction to Dorothy.
She followed the road to the end and there, stretching out before her was an open common, or the green, as the boys called it. In the centre was a little park, where a pretty fountain sent a spray of sparkling water high into the air. Arranged about it were benches, under shady bowers formed by overhanging bushes, and there were clumps of shrubbery that separated the seats, and concealed them.
Dorothy walked straight to the fountain. She sank down on a bench where she could watch the spurting water and listen to the cool tinkle as it fell into the basin. The sun shone through the spray, making a small rainbow.
It looked like a sign of hope, but she was too discouraged and dispirited to place much faith in it. She wanted to see Tavia; yet where was she? Here was the park the boys had spoken of, but there was no sign of the missing girl.
Dorothy felt she could not stay there long. After a few minutes’ rest she arose to make a circuit of the little park, hoping she might have overlooked some spot where Tavia might be. As she crossed back of a clump of shrubbery she saw the skirt of a girl’s dress showing on the border of a little side path. It riveted her attention. She turned down the path.
There sat a girl – a most forlorn looking girl – her head buried in her arms that rested on the back of a bench. Dorothy could see her shoulders heaving under the stress of heavy sobs.
She started! She held her breath! It looked like – yet could it be her – was it – she feared to ask herself the question.
The girl on the bench raised her tear-stained face. She looked full at Dorothy.
“Tavia!” screamed Dorothy, springing forward.
“Dorothy!” echoed Tavia.
There was a rush, and the next instant Dorothy Dale held Tavia clasped close in her arms, while she murmured, over and over again:
“Tavia! Dear Tavia! I have found you at last! Oh, I am so glad!”
Tavia could only sob.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SECRET – CONCLUSION
It was some moments before either girl was able to speak after that first burst of emotion and surprise. But Dorothy was too happy to remain long in tears – even tears of joy that for the moment had overcome her.
Tavia was pale, and her eyes were red from much weeping. Her unhappy plight was apparent at a glance, and this was incentive enough to cause Dorothy to again clasp her in her arms and hug her tighter than ever. She had forgotten her own physical weakness now that she had found Tavia, and she felt that she must hasten to get her dear friend into a state of mind that might help her to forget the sad experiences she had passed through.
“Tavia! Tavia, dear,” whispered Dorothy, as the girl fell again to weeping, “do look up and forget it all – for my sake, do. I have searched so long for you, but now I have found you. Come with me and we’ll be just the same as we always were.”
“Oh, how can I?” cried the miserable girl. “Who will look at me now? How can I ever face the folks again? Oh, Dorothy, let me go away forever! I can not bear the disgrace!” and she moaned pitifully in her bitter anguish.
“But, Tavia, you really meant nothing wrong,” said Dorothy taking the trembling hands in her own which were scarcely less agitated.
“No, I never meant to do wrong,” spoke Tavia, lifting her head with her old, proud bearing. “I broke my promise to you – I listened to that girl in Rochester – she gave me a letter to a theatrical manager in Buffalo. I only wanted to make a name for myself – to gratify my ambition – I wanted to earn money to get back to school – you know we had no more – ”
“You poor darling!” whispered Dorothy. “Was that it? Don’t worry so. No one will ever know. I have not told even Nat, and we will keep it a secret between us forever. Do come with me, dear,” as Tavia appeared to look brighter. “I must get to North Birchland to-night – Oh, if you ever knew the time I had getting away from the boys!” And she went on hurriedly for several minutes.
“And did you come all the way alone, Dorothy Dale? You have saved me in spite of myself!” declared Tavia, almost tragically. “Yes, I will go back. I can look them all in the face, for I only tried to work and I did not mean to deceive any one longer than would be necessary for me to get a start. But now, Dorothy, I have had enough of it. Where do you want me to go?”
“So it wasn’t as nice as you thought it would be?” asked Dorothy, anxious to hear some of Tavia’s experiences.
“Nice?” There was no concealing the disgust in Tavia’s voice. “It was awful, Dorothy! It was a regular barn-storming company! Playing one-night stands! We never had good houses. They said it was because it was the summer season, but I guess it was because the play was so poor. We did not get all our salaries and half the time didn’t have enough to eat. Then the show ‘busted’!”
“Did you have a good – part I believe they call it?”
“A good part? Say, Doro,” and Tavia actually seemed her old self again. “I had an idea I was to be Lady Rossmore, or at least one of the family.”
“Weren’t you?”
“I should say not! I was Lucy, the parlor maid, and the only time I was on the stage was when I was dusting the make-believe furniture. And as for my lines – well, I had a very heavy and strong thinking part.”
“Oh, Tavia!”
“That’s my theatrical experience,” answered Tavia. “Oh, Doro, I’m very miserable,” she wailed again.
“Never mind, dear. Dry your eyes now, you’re all right. I’m – Oh, I’m so happy that I have found you again. Come back to the station with me. I have some one else to bring home, too. Urania, the Gypsy girl – you remember her at Glenwood, I guess – she has been trying to see the world and she caught too big a glimpse of it. Poor girl, she is quite sick and miserable.”
Then, as they hurried from the park, Dorothy told Tavia of the trouble she had to get Urania on the train. A happy thought came to Tavia, and, with a bright smile she said:
“I have it! In this little hand bag – all the baggage I have left by the way – I have a very quiet suit. I used it in the play, for sometimes I had to take two or three parts if one of the other girls was ill, but they never amounted to much – the parts I mean. We can put this suit on Urania.”
Being thus able to help some one else worse off than herself seemed to do Tavia good for her kind heart always prompted her to acts of this sort. It was a step back into the old life.
At the station they found Urania all excitement.
“The young men were here!” she exclaimed to Dorothy, “and they have gone off to look for you. I didn’t dare speak to them, but I peeked out and I heard the station man tell them where he had seen you go to, and they flew off again in their dust-wagon like mad. Oh, Miss, I wish they had found you, and they looked so tired and hardly spoke like I’ve always heard ’em, so polite and nice.”
“Ned and Nat here in Rockdale!” exclaimed Dorothy, overjoyed at the news. “Here, Urania, you go in that little room and put these things on you’ll find in this bag,” and she handed the Gypsy Tavia’s little valise.
“I’ll help her,” volunteered Tavia, glad to be of service to Dorothy.
“Now remember, Tavia,” said Dorothy in a low tone, “whoever we meet now I’m to do all the talking. This is my big secret and you must let me take care of it. Have you any baggage – Oh, I forgot, all the baggage of the company is held for debts, I believe.”
“Not mine,” replied Tavia promptly. “All I have is in my valise. It was so small they let me keep it. They only wanted trunks and I didn’t have any. I travel light.”
“Well, hurry now and get Urania ready,” said Dorothy. She walked over toward the door of the ladies’ waiting room. Suddenly she fancied she heard – yes – sure enough that was the toot of the Fire Bird’s horn!
“Oh, Tavia!” she called. “Here they come! Hurry! Hurry Urania! Tavia! We must all be out there together when they come up.”
At that the automobile swept up to the station in a cloud of dust. Out on the platform hurried Dorothy, Tavia and Urania, the latter smiling broadly in her new outfit.
“Well, I give up!” exclaimed Nat, the first to alight from the panting car. “If you haven’t given us a merry chase, Dorothy! We got worried after you left us and we traced you from place to place. Thought sure we’d lost you here. Oh, it was a merry chase.”
“Glad it was merry,” exclaimed Tavia, forgetting that Dorothy was to do all the talking.
“Yes, I should say it was,” put in Ned, “and she skipped off to meet you without giving us a hint – ”
“Now, Ned, don’t be cross,” said Dorothy sweetly. “See what a large party you have to take home. And you must not scold the girls, for we have as much right as you boys have to take little trips together.”
The boys were too well pleased to argue or be angry. In fact, they had had a very miserable time of it since Dorothy “escaped,” as they called it. Now, they wanted nothing better than to get into the machine with the girls and make all speed for home.
“Have you room for Urania?” asked Dorothy. “Can she stand up between the seats?”
“Why, of course,” assented Ned. “Plenty of room. Get aboard everybody.”
“Let me get under the seat,” protested the Gypsy girl. “That was the way I came out.”
“So it was!” said Nat. “I’d almost forgotten about you, young lady. She’s the girl,” he went on, turning to the others, “who stole a ride with me the day I went into Dalton, Dorothy. She actually rode under the back seat where she’d hidden in the night. She made the noise we thought was a burglar, you know. She gave me the slip, though, when I went to take her back, so now she must ride in the open, where I can keep my eye on her.”
“Oh, Urania! You said – ” began Dorothy, thinking of what the Gypsy girl had said about Nat taking her away.
“Oh, please don’t be hard on me,” pleaded Urania. “I was so miserable I didn’t know what I was saying. It’s true, just as he says, and it’s all my fault. I ran away. He didn’t take me.”
Dorothy climbed in beside Ned. Tavia was in her usual seat with Nat. Then Urania squatted down, in true Gypsy fashion, on the floor of the car at their feet.
“I guess we’ll just about make it after all,” commented Ned, as he turned on the power more fully and threw in the clutch. “We’re due home about seven, but we’ll have to speed it up a bit to do it. Lucky it’s nearly level all the way.”
“And when we do get home,” put in Nat, “you girls will just have to own up and tell the whole story. No serial for ours. We want it complete in one number.”
“Indeed, we’ll do nothing of the sort!” exclaimed Dorothy. “We’re not going to tell you a single word. We’ll get home about on time, according to agreement, and you have no reason to find a single bit of fault. Tavia will come to North Birchland just as she promised to early in the season. She’s been too busy to come before,” and Dorothy smiled. “And if we do have our own affairs to talk about you must not expect to know everything. Girls have to have secrets, or they wouldn’t be girls, and we have now got ours.”
“Yes,” agreed Tavia in a low voice with a loving look at her chum, “It’s Dorothy’s great secret and I guess I’ll help her keep it.”
And here, as they are speeding toward North Birchland, we will take leave of Dorothy, Tavia and the boys for a while. Dorothy kept the secret, as did Tavia, and no one ever knew the real meaning of Tavia’s absence, nor why Dorothy was so anxious to find her. The theatrical venture was never disclosed, thanks to Dorothy’s tact and abilities, for she showed that she could manage some things even better than could her cousins.
“Well, it was a glorious trip to Buffalo after all,” was Nat’s comment, as they neared North Birchland.
“So it was,” agreed Dorothy. Then she fell to wondering if she would ever again have so many adventures. Little did she dream of what the future held in store, as will be related in another story, which I shall call, “Dorothy Dale and Her Chums.”
“Running some, aren’t we?” said Ned, as the Fire Bird whizzed over the country road.
“I – I don’t mind it,” faltered Tavia. Then she turned to whisper to Dorothy. “I am so thankful to leave the – that behind!”
Dorothy only smiled, but that smile showed that she understood perfectly.
THE END