Dorothy Dale's Great Secret

CHAPTER VIII

A LIVELY AFTERNOON

There followed an eternity of suspense for those watching for the reappearance of Dorothy. The missing of the hold she expected to get on the board and the effort to keep Miss Higley up, together with the struggle she had gone through, caused the girl to lose all control of herself. She had sunk instantly without having any opportunity of using her free arm to keep herself above water.

Seeing this Rose-Mary and Molly, who had climbed out on the base of the chute, jumped into the lake again, making for the spot where they saw Dorothy go down the second time.

But before they could reach it they saw Dorothy’s head above the surface. She had come up under the chute, in an open square of water, formed by the four supporting posts of the affair. Cautiously she reached out and caught hold of a beam. Then another arm was seen to grasp a projecting plank! Miss Higley was struggling!

She was not dead! Not unconscious!

“Dorothy!” screamed Tavia from shore, as she saw the form of her chum come to the surface the second time. But Tavia did not see Dorothy wave a reassuring hand at her as she climbed up on the chute, and helped Miss Higley support herself across one of the base planks. For Tavia had fallen unconscious beside Edna, who was only just beginning to show signs of life under the prompt administrations of Rose-Mary and Dick.

In all this confusion the white-aproned matron forgot to use her telephone. But, as she now assisted the other girls in working over Edna, she directed some of the swimmers, who had come to shore, to look after Tavia.

Lena Berg, the quietest girl of Glenwood, rushed into the bathing office and telephoned to Central to “send doctors.” Almost before those working over Edna and Tavia had realized it, and, almost as soon as the throng of young ladies had started to assist Miss Higley and Dorothy to shore, an automobile with two doctors in it stopped at the gate. The physicians were soon working over Tavia and Edna.

A few seconds later Rose-Mary and Molly pulled up to shore in an old boat they had found anchored near the chute, and in the craft, which they rowed with a broken canoe paddle, were Dorothy and Miss Higley!

As so often happens that one small accident is responsible for any number of mishaps, especially where girls or women become panic-stricken, it seemed now that the rescue of Miss Higley and Dorothy acted like magic to restore all four victims of the water to their senses, at least, if not to actual vigor. Tavia and Edna both jumped up as the boat grounded on the beach, and Miss Higley and Dorothy staggered ashore.

“Be careful,” cautioned one of the physicians, as the teacher was seen to totter, and almost fall. She was plainly very weak, and, while the younger doctor looked after Dorothy the other, who was his father, took Miss Higley into the bathing pavilion office to administer to her there.

Tavia had only fainted. Indeed she had been scarcely able to swim out to help Edna, not being entirely recovered from her recent nervous fever. Edna had swallowed considerable water, but it was fresh, and when she had been relieved of it, and the usual restoratives applied, she, too, was herself again.

Dorothy insisted there was absolutely nothing the matter with her, but it was plain that such physical efforts as she had been obliged to make in her rescue of Miss Higley, must at least exhaust a girl of her frail physique. So young Dr. Morton insisted on her being assisted in a “thorough rub.” Then she was given a warm, stimulating drink, and, soon after that, Dorothy was able to tell what had happened.

An hour later all the brown bathing suits had been discarded, Tavia and Dorothy had been supplied with dry clothing, and all the Glenwood girls who had come to Sunset Lake sat on the rocky shore back of the sand, waiting for the hour to arrive when they must start back to the school. There was no lack of talk to make the time pass quickly.

Miss Higley seemed the least perturbed of any – she had a way of always being beyond a mere personal feeling. She never “allowed herself” to encourage pains or aches; in fact she was one of those strong-minded women who believe that all the troubles of this life are hatched in the human brain, and, therefore the proper cure for all ills is the eradication of the germ producer – sick-thoughts. So, as soon as she felt her lungs in working order again she “took the defensive” as Tavia expressed it, and sat up as “straight as a whip,” with her glasses at exactly the proper pitch and the black cord at precisely the accustomed dangle.

“Mar-vel-ous!” gasped Dick, aside, giving the long word an inimitable roll, and, at the same time, bestowing a wondering look on the recently resuscitated teacher.

“But do tell us,” begged Rose-Mary, “what happened first – of all those exciting things?”

“I did,” answered Edna Black. “I was shooting the chute to my heart’s content, when, all of a sudden, I stuck somewhere. Then, after trying everything I knew how to do to get loose, I said my prayers.”

“Next,” called Rose-Mary, indicating Tavia.

“Well, of course,” began Tavia, “Dorothy and I were not to go near the water, but when we saw Edna turn up missing we just kicked off our slippers and, in the language of the poets, ‘got busy.’ I found Ned here, first shot, stuck in between the two corner boards of the chute posts. She didn’t need any coaxing to come up, once I untangled her skirt from a nail which held it fast, and I brought her up without any unnecessary explanations.”

“And, in the meantime Miss Higley had gone down,” interjected Dorothy. “That is she went down after Edna first.”

“And came up last,” added the teacher, with a significant nod to Dorothy.

“How did you find Miss Higley, Parson?” Rose-Mary continued to question, with a view to getting the entire story.

“I found her in a mud hole, held fast, but able to help herself somewhat. Then I – I got her up – somehow – .”

“Indeed I was almost unconscious until you dragged my head up to the air,” Miss Higley hastened to say, anxious to give Dorothy her due, for certainly the rescue was a matter of heroic effort, and Miss Higley, being heavy, and, at the same time, unable to help herself, gave Dorothy the most difficult of all the surprising tasks of that eventful afternoon.

“But when she sank that time – like a stone,” suggested Dick to Dorothy.

“Oh, I merely missed catching hold of a plank and I had to go down – I couldn’t keep up.”

“Certainly; why not?” put in Nita Brandt, glad to be able to say something “safe.”

“And you, Lispy,” said Lena to Nita. “You and Adele started the epidemic with your water wings. Next time make it life preservers.”

The girlish spirits, “bottled up” during the period of worry came out with a resounding “pop” now, and the walk home proved even pleasanter than the one to the beach.

“For now,” declared Ned, between her jokes, “we are like the man who laughed at the ugly cow from inside the fence – he found it much funnier to laugh at the cow from outside the fence.”

CHAPTER IX

DOROTHY AND TAVIA

For more than a week after the happenings at Sunset Lake the pupils of Glenwood School had little time for anything outside of the regular program of the institution. It was a matter of sleep, eat, exercise, then study and recite, and then the same schedule was begun all over again the following day. But this was the end of the term and so much remained to be done that it was necessary to “keep going” as the girls expressed it, so that the “last day” would find the records of the year’s work up to the usual high standard.

“This mental house-cleaning is perfectly terriblocious!” declared Tavia one morning, showing her aptitude at coining alleged new words, this one being a “contraction” of terrible and ferocious.

“But how nice it will be when we are all done,” Dorothy reminded her, taking up her books and papers, to attend the last exercise in mathematics.

“Perhaps,” sighed Tavia.

The conversation was ended abruptly by the sound of the bell summoning the girls to class, and they went back to the “house-cleaning,” each doing her best to finish honorably, in spite of the difference of their respective motives.

That evening Dorothy and Tavia went to their room early. Tavia seemed tired, and Dorothy did not wish to disturb her by coming in later.

Neither appeared inclined to talk, and, as Tavia went through her elaborate toilet preparations (the facial massage and all the accompaniments) Dorothy watched her in silence.

Strange as it was to believe Tavia so vain, Dorothy had become accustomed to this nightly process, and now accepted it without comment. Neither had she ever told Tavia of that night when, in her sleep, she had gone through the making-up process.

But school would soon be over – and then —

For some time Dorothy had been putting off a talk she desired to have with Tavia – a talk about their vacation plans. Somehow she dreaded to undertake the topic that Tavia had been so obviously avoiding. But to-night Dorothy felt that she must have an understanding – she must know where her room-mate intended to spend her vacation.

Dorothy was just about to broach the subject when Tavia suddenly turned to her with this surprising question:

“Dorothy, do you think I’m pretty?”

“Why, of course you are,” stammered Dorothy. “You know I have always thought you – pretty.”

“But I do not mean what you always thought, Doro. I am awfully serious now. Am I really pretty?”

“I don’t know,” replied her chum. “I could not tell what others might think – but I have always thought you the prettiest kind of a girl – you know that.”

“But do you think that in – in a crowd I might be considered – attractive? Are my features good? Do I look – look interesting?”

This was said with such apparent simplicity that Dorothy almost laughed. There stood a pretty girl – without question a remarkably pretty girl – of a most unusual type – and she was begging for a compliment – no, for an opinion of her personality!

Dorothy did not answer. She could not possibly say that at that moment Tavia was a perfect vision, as she stood in her white robe, with her freshly-brushed hair framing the outline of her sweet, young face. But the girl before the mirror wanted to know.

“Dorothy, do tell me,” she begged. “What do you think? Am I pretty, or not?”

“Tavia,” exclaimed Dorothy suddenly, “tell me, why do you want to know?”

“Why,” and Tavia laughed a little to gain time, “I think any girl ought to know just – what she is like.”

“But all this – this fussing. Why do you do it?”

“To experiment,” and Tavia laughed lightly. “They say one can do wonders with a little care. I am tired of reading that in the magazines so I thought I would just try it.” She had finished with the glycerine and rose water now, so the “stuffs” were put away and Tavia sank down with a “glad-of-it” sigh.

“Of course,” began Dorothy, breaking into the topic of summer vacation, “you will go home first, before you come to North Birchland. You will want to see everybody in Dalton – I wish I could go along with you. But I have no home in Dalton now.”

“Come with me,” suggested Tavia. “We have plenty of room.”

“Oh, I was only romancing. Of course I should like to see everybody in dear old Dalton, but I have to go to daddy and the boys. Isn’t it splendid to have a vacation? It makes school worth while.”

“Yes,” replied Tavia, vaguely, preparing to turn out the light.

“When do you think you will come to North Birchland?” asked Dorothy directly.

“I can’t tell. I expect to visit Grace Barnum in Buffalo. Her folks are old friends of mother’s. I had a letter from her yesterday, especially inviting me.”

“Oh, did you?” and Dorothy looked surprised. “I did not hear you speak of going to Buffalo. I thought you intended to come to Birchland as soon as you had seen your folks. You know Aunt Winnie expects you. And so do the boys.”

“Oh, I’ll get to the Birches some time during the summer I guess,” Tavia hurried to say, as she noted Dorothy’s disappointment. “You can depend upon it I expect to have some of the fine times – you are not to have a monopoly of the good things.”

“Then you are going to Dalton first, then to Buffalo, and what time do you count on getting to Birchland?” persisted Dorothy, determined to know, if possible, just what Tavia’s plans really were.

“Oh, my dear,” and Tavia indulged in a discordant yawn, “do let’s go to sleep. I’m almost dead.”

“But, Tavia, you always make some excuse when I ask you about vacation,” and Dorothy’s tone was in no way drowsy – she certainly was not sleepy.

“And you always ask such unreasonable questions,” retorted Tavia. “Just as if I can tell what may happen between now and – midsummer.”

“Tavia!” exclaimed Dorothy with a sob. “I feel just as if something dreadful was going to happen. I don’t know why but you – you have – changed so,” and the girl buried her head in her pillow and cried as if something “dreadful” had really happened.

“Doro, dear,” and Tavia clasped the weeping girl in her arms, “what can be the matter? What have I done? You know I love you better than anyone in the whole world, and now you accuse me of changing!”

“But you have changed,” insisted Dorothy, sobbing bitterly. “Everybody is talking about it. And if you knew what a time I have had trying – trying to stand up for you!”

“To stand up for me!” repeated Tavia. “What have I done that need provoke comment? Surely it is my own business if I do not choose to be the school monkey any longer. Let some of the others turn in and serve on the giggling committee. I think I have done my share!”

“Oh, it isn’t that,” and Dorothy jabbed her handkerchief into her eyes, “but you are so – so different. You always seem to be thinking of something else.”

“Something else!” and Tavia tried to laugh. “Surely it is no crime to be – thoughtful?”

“Well, I think it is perfectly dreadful for a girl to go and grow straight up – without any warning.”

“What an old lady I must be,” and Tavia looked very severe and dignified. “But, Doro dear, you need not worry. You surely believe I would never do anything I really thought wrong.”

“That’s just it. You would not think it wrong, but suppose you did something that turned out to be wrong?”

Tavia made no answer but the “old lady” look came back into her face – that serious expression so new to her. She seemed to be looking far ahead – far away – at some uncertain, remote possibility.

For several minutes neither girl spoke. They could hear the “miscreants” who had been out after hours creeping past their door. Every one in Glenwood should be asleep. The last hall light had just been turned out – but the girls from Dalton were still thinking.

Dorothy, usually the one to mend matters, to-night seemed sullen and resolute. Plainly Tavia was hiding something from her, and while Dorothy could bear with any amount of mistakes or impulsive little wrongdoings, she could not put up with a deliberate slight – a premeditated act of deception.

Tavia saw that she was bound to hold out – to insist upon a “clearing up,” and, as this did not suit her, for reasons best known to herself, she attempted to pet Dorothy back to her usual forgiving mood.

But the storm that had been so long brewing was in no hurry to blow over, and Dorothy went to bed with swollen eyes and an aching head, while Tavia only pretended to sleep – she had an important letter to write – an answer to the one that had come in on the evening mail, and required to be replied to by return of post. This meant that the missive must be penned that night and dropped in the post-office the very first thing in the morning.

“Dear little Dorothy,” Tavia murmured as she looked down on the fair face, to make sure that the eyes were resting in sleep, “I will never do anything to disgrace you. Only have a little patience and you will understand it all. But I must – must – ” and then she broke off with a long, long sigh.

CHAPTER X

LEAVING GLENWOOD

But one more day remained of the school term at Glenwood. All the tests had been concluded, and, as there were to be no formal exercises the “last day” was given over entirely to packing up, and making ready for the departure from the institution.

Dorothy and Tavia were busy with the others. To Dorothy the prospect of seeing her dear ones so soon, filled every thought of this day’s work. Tavia, too, seemed more like her old self and “jollied the girls” as she flung things into her trunk with her usual disregard for order.

“They’ll all have to come out again,” she replied to Dorothy’s remonstrance, “so what’s the use of being particular how they go in?”

“But your pretty Christmas bag,” begged Dorothy. “Do be careful not to crush that.”

“Oh, indeed there’s nothing to crush. I took the ribbons out of it for the neck and sleeves of my white lawn, and when I extracted them from the flowered stuff there was nothing left but a perfectly flat piece of cretonne, with a row of little brass rings on one side. I just ran a bit of faded ribbon through the rings – and just wait until I show you.”

At this Tavia plunged her hands down into the depths of her trunk and presently brought up the article in question.

“There!” she exclaimed, clapping the bag on her head. “Isn’t that a pretty sunbonnet?”

Dorothy beheld it in amazement.

“It certainly does look sweet on you,” she said, “but what in the world will you want a fancy sunbonnet for? Surely you will not use it in Dalton – and in Buffalo – ”

“I think it would make a tremendous hit in Buffalo,” declared Tavia, wheeling around to show off the effect of her thick brown hair beneath the little row of brass rings that held the ribbon which bound the bit of flowered stuff to her neck. At the front her face seemed to fit exactly, and surely nothing could be more becoming than that Christmas bag.

“Oh, I think it’s a shame,” faltered Dorothy, “to spoil that beautiful bag to make a plaything.”

“But we all have to have ‘playthings,’” said Tavia, with a strong accent on the word “play.” Then, with one more swing around, like a figure in a show case, Tavia took off the sunbonnet and went on with her packing.

“It seems so queer,” Dorothy remarked, sliding her tennis racquet down the side of her trunk, “that we should be going in different directions. We have always been able to help each other in the packing before.”

“Well, I’d just like to leave half my old truck behind,” replied Tavia, “and I don’t know but what I will have to if this trunk won’t stretch a little. It’s chock full now, and just look at the commotion on the floor.”

“I told you,” insisted Dorothy, “that you would have to put the things in differently. Now you will have to take them all out again and roll them up tight. You can get twice as much in that way.”

“Take them all out!” Tavia almost shrieked. “Never!” And, following this exclamation the girl jumped into the trunk and proceeded to dance the “trunk traveler’s jig” on the unfortunate collection of baggage.

“Tavia! Don’t!” begged Dorothy. “I’m sure I heard something break.”

“Oh, that was my last summer’s hat breaking up its plans for this year. I put it in the bottom in hopes that it would meet an untimely end, but I really did not intend to murder it,” she joked, stepping out of the trunk.

“But at any rate,” she went on, as she flung part of the “commotion” off the floor into the hollow she had succeeded in making for the various articles, “the poor old thing will take up less room dead than alive, and there will be no possible danger of my having to wear it for a turn or two when I get home. Nothing like getting in one’s supplies while you’re fresh – before the folks have a chance to get too friendly with you. I’ve found that out.”

“But it was a real pretty hat.”

“Well, even pretty hats are not immune from accidents, and you saw yourself that it was an accident – pure and simple.”

A half hour later all the trunks had been packed, and the two Dalton girls sat in their little room exchanging confidences and making all sorts of school-girl promises of writing often, and sending pretty cards, besides having photographs taken of which to make especially affectionate remembrances.

“I’ll send you one just as soon as I get to Buffalo,” Tavia declared, holding Dorothy very close, for the latter seemed much inclined to cry as the hour of parting drew near.

“But it will be so lonely in North Birchland without you,” persisted Dorothy, with a sob. “I do wish you would give up that trip to Buffalo.”

Tavia assured her chum that it would be impossible as she had promised Grace Barnum to go to her home to visit her.

Dorothy finally jumped up and made an effort to pull herself together. She went over to the dresser and picked up a book.

“Is this yours?” she began, and then stopped suddenly. It was a gust of wind that had blown up the thin strip of muslin covering the top of the dresser and revealed the little red book. It had been concealed there and, as Dorothy took it up she saw on the cover: