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.