"Yes, I guess so," faltered Dorothy. "I slept well, and just awoke."

She had no idea of deceiving Tavia, but she did intend to set her mind at
ease concerning how much of the whispered conversation she might have
heard.

"Then turn right over before you get too wide awake," advised Tavia. "Here
is some lemonade Aunt Winnie said you were to drink." Tavia always called
Mrs. White Aunt Winnie. "And you are to remain in bed for breakfast. Oh,
for an aristocratic head that would ache! And oh, for one dear, long,
luscious, lumpy day in bed! With meals à la tray, and beef tea in the
intervals. But I must not talk you awake. There," and she kissed her
friend lightly, "I'll tumble in, for I really am dead tired."

"It must be late?" asked Dorothy.

"Not so very," answered Tavia evasively.

"Good-night," called Dorothy.

"Good-night," replied Tavia.

But Tavia's head did not ache. She "tumbled in" as she promised, but did
not immediately try to sleep. She was, instead, trying to arrange some
things clearly before her much-confused faculties--trying to decide what
she should write home. She had her mother's pin and Johnnie's steam
engine, thanks to Dorothy's good nature, but what about paying Dorothy
back? Where was the money to come from, and what possible explanation
could she make? Tell her she had not spent her own five dollars, but