"It begins," said Tavia, balancing her pencil on her third finger, "at
the point where Dorothy Dale turns preacher. A poor sermon is
absolutely--funny."

"Thank you," returned Dorothy, without recovering her good nature,
"but you must remember, Tavia, that we are leaving Glenwood in two
days."

"I may leave to-night if you keep on," declared Tavia. "Dorothy, I
never knew you to be so obstinate."

"Nor have I ever known you to be so foolish. Tavia, that young man
is--queer. He is mysterious, and I have a feeling that he means harm."

"Pure jealousy, Doro," and Tavia jumped up and flung herself almost
upon the girl who sat in the shade of the study lamp. "I am so sorry
he did not take the notion to you."

Dorothy was accustomed to these outbreaks, and they merely meant a
gesture, or whatever fling came with the speech; the words indicated
absolutely nothing. She gave Tavia an answering smile. "Well, dear, we
won't quarrel, at least this time. But see that it doesn't happen
again."

"When shall we go home? Dear me! It does seem a long time between
holidays," and Tavia tumbled down in the most nondescript heap.

"I shall be glad to see dear old Dalton," replied Dorothy. "Father and
the boys are going with me to settle things up there. Then we will go
to Aunt Winnie's. I hope you and I will be able to spend our