politely declined. She was especially kind in talking to Tavia, and
invited her to come again with Dorothy.

"They say," remarked Dorothy to Tavia, as the girls hurried along the
lane, "'that love scarce is love that does not know the sweetness of
forgiving,' and it does seem that way, don't you think so?"

"Oh, that was what ailed us all, was it? Not our fault at all, but the
fault of some old mildewed poet, that wanted to make good his verses.
The 'sweetness of forgiving,' eh? Well, it is better than scrapping,
I'll admit, but I wish poets would make up something handier. We went
through quite something to find the sweetness."

"Hurry," whispered Dorothy, "I thought I heard something move in the
bushes!"

"So did I," admitted Tavia, quickening her pace.

"It is always so lonely in the lane at night, we should have gone
around."

"Let's run," suggested Tavia. "One row a day is enough for me."

The bushes stirred suspiciously now, and both girls were alarmed. They
were midway in the lane, and could not gain the road, except by running
on to the end of the lonely path. Each side was lined with a thick
underbrush, and--there was no mistaking it now--someone was stealing
along beside them!

Taking hold of hands the girls ran. As they did the figure of a man