CHAPTER IX

THE AFTERMATH


What a day that had been at the Dalton School for girls! Sarah Ford was
at home suffering from a badly sprained ankle; Dorothy Dale had been
taken home ill from over-excitement, and Tavia Travers, for whom Squire
Sanders had been searching, was not to be found anywhere.

The interference of Squire Sanders worried Miss Ellis. A man, especially
an official, knows absolutely nothing about girls and their ways, and he
is sure to antagonize them in any attempt to force them to betray one
another's confidences.

But while the teacher, alone in the school, was reflecting upon the
tasks she should soon undertake to perform; Dorothy lay in her little
room, hot and feverish, with Aunt Libby beside her, bathing the
throbbing head tenderly with cold water and vinegar.

"You've been doin' too much," muttered the old nurse, "a-runnin'
newspapers, helpin' drunkards, teachin' housework to that Tavia, though
'twas a charity to show the child how to iron her own frocks. But you
see deary, it was too much for you, you as has always had Aunt Libby at
your elbow," and the old linen napkin, the softest of those ever ready
for headaches, was dipped again into the blue bowl of cool water and
strong vinegar, then pressed lightly to the feverish brow. "Try to sleep
a bit now," went on the nurse, as Dorothy looked gratefully into the
wrinkled face. "All you want is rest, just a good, quiet rest."