"And all on my account," went on Tavia. "I declare you have gotten
thin," and she spanned the bare wrist of Dorothy lovingly. "You never
wrote, of course, as I asked you to."

The lost note! Perhaps other important matters had been overlooked in
its disappearance.

"Is Sarah able to play leap-frog yet?" went on Tavia facetiously. "I
hear Squire Sanders has been inquiring for me--just me, Tavia Travers.
Ahem! Also my goodness me! Sakes alive! If I had only known the worthy
squire wished to hold converse with this--me, you know, I certainly
should have postponed my vacation. Who knows what I have missed?"

Dorothy's face showed how pleased she was; it was so good to hear Tavia
rattle on that way. As Ralph Willoby had said, her heart was right, and
so she made few mistakes where love could be counted on as her guide.

Tavia was stroking Dorothy's head affectionately. The two girls sat on
the rustic bench, Dorothy with her head resting upon the other's
shoulder.

"I made a discovery in Rochester," said Tavia, when she had exhausted
every possible point, covering the sickness of her friend, the fainting
in school and all that preceded and followed that occurrence. "Yes, I
found out that a woman there, who did washing for my aunt, is named
Burlock, and that she has been deserted by her husband--"

"Has she a daughter?" interrupted Dorothy.

"I don't know about that. Aunt Mary said she was such a strange woman,