Dorothy Dale at Glenwood School Part 16

When the excitement had subsided, and the gifts were counted, Dorothy found she had fourteen beautiful dainty little handkerchiefs, four hand-made collars, and a darling pink and white linen bag. This last gift was from Alice, and had Dorothy's name done in a tiny green vine, with dots of pale lavender violets peeping through. This was such a beautiful piece that Alice admitted she had worked on it sometime previous to the party, intending to keep it for Dorothy's birthday gift.

Next Tavia counted twelve handkerchiefs, and seven collars. She declared the girls knew she never had a decent collar, and, in her profuse thanks, almost wept with joy at the unexpected blessing.

"It's the collar that makes the girl," she a.s.sured those who stood about her admiring her treasures, "and I never could make the collar.

So you see you have saved me from disgracing Dorothy at Glenwood. I suppose every boarding school girl sports the hand-made variety."

"And to think that I cannot give a party in Dalton to pay you back,"

remarked Dorothy, as she was saying good-bye to a group of girls and boys in the hall. "We are going to move to North Birchland, you know."

But the girls did not know, and the information was received with much regret--everyone would miss the Dales. The girls would miss Dorothy, the boys would miss Joe, and as for Roger, he had always been a neighborhood pet. Then Major Dale was a popular citizen, besides being especially endeared to many whom he had befriended with money and advice.

"But you will come down to see us on your holidays," insisted the boys and girls, "and perhaps we can get something up so that we may have a reunion."

Dorothy agreed to this, and then, when all the good-byes had been said, and all the earnest protestations of affection expressed, the merry-makers dispersed, making their way through the wet and muddy roads, but happy with a clear sky above--for some of the girls wore real party dresses and the shower had made them apprehensive until it stopped.

Dorothy and Tavia remained to thank Alice and Mrs. MacAllister for all the trouble they had taken. During the conversation Viola a.s.sured the girls they would be delighted with Glenwood and said it was a pity Alice had to stay longer at Dalton school to finish a special course.

"Because," said Viola, "we could have such glorious times all together."

"Do you think," said Tavia, as she took Dorothy's arm and "picked her steps," across the wet road on her way home, "that Viola really means it? That she is glad we are going to Glenwood?"

"I wouldn't like to say," hesitated Dorothy. "She has such an odd way.

All afternoon she acted to me like one who had gained some point and was satisfied."

"Then I didn't get her away from Nat in time," declared Tavia. "I heard her say something suspicious as I came up to them. No use asking Nat what he told her, he would invent something to tease me and--"

"Declare you were jealous," finished Dorothy. "We will hope she was in earnest with her graciousness--perhaps she is always that way--antagonistic with strangers."

"Never," and Tavia went into a mud puddle in her attempt to speak very decidedly. "There! I'm glad that was not my canvas shoe. I was tempted to wear them. Ouch! Wet through! But I was about to say that Viola is not mean to all strangers. Did you see the way she went for Nat?"

"Well, we must not make trouble by going out of our way to meet it,"

preached Dorothy. "Viola may not have a chance to bother us at Glenwood, even if she cared to try."

"Chance! You can depend upon her to make all the chance she wants.

But I have my defense all mapped out. I am certain she will try to disgrace us with the patrol story."

"What disgrace could she make out of that?" asked Dorothy in surprise.

"Don't know, haven't the least idea, only I fancy she will fix something up. But I'll give her 'a run for her money,' as the boys say," and Tavia displayed something of the defense she had "mapped out"

in a decidedly vindictive att.i.tude. Packing of trunks and doing up of girls' belongings made the time fly, so that when the morning of the actual departure did arrive both girls felt as if something important must have been overlooked, there was so much hurry and flurry. But the train puffed off at last, with Dorothy Dale and Octavia Travers pa.s.sengers for the little place called Glenwood, situated away off in the New England mountains.

Major Dale felt lonely indeed when his Little Captain had kissed the two boys--her soldiers--good-bye, and, when she pressed her warm cheek to his own anxious face, it did seem as if a great big slice of sunshine had suddenly darted under a heavy black cloud. But it was best she should go, he reflected, and they must get along without her.

Tavia's folks were conscious of similar sentiments. The squire, her father, and her little brother Johnnie went to the station to see the girls off, and Johnnie felt so badly that he actually refused to go fishing with Joe Dale, an opportunity he would have "jumped at" under any other circ.u.mstances. Roger Dale had rubbed his pretty eyes almost sightless trying not to cry and listening to Aunt Libby's oft-told story that had never yet failed to heal a wound of the baby's heart, but he surely did not want Doro to go, and he surely would cry every single night when she did not come to kiss him.

"I just do want her," he blubbered on the newly-ironed gingham ap.r.o.n that Aunt Libby buried his sweet face in, "and I don't love Auntie Winnie for taking her away."

So the Dalton home was left behind.

"I wish we did not have to change so often," said Dorothy to Tavia, when she had finally dried her eyes and looked around with the determination of being young-lady-like, and not crying for those left behind in dear old Dalton.

"Oh, that's the most fun," declared Tavia. "All new people maybe, and different conductors, besides a chance to try if our feet are asleep--mine feel drowsy now," and she jumped into the aisle just to straighten out and make people wonder if she had lost something.

"We will meet the others at the junction--Viola's folks, you know. And that reminds me,--I never had a chance to tell you why she was called Viola. Her grandfather was a great violinist and she was called after his--"

"Fiddle! Good!" interrupted Tavia, the irrepressible. "Then I'll call her 'Fiddle.' That's lots better than the vegetables."

"It's a comfort to have all our things go by express," Dorothy remarked when "Next station Junction!" was called from the front door of the car. "I feel as if I am constantly forgetting something, when I have nothing to carry, but it is a relief to find our racks empty."

"My hat is up there," Tavia remarked, taking down the straw sailor.

"And our box of candy--you don't call that an empty rack, do you?

Alice's best mixed--all chocolate too."

"I was quite sure you wouldn't forget the candy," answered Dorothy.

"And it was awfully good of Alice."

"Junction! Junct-shon!" called the trainman.

"There's our porter," remarked Tavia; with conscious pride as the colored man, whom the major had given the girls in charge of, stepped up the aisle, secured the small satchels and, without so much as, "by your leave," or, "are you ready," handed the two girls off the train.

CHAPTER XII

VIOLA'S MOTHER

At the change of cars the Dalton girls were met by Viola and Mrs.

Green. Viola and her mother soon arranged seats for four in the chair car, and Dorothy, with Tavia, joined them in such comfortable quarters as are provided for long distance pa.s.sengers. Then the little party settled down for a long ride--and all the enjoyment that might be discovered therein. Viola appeared delighted to meet the Dalton girls--she inquired particularly about Dorothy's cousin Nat, but this society "stunt," as Tavia termed it, was due more to the city habit of remembering friends' friends, than a weakness on Viola's part for good looking boys.

But it was Viola's mother who interested both Dorothy and Tavia. She was a small woman, evidently of foreign extraction (Spanish, Dorothy thought) and with such a look of adoration for Viola that, to Dorothy and Tavia, observing the wonderful mother-love, it seemed like something inhuman, divine perhaps, or was it a physical weakness?

They noticed that Mrs. Green used her smelling salts freely, she often pressed her hand to her head, and seemed much like a person too delicate to travel.

"Are you all right, momsey?" Viola would ask continually. "I do wish you had not risked coming."

"But I could not allow you to travel all alone," the mother would answer with a delightful foreign accent. "And you know, my daughter, that father was too busy."

"But, momsey, do not sit up if you are tired," cautioned Viola. "Just lie back and try to be comfortable."

"I am enjoying every word you speak," declared the little woman, inhaling her salts. "You and your charming friends."

Dorothy had never seen so wonderful a mother--to actually hang on her daughter's frivolous nonsense. And the attention was a positive tonic to Tavia's chatter. She said such amusing things and saw such ridiculous comparisons--the kind little children surprise their elders with.

To Dorothy, who had never known a mother's affection (she was such a tot when her own dear mother left her), this devotion appeared to be nothing short of marvelous. Tavia thought it unusual--Viola seemed worried when it became too extreme. Then she would urge her mother to rest and not excite herself over foolish schoolgirl talk. Even such an admonition from a mere daughter did not appear to bother the strange little woman, with the almost glaring black eyes. Tavia observed this peculiarity, then made a mental observation that whatever ailed Viola might have to do with a similar affliction on the mother's part--perhaps a family weakness!

As they journeyed on Dorothy found it very pleasant to talk with Mrs.

Green and so left Viola and Tavia pretty much to themselves.