"Now, my dears," said their hostess, as she opened the doors to two connecting rooms, "here is where you will 'pitch your tents' as the boys would say. I hope you will be comfortable, but should you need anything Dorothy knows the plan of this house—just ask for anything you want. I'll leave you now. We will lunch as soon as you feel refreshed."
"But, auntie," called Dorothy, as Mrs. White passed into the hall, "won't you come here a moment? I have a very interesting thing to tell you," and as Mrs. White stepped back to the door again, Dorothy snatched the hat from Tavia's head.
Instantly the "installment" hair fell to the waist on one side, and clung to Tavia's neck at the other.
"Why!" exclaimed the aunt. "What on earth has happened to the child's locks?"
"Hair tonic model," laughed Dorothy, "sit down, auntie, and I will tell you."
Mrs. White took the uninjured mass of golden brown tresses into her hands.
"Some one stole them, of course," she ventured.
"One more guess!" smiled Dorothy.
At this the scar on Tavia's neck was discovered.
"Not in a fire?" exclaimed the aunt.