"Things seem to be straightening out," thought Dorothy. "Every thing is all right at school, Tavia is back, now if Sarah would only tell—I have a good mind to run over to see her."
It was a warm afternoon and Dorothy had no need to bother with wraps. Aunt Libby was at the side porch so that in passing Dorothy called to her she would be back in a short time, then she crossed through the orchard, going under the very tree in the shade of which Sarah had been found suffering. Dorothy stopped and looked up into the branches. They were very low, some of them, so low that in fruit time girls could pick the apples without climbing for them.
The blossoms were almost gone. Small sprays lay faded on the grass where careless hands had scattered them.
Somehow, it seemed to Dorothy that the tree knew all about the accident; if trees could only talk, she thought. Then, picking up a spray of the freshest blossoms, she hurried on.
To Dorothy's surprise Mrs. Ford was very cordial in her welcome. Dorothy had feared the mother of the injured girl might not be so pleased to see her.
"Walk right in," said Mrs. Ford, opening the door. "I am sure it will do Sarah good to talk with you. She is so lonesome and talks in her sleep about the girls," and she led the way to her daughter's room.
The girl was now sitting up; her injured foot rested on a cushioned chair, while her face still showed signs of suffering.
"Sarah, dear," began Dorothy with an affectionate embrace, "I am so glad to see you up."
"Are you?" asked the other mechanically.
"Yes, indeed," ignoring her cold manner, "we have been so worried about you."