“But no one else can just do it,” she argued to herself, “and surely I can spare the time—I’ll work at night, if necessary, to make it up.”
The prospect of a trip to the Cedars was pleasant in itself to Dorothy, and then to have Miette with her, to show her to Aunt Winnie, besides being assured that no one could so wisely act in the case of lost relatives as could Aunt Winnie—Dorothy could scarcely sleep that night thinking of it all.
She simply told Tavia she was going to the Cedars “on business.”
“And why can’t I go?” demanded Tavia, always ready for a trip, especially with her chum.
“Why, you have already got work to make up,” explained Dorothy, “and how could you expect to leave now?”
“I’ve a mind to, anyway,” declared Tavia. “We are all going to strike if that ‘Bylow—baby-bunting’ does not come to terms. She’s perfectly hateful, and not a girl can get along with her.”
“I’ve managed to keep out of trouble,” remarked Dorothy abstractedly.
“Oh, you!” exclaimed Tavia, “you don’t go in for that kind of trouble lately. But I notice you have plenty of other domestic brands.”
“Yes,” sighed Dorothy, “I have some—just now.”
“Well, I may as well sleep it off,” answered Tavia. “But I surely would like a trip just now—to cut that ‘condition’ I have to make up. Seems to me school days get harder every twenty-four hours,” and she turned away, without any apparent worry, in spite of her declaration of “too much to do.”