“She knows, all right,” remarked Nat, as the girl swung out into the roadway on her way to the camp.
“But she’ll never tell,” added Ned. “She wouldn’t dare. That Melea, her stepmother, whom she calls the old woman, is a regular ‘tartar.’”
“I think,” ventured Dorothy, “she might give just a hint. We wouldn’t want her to do anything that would endanger herself. But if we guessed—”
“You’re the star guesser, Doro,” put in Tavia. “For my part I never was any good at that trick. You remember how near I came to the mark at the Glens’ Donkey party?”
“Then keep away from this tale,” said Nat laughing. “It wouldn’t do for the clue to be pinned on the wrong party.”
“I must have a talk with Urania alone,” Dorothy said, seriously. “I am sure she will tell me what she knows about the birds. I’ll go see her this afternoon—I want to go over to the camp with some things, and then I will get Urania to walk out with me. It wouldn’t do for Melea to see our two heads together.”
“Great idea,” commented Ned. “I quite agree with Tavia. You would make a star detective, Doro. And the best of it is no one would ever suspect you of being ‘on the rubber.’ Now Tavia—well, she just up and asks, the most impertinent questions—”
“For instance. Who that nice looking boy is who has been dodging around here lately?” interrupted Tavia, taking up the young man’s sally, and adding to the joke on herself. “I must say he is the smartest looking chap—”
“Oh, the fellow with the red cheeks?” asked Nat.
“Exactly,” answered Tavia, in a serious voice.