“We would be so happy now,” said Dorothy, “if only we could get some tidings of Urania.”
“Do you think she will come back?” asked Miette.
“I am sure she will,” replied Dorothy. “If we only could get some word to her, wherever she is. Sometimes I wake in the night and fancy she is calling me.”
“You love her, I am sure,” said Miette, “and she is such a queer little creature!”
“Yes, I do love her,” declared Dorothy. “She almost risked her life for me, and I will never believe that she did anything wrong—she might be very foolish, but she is not wicked.”
“It is well to have such a friend as Dorothy Dale,” said Miette, with a meaning smile. “I am sure I should have fared very poorly without her aid myself.”
“Now, come,” interrupted Dorothy, “when a girl talks that way I am always certain she wants to borrow something—and all my needles, pins, thread, and even darning ball are at school.”
Miette laughed merrily—she had a way of laughing that might be properly termed infectious, for its ring never failed to bring forth an echo.
It was that laugh that had won for her the heart of Dorothy, when alone she attempted to become one of the “Glens,” and Tavia, with Ned, helped to make the fun on opening day.
The time slipped by like the fleeting autumn clouds that added their gentle reflection to the glorious tints of tree and bush. It might be pleasant to get back with the girls at Glenwood, but it could scarcely be more pleasant than this wonderful day at the Cedars, Dorothy thought. She had many delightful hours with her brothers, Roger and Joe, as well as with the others.