“Well, we may as well look,” answered her father, “but I wouldn’t take too much stock in the word of a youngster of his type.”
Then, in their haste, they forgot conversation, and for some time neither spoke. The road seemed very rough, and the path very uncertain. Dorothy glanced at her father, and was at once concerned for his comfort.
“Are you tired, Daddy?” she asked. “Perhaps I am asking too much of you.”
“Oh, I guess I can stand it,” he replied. “It won’t take much longer to make that hill.”
The great grove of chestnut trees now towered above them. Yes, there were voices—girls’ voices, too!
“I hear someone,” announced Dorothy, as she stepped over a small rivulet.
“Yes, so do I,” said the Major. “But it is hardly likely our little friend would be with a crowd of school girls—see, there is the teacher!”
Dorothy’s heart sank. There was the teacher, sure enough, and the girls—
Urania was not one of them!