Dorothy and Tavia might well rejoice in the good news that the major had so lately been informed of, for the acquirement of means to Dorothy would undoubtedly bring good times to Tavia, and both deserved the prospects of sunshine and laughter, for alas—in all lives, even those scarcely old enough to take upon their shoulders the burden of cares, there comes some blot to mar the page: some speck to break the glorious blue of the noonday sky.
Dorothy Dale was not without her sorrow. A wicked man, Andrew Anderson by name, had come into her life in a mysterious way. Dorothy had befriended, and in her own way, helped back to a day of happiness an unfortunate man, Miles Burlock. This man had for years been in the strange power of Anderson, but before it was too late Dorothy had helped Burlock break the chains of strong drink that seemed to have bound him to the evil companion, and for this interference she had suffered—she was now the object of Anderson's hatred. Anderson was after the money that Miles Burlock had to leave at his death, but Dorothy and her father saved this for its rightful owner, a little daughter of Miles Burlock, who had for some years been kept away from her own father by Anderson.
The child, now an orphan, came into the care of Major Dale, her legal guardian and so Anderson had new cause for his hatred for Dorothy—the money and child having both been put out of his reach. So this was Dorothy's sorrow: she had been persecuted because of her goodness.
No one who knew Tavia Travers would have considered her capable of worry. She was as light-hearted as air, with a great faculty for mischief and a "hankering" for fun. But she did have a worry, a fear that some day Dorothy Dale might pass out of her life and end the attachment that came in childhood and waxed strong with girlhood. Dorothy was what might be considered a girl of the aristocratic class, while Tavia belonged to those who consider it a privilege to work for a living and have a keen appreciation of the opportunity—as Squire Travers proved when he turned in to show himself the best official, in the capacity of squire, of which Dalton ever boasted.
Now a new danger threatened Tavia: Dorothy would be almost rich. Would that help to break the ties of love and friendship between the girls?
Not that Dorothy could ever change in her sincere love for Tavia, but might not circumstances separate them, and then—?
Tavia had been first to congratulate Dorothy on the good news and the smashed hat had furnished an incident sufficiently distracting to keep Tavia from the lamentations that at first filled her heart. Hence it has been necessary to take the reader through her sentiments in a very much less interesting way than Tavia herself would have disclosed them. She had a way of saying and doing things that was inimitable, and amusing, if not entirely elevating.
"Then you think you will stay in Dalton?" asked Tavia, finally, as Dorothy succeeded in pulling the smashed hat back into some kind of shape, if not the right kind.
"Why not?" asked Dorothy. "Are there not plenty of good people in Dalton?"
"Oh, a few, perhaps. There's me and Johnnie—but we are not 'out' yet, and you will be looking for society friends. Well, here's good luck to you with your Indian millions, and don't forget that in your poorest days I used to lend you chewing gum," and at this Tavia threw her arms around Dorothy in a warm embrace, as if striving to hold to her heart and keep in her life the same old darling Dorothy—in spite of the new circumstances.