The glowing eyes of the Mexican girl rested on Dorothy’s face. “She teach me, Mees. She is so good!”
For some reason Tavia grew suddenly serious. At least, she did not tell a joke or say a whimsical thing till they had ridden more than ten miles over the now well-beaten trail to Lost River.
“Doro Doodledum!” exclaimed the irrepressible, suddenly. “Do you know what you are?”
“Yes, Ma’am. American; white; single; age—not stated; no political preferences, although leaning toward the suffragettes; attend the Congregational church——”
“How smart! But you are something else,” declared Tavia, still quite serious of countenance.
“Sure! A graduate of Glenwood School. Oh, Tavia! how I wish Ned Ebony, and Cologne, and half a dozen of the other girls, were here. Wouldn’t we have had fun?”
“Yes. But that is another story——”
“It’s the truth!”
“Ha! you do not know your Kipling,” cried Tavia. “But never mind. The point is, Doro, that I have come to the conclusion that you are something more than human.”
Dorothy looked at her in amazement. “How you talk! What is the joke?”