It was some time before they were calm enough to discuss the details of the rescue. But when finally Nat and Tavia did describe the small boy’s peril and rescue, Dorothy was ashamed to think how she had misjudged her chum. She ought to have known by this time how right Tavia’s heart was where her friends were concerned.
They had dinner then, a merry one in spite of the shadow of worry and anxiety that still hung heavy on their minds. Despite his famished state, Roger was so exhausted by the strenuous and exciting events of the past few hours that he almost fell asleep in his chair and had to be helped to bed before he had half finished his dinner.
Dorothy, looking down at his sleeping face, so dear and innocent on the pillow, felt her eyes smart with fresh tears. Kneeling down beside the bed, she pressed her cheek to his soft one.
“Don’t ever do a thing like that again,” she whispered. “What would Doro do if anything happened to her Roger?”
One small arm twined about her neck and Roger half opened his eyes, smiled sleepily.
“Roger—loves—Doro,” he murmured, and fell asleep.
On the way downstairs Dorothy stopped in the Major’s room to see how he fared and found him also asleep. She would not disturb him now till morning although she knew how eagerly he would grasp at the one small item of news concerning Joe that she had to tell him.
If Joe were only there too, beneath the familiar roof, asleep—Dorothy sighed, closed the door gently, and went on downstairs.
“Ned has just been telling us about Joe’s cap, Doro,” said Tavia, as she entered the room. “Isn’t it marvelous? We have an honest-to-goodness clue at last.”
“Although I can’t see where it leads us——”