"I was not particular about whose boat it was," she said simply. "So long as I found something to get back to camp in."
"I don't think it right that Dorothy should leave mother," began Cologne. But Dorothy interrupted her.
"Did you ever notice, Cologne dear, how a storm clears? It takes a light wind, doesn't it? Well, this little excitement will clear things up for me."
Wise Dorothy was, of course, not opposed. She belonged to the class of persons who seem to be capable, and who really are, except where their own personal safety or comfort is concerned. They always have a reason and an answer, simply because others do not take the trouble to fathom the motive for this sacrifice. Dorothy had determined to find Tavia, and whatever her excuses, they were all subservient to that motive.
"I would rather get in with Nat and Ned," she said, as the party prepared to get off in the boats. "I am really too tired to scull."
"What's this?" asked Jack, picking up the nurse's garb from the bottom of the sanitarium canoe. "I declare! Dorothy has been masquerading!"
He held up the linen skirt, and the white cap. Of course the very next thing he did was to put the cap on his head.
Every one but Cologne laughed—she seemed too stunned to so soon forget the horror of the loss of Dorothy.
The young ladies from the neighboring camp had decided not to go on the water—in fact their chaperon had refused to allow them to go; "there had been so many horrible accidents around there of late," she declared.
Major Dale stood upon the bank, and watched his daughter. To the others it might seem like a dream, but to him it was very real. Dorothy had been such a daughter, and even now she was proving herself the Major's "little corporal." Nor did Dorothy miss the look that had buried the smile on her father's face.