An old man sat on the porch, smoking his pipe. Sam Dixon spoke to him as he passed around the house to get the horse his breakfast. Presently a woman, enveloped in gingham dress, and lost in a gingham sunbonnet, came out and stood in wonderment, looking at Tavia. She glared at her for a moment or two, and then, without speaking a word, entered the house again. This was not a very cordial welcome for Tavia, but she patted the horse, and pretended not to notice the slight. Then Sam came limping along with the oats in a nose bag for Major.
"Now eat," ordered Sam, "and——" Then it struck him that he had not fixed on a name for his "niece." Tavia saw his embarrassment, but before she could suggest a name, he added, "Betsy, you and me's hungry too, I reckon. Let's see what Sarah has to eat in the kitchen."
"All right, Uncle Sam," replied "Betsy," with a smile, "I am hungry."
They entered the house, and soon were seated on the old-fashioned hickory chairs, before some steaming cakes, and equally steaming coffee. Tavia was indeed hungry, and she "fell to," as did Sam, without any unnecessary ceremony.
How strange it was! But what if the folks at camp thought her drowned? At any rate she must earn her ticket back.
What an eternity it seemed since she stole away to that little bridge—she could not bear to think of it now! And what would Dorothy think. Ah, how little Tavia knew what poor Dorothy was thinking at that very moment!
"Now, when you're ready, we'll hop along," said Sam as Sarah came in the room, and looked to see if her guests would take more coffee. "How's things to-day, Sarah?"
"Ain't you heard?" she replied ambiguously.
"No, what?" pressed Sam.
"Why, a girl has 'scaped from the hospital. 'Tain't very safe fer a strange girl to be around here now. It might be her," and she shot an unmistakable threat at Tavia. "Ain't never heard you speak, before, of Betsy, Sam. Where's she bin?"