“Tavia!”
“I could; but I didn’t,” said the wicked Tavia, her eyes sparkling once more. “But I never thought to ask how he came by it. Maybe some poor person found it and should be rewarded. Should I give a tithe of it, Doro, as a reward, as we give a tithe to the church? Let’s see! I had just eighty-nine dollars and thirty-seven cents, and an old copper penny for a pocket-piece. One-tenth of that would be——”
“Do be sensible!” exclaimed Dorothy, rather tartly for her. “You might at least have asked how the bag was sent here—whether by the store itself, or by some employee, or brought by some outside person.”
“Goodness! if it were your money would you have been so curious?” demanded Tavia. “I don’t believe it. You would have been just as excited as I was.”
“Perhaps,” admitted Dorothy, after a moment. “Anyway, I’m glad you have it back, dear.”
“And do you know what I am going to do? I am going to take that old man’s advice.”
“What old man, Tavia?”
“That Mr. Schuman—the head of the big store. I am going to go out right after breakfast and buy me a dog chain and chain that bag to my wrist.”
Dorothy laughed at this—yet she did not laugh happily. There was something wrong with her, and as soon as Tavia began to quiet down a bit she noticed it again.
“Doro,” she exclaimed, “I do believe something has happened to you!”