“I saw you,” said Dorothy, her face paling as she remembered her fright in the train. “I—I thought I should faint I was so frightened.”
“Say! isn’t that just like a girl?” grumbled Joe; but he looked at his sister with some compunction, for he and Roger almost worshipped her. Only, of course, they were boys and the usual boy cannot understand the fluttering terror in the usual girl’s heart when danger threatens. Not that Dorothy was a weakling in any way; she could be courageous for herself. But her fears were always excited when those she loved were in peril.
“Why, we were only having fun, Sister,” Roger blurted out. Being considerably younger than his brother he was quicker to be moved by Dorothy’s expression of feeling.
“Fun!” she gasped.
“Yes,” Joe said sturdily. “It was a great race. And you and Tavia were in that train? We didn’t have an idea, did we, Roger?”
“Nop,” said his small brother thoughtlessly. “If we had we wouldn’t have raced that train.”
“Now, I want to tell you something!” exclaimed their sister, with a sharper note in her voice. “You’re not to race any train! Understand, boys? Suppose that engine had struck you as you crossed the tracks?”
“Oh, it wouldn’t,” Joe said stoutly. “I know the engineer. He’s a friend of mine. He saw I had the ‘right-of-way,’ as they call it. I’d beat him down the hill; so he held up the train.”
“Yes—he held up the train,” said Dorothy with a queer little laugh. “He put on brakes because I pulled the emergency cord. You boys would never have crossed ahead of that train if I hadn’t done so.”
“Oh, Dorothy!” gasped Joe.