“I think, after all, it will be better for you to go straight on to North Birchland,” she said, trying to make her voice sound easy and natural, but conscious that her tones were rather unsteady. She was now putting into operation the second part of her plan. “It might be risky to attempt to pick me up in Rochester. I might miss you or you might miss me, whereas if we both follow out our route separately we will be sure to get to the Cedars in safety and without any delay.”

“Well, since you have decided to desert us, and travel by train, leaving the poor old Fire Bird to struggle along as best it can without a lady passenger, perhaps it will be best,” Nat agreed, in a dazed sort of way. He seemed for a time quite unlike Nat White—quite different from the youth who was always ready to take up the weak end of an argument and carry it to the strongest point of conclusion. Here he was letting his favorite cousin start away alone on a train to a strange big city, when she had been entrusted to his care.

“Here you are, Doro,” called Ned, coming from the depot where he had hurried as soon as the auto stopped. “Take this,” and he thrust some bills into her hands, as well as her tickets. “And do, above everything else, be careful. I’ve seen the porter, and tipped him so he will look after you. Now, you’d better get in and we’ll leave you, as we want to make good time. Good-bye,” and he stooped to kiss the pale-faced girl who was now too overcome with emotion to trust her own voice.

Nat put his arm affectionately around her and he, too, gave her a farewell kiss. They walked with her to the waiting train, and then the porter, in his blue uniform, adorned with numerous brass buttons, helped her aboard the car “Seneca.”

CHAPTER XXII
IN DIRE DISTRESS

Dorothy had traveled in parlor cars before but had never ridden in a sleeper, which was the style of coach she now found herself in. The train was a through one from the west and, as the regular parlor cars were full Ned had to get a ticket in the sleeper which, by day, is much the same as a parlor car.

As the porter set her valise down and arranged a seat for her near the ladies’ retiring room Dorothy’s heart beat fast, and, though the surroundings were new and novel to her she took no interest in them. But as the train whistled off, and the other passengers began moving about, Dorothy lifted her head and glanced around.

For a moment she felt that some mistake had been made. Surely this was no train for ladies, for not a woman was in sight, instead the entire car seemed filled with men in various stages of incomplete toilets. Some were adjusting their neckties as they walked through the aisle, others were fastening shoe laces, and a few buckling their belts or slipping on their coats.

Then she noticed, for the first time, that the car was a sleeper, for the interior was so dark because of the train shed when she entered that she could not tell what it was. She saw the berths on both sides, with heavy curtains lining the aisle. Only one or two beds had been shut up and turned into seats like the one she was occupying.

Dorothy was annoyed. Was she to make her lonely trip in company with a car full of men? She had expected, when she planned her journey, that there would be other girls and ladies in the coach in which she was to travel, and that she might appeal to them in case of need. But a whole car full of men!