Dorothy was anxious to have a serious talk with Tavia, but considered it too soon after her illness to bring about that conversation, so she only smiled now as Tavia set all her creams and stuffs in a row, then stretched herself out “perfectly flat to relax,” as the book directions called for. Fancy Tavia doing a thing like that!
“When I dare—that is as soon as that old Rip Van Winkle of a doctor lets me off,” said Tavia suddenly, “I’m going to get a set of exercisers for myself. I don’t believe we have half enough muscle work.”
“Why, my dear, one would imagine you were training for the circus ring,” said Dorothy laughing.
“Hardly,” replied the other. “I never was keen on bouncing, and circus turns all end with a bounce in the net. Those nets make me creepy—a mattress for mine when on the rebound. Have you been to the post-office?”
“No, but I’m going. Want any stamps?”
“No. But if—if you get a letter for me I wish you wouldn’t put it into Mrs. Pangborn’s box—I expect a little note from a girl, and I’m sure it need not be censored, as the rest of the letters are.”
“But the rule,” Dorothy reminded her gently.
“I believe the United States postal laws are of more importance than the silly, baby rules of Glenwood school,” snapped Tavia with unexpected hauteur, “and it’s against the law for one person to open the letters of another.”
“But Mrs. Pangborn takes the place of our mothers—she is really our guardian when we enter her school. We agree to the rules before we are taken in.”
“No, we were ‘taken in’ when we agreed to the rules,” persisted the other. “Now, as it’s your turn to do the post office this week, I think you might do me a little favor—I assure you the letter I expect is not from some boy. Other girls can smuggle boys’ letters in, and yet I can’t contrive to get a perfectly personal note from a perfectly sensible girl, without the missive being—passed upon by—google-eyed Higley!”