By this time the Travers family had become aware of the presence of the Fire Bird at their door, and Mrs. Travers, impressed with the distinction, had stepped back quickly to her room to tidy herself up a bit. This gave Nat a few moments longer to think of what he had best do with the Gypsy girl.
“Here,” he said to her, rather fiercely, “you just stay under that seat until I’m ready to take you to a place of safety. Now, if you dare to move while I’m in this house I’ll—I’ll have you arrested,” and with that Nat fastened down the curtain securely, with a catch that snapped on the outside and was incapable, as he supposed, of being opened from the inside.
He walked up the path to the front door and, after a few seconds, his knock was answered by Mrs. Travers. With unlimited protestations of welcome she showed Nat in, and offered him a seat in the far corner of the room, some distance from the front windows. He felt that he had better keep his eye on the machine, because of his concealed passenger, so, after a moment’s hesitation, he took a chair near the front of the apartment, remarking, as he did so, what a pretty view there was from the window.
“What brings you to Dalton?” asked Mrs. Travers.
“I was—er—just passing through, and I thought I’d stop to inquire—about the family. Dorothy would like to know,” said Nat.
“Oh, we’re about as well as usual,” said Tavia’s mother.
“How’s Tavia? Is she home?” asked Nat quickly, feeling that this was as good an opening as he could desire.
“No, and I’m very sorry, for she’d be delighted to see you. She went to Buffalo just after coming from school. We scarcely had a good look at her. I wanted her to stay home for a week, but she was so set on going that she started off bag and baggage, and I’m sure I can’t say when she will be home. Of course she’s with friends,” the mother hastened to add, seeing the look of surprise that flashed over Ned’s face in spite of his effort at self-control.
“My cousin, Dorothy, wrote to her,” Nat hastened to say, to cover his confusion, “and, not receiving an answer, thought it likely that she might be ill, or away.”
“Tavia’s father forwarded the letter to her,” said Mrs. Travers. “She should have answered it by this time. We have only had one souvenir card from her since she went away, but it was a real pretty one; I’d like to show it to you, but I guess I’ve mislaid it. I can’t think where I put it.”