“Never mind. I suppose it takes some time for a letter to travel when it’s been forwarded from one place to another. I dare say Dorothy will soon hear from her. I’m glad all the family are well. Major Dale is always glad to hear news of the Dalton folks.”
“And indeed we all miss the major,” spoke Mrs. Travers with a show of feeling. “Not to say we don’t miss the entire family, for the boys were fine little fellows, and, as for Dorothy—”
The intended tribute to Dorothy ended with a little catch in Mrs. Travers’s voice, for she was very fond of her daughter’s companion, and sometimes showed her feelings with a touch of sentimentality.
Then, as Nat was really in a hurry (for he could not stop thinking of Urania under the seat) he made his excuses as quickly and as politely as the circumstances would allow, and was soon out of the house. He lost no time in cranking up and, in a few minutes, was chug-chugging at top speed down the country road.
He had made up his mind to take the Gypsy girl back to North Birchland, and was vaguely wondering, as he dashed along, why she did not knock on the seat and demand to be let out of her uncomfortable quarters.
“I think I’ll stop and just take a look at her. She may be crying,” the lad remarked to himself, and, bringing the machine to a halt alongside the road, he stepped out.
He assumed a determined look before unfastening the curtain, for he was bound not to let his sympathies run away with him in dealing with the unruly girl. He shoved back the catch and raised the leather flap.
Urania was gone!
“Well, I’ll be jiggered!” cried Nat aloud, so great was his astonishment at the second surprise the Gypsy had given him. “If she isn’t a dandy! How in the world did she slip out without me seeing her?”
But Nat had forgotten the few moments when he sat on the sofa at the rear side of Mrs. Travers’s parlor, some distance from the front windows, and it was in those few moments that Urania had managed to undo the catch, in spite of its supposed security, and slip out of the Fire Bird. Swiftly, as no girl but a Gypsy can run, she had fled down the street, across the Dalton bridge, and into the deep woods beyond, where she would have time to plan out the remainder of her day’s travels.