Miss Olaine was used to the strict discipline of the city public school; she could not understand Mrs. Pangborn’s leniency in her treatment of perfectly harmless escapades—and those girls who took part in them.
Meanwhile Dorothy’s wits—spurred by Tavia’s irresponsible remark about the “Agony Column” of the newspaper—had been working overtime. The personal column of a newspaper did not appeal to her; but she believed that advertising for little Celia’s brother might bring about some result.
She chose the Salvation Army paper, in which she knew there was a column devoted to requests for news of “absent friends,” and she wrote to the editor in New York all about Celia, and why she so desired to get some trace of the missing ironworker.
The editor kindly put her paragraph in the paper and sent her a copy with the request marked with a blue pencil. And that marked paragraph occasioned more excitement in Glenwood school than Dorothy expected.
Matters had run along pretty smoothly after the Night of the White Giant, and the giant himself was already a devastated, melting pillar on the school lawn. The Easter vacation was in sight.
“You’ll surely go home with me, Doro—to dear old Dalton?” sang Tavia, hugging her friend. “You promised——”
“And I wouldn’t miss it for anything!” declared Dorothy, laughing gaily. “I’m just crazy to see all the folks there. And Nat and Ned say they’ll come—going to stop with the Perritons. You know—Abe Perriton is in college with my cousins.”
“Good enough!” exclaimed Tavia. “Perhaps there’ll be boys enough for once to ‘go ’round.’”
“Oh!” exclaimed Dorothy, with twinkling eyes, “somebody else will be there, too.”
“Who else? Joe and Roger?”