“Now, you’re going right into Dorothy’s bed; aren’t you, dear? And you’ll go to sleep, and then we’ll talk more afterward?”
Dorothy’s motherly way pleased the wearied child. “I’ll do jes’ what you say, Dorothy Dale,” declared Celia. “But—but has you found Tom yet?”
“Not yet, dear; but I believe I am on the trail of him,” declared Dorothy, softly.
Tavia turned her back quickly when the missing man was mentioned. She had never plucked up courage to tell her chum how she had put before Miss Olaine the printed paragraph about Tom Moran. Miss Olaine had never really punished Dorothy for Tavia’s act; but since that time Tavia knew that the teacher had treated Dorothy more harshly than ever.
Tavia knew she had done wrong, but she did not know just how to straighten the matter out. To tell Dorothy would not help at all; and to broach the subject to Miss Olaine might do more harm than good.
The wearied child went to sleep almost as soon as her curly head touched Dorothy’s pillow. The girls sat beside her and whispered their comments upon the incident, while the garments of little Celia dried at the register.
“That Mrs. Hogan will beat her; won’t she?” demanded Tavia. “I’d like to beat her!”
“I don’t know that the woman actually abuses her—not in that way. Celia doesn’t seem to be afraid of being beaten.”
“She’s a plucky little thing.”
“Yes, she doesn’t cringe when Mrs. Hogan threatens to strike her. I noticed that when I stayed over night at the farmhouse,” said Dorothy.