Dorothy was not quite satisfied, but she was overborne by her companions to go back to town and so did not see the end of the controversy between the foreman and “That Redhead” as Tavia insisted on calling the ox-team driver. Besides, Tavia acknowledged a cut she had received on her arm by being banged about in the ox-cart.
“You’d better hurry home and put some disinfectant on it,” advised Nat, who always had serious interest in Tavia’s well-being.
“Huh!” said Tavia, hotly, “I’m not a kitchen sink, I hope. If you mean antiseptic, say so.”
“Wow!” cried Ned. “Our Tavia has become a purist.”
“Oh, dear, that’s worse!” declared Tavia. “Come on, Doro, I don’t like these boys any more. I am going to become a man-hater, anyway, I think. They’re always underfoot—— Oh! what a cute dog you’ve got, Ned.”
“’Tain’t mine,” said Ned. “It’s Nat’s.”
“But he seems a long way from his head to his tail for a short-legged beast,” observed Dorothy.
“That’s some dog, let me tell you,” Nat declared, stoutly. “He’s a real German dachshund.”
“I thought he looked like an animated sausage,” declared Tavia, stooping to pet the animal. The creature stood very still while she patted his sleek coat, only blinking his big, soft brown eyes.