“She’s wearing it yet,” murmured Dorothy.
“And on her engagement finger,” cried Tavia. “I remember! She—she——”
“Hush!” warned Dorothy. Then she said to Tom Moran: “She must think a whole lot of you yet, Mr. Moran.”
“Do—do you think so?”
“I am sure.” She whispered in his ear about Miss Olaine coming to Number Nineteen the night little Celia had slept with Dorothy, and how the teacher had stooped over and kissed the little girl.
“She did it in memory of you—I am sure,” Dorothy said, earnestly.
The others had stepped aside to look at the woodchucks. Tavia had seen that Dorothy wished to speak to Tom Moran alone.
“Why was it she wouldn’t let me haul her out of that fire, then, two years ago?” demanded Tom Moran, in an injured tone.
“Wouldn’t she let you help her?”
“She give me a shove into the fire herself. Guess that was an accident. But she said, ‘Don’t you touch me!’” declared Tom.