“Thank you, young ladies. That is all!” shouted a little, fat man in tall hat and frock-coat. “We will not trouble you longer.”
And in a minute the groups were broken up, and the girls in white were flitting here and there over the green. So much was going on before the bell rang for the graduation class to march to the hall that the question about Miss Olaine was not just then answered.
But Dorothy showed Tavia two letters she had received that morning from Dalton. The outside envelope was addressed to her in the large, rather stiff lettering of Tom Moran; but inside there was a little pink note enclosed with the red-headed young man’s letter.
“Dear little Celia!” exclaimed Tavia. “Let me read it, Doro.”
And the difficult little scrawl from “jes’ the cutest little thing” brought both laughter and tears to the eyes of tender-hearted Tavia:
“‘My loverly, dere miss Doroty Dale:
‘My teacher says she will look ove this letter for mistaks; but she says to ime larnin fast as can be. I wuz goin to kep hous for Tom Moran but he says no not yet sometime praps. I gotter go to schol fust. But Tom Moran is got a big, big house and hes got furnchure an pitchers an things an he says he is goin to let a lady come and kep hous for us till i git bigger. Her name is Olain and he says she is goin to be lik aunty was to me, only better. So no more now from one that lovs you lots you no your little Celia.’”
“Then it’s going to be—really?” demanded Tavia, of her chum.
“About Miss Olaine?”
“Yes.”
“Open the other note,” commanded Dorothy.