“Now, Tom Moran might have gone clear across the continent, following his job. Or he might be right around here somewhere. If he’s just one of the ordinary workmen I suppose he belongs to the union. If he’s a foreman, or something big in the work, he might not belong to the union; but they would know his name, just the same.
“Now!” reflected Dorothy. “I don’t believe that asylum matron ever thought to ask the union, in all these four years little Celia has been in her care. I’ll look up the local headquarters in the directory, and write them a nice letter about Tom Moran.
“As for learning where Mrs. Hogan has taken Celia, I’ll inquire of every farmer I see. Mrs. Hogan’s farm can’t be very far from here.”
Dorothy Dale had come to these conclusions before ever Tavia got into trouble with Miss Olaine, and been shut up in the dressing-room with the pigs.
She had, indeed, gone to Mrs. Pangborn’s office immediately after the recitation hour in which Tavia had fallen into disgrace, to look in the city directory for the address she wished to discover.
The older pupils were allowed to refer to the school reference books, and the like, as they chose. Mrs. Pangborn never objected to their doing so.
Therefore Dorothy’s surprise was the greater when, as she bent over the book she desired to consult, a harsh voice demanded:
“What are you doing in here, Miss? Is this the place for you at this hour?”
It was Miss Olaine, and she was grimmer than before. Dorothy was more than ever sure that she would continually clash with this teacher.
“I was looking for something, Miss Olaine,” the girl said, stiffly.