“All I know about it? Why, Dorothy!”
“Yes. You did find a letter! It was written to Jean. Tell me Tavia. I will not wait to know that I must leave school—I am going to-morrow!”
“Going to-morrow! Then I will go with you,” declared Tavia. “I would never have seen Glenwood if it had not been for you.”
The girls were looking over their lessons for the day. Dorothy had just received a letter from home. Brave as she wished to be, and fearful as she had been, of that investment company, when her father wrote, in his careful way, that there might be trouble, Dorothy at once prepared to go to him, and to her two small brothers.
“Dorothy, I would have told you but really I felt it was a trick.”
“A trick! On such a serious matter?”
“You believe every one to be as noble as yourself,” said Tavia, “but there are people in this world born without the sense of kindness, or the instinct of charity. We seem to have a few such girls around here.”
Dorothy looked fondly at her friend. There was no use trying to use logic on the subject on which her head and heart were now centered.
“Tavia, tell me what was in the letter you found at my door! Or I shall go to Jean, and demand to know.”
“Never,” said Tavia. “I’ll give you the old letter. It isn’t worth looking at, and I am sure the writer is a—cheerful—well you would not let me say fabricator; would you?”