“Whoever it was, they’re out of sight, and I don’t mean that for slang, either,” she announced. “But say, Doro, dear, I don’t see why I can’t find that picture. It’s disappeared most mysteriously. I don’t like it.”
“But you will find it. Perhaps it blew out of the window,” Dorothy suggested.
“Maybe,” Tavia replied, “but I have lost something else.”
“What?”
“A slip of paper I took out of the candy box. It had an address on it, and I wanted it.”
“But it was not yours, if you took it from Jean’s box.”
“That’s the very reason I wanted it. Well, never mind. Wash up and we’ll go out in the woods. Maybe we’ll dig up some more lunch carts.”
“I don’t believe I care to,” Dorothy answered. “I want to wait for the mail. Besides, my eyes would betray me,” and she glanced in the mirror to confirm her suspicion.
“All right. I’ll go out, hunt up the news, and fetch it back to you. In the meantime you might be hunting up your photo for me. I feel lonely without it,” and Tavia, without making any other preparation than picking up a parasol, was gone.
Dorothy did not sit down and cry, although she felt gloomy indeed, but, as her trunk had arrived, she buried her “blues” in the work of getting things in order.