“I am quite sure he was not stolen,” Dorothy ventured. “And I do feel that he is with his real owner. Here comes one of the teachers. If you like I’ll run over to the stable to-morrow morning, and see what I can find out in the mean time.”
With a bow of his head he went off, knowing that the teacher approaching would criticize his presence there.
Tavia was laughing when Dorothy joined her. “Well, he didn’t eat you did he, dear?” she asked. “I rather thought he enjoyed talking to you”; this with a teasing toss of her head.
“Now Tavia, Jake has simply got to know that story. I cannot see how we are to go about it, and save the—honor of—our clan, but we have got to think it up. We have got until to-morrow morning, and you and Ned must help. Personally I am ashamed of the whole proceedings.”
Dorothy went inside without waiting for her companion. She was in no mood for laughing over the matter, and it seemed impossible to get Tavia to realize how serious it had turned out to be. If Jacob went to Mrs. Pangborn with the story, after all the other annoyances that had occurred, in so short a time of the school term, Dorothy feared that even that mild and sweet-tempered lady might find the girls from Dalton too troublesome.
Tavia hurried to look for Edna. She found her with Molly Richards and Nita Brant, trying to solve the problem of making a slipper bag out of a raffia hat.
“See here, Ned,” began Tavia, “I have got to speak to you alone at once.”
“The sheriff this time?” asked Molly, laughing, and pricking her finger with the long needle she was trying to use.
“Worse, I’m afraid it will be the undertaker, if we are not miraculously careful and clever. Come along, Ned,” dragging her from her chair, “you are in on this autopsy.”
But the clever plans hoped for did not develop. All Edna did was to blame Tavia for getting into the scrape, and Tavia’s arguments ran along the same line. After study hour Dorothy called the girls to her room.