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DOROTHY DALE A GIRL OF TO-DAY

BY MARGARET PENROSE AUTHOR OF "DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL," ETC

ILLUSTRATED

THE DOROTHY DALE SERIES BY MARGARET PENROSE

DOROTHY DALE: A GIRL OF TO-DAY DOROTHY DALE AT GLENWOOD SCHOOL (Other volumes in preparation)

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. DOROTHY II. DOROTHY AT THE OFFICE III. A STRANGE ADVENTURE IV. A CLEW V. MILES BURLOCK VI. AT THE SWING VII. WHAT HAPPENED IN THE ORCHARD VIII. SQUIRE SANDERS AT SCHOOL IX. THE AFTERMATH X. APPLE BLOSSOM MAGIC XI. A SOLDIER'S DAUGHTER XII. AN UNPROVOKED ATTACK XIII. A QUEER PICNIC XIV. THE SECRET XV. DOROTHY IN POLITICS XVI. THE GIRLS HAVE IT XVII. A GIRL'S WEAPON XVIII. DOROTHY IN DANGER XIX. A SURPRISE TRIP XX. AN EVENTFUL JOURNEY XXI. AT AUNT WINNIE'S XXII. THE PRICE OF TAVIA'S TRESSES XXIII. IN SOCIAL ELEMENTS XXIV. THE PAINTED FACE XXV. AN EMERGENCY CASE XXVI. DOROTHY'S COURAGE XXVII. THE LITTLE CAPTAIN—CONCLUSION

CHAPTER I

DOROTHY

The day of days had come at last: Dorothy would be the Daughter of the
Regiment.

"Lucky you don't have to curl your hair, Doro, for the fog is like rain, and that's the worst kind for made curls," said Tavia.

"Oh, I do hope it is not going to rain!"

"No, it surely won't. But come, don't let's be late."

"There's heaps of time, Tavia. Oh, just see Briggs' new flag! Isn't it glorious?" cried Dorothy Dale.

"Not half as glorious as your old Betsy Ross. I'd be too proud to march if I had a real, truly Betsy. I think, anyway, it's prettier with the star of stars than with the regular daisy field of them," and Tavia tied her scarf just once more, that being the fourth time she had smoothed it out and knotted it over.

"I think red, white and blue look lovely over a white dress," commented
Dorothy. "Your scarf is perfect."

"But you are like a live Columbia," insisted Tavia. "No one could look as pretty as you," and her companion fairly beamed with admiration.

"Come now, gather up the stuffs. Button your cloak all the way down, for we don't want folks to see how we're dressed," and Dorothy made sure that her own water-proof covered her skirts to the very edge.

It was Decoration Day, and the girls were to take part in the Veterans' procession.

Dorothy was the only daughter of Major Frank Dale, one of the prominent veterans of Dalton, a small town in New York state. Dorothy was in her fourteenth year, but since her mother was dead, and she was the eldest of the small family (the other members being Joe, age ten, and Roger just seven), she seemed older, and was really very sensible for her years.

The major always called her his Little Captain, and she showed such a practical interest in his business, that of running the only newspaper in Dalton, The Bugle, that few, if any boys could have made better partners in the work.

At housekeeping Dorothy was relieved of the real drudgery by Mrs. Martin, who had been with the major's children since the day when baby Roger was taken from his mother's side; and while the housekeeper was the soul of love for the motherless ones, it was Dorothy who felt responsible for the real management of the home, for Aunt Libby, as the children called Mrs. Martin, was fast growing old, and faster growing queer, in spite of a really good-natured disposition.

"It seems to me, Dorothy," the old lady would say, "Libby can't suit you any more. And Joe, too—he's mighty fussy about his victuals. Only my baby Roger loves the old woman!" and she would press the younger boy to her breast with a world of love in the caress.

Not far from Dorothy lived Octavia Travers, or Tavia as all the girls in Dalton called her, She had the reputation of being wild; that is she cared little for school, and less for study, but she loved her brother Johnnie and she loved Dorothy. She also had some love left for the woods; but like many another child of nature, she was misunderstood, and she was considered an idler by every one but her own father and Dorothy.

"Tavia is a rough diamond," Dorothy would tell the major, "and you need not be afraid of Aunt Libby's dreadful ideas about her. She's as good as gold. Lots of girls, who turn up their noses at her, might learn charity from the Tiger Lily, as they call her, just because she has a few freckles around her eyes. I think they make her eyes prettier, they are so brown—her eyes you know. And Daddy, no other girl in Dalton loves soldiers, dead or alive, as truly as Tavia does."

This last argument never failed to convince Major Dale, for a patriotic girl could no more go astray than could a star fall from the flag, he declared; so the Little Captain might go with Tavia if she desired.

So it was that Dorothy and Tavia were companions on Decoration Day. For weeks they had been getting ready—Tavia picking out the patches of daisies that would surely be in bloom in time, and Dorothy making certain that Mrs. Travers would not disappoint Tavia with her white things, as well as keeping track of Aunt Libby, who had Dorothy's own costume in hand. The dress was too short and had to be let down a whole inch, and of course, it could not be done up until after the alterations were finished.

There was always a big time in Dalton on Memorial Day, but this year it was to be made more memorable than ever before. The Grand Army of the Republic men were to come in from Rochester, the firemen were to turn out, and the school children were to have a place in the ranks, with Dorothy Dale as their leader. Besides this, the Dalton Drum and Fife Corps would make their first public appearance on this occasion, and a real review was to be given the procession, in the little square opposite the school, not very far from the cemetery where the soldiers' graves would be decorated.

No wonder, then, that Dorothy and Tavia were anxious about their appearance. Every school girl was expected to wear white, of course, and the bunting stripes of red, white and blue were bought in Rochester, by the school teacher, Miss Ellis, and sold to the children at actual cost—ten cents for each scarf.

One thing was certain, no other girls would have such flowers as Dorothy and Tavia had. Such syringias and such daisies! And the ferns that Tavia had growing back of the well for weeks!

Tavia had taken charge of the flowers for Dorothy, had made the big bouquet and had covered it with wet paper so it would keep fresh. The Little Captain had made certain that her companion would not be disappointed about her white dress, and although Tavia had to stay from school to wash it the day before, Dorothy went over to help her with the ironing, for Mrs. Travers managed somehow, to have an excuse for her failure in getting her daughter ready—she was that kind of helpless, shiftless person, who rarely had things ready for her children, especially in the matter of Tavia's clothes.

"Your dress looks real pretty," declared Dorothy, as the girls hurried along to the school.

"Thanks to you for ironing it," responded Tavia, with gratitude in her voice.

"I only helped, you did the skirt."

"That was plain, but the waist and sleeves—I never could have even smoothed them, to say nothing of making them look this way," and she straightened up to show the beauty of the garment.

At the school everything was in commotion. Some girls wanted their scarfs tied, others wanted to carry flags, some insisted they could not go out without hats, while Miss Ellis, always strict, seemed more stern than ever.

"Those who were here yesterday afternoon raise their hands," she commanded. Every girl but Tavia raised her hand.

"Those who were not here to rehearsal," went on the teacher, "cannot be in the ranks. You know I told you all to be here, or not to expect to go blundering along the roads, disgracing the school. Now, Miss Tavia Travers, please step back."

All the commotion ceased. Tavia the patriotic girl—she who had been searching for flowers in all sorts of dangerous and lonely places—not to march?

"Teacher," spoke up Dorothy, her cheeks aflame and her voice quivering.
"It was not Tavia's fault. She—"

"Silence, Dorothy, or you will also lose your place."

"But teacher—" insisted the girl, with commendable courage, "I know
Tavia—"

"Leave the ranks!" called Miss Ellis and Dorothy stepped down—and slipped into a seat alongside her weeping friend. "Sarah Ford, you may lead."

This announcement caused no less surprise than did the punishment of Dorothy. To think that Sarah Ford, a stranger in Dalton, whose father was not even a firemen, let alone a soldier, should take first place!

It must be admitted that not every girl cared when Tavia left the ranks, for she was not a general favorite: but Dorothy! Major Dale's daughter! and he the head marshal!

With a conceited toss of her head Sarah Ford stepped to the front.

"She's mean," was whispered around. "Perhaps teacher knows only the meanest girl would ever take Doro's place."

Meanwhile two very miserable girls were crying their eyes sore in the back seat.

"Oh, Doro!" sobbed Tavia, "to think you lost it on my account."

"It was not on your account," wailed Dorothy, "but on account of an unreasonable teacher."

"Hush! She'll hear you."

"Hope she does," went on the crying girl. "I would just like her to know what I think of her. I don't care if I never come in this old school again."

"I never will," whispered Tavia.

The ranks were formed now, and the girls marched out. An unpardonable expression covered the face of Sarah Ford as she passed the tearful ones.

"There," hissed Tavia, sticking out her tongue at the unpopular leader. "Sneak!" she hissed again, and made the most unmistakable face of contempt and defiance at the haughty Sarah.

Many looked sadly at Dorothy and with pity at Tavia. Certainly these two girls deserved to march. Dorothy had done so much to help, in fact some of the girls knew she had helped the major with all the letter writing, inviting the Rochester men, and sending instructions to the firemen. And to think that now, at the last moment, she should be debarred!

And Tavia too, had been so happy at the prospect of the parade. Poor
Tavia! Everybody knew she had a hard time of it, anyway, only for
Dorothy, who always helped her out.

"Now, young ladies," said Miss Ellis, as the last girl passed out, "you may fall in at the end."

"I don't care to," Dorothy spoke up, wiping her eyes.

"But I say you must!"

"Do," whispered Tavia, "we can see them anyway."

This was enough for Dorothy. Both girls stood up, straightened out their crushed dresses, patted their red eyes with their handkerchiefs, and fell in at the end of the line.

"I don't care a bit," said Dorothy smiling. "I would just as soon be with you any way. And besides, we will be right next to the Veterans."

"Oh, good," answered her companion, "I would rather be there than up front. Only, of course, you should lead."

The Dalton Drum and Fife Corps was playing loudly. There seemed something very solemn about the lively tune in honor of the "Boys" who had answered their last roll call. Tavia's eyes were swimming, and not a freckle was to be seen beneath the deep red color that framed them.

Dorothy could not talk. It was so sad—that soldiers had to die just like other persons. She prayed her "Daddy" would not be called for years and years.

At the corner of the street the school children were joined by the main column. The veterans fell in—back of Dorothy and Tavia!

Major Dale was grand marshal, and of course came first. He looked surprised at seeing his daughter—his Little Captain, last in line with the children.

Then he glanced at Tavia. It was certainly something for which she was responsible he was sure, for Dorothy had told him she had remained away from school and missed the last rehearsal. "Halt," called the major, and his men stood still.

At a signal the entire ranks waited. Miss Ellis stepped up to the marshal smiling. She had evidently forgotten his daughter had lost her place.

"I need two girls to carry the end flags," he began. "These old men have all they can do to travel. The flags are not heavy—here, the two last girls will do nicely!"

Dorothy and Tavia stepped to the sides and gracefully took the flags from the hands of the aged soldiers.

The only girls who could carry real army flags! And walk on either side of the marshal leading the Veterans!

"If I only could stick my tongue out just once more at Sarah," whispered Tavia, as she crossed back of the marshal to her place.

"We have both got Betsy Ross flags now," said Dorothy, and in all that procession there were no prettier figures than those of Dorothy and Tavia, as they marched alongside the veterans, with the real army flags waving above their heads, stepping with feet and hearts in perfect accord to the music of the Dalton Drum and Fife Corps' "Star Spangled Banner."

CHAPTER II

DOROTHY AT THE OFFICE

Could the sunshine of yesterday be forgotten in the clouds of to-day?

Major Dale was ill. Overfatigue from the long march, the doctor said, had brought on serious complications.

Early that morning after Memorial Day, Aunt Libby called Dorothy to go to her father. The faithful housekeeper had been about all night, for the major had had a high fever, but now, with daylight, came a lowering of temperature, and he wanted Dorothy.

"Now, don't take on when you see him," Aunt Libby told the frightened girl. "Just make light of it and pet him like."

Poor Dorothy! To think her own "Daddy" was really sick—and so many veterans already dead! But she must not have gloomy thoughts, she must be brave and strong as he had always taught her to be.

"Why, Daddy," she whispered, in a strained voice, kissing his hot cheek, "the honors of yesterday were too much for you."

"Guess so, Little Captain, but I'll be on hand at mess time," and he made an effort to look like a well man. "But I tell you, daughter, there's something on my mind; the Bugle should come out to-morrow."

"And so it will. I'll go directly down to the office and tell Ralph."

"Yes, Ralph Willoby is a good boy—the best I have ever had in the Bugle office. And that's why I sent for you so early. I want you to go down to the office and help Ralph."

"Oh, I'll just love to!" and Dorothy was really pleased at the prospect of working on the paper, in spite of the unfortunate circumstance—-her father's illness—that gave her the chance.

"Not so fast now. You must pay strict attention—"

"But you are not to talk: you have had a fever, from fatigue, you know, and it might come back. Just let me go to the office and I will promise to return for instructions at the very first trouble Ralph meets."

Dorothy was already on her feet. She knew the very worst thing the major could do in his present condition would be to talk business.

"Now I'm off," she said, with a kiss and an assuring smile, "you will be proud of to-morrow's Bugle. 'All about Memorial Day!' 'Get the Bugle if you want the news!'" she added, in true newsboy style. Then Aunt Libby came in to wait on the major.

But Dorothy's heart was not as light as her smile had been. Her father looked very ill, and the bread and butter of the Dale household depended upon the getting out of the Bugle.

Her brothers, Joe and Roger, had been sent to school early to be out of the way, but to-morrow they might both stay home, thought the sister, for they could help sell papers.

"Father never would let the boys do it," she reflected, "but he is sick now, and we must do the very best we can. If he were ill a long time we would have to get along."

Only waiting to snatch up a sandwich left from her brothers' lunch,—for she knew the noon hour would be a busy time at the Bugle office,—Dorothy hurried out and over to Tavia's.

"I can't go to school to-day," she called in at the half opened door.
"Father is sick, and I must attend to some business for him."

"Bad?" queried Tavia, for she noticed the change in her friend's manner.

"Perhaps not so very. But you know he is seldom sick, and now he has a fever."

"Fever?" echoed Mrs. Travers. "Tavia, close that door this very minute!
We cannot afford to catch fevers."

Dorothy felt as if some one had slapped her face. To think of her father giving any one sickness!

"Nonsense, ma," spoke up Tavia. "The major is only ill from walking in the hot sun. Come in, Doro dear, and tell us if we can help you."

"Aunt Libby is alone with him, and when the doctor comes she may need something. If your ma would not be afraid to let Johnnie run over about noon, I would pay him for any errand," spoke Dorothy.

"Oh, certainly, dear," the woman replied, now venturing to poke her uncombed head out of doors, thinking, evidently that the mere mention of money was the most powerful antiseptic known. "Of course Johnnie will be too pleased. I'll send him any time you say."

Secretly glad that her mother had so promptly overcome her fear of the fever, but also ashamed that her motive should be so flagrant, Tavia slipped on her things and joined her companion.

"I wouldn't keep you another minute," she began, "for I know just how anxious you are. But I'm going along to help. I can go on errands at least, and keep you company."

"Oh, Tavia, dear, perhaps you had better go to school. On account of the trouble yesterday, teacher will think we are both defying her."

"Then let her send the Lady Sarah to find out," retorted Tavia. "I would show her if I had freckles on my tongue."

"Please don't talk so, Tavia, it is wrong—"

"Wrong? My father says there are some men in this world too mean to bother the law about. He says he knows one he would like to thresh only he is sure the sneak would not hit him back, but would have him arrested. Physical punishment is the kind for such, father declares. And that's just the way I feel about Lady Sarah. I would not tell teacher on her, for that would give her a chance to 'crawl,' as Johnnie calls being mean. So sticking my tongue out at her is the nearest I can come to physical punishment."

This doctrine did not in any way coincide with the upright views of Dorothy, but she knew argument would be useless. Besides, her head and heart were too full of other things to bother about school girl troubles.

"Are you going to print the whole paper?" Tavia asked, with amusing ignorance of the ways of the Great American Press.

"Why, no, dear, I could not print it. Ralph must do that."

"Oh, I know. Just put things in it."

"I may have to write some," Dorothy replied, with an important air.
"The parade story was not written. Father intended to do that."

"Oh, goody!" went on the irrepressible Tavia. "Say that the meanest girl in school, Miss Sarah Ford, was chosen, at the last moment, to lead the girls, owing to the sudden illness of Miss Dorothy Dale, the most popular girl in school, who took a headache from the sun, but later recovered in time to carry a Betsy Ross flag, along with her dear friend, Miss Octavia Travers, the flags being presented to the girls by Major Dale. There now, how's that?" and Tavia fairly beamed at the very idea of having her "story" printed.

"I declare, Tavia, you can string words together, as father would say. But we cannot say anything against any one. That would bring on lawsuits, you know."

"Oh yes, I know. It's just as pa says: some folks are too mean for anything but a good thrashing—and that's Sarah. But I'll do anything I can to help you, and I hope I won't get the Bugle into any lawsuits."

Dorothy thanked her, and remarked that it was not likely.

By this time they had reached the newspaper office. Up two flights of stairs, over the post-office and drug store, the girls found the much-perplexed Ralph Willoby waiting anxiously for his employer.

Ralph was that kind of a young man whom people trust at once. He was known all over Dalton as a most zealous worker in the "Liquor Crusade," that was being very actively carried on in the town. He had a firm face, and deep, clear eyes. The major used to say his eyes could talk faster than his tongue—and he knew how to converse well, too.

He had his sleeves rolled up, and was bending over a pile of "copy" when the girls entered the office. He brushed his sleeves down and rose to hear their message.

"Father is ill," began Dorothy weakly, for inside the office its difficulties seemed to crush her.

"And we're going to get the paper out," blurted Tavia, trying to grasp the wonders of a real newspaper office in a single sweeping glance.

"Can't he come down?" and the young man's voice betrayed his anxiety.

"I'm afraid not," went on Dorothy. "He said we were to do the best we could. I was to help—"

"And I guess I'm to sell the papers. Hurry up and print some. Is this the printing press?" Tavia rattled on.

"But the parade," demurred Ralph, "it is not even written. I can manage the press well enough, but our reporter Mr. Thomas, has not come in this morning. I suppose yesterday was too much for him."

"I think I could write up the parade," ventured Dorothy. "I have often helped father read proof, you know."

"Perhaps you can," assented Ralph. "Here is a pencil and some copy paper. You had better try at once, as I will have to go to press earlier than usual to allow for 'snags,'" and he smiled to apologize for the newspaper slang.

Dorothy sat down at her father's desk. Somehow, she felt a confidence in her efforts when seated there, where he had worked so faithfully, and successfully, too, for the Bugle sounded always the note of truth and sincerity. She started at once to write up the parade. She should be careful, of course, not to mention the major's name, or her own (her father never did) and she hoped she could at least make a good composition or essay on Memorial Day.

Dorothy worked earnestly, for she meant to have that issue of the paper up to the mark, if her labors could bring it there.

Ralph had rolled up his sleeves again, and was busy with the press. Tavia was "nosing around," as she expressed it. The door opened suddenly and little Johnnie Travers rushed in.

"The major sent me—to tell you—" and he had to get a new breath in somehow—"to tell you that old Mrs. Douglass is—is dead!" he finally managed to say. "He wants you to be sure to—to—put her in the paper."

"Nothing but live stuff in this paper, Johnnie dear," spoke up Tavia. "Mrs. Douglass was bad enough alive—but dead! We really haven't space," and, in spite of the real seriousness of the matter, for Mrs. Douglass was an important woman in Dalton, or had been up to that morning, Ralph and Dorothy were compelled to laugh at the wit of their friend.

"She was a big woman," said Ralph, adding to the mix-up in language, "and the Bugle is small. But being 'big' we cannot afford to slight her memory. There is so little time—"

"I can write that," said Tavia, shaking her head with a meaning. "And I know all about Mrs. Douglass and her high fence. Also the flowers behind the boxwood. Here, Doro, give me some of that paper—"

"Oh, you would have to see some of the family," interrupted Ralph. "Find out how she died, when she will be buried; if she said anything interesting—about charities, you know—"

"For mine!" sang out Tavia, adjusting her hat.

"Yes, your first assignment," ventured Ralph. "Dorothy must finish the parade, and I must attend to the typesetting, so if you could, really,—"

"Of course I can. Haven't I spent more time in the graveyard than at school? And don't I know what they say about dead persons?

"'Here lies Mrs. Doug,—
She had a mug,
And none in Dalt could match it,
When she took sick,
She died that quick,
The Bugle couldn't catch it.'

"How's that?" went on the girl. "Shows it was our busy day and we hadn't time to catch the dead news, not Mrs. Doug's face, you know."

"Oh, Tavia, what slang!" cried Dorothy, and added: "you had better not go, you will surely say or do something—"

"I certainly shall both say and do something. Johnnie look out for your nose there. That machine is going and your nose is not insured. Yes, Doro, this issue of the Bugle will blow a blast both loud and shrill in memory of Mrs. Doug. You know she loved blowing, never missed a windy day to collect the rent."

It was useless to argue. Tavia was bent on doing the "obit." as Ralph called the obituary assignment. She went out with Johnnie at her heels.

"She's the jolly kind," commented Ralph, as the door closed on the brother and sister.

"Yes, and so few understand her," Dorothy replied. "To me she is just the dearest girl in Dalton, but others think differently of her."

"I've known boys like that," assented the young man. "They seem to live in a shell, and only poke their real selves out to certain persons, those who love them."

"I feel more like writing now," said Dorothy, brightening up, "Johnnie told me father is better—he was taking some nourishment, the child said, and when the doctor left Johnnie did not have to go to the drug store. That means, of course, that there is nothing new setting in. I think Aunt Libby should have kept Joe and Roger from school, but she thought the house would be quieter for father with them away. Aunt Libby is very nervous lately."

"I do hope the major will be well soon," answered Ralph. "He seemed so strong, but I suppose when sickness takes hold of something worth while the result is equally of consequence."

For some time the girl and young man worked without further conversation. Dorothy bent earnestly over her story, while Ralph was busy with the type, setting up the last item of news that would go in the week's issue of the Bugle.

Suddenly something like a scream aroused them.

"What was that?" asked Dorothy, but without waiting to answer Ralph hurried to the door. At that moment Tavia staggered into the office. Her hat was off and her face was very white.

"Oh, what is it, Tavia dear?" Dorothy cried. "What has happened?"

"I'm so—so frightened," gasped the girl. "Lock the door—that—that man—he may come in! He is in the hall."

Ralph was out in the hall instantly. The girls, clasped in each other's arms, could hear him running down the stairs.

"Oh, he is so rough and strong—he may hurt Ralph," whispered Tavia, too frightened to trust her own voice.

It seemed a long time to the girls, but Ralph was back in the room with them in a very few minutes.

"There was no one in the hall," he said, "and I looked up and down the street. No one—no stranger seemed to be in sight."

"Well, I was just coming up the stairs, and I couldn't see from the sun, when some one grabbed me," Tavia explained.

"Oh, Tavia!" interrupted Dorothy.

"Yes, indeed, a great big horrid man, with a hat over his eyes, and oh, he was dreadful!" and poor Tavia began to tremble again.

Ralph had his coat on now. That man should not get away!

"But you can't leave us," begged the girls. "He might break the door in."

"Then come down stairs and we will lock up. I must telephone to Squire
Sanders."

"He isn't home," Tavia declared. "I saw him drive out as I went up
William Street."

But Ralph insisted on giving the alarm.

"What did he say to you?" he asked.

"Why, he must have thought I was Dorothy. I saw him first just as I turned out of the Douglass' place, and he followed me all the way. At the lane—where it was really lonely—he called to me and I stopped. He said 'Where are you going?' I told him to the Bugle office. I didn't think anything of it. I am never afraid. Then he got nearer to me—"

"Why didn't you run?" asked Dorothy.

"Why, I never thought of such a thing. I thought maybe he was coming here with some news. Even when he started up the dark stairs after me I wasn't afraid. But when he grabbed me—"

"Oh!" screamed Dorothy.

"Yes, and he said: 'See here, Miss Dale, if you put one line in print about that old woman being dead—I'll blow the place up.'"

"He must be a crank," said Ralph. "Such people always drift into newspaper offices."

"Oh, no, I am sure he meant it, for he grabbed my notes. He saw me reading them in the lane," Tavia paused an instant. "And really, poor Mrs. Douglass was a good woman. The servant girl told me how she had worked for that Miles Burlock,—she had some special interest in him,—and you know how he drinks."

Unfortunately every one in Dalton knew only too well how Miles Burlock drank. Ralph had often helped him home, and then tried to get the man to talk of reformation, but it seemed like a hopeless case.

"Why should that strange man want the paper to keep quiet about Mrs.
Douglass?" asked Dorothy.

"Something about Burlock, perhaps," Ralph answered, thoughtfully. "This man may be in with the drinking class, and perhaps if Burlock read anything or heard it, somehow he might go to the Douglass house, and they say Death is a great teacher. I know Mrs. Douglass often befriended Burlock."

"Then let him blow the office up!" cried Dorothy, with sudden courage. "Father never listened to threats! Tavia, can you remember some of the important facts? Quiet yourself and think it over."

CHAPTER III

A STRANGE ADVENTURE

Joe Dale was a credit to the family. Although only a boy in his tenth year, he possessed as much manliness as many another well in the teens. He was tall, and of the dark type, while Dorothy was not quite so tall, and had fair hair; so that, in spite of the difference of their ages, Joe was often considered Dorothy's big brother. Roger was just a pretty baby, so plump and with such golden curls! Dorothy had pleaded not to have them cut until his next birthday, but the boys, of course, thought seven years very old for long hair.

"Only for a few months more," the sister had coaxed, and, so the curls were kept. Dorothy always arranged them herself, telling fairy stories to conceal the time consumed in making the ringlets.

Both boys were to sell papers to-day, for the Bugle was out, and Dorothy had told her brothers of the necessity for extra efforts to help with money matters.

"You may go with one of the regular boys," Ralph Willoby instructed them. "He can tell you where you would be likely to get customers. Go into all the stores, of course, and look out for the mill hands, at noon time."

"I'll sell Bugles to-day," declared Joe, with that splendid manliness and real earnestness that makes a boy so attractive, especially to his sister.

"It takes a boy," Dorothy said proudly, as her brothers left the office, each with his bundle of papers, for, of course, Roger had to have a strap full the same as did Joe. Ralph was glancing over the paper. Evidently he was pleased with its appearance, for his face showed satisfaction.

"Is it all right?" Dorothy asked, secretly glad the "getting out" was finished, and that she would not have to write another parade story that day.

"First-rate," answered the young man, "and I think your father will be pleased. You had better go home and take him a copy, he may be anxious to see one."

"I'll go now," she told Ralph, "and I'll be back about noon, when the boys come in from their routes."

Dorothy passed out, and closed the door after her. Ralph went to the far end of the office, to finish folding the papers. Scarcely had he taken one sheet in his hand than he heard something in the hall.

A scream! And in Dorothy's voice!

Darting past the big press, and making his way to the hall door quickly in spite of the things that barred his path, Ralph pulled open the portal.

The girls were in a heap on the steps! Dorothy and Tavia.

The young man bent down anxiously. The pair seemed unusually still.

"Fainted!" he murmured, trying to lift Dorothy's head.

"Is he—go—gone?" whispered Tavia. "We are not hurt. We only made believe!"

"Oh!" sighed Dorothy. "I feel as if I were dying! I—I can't breathe!"

"Try to get on your feet," commanded Ralph. "The air will revive you!"

"There!" gasped Tavia. "There's his hat. I grabbed it when he put the handkerchief, with some stuff on it, to my nose," and the girl held up a gray slouch hat, the kind western men usually wear.

"That may help us," said Ralph. "But first you must both come down to the drug store. That stuff he used may sicken you. It has a queer smell."

Once on their feet the girls seemed all right, in fact as Tavia said, they had only "made believe" to prevent any further violence.

It seemed incredible that two girls should be way-laid in broad daylight, in the hall of the most public building in Dalton, but the fact was certainly plain—there was the dirty white handkerchief reeking with some drug, and besides, there was the hat that Tavia had taken from the man's head.

Ralph took the girls into the prescription room of the drug store, to see if they needed any attention, and there to the astonished drug clerk, as well as to the equally astonished proprietor, Tavia tried to relate what had happened.

"It was the same man who grabbed my papers the other day," she said. "I saw him first as I came along William street. Joe and Roger had just gone in Beck's with their papers, and as I saw the man watching them I was afraid he might kidnap Roger. I was just thinking who would be best to call, when he caught me watching him, and then, like a flash, he sprang into that saloon at the corner. I thought he was frightened lest he would be caught, and I hurried down here to warn Dorothy. Well, no sooner had I put my foot inside the hall than he darted at me—"

"Where did he come from?" asked the drug store proprietor.

"Probably through the alley that leads from the saloon to the end of our building," explained Ralph. "He could easily dash into the hall from there."

"He was after papers," declared Tavia, "for just as he grabbed me he saw Dorothy. I was going to scream when he put that queer-smelling stuff to my nose."

"I screamed when I saw Tavia," ventured the frightened Dorothy, "but he had me almost before I could open—my—mouth. Tavia squeezed my hand and I knew she meant for me to be quiet."

"And if you had not closed your eyes he might have given you another dose," added Tavia, who somehow, seemed to know more than any one else about the wicked ways of the mysterious stranger.

"But how did he manage to get away so promptly?" asked one of the men, trying to get on the track for capture.

"Through that same alley into the saloon," Ralph said. "I will go at once, and have the place searched."

"As soon as he got the papers Dorothy had he went off," finished Tavia, "just as he did when he got my notes."

Leaving the girls to quiet themselves in the drug store, all the men, except the head clerk, started out to give the alarm.

This time a thorough search should be made, and even a reward offered by the town for the capture of the coward who went about trying to frighten helpless girls. There was certainly some hidden motive in his actions, as he had, each time, made an attack on some one connected with the Bugle's business, and the men quickly concluded his intentions had to do with an attempt to stop the Liquor Crusade.

Miles Burlock also figured in the case they decided, although how this stranger was mixed up in matters relating to Burlock, and what connection Mrs. Douglass' death could have with such affairs, was not plain.

The druggist warned Dorothy and Tavia not to tell their experience to any one, not even to the folks at home, for, he argued the stranger might get to hear they were after him, and so escape.

Dorothy readily agreed to keep silent, in fact it would not do for any one in her home to know of her experience, as the major was too ill to be worried, but Tavia did not see why her father should not be acquainted with the affair, as he always knew what to do. And why should other men be allowed to search for the man who had threatened her, when it was plainly her own father's special privilege?

"Well, if you feel that way about it," agreed the druggist, "tell your father to come down here to-night and perhaps he will be put on the committee."

This was quite satisfactory to Tavia, and after making sure that no more strangers lurked about, the girls made their way home.

"I never was afraid in daylight before," remarked Dorothy, whose face was still pale from the fright. "Let us hurry. There are the boys. Be sure not to say anything to them about the scare."

"Hurrah!" shouted Joe swinging his empty strap. "All sold out."

"Me too," said little Roger, who had his strap buckled so tightly about his fat waist, that he had hard work to breathe under the pressure.

"Hip—hip—" answered Tavia, continuing:

"Blow Bugle, blow,
Blow Bugle blow,
We're very proud
You blew so loud
To let the people know."

"Price five cents! Order now! That's the way city people put things in the papers about their goods," declared Tavia. "I think when I leave school I'll look for work in a newspaper office."

"Ralph said you did splendidly," said Dorothy, "I'm sure I never could have gotten along without you. But we are home now and—"

"No paper for the major," finished Tavia.

"There's a boy. I'll get one," said Joe, running off at full speed to overtake the newsboy, who had just turned the corner.

"Aunt Libby may be cross," whispered Dorothy, "for she has been all alone, and this being Saturday she would expect help."

"Mother won't say anything to me," Tavia decided, "for—well, I have something to tell her that will make her forget all about the work."

"Not about the—you know—" cautioned her companion.

"My, no," answered the other. "It's just about Mrs. Douglass' funeral. You know ma always goes to funerals, and I have found out that people may go to the house and see her. That will interest ma."

Joe was back with the paper, and was proud to have such an active interest in the Bugle. It seemed something to say it was his own father's paper, and then to have people remark what a bright sheet it was, and how it was never afraid to tell the truth.

"Let me give it to father?" he asked Dorothy.

"No, let me?" pleaded little Roger, "cause I ain't hardly seen him a bit lately."

"But you must not tell that we sold papers," directed Joe. "Father is not to know yet, you know."

"Oh, I won't tell," Roger promised.

"But you might forget," argued Dorothy.

"Nope," declared the little fellow, "I'll just let this strap keep squeezing me, then I couldn't forget."

"And have father ask where you got it," said Joe laughing.

"Then I'll tie a string round my finger," persisted the younger brother.

"I'll tell you," Dorothy concluded, "You just run in, give father a good hug, put the paper on his lap and run out again without saying a word. Then he will think you are playing newsboy."

This plan was finally decided upon, although Roger did think he would like to stay for "just a little while" to hear "Daddy" say "something about something."

They found the major anxiously expecting them. He feared something had happened—the press might break down, or the paper supply give out, Many things might occur when the man who ran the business was not there to keep ends straight. To say that the major was pleased was not half telling it—he was delighted. To think that they could get out a paper like that! And that his Little Captain should write up the parade. It really was well described.

Perhaps what astonished him most was Tavia's part in the issue. He laughed when Dorothy told how jolly Tavia was. Of course, there was no mention of the encounter with the strange man.

But that night Dorothy could not sleep. The excitement perhaps, or was it fear?

Oh, if that horrid man had never come to Dalton!

CHAPTER IV

A CLEW

As the druggist had anticipated, a citizens' committee was formed to run down the assailant of Dorothy and Tavia. The hat bore the mark of a Rochester house, so that was something of a clew. A hatless man ought to be easy enough to identify, but of course, he had managed to get a head covering somewhere; stole it, perhaps, from an open hallway.

But, after an exhaustive search, and much questioning of persons who might have seen the man, no news of importance was turned in at the committee meeting.

Mr. Travers had what he considered a tangible clew. Miles Burlock had told him that a man from Rochester had been hounding him for weeks, and that he pretended to know something of Burlock's business.

"Burlock, it seems," Mr. Travers said at the meeting, "was, in some way, connected with the Douglass family. There is money in the affair, however it may concern Burlock and Mrs. Douglass, and this stranger is after the cash."

"But what in the world has these children to do with that?" asked the chairman.

Ralph Willoby stood up.

"It seems, Mr. Chairman," he said, "that the first time the man gave us trouble was when we sent to learn something about Mrs. Douglass' death. He secured the notes to prevent us from publishing anything about the lady. Then he threatened to blow up the Bugle office if we did print an obituary. This did not intimidate us, and when the paper was out he waited for the little boys, sons of Major Dale, to harm them possibly. It was then that one of the girls saw and recognized him, and he, being sure of this, made off. A few minutes later he intercepted both girls on the stairs, tried to frighten them with some drug, took the papers from Miss Dorothy Dale, and again made his escape."

This was by far the most intelligent account of the affair yet given, and after its recital many of the men thought they could see a solution of the mystery.

"But how do you associate all this with Miles Burlock?" Ralph was questioned by the chairman: "I know Mrs. Douglass had a special interest in that man," went on Ralph. "I have known her to give him money to buy respectable clothes with, and,—well there is no need to make public our brother's misfortunes. At any rate, it seems plain to me that this stranger was trying to keep the news of Mrs. Douglass' death away from Burlock."

"Has any one seen Burlock lately?" was next asked.

No one had; in fact his absence had been noticed by many present. He was not a common drunkard, and that was probably why such an interest was manifested in his possible entire reformation.

This was all of importance that occurred at the meeting, and the committee adjourned with instructions to continue their work.

It was a beautiful spring evening. The air was soft with blossoms, and a perfumed dew made all of Dalton like a rose garden.

Major Dale was improving rapidly, in fact he had recovered so quickly that this evening he insisted upon sitting out of doors for a few minutes. The doctor had discontinued calling, and said the attack was more of overfatigue from the march on Memorial Day than anything else. Both Dorothy and Tavia had been absent from school the past week but this was Sunday evening, and they would both go back to-morrow.

Dorothy went over to talk about it with her friend.

"Well, it will be something to have another chance at Lady Sarah," said Tavia, when Dorothy had finished telling her to be sure and have her father write an excuse to hand to Miss Ellis. "I don't mind school so much when there is something else to think of in between. And the girls will be tickled too, for they all love a good fight."

"Now, Tavia, you must stop that kind of talk if you are going to be a friend of mine," counseled Dorothy. "I cannot be considered your friend if you will not be—ladylike—"

"Like Lady Sarah," Tavia finished, laughing. "Well, all right, Doro dear," and she gave her chum a bear-like hug, "I'll be as good as pie,—lemon meringue at that,—so don't worry any more."

"Have you heard anything about the man?" Dorothy asked cautiously, for it was almost dark, and the girls were walking back to the Dale homestead.

"Not a word," answered Tavia, "except that father thinks he has gone out of Dalton altogether."

"And I have not seen Miles Burlock all week," commented Dorothy, "You know I had been trying to get him to reform."

"Everybody seems to be trying to do that."

"Well, Ralph told me he had seen Burlock crying like a baby one day because a little girl asked him for a penny. And Ralph thinks perhaps there was some little girl in Miles' story,—a daughter maybe—and he suggested that I try my influence with Miles."

"Did he cry like a baby over you?" teased Tavia, with poor appreciation of her friend's efforts to help along the Liquor Crusade.

"Now please, Tavia, don't be absurd. There is something wonderfully winning about Mr. Burlock."

"Of course there is. Wicked people are always winners."

"I won't tell you one thing more!"

"Now Doro! Doro! You know I love to hear you talk that way. And if it were not so dark I could see your eyes show how deep they are, just like the Jacks-in-the-Pulpit I gathered in the woods yesterday. You are nothing like a wild flower, more like a beautiful pink and white hyacinth, that grows in the Douglass garden; but sometimes, when you pretend to be angry, you make me think of the wood flowers. They have such a way of blooming best when some other growing thing tries to stop them. Jacks-in-the-Pulpit grow right up through stones, and bloom in tangles of poison ivy."

"I am sure I have no right to compare myself with flowers," answered the other pleasantly, for she always admired her friend's poetic ideas, although other people might laugh at them.

"Shows she is thoughtful, anyway," Dorothy would tell herself, "and that is what Ralph meant when he said she could not make serious mistakes when she followed the advice of her kind heart."

The Dale house could be seen through the trees now. Voices were heard outside; perhaps the boys playing some games.

"I'll leave you here," said Tavia, "you are not afraid of bugaboos are you?"

"Not a bit," answered Dorothy, laughing. "Be sure to be on time at school to-morrow. No use adding coals to the fire."

"It depends on whether you intend to wash, bake, or iron. Now I am going to do all three at school to-morrow, so I may as well keep up a good, warm fire;" and giving her chum a hearty hug Tavia started off.

Dorothy stopped as she neared the piazza.

Surely that was a strange voice. A man was talking very earnestly to her father.

It was Miles Burlock!

CHAPTER V

MILES BURLOCK

What could that man want of her father?

And what was so mysterious about their conversation that reached her ears in spite of her attempting to enter the house without intruding upon her father's company?

Her name was being spoken, and why would Aunt Libby not open that door?

"There she is now," said Major Dale, as Dorothy gave one more knock.
"Daughter, come this way. We are waiting for you."

How hard her heart beat! And how foolish she was to be nervous!

"This gentleman," began Major Dale, "wants you to hear a story. It may be sad for ears so young, but perhaps the knowledge that you have helped Mr. Burlock to settle one point in this story may make it more interesting to you."

The faint moonlight, that now streamed from the spring sky, made a silvery glow upon the faces of the two men, and even in the shadows, that of Miles Burlock showed features firm and what might be called handsome. Dorothy had often seen him before, but he had never looked that way. His face was clearer now he was changed.

"Child," he said, extending his hand to her, "You need not fear Miles
Burlock now. He is a man—no longer a slave to rum—but a wake at last."

"I am so glad!" Dorothy stammered.