"Oh, I might as well take it with me," and Tavia's words sounded rather a lame excuse. "It will be amusing to read on the train."

"Oh, Tavia!" Dorothy burst into tears. "Won't you give up-those stage notions? Do, please!" and she clasped her arms about her chum, weeping bitterly.

"Oh, don't! Dorothy don't cry so!" begged Tavia, stroking the yellow head. "I will give it up-all up! Yes, Dorothy, dear, listen! Look here!"

and at that Dorothy raised her head.

With her hands free Tavia tore the little red book into shreds and tossed them into the waste basket.

"There!" she exclaimed. "I'm through with-through with all of it! I don't want to know how to act! I'll never try! Dorothy! Dorothy!" and the miserable girl threw herself upon the bed in a frenzy of grief and excitement. "Just forgive me for it all-for trying to deceive you. I have been wretched all through it-and I only want you-and all the others-just as you used to be. I don't believe in ambition!" She stood upright. "I'll go home to dear, old Dalton, and stay there until-until I come to you at North Birchland."

When the other girls tapped on the door of room nineteen late that afternoon, to say good-bye, they found two very happy young maidens waiting for the particular carriage that was to take them to the depot.

Dorothy and Tavia could not be separated. They clung to each other in spite of all the invitations to "do the rounds" and join in the last and noisiest fun of the season. Together, very demurely, they called at the office to say good-bye to the teachers.

When, at last, the carriage did come for them, Dorothy and Tavia rode off together-one bound for the train to North Birchland, and the other going home-home to Dalton, to try to be happy in the little country town where she and Dorothy Dale had spent such a happy childhood, and where Tavia would find plenty of time to dream of things scattered far out in another world, that seemed like the golden fingers of ambition beckoning her on.

To leave Dalton and the common school life-to enter the walks of city uncertainties-to become part of the great, grinding machine of human hardships-that machine which is always willing to stop its terrific speed long enough to gather into its cogs and meshes the life of an innocent young girl.

CHAPTER XI A JOLLY HOME-COMING

"My! What great big boys! You can't possibly be my little baby brother Roger. And Joe! Why he is like a real young gentleman in his tennis suit!" And Dorothy kissed her brothers over and over again, as they rode from the depot in the pony cart to the home of Aunt Winnie, "The Cedars,"

at North Birchland.

"Oh, I don't know," drawled Joe, in his good-natured way. "You can't complain. You've been doing some growing on your own account."

"And you have got awfully pretty," lisped Roger, as he "snuggled" up closer to his sister.

"I think you are just as perfectly handsome as any big lady."

"My, you little flatterbox!" and Dorothy gave him an oldtime squeeze.

"You have learned more than your A, B, Cs. at kindergarten. I received all your letters but could not answer the last two as we had such an awful lot of writing to do at the close when examinations came."

"Did you pa.s.s?" asked the younger brother, by way of showing his understanding of the scholastic season.

"Oh, yes. I guess Tavia and I did about as well as the others."

"Why didn't Tavia come?" went on Roger.

"She is coming, later. You know she had to go home to Dalton first. Oh, how lovely The Cedars look! And there is daddy on the porch!"

Dorothy could scarcely remain in the cart as it rumbled along the shady drive that led to the broad veranda of Mrs. White's handsome summer residence. Major Dale was waiting to greet his daughter, and Aunt Winnie came down the steps as the cart drove up.

"Isn't she big!" exclaimed Roger, as the major folded Dorothy close in his arms in a most affectionate manner.

"My dear," whispered Mrs. White, pressing upon Dorothy's cheek a kiss of welcome. "You _have_ grown!" and the glance that accompanied this simple remark spoke in more than words Mrs. White's admiration for her pretty niece, and told Dorothy at once, that her Aunt Winnie was entirely satisfied with the particular lines that "her growth" had taken on.

"You all look so well, and I am so glad to be home again at last," said Dorothy as soon as she had a chance to express her opinion. "It is perfectly fine here."

"Here come the boys!" called Joe, who was just turning around on the long drive, preparatory to taking the cart to the stables, and presently Nat and Ned came bouncing up the steps.

Before Dorothy had a chance to protest both cousins were kissing her at once-Nat declaring he hadn't kissed a girl since he left Dorothy after the automobile ride at Glenwood, and the while Ned was insisting that his "little brother" should await his turn and allow the head of the house the rights of his lawful inheritance.

Such jolly big boys as were Ned and Nat always have a way of making things both lively and interesting, especially when a pretty girl cousin is "up for entertaining" and, for the remainder of the afternoon, they entirely monopolized Dorothy, while Joe and Roger looked on, satisfied to hear their sister's voice again. As for the major, he sat there perfectly content to see all his children about him once more, although it was a trifle odd to find Dorothy so grown up-almost a young lady. And it was so short a time ago that she would "climb all over him" when a little homecoming occurred. How she would fuss with his hair, and complain that no one had attended to his brushes or kept his neck-ties pressed during her absence.

"But children must grow up," said the major with a sigh, "and Dorothy is a fine girl-a Dale-every inch of her!"

That Dorothy was indeed growing to be very handsome was a matter that Mrs. White contemplated with pardonable pride. Dorothy was now her especial charge; she would enter society under her safe chaperonage. Of course she would first finish her education; and the aunt hoped that her niece would not decide to take the higher branches, inasmuch as this would keep her longer separated from her relatives. There is plenty of time Mrs. White decided to learn in our own little world without spending precious time buried in colleges, forming ideas that are sure to conflict with the regular home life, and perhaps, depriving one's family of the most precious years of a girl's career-the time between morning and noon in the life of mortals.

That evening, while Dorothy was dressing for dinner, her aunt mentioned the matter to her.

"Of course, Dorothy dear," she said as she watched the girl arrange her beautiful hair, "it is all very well to take a college course if you think you would not be satisfied to live in the home-world always. But your brothers are growing up, and a sister's influence is of so much account to growing lads. I hope you will be satisfied to stay home with us, after you have finished at Glenwood."

"I'm sure I'm very lonely away from you all," answered Dorothy, "and, as you say, it is not likely I will ever want to take up a profession.

Therefore I can best finish my education along the lines I will be required to be most proficient in."

"That's my own Dorothy," said her aunt.

It was a merry party that sat down to the bountifully supplied table.

Major Dale was, of course, at the head, and Mrs. White occupied the seat of honor at the other end, while Dorothy and Ned, then Nat and Joe, with Roger next his father, made up the family party.

Roger insisted on knowing just what Dorothy usually had for dinner at Glenwood, and upon learning how extremely simple the school menu was he decided at once he would never go to boarding school.

"When's Tavia coming?" asked Nat, endeavoring to hide his particular interest in that question by trying, prematurely to swallow an unusually large mouthful of food.

"She promised to come in a few weeks," answered Dorothy. "She expects to visit Buffalo first."

"Buffalo?" repeated Nat, vaguely.

"Any objections?" asked Ned pointedly, to tease his younger brother.

"Well," replied Nat, lamely, "Buffalo is a big city and Tavia is-is-merely a little girl."

This remark only made matters worse for Nat, as the others joined in the "jollying" and he was obliged to admit that he did miss Tavia, and was very sorry she had decided not to visit Birchland first.

"I don't blame you, little brother," declared Ned. "Tavia certainly is a winner, and when it comes to an all-round jolly, good-natured-er-ah-um-help me out, Dorothy! Any new adjectives at Glenwood?"

"Try 'dandy,'" suggested Joe.

"Oh, great!" put in little Roger, to whom 'dandy' always meant something great.

"Thanks! Thanks!" acknowledged Ned. "I think if Lady Tavia stands for all of that she surely will be well done."

"Oh, she can stand for more than that," insisted her champion. "She once confided to me that she 'stood' for a colored baby. It was christened in the Dalton ca.n.a.l I believe, and no one, in the crowd of spectators, had the nerve to stand for the little one but Tavia."

"And did she give him his name?" asked Roger, all at once interested in the black baby in the ca.n.a.l.