CHAPTER XIV THE RUNAWAY

Dorothy was not sure whether she dreamed it, or really heard sounds stirring under the trees. She had been thinking of the Gypsy girl, and Tavia, as she fell asleep, and when she suddenly awoke in the middle of the night, there seemed to be some one moving about just under the window of her room. It was so quiet that even faint sounds could be heard, and Dorothy lay there listening for some time, after being aroused. Presently something banged-like a blind being slammed back. There was no breath of wind-surely someone must have opened the shutter!

The moonlight came in through the cas.e.m.e.nt and illuminated the room enough for her to see to get up and reach her door. It was but a step to the boys' apartment. She would call them, she decided, but was most anxious not to disturb her father or aunt.

Strange to say when Dorothy had slipped on her dressing gown and slippers and knocked at the door of the boys' room, she found them both awake, for they had answered her light tap at once. A moment later they were in the corridor, attired in their big bath robes.

"I'm sure I heard a footstep at the side porch," whispered Dorothy.

"So did I," answered Ned. "I've been awake for a long time, listening."

"Perhaps you had better go down," suggested Dorothy nervously. "It might be a tramp."

"Tramp nothing," declared Nat boldly, as he made his way softly to the front door. "I'll bet it's our friend Urania. I was sure she would call this evening."

Without the slightest fear the brothers opened the door, and searched about for a possible intruder. They even looked under the lilac bush at Dorothy's window, but no midnight prowlers were discovered.

Dorothy bravely stood at the front door, waiting to call for more help in case the boys should need a.s.sistance, but they finally returned from their hunt more disgusted than alarmed. Dorothy was entirely satisfied now that no one was about the place.

"I call that mean," grumbled Nat. "I was all primed for an adventure."

"You should be careful what sort of acquaintances you pick up after dark," cautioned Ned. "Your little Urania may turn out troublesome if you cross her. Gypsies have a way of making people 'pony up' with the money, you know."

"Don't wake the folks," cautioned Dorothy, leading the way back to the sleeping rooms. "I'm not a bit afraid now."

"Well, if she comes back again, ask her in," spoke Nat in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "I think Urania needs a talking to."

Dorothy fell asleep again, after listening for some time, and was not disturbed any further that night, until the bright sun shining into her windows, called her to get up to begin another day.

As they had planned, Nat was to start early for Dalton. He could easily make some excuse for his solitary trip-say that he wanted to see some friends who were off camping, or that he wanted to go fishing. He mentioned these two objects vaguely as he started off.

Dorothy warned him not to let an inkling of her fears concerning Tavia reach the ears of any one in Dalton, but there was no need for this, as Nat was as anxious as was his cousin to keep the matter secret between them.

"It's an easy thing to start gossip in a place like Dalton," he whispered to Dorothy as he threw in the clutch to send the auto on its way, "and you can depend upon me to give them another 'think' if they're looking for news."

As the Fire Bird swung out along the path Nat turned to wave a rea.s.suring good-bye to Dorothy who stood on the porch watching him spin away.

The morning which had begun so bright and pleasant now took on a gloomy aspect for Dorothy. How could she wait for Nat's return? And what would he find out concerning Tavia and her plans? Suppose she should really be in Buffalo? That would not necessarily mean that she had gone away-she might be visiting her friend, Grace Barnum.

It seemed impossible for Dorothy to become interested in anything save Nat and his mission. She tried to sew, but soon laid aside the dainty little work basket Aunt Winnie had provided for the summer hours on the porch. Then Ned invited her to go bicycling, and she had to make some excuse for refusing the invitation. Even writing some letters for the major did not distract her, and she could think of nothing but Nat and his trip to Dalton.

But, somehow, the morning wore on, and it was almost time for Nat to return, as Dorothy knew in his swift car he could make the journey in record time over the good roads.

"But I'm sure something will delay him," said Dorothy to herself. "I feel as if something will surely happen!"

And a well-grounded fear it was for, meanwhile, something was happening to Nat-something quite unexpected.

Having reached, in due time, Dalton and the little cottage where the Travers family dwelt, Nat steered the machine up in front of the door.

Then he remembered he had to tighten the bolt of the clutch pedal, and decided to do it before making his inquiries, as it was important that the pedal be tight. He turned back to the machine, from which he had jumped, to get his wrench from the tool box under the rear seat. He unb.u.t.toned the leather curtain that reached down to the floor of the tonneau, and was feeling about for the wrench when he started back in surprise.

There, under the seat, stretched out so as to be concealed while the curtain was down, was Urania, the Gypsy girl! The confined s.p.a.ce made her hump up like an angry cat, and her dark face peered sharply into Nat's from under the leather flap.

For a moment Nat could not find words to speak to the girl, who remained in her hiding place, grinning out at him with a mocking look on her elfin face.

"h.e.l.lo!" she exclaimed presently. "I had a lovely ride."

"Get out of there instantly," exclaimed Nat, in angry tones. "How in the world did you ever get in there?"

"Oh, easy enough. You locked the door, but you left the shed window open last night, and I crawled in. I was almost a goner, though, when you and your brother came out on the porch looking for spooks. I was just trying your hammock then. That's a softer cradle than this stuffy place."

"I guess I'd better hand you over to a constable," went on Nat, realizing what it might mean to try to drag the girl from her hiding place just then.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself," was the cool answer. "I believe I've had enough of riding, and I'd like to stretch out a bit."

By this time the Travers family had become aware of the presence of the Fire Bird at their door, and Mrs. Travers, impressed with the distinction, had stepped back quickly to her room to tidy herself up a bit. This gave Nat a few moments longer to think of what he had best do with the Gypsy girl.

"Here," he said to her, rather fiercely, "you just stay under that seat until I'm ready to take you to a place of safety. Now, if you dare to move while I'm in this house I'll-I'll have you arrested," and with that Nat fastened down the curtain securely, with a catch that snapped on the outside and was incapable, as he supposed, of being opened from the inside.

He walked up the path to the front door and, after a few seconds, his knock was answered by Mrs. Travers. With unlimited protestations of welcome she showed Nat in, and offered him a seat in the far corner of the room, some distance from the front windows. He felt that he had better keep his eye on the machine, because of his concealed pa.s.senger, so, after a moment's hesitation, he took a chair near the front of the apartment, remarking, as he did so, what a pretty view there was from the window.

"What brings you to Dalton?" asked Mrs. Travers.

"I was-er-just pa.s.sing through, and I thought I'd stop to inquire-about the family. Dorothy would like to know," said Nat.

"Oh, we're about as well as usual," said Tavia's mother.

"How's Tavia? Is she home?" asked Nat quickly, feeling that this was as good an opening as he could desire.

"No, and I'm very sorry, for she'd be delighted to see you. She went to Buffalo just after coming from school. We scarcely had a good look at her. I wanted her to stay home for a week, but she was so set on going that she started off bag and baggage, and I'm sure I can't say when she will be home. Of course she's with friends," the mother hastened to add, seeing the look of surprise that flashed over Ned's face in spite of his effort at self-control.

"My cousin, Dorothy, wrote to her," Nat hastened to say, to cover his confusion, "and, not receiving an answer, thought it likely that she might be ill, or away."

"Tavia's father forwarded the letter to her," said Mrs. Travers. "She should have answered it by this time. We have only had one souvenir card from her since she went away, but it was a real pretty one; I'd like to show it to you, but I guess I've mislaid it. I can't think where I put it."

"Never mind. I suppose it takes some time for a letter to travel when it's been forwarded from one place to another. I dare say Dorothy will soon hear from her. I'm glad all the family are well. Major Dale is always glad to hear news of the Dalton folks."

"And indeed we all miss the major," spoke Mrs. Travers with a show of feeling. "Not to say we don't miss the entire family, for the boys were fine little fellows, and, as for Dorothy-"

The intended tribute to Dorothy ended with a little catch in Mrs.

Travers's voice, for she was very fond of her daughter's companion, and sometimes showed her feelings with a touch of sentimentality.

Then, as Nat was really in a hurry (for he could not stop thinking of Urania under the seat) he made his excuses as quickly and as politely as the circ.u.mstances would allow, and was soon out of the house. He lost no time in cranking up and, in a few minutes, was chug-chugging at top speed down the country road.

He had made up his mind to take the Gypsy girl back to North Birchland, and was vaguely wondering, as he dashed along, why she did not knock on the seat and demand to be let out of her uncomfortable quarters.

"I think I'll stop and just take a look at her. She may be crying," the lad remarked to himself, and, bringing the machine to a halt alongside the road, he stepped out.