But the boys were going back to North Birchland the next day! How could Dorothy act in time to get to Rochester? For to Rochester she felt that she now must go. Everything pointed to the fact that Tavia was either there, or that there a clue to her whereabouts could be obtained.

On taking her morning walk alone, for Rose-Mary was a little indisposed, after the party of the evening previous, Dorothy met Miss Mason. It was not difficult to renew the conversation concerning Tavia. Bit by bit Alma told of Tavia's infatuation for the stage, until Dorothy became more than ever convinced that it was in theatrical surroundings that the missing girl would be found.

Mrs. Markin had planned a little theatre party for Rose-Mary and some of her Buffalo friends that afternoon. The play was one especially interesting to young girls-a drama built on lines, showing how one ambitious girl succeeded in the world with nothing but a kind heart and a worthy purpose to start with. It abounded in scenes of rural home life, wholesome and picturesque, and one of the features, most conspicuous in the advertising on the billboards was that of the character Katherine, the heroine, holding a neighborhood meeting in a cornfield, among the laborers during the noon hour. The girl appeared in the posters perched upon a water barrel and from that pulpit in the open she, as the daughter of a blind chair caner, won hearts to happiness with the gospel of brotherly love-the new religion of the poor and the oppressed.

While Rose-Mary and Alma enthused over the prospect of a particularly pleasant afternoon, Dorothy seemed nervous, and it was with some misgivings that she finally agreed to attend the party that was really arranged for her special entertainment. The boys, Ned, Nat and Jack were going, of course, and to make the affair complete Rose-Mary had also invited Grace Barnum.

Grace was a particularly bright girl, the sort that cares more for books than pretty clothes, and who had the temerity to wear her hair parted directly in the middle in the very wildest of pompadour days. Not that Grace lacked beauty, for she was of the cla.s.sic type that seems to defy nationality to such an extent, that it might be a matter of most uncertain guess to say to what country her ancestors had belonged.

This "neutrality" was a source of constant delight to Grace, for each new friend would undertake to a.s.sign her to a different country, and so she felt quite like the "real thing in Cosmopolitan types" as she expressed it. The fact, however, might have been accounted for by the incident of Grace having been born under missionary skies in China. Her mother was an American blond, her father a dark foreigner of French and Spanish ancestry and, with all this there was in the Barnum family a distinct strain, of Puritan stock, from which the name Barnum came. Grace, being distinctly different from other girls, no doubt attracted Tavia to her, and now, when received among Tavia's friends she was welcomed with marked attention that at once established a bond of friendship between her and the other girls.

The boys, naturally, were not slow to "discover her" so that, altogether, the little matinee party, when it had reached the theatre, was a very merry throng of young people. Mrs. Markin acted as chaperone and, five minutes before the time set for the play to begin Dorothy and her friends sat staring at the green fire-proof curtain from a roomy box. Dorothy was like one in a dream.

All about her the others were eagerly waiting, looking the while at the programmes, but Dorothy sat there with the pink leaflet lying unheeded in her lap.

"How much that picture of Katherine resembles Tavia," was the thought that disturbed her. "The same hair-the same eyes-what if it should be she?"

The curtain was swaying to and fro as those behind it brushed past in their preparations for the presentation of "Katherine, the Chair Caner's Daughter."

Dorothy's heart beat wildly when she fancied Tavia amid such scenes-Tavia the open-hearted girl, the little Dalton "wild flower" as Dorothy liked to call her. Surely no stage heroine could be more heroic than she had always been in her role of shedding happiness on all who came within her sphere of life.

Suddenly Rose-Mary turned to Nat and remarked:

"How Tavia would enjoy this." She looked around on the gay scene as the theatre was filling up. "What a pity we could not bring her with us for the good time."

Dorothy felt her face flush as Nat made some irrelevant reply. Jack turned directly to Dorothy and, noting her inattention to the programme opened his to point out some of the items of interest.

But still Dorothy stared nervously at the big asbestos curtain and made feeble efforts to answer her companion's questions. Even Mrs. Markin observed Dorothy's rather queer manner, and she, too, showed concern that her daughter's guest should be ill at ease.

"Aren't you well, dear?" she asked quietly.

Dorothy fumbled with a lace flounce on her sleeve.

"Yes," she answered, "but there is so much to see and think about." She felt as if she were apologizing. "I am not accustomed to city theatres,"

she added.

Then the orchestra broke into the opening number, and presently a flash of light across the curtain told that the players were ready to begin.

The introductory scenes were rather of an amateur order-a poor country home-the blind chair caner at work, and his more or less amusing customers. One flashily-dressed woman wanted him to put a rush bottom in a chair that had belonged to her grandmother, but absolutely refused to pay even the very low price the caner asked for the work. She wanted it as cheaply as though rush bottoms could be made by machinery. He was poor and needed work but he could not accept her terms.

The woman in a red silk gown, with a bewildering shower of veils floating about her, did not gain any applause for her part in the play. Dorothy noted that even on the stage undesirable persons do not please, and that the a.s.sumed character is taken into account as well as their acting.

It was when the blind man sat alone at his door step, with his sightless eyes raised pitifully to the inviting sunset, that the pretty Katherine came skipping into view across the footlights.

Instinctively Nat reached out and, without being observed grasped Dorothy's hand. "How like Tavia!" he mused, while Dorothy actually seemed to stop breathing. From that moment to the very end of the play Nat and Dorothy shared the same thought-it might be Tavia. The others had each remarked the resemblance, but, being more interested in the drama than in the whereabouts of Dorothy's chum (whom they had no occasion to worry about for they did not know the circ.u.mstances,) they merely dwelt on it as a pa.s.sing thought-they were interested in what happened to the chair caner's daughter.

At last every member of the company found some excuse to get on the stage, and then the end was reached, and the curtain went down while the throng hurried out, seemingly indifferent to the desire of the actors to show themselves again as the curtain shot up for a final display of the last scene.

The Markin party was to go to a restaurant for ice-cream, and so hurried from the box. Dorothy drifted along with them for a few moments, and then again that one thought came to her, overwhelming her.

"What if that should really be Tavia?"

She had but a moment to act, then, when the crowd pressed closer and there was difficulty in walking because of the blockade, Dorothy slipped back, stepped out of her place, and was at once swallowed up in a sea of persons.

CHAPTER XVIII BEHIND THE SCENES

For a moment Dorothy felt as if she must make her way back after her friends-it was so terrifying to find herself in such a press-but a glance at the wavering canvas that now hid from the public the company of players and helpers, inspired her with new courage. She would go behind the scenes and see if that girl was Tavia!

In a short time the theatre was emptied, save for the ushers and the boys who dashed in and out among the rows of seats, picking up the scattered programmes, and making the place ready for the evening performance. One of the ushers, seeing Dorothy, walked over to her.

"Waiting for anybody?" he asked mechanically, without glancing up at her, but indicating that he was ready to turn up the seat before which she was standing.

"Yes," replied Dorothy.

"In the company?" he inquired next.

"Yes. The young lady who played Katherine."

"This way," the young man exclaimed snappily, but in no unpleasant tone.

He led the way along the row of seats, down an isle and through a very narrow door that seemed to be made of black oil cloth.

Dorothy had no time to think of what was going to happen. It had all come about so quickly-she hardly knew how to proceed now-what name to ask for-or whether or not to give her own in case it was demanded. She wondered what the actress would think of her if Katherine did not turn out to be Tavia.

"You mean Miss Riceman," the usher went on as he closed the narrow door.

"This way, please," and, the next moment, Dorothy found herself behind the scenes in a big city theatre.

The place was a maze of doors and pa.s.sageways. Wires and ropes were in a seeming tangle overhead and all about were big wooden frames covered with painted canvas-scenes and flies that slid in and out at the two sides of a stage, and make up a very important part of a theatrical company's outfit.

These immense canvases seemed to be all over, and every time Dorothy tried to walk toward a door indicated by her guide, who had suddenly disappeared, she found she was in front of or behind some depiction of a building, or the side of a house or a street. Mechanics were busy all about her.

Suddenly a girl thrust her head from one of the many doors and shouted to an unseen person:

"Nellie! Nellie, dear! I'm ready for that ice-cream soda. Get into your street togs quick or you'll be having soup instead-"

"Nellie! Nellie!" came in a chorus from all sides, though the owners of the voices remained hidden, and then there rang out through the big s.p.a.ce a spontaneous burst of a line from the chorus of the old song:

"I was seeing Nellie home. I was seeing Nellie home.

It was from Aunt Dinah's quilting party, I was seeing Nellie home."

"Ha! Ha! How's that, Nellie?" inquired a deep ba.s.s voice.

Dorothy stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. This was better than the play, she thought, as she vaguely wondered what sort of life must be led behind the scenes. Then the thought of her position sent a chill over her. She must seek out the performer who went by the name of Miss Riceman, and then-

By this time a number of the characters appeared from their dressing rooms, and Dorothy stepped up to a girl with an enormous hat on her head, and a pair of very small shoes in her hand. As the girl sank gracefully down on an upturned box to adjust her ties, and, incidentally, to get a breath of air after the atmosphere of the stuffy dressing room, Dorothy asked timidly: