"What is it, my dear?" he said.

"I am dying, I think," said Dorothy. "Tell mother I did _try_."

He lifted her into his trap and got in beside her, telling the groom to drive on, and wondering very much. Dorothy gave a great sigh and began to feel better.

"I think it is because I had no breakfast," she said. "Perhaps I am dying of _hunger_."

The gentleman smiled, and searched his pockets. After a time he found some milk chocolate. Dorothy would rather have had water, but he made her eat a little. Then he took off her hat and gloves, and with a cool, soft handkerchief pushed back the hair that was clinging about her damp forehead and carefully wiped her face.

"You'll feel better now," he said, fanning her with her hat, and putting it on again, as if he had never done anything but dress little girls in his life.

Dorothy smiled with a great sigh of relief, and the gentleman smiled too. "Now tell us all about it," he said in a friendly way. "Where do you live, and where are you going?"

When Dorothy told him he looked very much surprised, and at the same time interested, and before she knew what she was about, he had drawn from her the whole story, and the more she told him the more surprised and interested he became.

"What was the name of the friend who failed your father?" he said at last, but Dorothy could not remember.

"Was it Pemberton?" he suggested.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Pemberton," said Dorothy. "At least, d.i.c.k said so."

"You don't happen to be _Addis...o...b.._ Graham's little daughter," he said with a queer look, "do you?"

"Father's name is Richard Addis...o...b..," said Dorothy doubtfully.

"Well, the best thing you can do now is to come home with me and get some breakfast," he said. "It is no use going to the Park, for I have just been to the station, and Miss Addis...o...b.. was there, with all her luggage, going off to the Continent."

Poor Dorothy's heart sank like lead.

"Oh, dear!" she said, "then it's been no use. Poor father!" and her eyes filled with tears.

The gentleman did not speak, and in a few minutes they drove in at the gates of a beautiful country house, and he lifted her down and took her in with him, calling out "Elizabeth!"

A tall girl, about eighteen, came running to him, and after whispering to her for a minute, he left Dorothy in her charge, and went into the room where his wife was sitting.

"I thought you had gone to town?" she said.

[Sidenote: Mr. Lawrence's Mistake]

"Providentially, no," he said, so gravely that she looked surprised. "Do you remember Addis...o...b.. Graham, dear?"

"Has anything happened to him?" said Mrs. Lawrence. "I have just been reading about him in the paper; all his life-saving appliances have had gold medals at the exhibition. What is it, Edward? Of course, I know you are a friend of his."

"A Judas sort of friend," said Mr. Lawrence. "Do you know what I've done? I've nearly landed him in the Bankruptcy Court. Pemberton told me a few weeks ago he had promised to give him some spare cash that would be loose at the end of the year, and I persuaded him to put it in something else. I said, 'Graham doesn't want it, he's simply _coining_ over his inventions,' and I thought it too. Now it appears he was _counting_ on that money to pull him through the expenses."

The tall girl took Dorothy upstairs to a beautiful bathroom, got her warm water, and asked if she would like a maid to do her hair.

After a little while she came for her again and took her into a very pretty room, where there was a dainty little table laid for breakfast.

"When you have finished," she said, "just lie on the sofa and rest. I am sorry I can't stay with you, but I must go and feed the peac.o.c.ks."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HER HOSTESS HAD BEEN FEEDING THE PEAc.o.c.kS.]

Dorothy took a little toast and tea, but she did not feel so very hungry after all, and for a time was quite glad to lie down on the couch. Once or twice she got up and looked out of the window. Her girl hostess was moving across the lawn. She had evidently been feeding the peac.o.c.ks, and was now gathering flowers. How pleasant all this wealth and comfort seemed to Dorothy! And then, by comparison, _she_ was feeling so miserable!

Everything was quite quiet in the house save for the telephone bell, which kept sounding in the hall. Then she heard Mr. Lawrence calling out: "Are you _there_? Look sharp! Yes, to-day. Money down! Do you understand?" Then he would ring off and call up some one else. Last of all his voice changed from a business tone to a very friendly one. "Are you there? What cheer, old chap? _That's_ all right! I'll see you through. Two o'clock, Holborn Restaurant."

Dorothy could not hear what was said on the other side. How surprised she would have been if she had known the last conversation was with her own father!

Then a very kind-looking lady came in and kissed her. "The motor is round," she said. "I'm so glad to have seen you, dear. We all admire your father very much."

Dorothy felt bewildered but followed her out, and there was a lovely motor, and her friend in it!

"You won't faint by the way this time," he said, "eh? Now, if you can keep your own counsel, little lady, you may hear some good news to-night."

They were tearing along the level road already, and almost in a flash, it seemed to Dorothy, they were pa.s.sing the church of her own village.

"Oh, please let me get out!" she said to Mr. Lawrence in an agony. "If mother heard the motor she might think it was Miss Addis...o...b.., and be so disappointed. You have been kind, very, very kind, but I can't help thinking about father."

He let her out, and waving his hand, was soon off and out of sight.

Dorothy walked slowly and sadly home. It seemed as if she had been away for _days_, and she was half afraid to go in, but to her surprise nothing seemed to have happened at all. Only d.i.c.k came rushing out, and, to her surprise, kissed her.

[Sidenote: A Heroine]

"I say, Dollie!" he began, "where _have_ you been? You gave me an awful fright. Don't tell any one I called you a brute."

"Is mother frightened?" said Dollie. "I--I meant to help, but I've done nothing."

"How could you help?" said d.i.c.k, surprised. "Mother stayed in bed; she is only getting up now."

A boy came up with a telegram. d.i.c.k took it and after holding it a moment tore it open.

"Oh, d.i.c.k!" expostulated Dorothy, "opening mother's telegram!"

But d.i.c.k threw his cap high up in the air, and shouted "_Jubilate!_"

Then he rushed up the stairs, Dorothy timidly following.

This was the wire:

"_See daylight. Meeting Lawrence at Holborn Restaurant._--FATHER."

"Don't shut Dorothy out," said Mrs. Graham, holding the yellow paper, and with tears of joy standing in her eyes. "Why, my little girl, how pale you are! I wish I had not told you. You need never have known. Mr.

Lawrence is just the man."

"Oh, mother!" said Dorothy, springing into her arms, and beginning to laugh and cry at once, yet happier than she had ever been in her life before. "But if you hadn't told me it couldn't have happened."

When Mr. Lawrence and father came down together that evening and the whole story was told, Dorothy, to her surprise, found when thinking least about herself she had suddenly become a heroine, even in the eyes of d.i.c.k.