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Dorothy Dale's Queer Holidays

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> <h3>ALL IS WELL</h3> "No, I'm not a bit excited," pleaded Miss Dearing when the nurse cautioned her to keep quiet. "I'm only happy. I was dying long before I came here, and now I can rest in a bed, and perhaps I will have the courage to get well again." "Of course you will," insisted Dorothy, delighted that she had been instrumental in actually saving a life. "And perhaps Christmas will bring you peace and courage." "No, but you have brought it. When I look at your fair face—— Don't you know, that was why I put the ring in your bag?" she asked suddenly. "I knew your face would clear you before any accuser in the world." Dorothy put her finger to her lips. She did not want Miss Dearing to discuss the painful subject. But the sick woman was persistent. "And from that moment some evil genius followed me. I did it because other detectives had been praised for making arrests, and I had made none. I could not afford to lose my place, for my mother—was dying. She died, thank God, before she knew her daughter had lied for her, had herself actually been accused of stealing—stealing to earn a dollar!" "Now, please," begged Dorothy, "do not talk any more about it. When you get well I will come in and see you. My aunt will want a great deal of sewing done. Perhaps you may be able to come to her." It was actually noon-time, and Dorothy had to hurry back to The Cedars. Miss Pumfret and the captain were still talking about old family affairs, and seemed supremely happy as she left them. The captain, explained the nurse, was suffering more from neglect than any specific ailment, and he had already responded remarkably to treatment. "Isn't it a queer holiday?" Dorothy asked herself once more in the train, getting back to The Cedars. "And now for Tavia's troubles." Nat met her at the station, all smiles, but otherwise provokingly uncommunicative. He simply would not tell her a word of what might have occurred in her absence, and she finally gave up asking him to do so. "All right," she assured him. "If Tavia's gone I'll blame you, that's all." Roger met her at the door. "Some one's waiting for you in the parlor, Doro," he said, without waiting to "digest" his sister's greeting. Dorothy opened the parlor door. There sat Miss Brooks and little Mary Mahon. "We came in to wish you a merry Christmas," said Miss Brooks, with her arm about Mary. "This is my niece, my sister's only child. And I found her through your hospital play." In a few words Miss Brooks made it all clear to Dorothy, and repeated the story told Tavia some time before. "She is not very strong, and I am going to take her south at once," went on Miss Brooks, while Mary fairly beamed with delight. She was so splendid in her new fur coat; and to think she really had a relative! "Aunt Stella," she ventured, "you never would have found me if Dorothy had not given me that piece. It was because I acted—like mamma." "And there is something else," said Miss Brooks, "The matter—about Miss Travers. I received a letter this morning from the firm, refunding her money. Of course, I had urged them to do so. I would not even address envelopes for a house that would deliberately rob young girls." Miss Brooks offered the slip of paper to Dorothy. "Wouldn't you rather give it to Miss Travers?" asked Dorothy. "Oh, yes," replied the other, remembering that Dorothy had refused to listen to the explanation of Tavia's difficulties. Tavia was in the hall, and Dorothy called her. Her eyes showed she had been weeping. At the sight of Miss Brooks she turned as if to leave the room. Dorothy put a detaining hand on her arm. "She has good news for you. I am going to leave you alone to hear it." "No," insisted Tavia, now conscious that there was good news in the air. "Stay and listen, Doro. I did not tell you—because I was a——" "Now stop!" insisted Dorothy. "No calling of names." "You take too serious a view of it," interrupted Miss Brooks. "She simply did what hundreds do every day—risked five dollars to make ten——" "It is nothing in the world but gambling!" declared Tavia almost fiercely. "I agree with you," answered Miss Brooks, "but you did not go into it with that understanding. Neither did I offer to address their envelopes with a thorough understanding of their methods. I simply was trying to find an address, and I made use of every means I considered legitimate. Here is your money—and your friend's. The address I was looking for came in person," and once more she folded her arms about Mary. "The money!" exclaimed Tavia, looking at the check in a dazed sort of way, "This is your money, Dorothy," she said, reading the check—"yours and Nat's. I gambled mother's, and spent yours, then I bought Christmas presents." The check called for fifteen dollars and was made out to bearer. Tavia offered it to Dorothy, who did not take it. Miss Brooks insisted upon going. She felt she had finished her business at The Cedars. Tavia drew Dorothy into the library as the door closed upon the visitors. Her eyes were blazing, although her hands seemed cold as they touched Dorothy's arm. "You know I gambled," she stammered. "I deliberately bought a ticket in a lottery." "I know you made a mistake," insisted Dorothy. "I could never call that gambling." "Then take the check, if you are not afraid of it," went on Tavia. "Part of it belongs to Nat—the other five is what I borrowed from you." "Borrowed from me? Why, I gave you that—outright. It was my Christmas in advance. Just jump into your things, and come down to send a telegram home. Send them five dollars by wire—they will get it in the morning. There is no present like the one that comes on Christmas morning, you know." "Dorothy!" exclaimed Tavia, "I can't oppose you this time. I know that five dollars will make my father and my mother know that I—but it would be deceiving them," she broke off. "I am not fit to even send the gift." "Hurry! hurry!" begged Dorothy. "I want to send some Christmas greetings by wire, and they will be too busy to take our messages if you wait later." Tavia threw her arms about Dorothy. "You dear old nuisance!" she exclaimed. "I wonder you could not leave some little thing for the angels to do to-morrow." "Oh, I expect them to give me their undivided attention," declared Dorothy. "I have had such a queer holiday up to this time that I have simply asked for a great big lump of 'peace' in my stocking." "You deserve it, Doro, dear," and Tavia, to hide the tears that would come into her eyes, placed her arms about Dorothy and hid her face on her shoulder. Dorothy did get peace, and great happiness, too. Yet there were many happenings still in store for her, and what some of them were will be told in another book, to be called "Dorothy Dale's Camping Days." It was a never-to-be-forgotten outing and one that produced some astonishing results. "And to-morrow is Christmas," said Dorothy softly. "I feel just like the carol singers, when they used to chant: 'God rest you, merry gentlemen——'" "Only you're not a——" began Tavia, looking up. "No, I'm not a gentleman, but I'm merry—quite happy now, and I certainly need a rest. I guess you do, too." "I certainly do," agreed Tavia. "Come on, let's hurry to the telegraph office." And here we will say good-by to Dorothy Dale for a while, leaving her and her friends at The Cedars to enjoy their Christmas in their own delightful way. For, after all, and in spite of the many queer happenings connected with them, the holidays were most happy ones. <h2>THE END</h2> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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