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Dorothy Dale's Camping Days

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<hr /> <h2>CHAPTER XIXToC</h2> <h3>CAMPING DAYS</h3> Tavia got off the train at the Junction, but she did not get on the one that went toward Clamberton—it flew by. She waved her handkerchief—she waved her coat, she told herself she waved her soul, but that train simply would not stop. And she was miles from nowhere! "Well, I'll walk it!" she declared. "I don't care how I get there, I'm going to keep my nose toward camp!" To walk the railroad ties! That was one thing Tavia loathed—they were so regular, so straight, so abominably correct. "Of course railroad ties were never built for human feet, even the straight and narrow are not as straight as these." She moved along for a hundred or so of ties, then she threatened to sit down. Tavia was desperate, but even in her present surprising state of mind, the railroad ties were too much for her, and she kept on. "I might fly," she reflected, looking boldly at the ocean of blue above, "but there isn't a machine in sight." More and more ties until she came to a small bridge. "Well, I suppose if I try to walk this thing I shall presently find myself holding a session with some slimy, muddy frogs. Ugh!" and she looked between the ties at the lurking depths of mud and other things on either side of the railroad embankment. "I just hate—uncertainties." She stepped cautiously a little farther. "Well, if I fall it serves me right. I shouldn't have done this!" Tavia—poor Tavia! The place was very lonely. Tavia realized this. She knew instantly that she was in the woods. It may have been her primitive hatred of the forest that inspired this sentiment, but there was always something about the depths of solitude that made her want to laugh—it was positively funny to her. Something must happen. "If there were a single human being in sight," she sighed. Then she repeated, "I said 'single.'" It was almost dusk. She thought of old Sam. Wasn't that funny! Then of her mending—shirring socks! When he tried them on he might change his mind about making her his heir. "And that loon!" This last referred to Morrison. "When I believed him, I may, some day, believe myself!" She picked out a few more ties, and came to another and larger culvert. "Suppose a train should come," she gasped. The strain of the past few days was having its natural revenge—reaction. Her depression had soured into hilarity. "Well, I'll run the bridge—I have always heard it is the only safe way." She looked up, far beyond the ties. She would have closed her eyes, but that strange feeling of sight-security, which does not depend upon sight, compelled her to look—but not at the ties. Every time she planted her foot down she expected to go through, foot and all, but, somehow, she did not sink down between the ties. "It would take a funnel to put me safely down that way," she decided. "I guess I would have to have a very big hole to drop through." It seemed to Tavia that everything she had to do must be made easy for her, even dropping through railroad ties! She had crossed the bridge and now she stood for a moment mocking it. "I should burn my bridges behind me," she mused, "but it takes time and talent, even to burn bridges." Those who knew Tavia would scarcely have recognized her now, could they have viewed her through the glass with which she was magnifying her faults. Tavia had been tried, she had tried herself, and after having had an opportunity to board any of three trains going toward camp, here she was again—stranded! "I'm a first-class simpleton," she decided. "Dorothy was right; always right. I'm a rattle-brain; and they think I am drowned. That is more reasonable, and more charitable, than to think I could be so foolish." "I guess I couldn't get along very well without Dorothy," she went on thinking, as she trudged forward. "She always kept me together. But at least I'll try to do her training justice now. I'll try to walk back to camp." A narrow path ran beside the rails. This, Tavia thought had been trodden down by tramps. Beyond, there seemed nothing but woods, and it was getting dusk. Well, there must be houses or huts somewhere, and she would walk on. Peering through the trees, Tavia thought she saw a white speck. It might be a bird—no, it was too large! What could it be? It moved swiftly—now she could see it was—not a person! But it couldn't be anything else, since there really were no ghosts. But were there really none? Just now Tavia felt as if nothing was certain, not even her own personality. There it was again, out in the clear path! All in white! Oh, it must be a spirit! How silly! "It's a girl," Tavia said aloud. "Oh, how glad I am to see the face of a human being!" It was a girl, and she moved swiftly toward Tavia. "Oh, how do you do?" she began. "I was afraid you would not come." Tavia wondered. Did the girl take her for some one else? "I'm awfully glad to meet you," answered Tavia, noting how pretty the creature was, what splendid blond hair, and such eyes! "I was just getting—frightened." "Frightened! Why, we will soon be all right. I have ordered my airship. Can you fly?" Could she fly? Was the girl crazy? Then Tavia noticed a strange glare in the wonderful blue eyes. She might be insane! Maybe she was the girl who had escaped from the sanitarium! "I love to fly—it is my one ambition in life. But they would never let me, so I just came away by myself; and isn't it sweet of you to meet me away out here? There, did you see that bird? That's the way to fly," and the strange girl threw her arms up and down, until Tavia wondered whether she could be fooling, or was really insane. "I have never tried to fly," replied Tavia, feeling very silly, "but lots of people have gone crazy over it." The moment she had said "crazy" she felt that she had made a mistake. The girl turned on her as if to strike her. "Crazy! You call flying crazy! It's crazy to walk, crazy to stand, but it is noble to fly!" and again she worked her arms bird-like. For the moment Tavia felt like running away. Then she thought that would not be wise, for how did she know but that the girl might have the strength they say insane people have; and that she might hit her with a stone, or do something to injure her? Besides, it seemed better to be with her than alone in that woods. Tavia decided she would humor her. "Of course, we shall all fly, some day," she said, as the girl turned almost upon her. "I would love to learn how!" "You shall! I will teach you! My airship is not far away." "Do you know the road to Everglade?" asked Tavia, without the slightest hope of getting an intelligent answer. "Why, yes; Everglade?" and her eyes set more deeply. "I have a friend in camp out that way." In camp! Then she was not altogether insane, for there were many campers at Everglade. "Yes," said Tavia, "so have I. We can walk along together." This seemed to satisfy the girl, and she did start to tramp along. Tavia noticed how neatly she was dressed, and did not fail to see a beautiful chain and ornament about her slender white throat. "But it's a long way," spoke the girl. "My name is Bird of Paradise. What might yours be?" "Betsy Dixon," replied Tavia aptly. "Yours is a much prettier name. May I call you Birdie?" "Certainly, and I shall call you Betty. I have a friend named Betty." For some moments they walked along in silence. The two girls were as different in dress and manner as were Dorothy and Tavia, and the latter noticed how much like Dorothy the strange girl was. About the same height, same colored hair, and the same deep, blue eyes. "Are there no houses near here?" asked Tavia. "I am afraid night will catch us soon." "Oh, yes, there is a hotel over that ledge. It is there I am taking you." Tavia hoped it was true. She had passed through the stage of sensitiveness, and was now only anxious to get somewhere or near somewhere, for the night. She had made up her mind that she would ask the first person she met to help her, with money or by directing her to shelter. There was no longer any doubt as to her distress—night was coming and she was almost worse than alone, and in the woods. The girl in white walked along humming now, waving her arms every time a bird passed, and when she did speak to Tavia her remarks seemed more rambling than ever. "We seem miles from every place," remarked Tavia weakly. "I do wish——" "There! There!" exclaimed the strange girl. "There is my flying station! See that precipice?" pointing to a cliff far out on the ledge of the hill over which they were walking. "Just over there is my station. I told you I was Bird of Paradise. I am not—I am Madam Fly-Fly, the French balloonist. Now watch me!" "Don't!" shrieked Tavia. But it was too late. The girl had rushed to the edge of the cliff, and with a wild wave of her arms had thrown herself over! Tavia, stunned at the suddenness of her tragic action, stood for a moment looking down at the heap of white that lay so far below her. Then she turned cautiously, and started down the dangerous descent herself, clutching at brush and bramble as she tried to reach the girl, who might be dead, in the moss and rocks that made such a beautiful setting for the stream rambling on, unmindful of the terror on its brink. Tavia must reach the girl; but what then? <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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