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Dorothy Dale's Camping Days

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<hr /> <h2>CHAPTER XXIToC</h2> <h3>AT THE SANITARIUM</h3> When Dorothy recovered consciousness she lay on a white cot, by an open window, and the strange nurse sat beside her. "Where am I? What am I here for?" "Your doctor is away, he will be back to-morrow—soon," the nurse corrected herself. "Then perhaps you—may go out." "But why am I here? This is a hospital, and I am not ill." "No, not exactly ill," and Mary Bell had her own very serious doubts about the condition of the young patient—never had she seen a demented girl so perfectly sane. "But it is best for you to await your own doctor's orders," she finished. "My own doctor? What is his name, please?" "Dr. Ashton. Do you remember him?" "I have never heard the name before," replied Dorothy, looking about her anxiously at the sanitary appointments of the white room. "I suppose this is a sanitarium for nerves." "You have been here long enough to know that much," said the nurse with a smile, "but you seem to have a new kind—of nerves." "I have only been here a few hours, I should judge, but it did seem an eternity. Are they not going to send for my friends? They will be distracted. I have been away from them for so long." Again that uncertain look came into the face of the nurse. Surely if this girl had been demented she must now be very much better. Her talk was entirely rational. And Dorothy was thinking: "Surely if they believe I am crazy they must be crazy themselves! The sounds around here are enough to shake any one's nerves." Some one was singing. The shrill voice rent the air like some weird cry from a lost mind. It made Dorothy shiver. "You think I am—demented," she asked finally. "But there is some great mistake. I am Dorothy Dale of—Dalton. I was camping at Everglade—and I have had a dreadful time of it since I fell, and was picked up by that old farmer." Dorothy's eyes were full. She had made up her mind, since her escape from the Hobbs house, that she must wait—wait until those around her saw their mistake. At any rate, it was something to be among intelligent people, if they were nurses and doctors, and as they plainly believed her to be an escaped patient she must wait until some one came to identify her. But now it was very hard, and she was very, very lonely, and very nervous with those poor demented people singing, sighing, laughing and calling from all over the place. "I am sorry Miss Bennet had to go away, before I saw you," said the nurse, vaguely. "It would have been better——" "Miss Bennet?" "Yes, your regular nurse." "I never had a nurse since I had the measles," said Dorothy, and she really felt inclined to laugh. "Would you mind if I sat up at the window? I feel perfectly strong now, and I want to remember what the blessed world is like." "Of course you may sit by the window," replied Miss Bell, assisting Dorothy into a robe. "And I don't blame you for wanting to see out of doors. Sometimes I hate being a nurse." "I should think you would. It is enough to turn one's own head. Oh, I do wish some one who knows me would come! My father and all my folks will be frantic. Is there anything more dreadful than being lost in the Maine woods!" "You are the strongest sick girl I ever saw," declared the nurse. "I hope I have made no mistake." "Well, indeed you have," replied Dorothy. "I tell you I am not and have never been a patient at any institution. I thought there was some test of mentality—the eye, isn't it?" "But nurses cannot make tests," answered Miss Bell. "We have to wait for the dear professional, all-powerful doctors to do that. This is my first day here, and I think I am going to be almost as lonely as you are." "I am sorry for you, but you may leave if you wish. It is quite different in my case!" "My dear, if you can only be content to-night, I promise you some one will come to-morrow. They have sent for your mother—Mrs. Harriwell." "Oh, the mother of the lost girl? Well, she will know. But I must stay all night in this dreadful place—all night?" "I promise not to leave you. They will send another nurse to relieve me, but I will decline to go. Somehow you have almost convinced me there is a mistake." "Thank you," replied Dorothy. "Perhaps it will be best not to complain." She was looking out at the beautiful grounds and thinking of the dear ones whose hearts must be torn with anguish for her. If only she could telegraph! "Do you think I could send a message?" she asked, "to my friends—to my cousins, at Everglade?" "I am afraid not—until after the doctor sees you. You see, some other patient—a man named Morrison—is blamed for having helped you to escape." "Morrison?" repeated Dorothy. "That is the name of the man who is to blame for all this trouble; that is, we blamed him for inducing a friend of mine to leave our camp." "He has a faculty for inducing people to leave," said Miss Bell. "We hope we will soon be able to catch him—then it is not likely that he will get another chance to exercise that faculty. Three patients left the day that you did." "The day that she did," corrected Dorothy. "Well, nurse, since you are so kind to me, we must be friends, and I must not make you any unnecessary trouble." "One has to be kind to you," said the nurse, putting her cheek close to Dorothy's. "I must comb out your hair. It has been neglected." "Yes, but that will be easily fixed up again. Such matters seem scarcely to trouble me now. There are so many bigger things to think of." The nurse got comb and brush, and started to smooth out the long, light tresses. "What is that scratch?" she asked, stopping to look at a mark on Dorothy's neck. "It may have been the mark left there by Mrs. Hobbs' parrot," said Dorothy, "or it may be one of the scratches I got when I fell over the cliff. You see, I have been having a dreadful time. But when it is all over I will have something worth talking about, to tell at camp. I hope you will call upon us there. You would not be lonely if you knew our boys." "But if you are not Mary Harriwell, what can have become of her?" asked the nurse with sudden conviction. "And I was sent to find her!" "But you were directed to find me, were you not?" said Dorothy, in her quick way of helping one out in distress. "I do not see how you could be held responsible." "But the girl—if she is still at large, she may be dead or injured," said Miss Bell, showing more and more that she did not believe Dorothy to be the person wanted in the sanitarium. "I must ask—did no one here know you—or her? Must we wait for that one doctor?" "At any rate," said Dorothy, "I was almost ill, and you have saved me from those dreadful people. My folks will never blame you." "If there is a mistake—I'll run away. I could never stand the disgrace," and the nurse buried her face in her hands. "It seems to me a perfectly plain case of mistaken identity, and as you knew neither me nor the girl wanted, I do not see how you could have done otherwise than to take me. I am sure I must have looked and acted—demented." "I am perfectly positive that you are not now," declared Miss Bell. "And no time should be lost in searching for Mary Harriwell." "Then I could send a message to camp? Let them know I am safe?" and Dorothy sprang up with more emotion than she wished to show, for her every move was being watched. "Well, the doctor will be here in the morning, and it is night now. There would be no way of straightening this out until you are positively identified." "What a dreadfully lonely place Maine is! If I were near home—or near any place where people would know me——" Dorothy was saying. "Miss Bell, you are wanted at the 'phone," interrupted an attendant, appearing at the door. "I'll stay until you get back." Miss Bell left the room, and Dorothy did not look at the young woman who had taken her place. There was something so humiliating about being suspected of insanity! "How do you like it here?" asked the newcomer. "Very well," replied Dorothy, hurt by the sarcasm apparent in the voice. "Then why did you run away? Didn't we treat you all right?" Dorothy made no reply. The nurse came over, and glanced at her keenly. "You look pretty fine. Guess the tramp did you good. They have sent for your mother. She will be here to-morrow. I sent the message, and I told her your mind had cleared up. I hope I made no mistake." "I hope not," replied Dorothy, feeling that it was useless to try to explain. "I shall be glad—when she comes." "I'm the night attendant. I will be here in an hour to give you your bath," said the young woman. "I am perfectly capable of taking my own bath," replied Dorothy, with indignation. "Perhaps; but we don't trust patients in the water alone. I hope you won't give me any trouble. I'm tired to death to-night." "I will try not to," said Dorothy. Soon Miss Bell returned. Her face was flushed and she appeared greatly excited. "That man Morrison has been seen," she said to the other nurse. "And two more Mary Harriwells have also been seen. Strange thing how many girls can get demented when one is looked for. But the man—they say he is not safe." "Oh, he's the greatest case we ever had here. He kept us all busy as his audience. He's stage-struck, you know," said the other. "Have you heard anything of a girl named Tavia Travers?" asked Dorothy timidly. "It was searching for her that brought about all this trouble, and I wonder have they found her yet." "Tavia Travers," repeated Miss Bell. "A girl who says she is Tavia Travers was seen going along the road with the supposed Mary Harriwell, and of course if she is helping her hide, she may be arrested. Is she a friend of yours?" "Yes," sighed Dorothy. Then she fell to thinking how terrible it all was. "It began the day we had the hay wagon accident," she decided. "The moment that man crossed our path he—left his shadow, as dear father would say. Well, to-morrow I must be set free again." The nurses were talking quietly together. A shuffling in the hall disturbed them. "A new patient?" asked Dorothy. "No, likely an old one returned," was all the information she got. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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