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Dorothy Dale At Glenwood School

<h3> CHAPTER IV </h3> <h4> A DAY OF DANGERS </h4> "What do you suppose will happen next?" asked Dorothy, as the automobile sped along the narrow road through a woodland way. "Don't tempt the fates," cautioned Ned, "we can always get enough trouble without beckoning it." "It was good sport, meeting the little country woman and all that," said Nat, "but I must admit I did not enjoy the mud bath. I have heard of mud baths in sanitariums. Do you suppose they are that kind?" "Oh, no," laughed Ned. "They perfume the mud and mix it with bay rum. Then they allow it to trickle down your spinal column to the rhythm of your favorite poem—so many drops to so many feet." "I'll never forget how you looked when you came up on that rail," declared Tavia, merrily. "I have heard of such things, but that is the first time I ever saw any one really ride a rail—" "And my initial performance, I assure you. Well, do not be so painfully faithful as never to forget my appearance. I think you might sympathize with a fellow." But Tavia only laughed more heartily. She declared he could not have been drowned; of course it was wet and cold and muddy— "And he might have fallen, and not have been able to get to his feet again," remarked Dorothy, with apprehension. "I am awfully afraid of mysterious accidents; and who can tell what is at the bottom of a spring?" "For expert testimony," replied Nat, "apply to Nathaniel White, Esquire. He is in every way qualified—Oh, I say, my knee! Ouch! Can't move it," and he winced in pain. "Let me get there," insisted Ned, "you may take a kink somewhere and make us turn turtle. Besides you will not get so much breeze back here." Nat was easily persuaded now, for the fact was he did not feel at all comfortable—the mud bath was getting in its work,—so the machine was stopped while he got in the tonneau and his brother took the place at the wheel. "Put this dust robe around you," ordered Dorothy. "You may miss your coat in spite of the day, for the wind is sharp when we cut through the air this way. I do hope you will not be ill—" "Never! That race Mrs. Hardy gave me, or made me take, saved my life. But it's pleasant to change seats. Ned will get a lot of laughs from Tavia, and I will enjoy a chance to talk with you." So the little party dashed along, until a turn in the road brought a row of houses into view, and presently, among them, could be seen a sign that indicated eatables were for sale there. Both girls and boys went in to do the buying—so keen were their appetites now that each preferred to do his or her own selecting. Tavia wanted buns, cheese and pickles. Nat had cheese, rye bread and butter (he bought a quarter of a pound) and besides he found, on the very tip top shelf, some glass jars of boneless herring. "Let's make a regular camp dinner," suggested Ned. "Buy some potatoes and sliced bacon, make tea or coffee—" "In what?" asked Dorothy. "Oh, yes, that's so. We did not bring the lunch basket. By the way, you have not seen the basket mother received for her birthday. It has everything for a lunch on the road; a lamp to cook over, tea and coffee pot, enameled cups, plates, good sharp knives—the neatest things, all in a small basket. Mother never lets us take it out, when we're alone. She thinks so much of it." "I should think she would," remarked Dorothy. "But we were speaking of a camp lunch—" "Yes, let's," joined in Nat. "It's no end of fun, roasting potatoes in a stone furnace." "And toasting bacon on hat pins," suggested Tavia. So it was agreed the camp lunch should be their meal, Dorothy and Ned doing most of the work of buying and finding things fresh enough to eat in the old-fashioned dusty store, while Tavia and Nat tasted pickles and tried buns, until Dorothy interposed, declaring if either ate another mouthful before the real meal was ready they would not be allowed a single warm morsel. "Just one potato," pleaded Nat. "I do so love burnt potatoes." "And a single slice of bacon," urged Tavia. "I haven't had that kind of bacon since we were out at the Cedars, and I think it is so delicious." "Then save your appetites," insisted Dorothy, "and help with the work. No looking for fresh spring water this time. Nat, carry this bottle of milk. Ned has paid for the bottle and all, so we will not have to come back with the jar." The paper bundles were finally put into the car, and then, turning back to the woodland road, it was not difficult to find a place suitable to build the camp-fire, and set table on a big stump of a newly-felled tree that Tavia said made her more hungry than ever, for the chips smelt like vinegar and molasses, she declared. So pleasant was the camp life our friends had embarked upon, they did not notice how far the afternoon was getting away from them, and before they had any inclination to start out on the road again, the sun had rolled itself up into a big red ball, and was sinking down behind the hills. "Oh, it may be dark before we get back to Dalton," said Dorothy in alarm. "We should have started an hour ago." "But the potatoes were not done," Tavia reminded her, "and we never could have left without eating them after carrying cords and cords of wood to the oven." "Get aboard," called Nat, "I'll take the wheel now, Ned. I'm entirely thawed out." It had certainly been a delightful day, even the accident at the spring was now merely an event to laugh at, while the meal on the big chestnut stump, beside the camp-fire, had been so enjoyable, and now, all that remained was the pleasant ride home. That is all that appeared to remain, but automobile rides, like chickens, should not be counted until all is over, and the machine is safely put up for the night. Chickens have the same tendency as have autos toward surprises—and disappointments. "There's a hill," remarked Ned, quite unnecessarily, as a long stretch of brown road seemed to bound up in front of them. "A nice climb," acquiesced Nat. "Now, Birdy, be good. Straight ahead. No flunking now—steady," and he "coaxed" the machine into a slow, even run, that became more and more irksome as the grade swelled. "But when we get at the top?" asked Tavia. "We will not stay there long," answered Nat, "for if there is one thing this machine likes to do it is to coast down hill." The Fire-Bird made its way up the steep grade, and presently, as Nat predicted, turned the hill-crest and "flew" down the other side. The swiftness of the motion made conversation impossible, for the machine was coasting, the power being off, and surely the Fire-Bird was "flying through the air." Reaching the level stretch again, Nat threw in the clutch, but a grinding and clanking noise answered his movement of the lever. "Hello!" called Ned from the rear. "Busted!" "Something wrong," agreed Ned, looking at the spark and gasoline controllers. Presently, as the boys expected, the machine slowed up, and then came to a stop. Both were out at once, and they examined the mechanism together. "It's the leather facings on the friction clutch," declared Ned. "See that one worn off?" "Guess that's right," answered Ned. "Well, now for a horse." "I sold my wheel for an automobile; Get a horse! Get a horse!" sang Tavia, while she and Dorothy climbed out to join the inspection committee. "Is it bad?" asked Dorothy. "Bad enough to stall us until we can get it fixed up somewhere," said Ned. "We'll have to take part of the clutch out," and he proceeded to do so. "Yes, we cannot move until we get a new leather on here," added Nat. "I wonder how far we might be from a blacksmith shop." "A couple of miles," answered Tavia. "I have often been through this woods." "Then I suppose," went on Ned, rather dolefully, "there is nothing to be done but 'hike' to the shop." "You go and I'll stay and take care of the girls," suggested Nat. "Oh, both go," chimed in Tavia. "You will get back sooner, and you may have some trouble getting it fixed at the shop, for I have been there and I know the man is as deaf as a post and—other things," she finished vaguely. "There is a house just across the fields there and we are not the least bit afraid—" "If it will hurry the work you had best both go," Dorothy added. "As Tavia says, there is a house in sight, and we could run there if anything came along to scare us." "Well, trot along Nat," commanded Ned, as he took up the piece of the clutch. "This is sure your busy day. I'll race you to the bend to make good time, and I assure you, young ladies, we will not be one moment longer than necessary away from you." "We are so very fond of you," joked Nat, "that every moment will be unto us an hour—" "Oh, come, quit your nonsense, if you are going to run—" But before Ned had finished, his brother had gained quite a handicap and was making tracks through the glen, and then out again into the open. "Isn't it lonely," said Dorothy, getting into the disabled machine after the youths were out of sight. "Not a bit," declared Tavia. "No tramps around here. But such a day! I almost feel as if one more thing must happen. Bad luck goes in threes, you know. One more will surely make up our day—" "Oh, please don't talk so," and Dorothy shivered. "I do wish we were safely back in Dalton." "And the boys gone back to the Cedars! Well, I would rather have the ride ahead of me, than to have it all ended. It is so nice to have good times. Sometimes I think I'll just run away, and see what there is to do and observe outside of that stupid old Dalton," exclaimed Tavia. "Tavia!" and Dorothy's voice betrayed how shocked she was at the very thought of such a thing as "running away." "How can you talk so?" "Oh, it's all very well for you, Doro. You can have and do as you please; but poor me! I must be content—" "Tavia, I am sure I heard someone coming!" exclaimed Dorothy. "Quite likely. This is a common road, you know. We have no fence around it." "But suppose it should be some rough person—" "If we don't like his looks when he comes up we can run," said Tavia, coolly. "And leave the car?" "Can't take it with us, surely." For a few moments neither girl spoke. Dorothy had never gotten over the frights she had received when the man Anderson followed her for the purpose of getting information about the Burlock matter, and every trifling thing alarmed her now. "It's a man," said Tavia, as the form of a heavily-built fellow could now be discerned on the path. "Oh, and he has that same kind of hat on," sighed Dorothy, referring to the hat previously worn by Anderson. "And it—really—does look like him! Let's run! We have just about time to get to that house. Come out this side. There, give me your hand," and Tavia, glancing back to the figure in the road, took Dorothy's hand and urged her on over the rough path, until Dorothy felt she must fall from fright and exhaustion. The road to the farm house was on a little side path turning off from the one followed by the boys on their way to the blacksmith shop. Having once gained the spot where the roads met, Tavia stopped to look back at the car. "I declare!" she gasped. "He is climbing into the machine." "Oh, what shall we do?" wailed Dorothy. "Can't do a thing but hide here until the boys come. We can see him if he gets out, but if we went over to the house we might miss the boys, and they might run right into his arms." "Oh," cried Dorothy. "I am so dreadfully frightened. Don't you suppose we can get any help until the boys come?" "Not unless someone happens to pass. And this is a back road: no one seems to go home from work this way." "Oh, if someone only would!" and Dorothy was now almost in tears. "Just see!" exclaimed Tavia, "he is examining the front now. Suppose he could start it up?" "But he cannot," Dorothy declared, "if the car worked the boys would never have left us here all alone," and again she was dangerously near shedding tears. "There now, he is getting in again. Well, I hope he stays there until someone comes," said Tavia. "Isn't it getting dark?" "And if the boys do not get back— Oh, perhaps we had better run right straight on. We may get to some town—" "We would be running into a deeper woods, and goodness knows, it is dark enough here. No, we had better stay near the house, then, if worst comes to worst, we can ask them to keep us all night—" "Tavia you make me shudder," cried Dorothy. "Of course we will not have to do any such thing." But Tavia's spirit of adventure was thoroughly aroused, and, in her sensational way, she forgot for the moment the condition of Dorothy's nerves, and really enjoyed the speculation of what might happen if "the worst came to the worst." "There he goes again," she burst out, beginning to see humor in the situation, as the figure in the car climbed from the front seat to the back. "He is like the little girl who got into the house of the 'Three Bears.' One is too high and one is too low—there now, Doro, he has found your place 'just right' and will go to sleep there, see if he doesn't." "Hark! That's Ned's voice—" "And that's Nat's—" "Yes, there they come. Oh, I am so glad—" "Me too," said Tavia, in her pardonable English. "Had we better go and meet them?" "No, indeed, the man in the car might take it into his head to come to. Better keep quiet." Presently Ned and Nat reached the corner. "Hush," called Tavia, coming out from her hiding-place. "Well, what on earth—" began Nat. "Listen," commanded Tavia. "There's a man in the car. He has been there ever since you went away—" "In our car! Well, his time is up," blurted out Ned. "He must move on," and the boy's manner indicated, "I will make him move on." "But he may be dangerous," cried Dorothy. "Oh, please Ned, don't go near him until you have someone to help you!" "And what would I be doing?" said Nat, in that same challenging manner. "Come along, Ned. We will teach that fellow to let our girls and our property alone." "But please!" begged Dorothy, clinging to Ned. "Call someone from that house. He did look so like—" "Our friend Anderson," finished Tavia, for Dorothy seemed too frightened to utter the name. "Did he though?" and Nat gave Ned a significant look. "All the more reason why I should like to make his acquaintance. You girls will have to hide here until we get rid of him, and we have no time to spare if we want to work by daylight. Come along, Ned. Girls, don't be the least alarmed. We will be down the road after you in a jiffy. It won't take two seconds to put in this clutch." "But I feel sure it is that dreadful man," wailed Dorothy. "Oh, if some strong person would only come!" "Now, you just sit down there," said Ned, tenderly, "and when you hear us whistle you will know it is all right. It may be only a poor farmer resting on his way home." But the girls were too certain that no farmer would have enjoyed climbing from one seat to the other as they had seen this man doing, and they had strange misgivings about him—of course Anderson was in jail, but— "Now, don't be a bit worried," added Nat. "We will be spinning down the road directly," and at this the boys left the girls again, and started down the road to interview the strange man in their automobile. "Oh, I do feel as if I shall die!" cried Dorothy. "Let us pray, Tavia, that nothing will happen to the boys!" "You pray, but I have to watch," answered Tavia, not realizing how scriptural her words were, "for if they should need help I have got to go to that house after it." Then, on the damp grass, poor Dorothy buried her head in prayer, such prayer as can come only from a heart in distress. Tavia, as she had said, stood straight out in the middle of the road, watching through the dim light. The boys were at the car now, and they were speaking to the man! <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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