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Dorothy Dale At Glenwood School

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<h3> CHAPTER XI </h3> <h4> OFF FOR GLENWOOD </h4> The lawn party ended in a shower; not only a linen shower as May Egner had planned, but in a specific downpour of rain. The day, so beautifully promising, suddenly changed colors and sent, from a sky of inky blackness, one of the heaviest rainfalls of the season. But this change only added sport to the festivities, for a game of blindman's buff had to be finished in the dining-room, and the way the boys ducked under the big table actually put the "blind man" (Nettie) out of business. It had been a splendid afternoon, every moment of the hours spent seemed to all present the best time of their gay young lives, and that Viola had contributed to the merriment and made herself particularly agreeable, left nothing to be wished for, Alice thought. Dorothy and Tavia felt that the time had come to make their adieux, and were about to undertake that task when, at a signal from Alice, the room was suddenly filled with flying bits of linen—the other shower. "Hurrah!" cried the boys, catching the gifts and tossing them up again and again. "Fen!" called Tavia, using a marble game expression, but the boys would not desist. They liked the linen shower first-rate, and insisted on keeping it going. "Then let us snowball the travelers," suggested Sarah Ford, and at this Dorothy and Tavia were forced into a corner and completely snowed under with the linen. When the excitement had subsided, and the gifts were counted, Dorothy found she had fourteen beautiful dainty little handkerchiefs, four hand-made collars, and a darling pink and white linen bag. This last gift was from Alice, and had Dorothy's name done in a tiny green vine, with dots of pale lavender violets peeping through. This was such a beautiful piece that Alice admitted she had worked on it sometime previous to the party, intending to keep it for Dorothy's birthday gift. Next Tavia counted twelve handkerchiefs, and seven collars. She declared the girls knew she never had a decent collar, and, in her profuse thanks, almost wept with joy at the unexpected blessing. "It's the collar that makes the girl," she assured those who stood about her admiring her treasures, "and I never could make the collar. So you see you have saved me from disgracing Dorothy at Glenwood. I suppose every boarding school girl sports the hand-made variety." "And to think that I cannot give a party in Dalton to pay you back," remarked Dorothy, as she was saying good-bye to a group of girls and boys in the hall. "We are going to move to North Birchland, you know." But the girls did not know, and the information was received with much regret—everyone would miss the Dales. The girls would miss Dorothy, the boys would miss Joe, and as for Roger, he had always been a neighborhood pet. Then Major Dale was a popular citizen, besides being especially endeared to many whom he had befriended with money and advice. "But you will come down to see us on your holidays," insisted the boys and girls, "and perhaps we can get something up so that we may have a reunion." Dorothy agreed to this, and then, when all the good-byes had been said, and all the earnest protestations of affection expressed, the merry-makers dispersed, making their way through the wet and muddy roads, but happy with a clear sky above—for some of the girls wore real party dresses and the shower had made them apprehensive until it stopped. Dorothy and Tavia remained to thank Alice and Mrs. MacAllister for all the trouble they had taken. During the conversation Viola assured the girls they would be delighted with Glenwood and said it was a pity Alice had to stay longer at Dalton school to finish a special course. "Because," said Viola, "we could have such glorious times all together." "Do you think," said Tavia, as she took Dorothy's arm and "picked her steps," across the wet road on her way home, "that Viola really means it? That she is glad we are going to Glenwood?" "I wouldn't like to say," hesitated Dorothy. "She has such an odd way. All afternoon she acted to me like one who had gained some point and was satisfied." "Then I didn't get her away from Nat in time," declared Tavia. "I heard her say something suspicious as I came up to them. No use asking Nat what he told her, he would invent something to tease me and—" "Declare you were jealous," finished Dorothy. "We will hope she was in earnest with her graciousness—perhaps she is always that way—antagonistic with strangers." "Never," and Tavia went into a mud puddle in her attempt to speak very decidedly. "There! I'm glad that was not my canvas shoe. I was tempted to wear them. Ouch! Wet through! But I was about to say that Viola is not mean to all strangers. Did you see the way she went for Nat?" "Well, we must not make trouble by going out of our way to meet it," preached Dorothy. "Viola may not have a chance to bother us at Glenwood, even if she cared to try." "Chance! You can depend upon her to make all the chance she wants. But I have my defense all mapped out. I am certain she will try to disgrace us with the patrol story." "What disgrace could she make out of that?" asked Dorothy in surprise. "Don't know, haven't the least idea, only I fancy she will fix something up. But I'll give her 'a run for her money,' as the boys say," and Tavia displayed something of the defense she had "mapped out" in a decidedly vindictive attitude. Packing of trunks and doing up of girls' belongings made the time fly, so that when the morning of the actual departure did arrive both girls felt as if something important must have been overlooked, there was so much hurry and flurry. But the train puffed off at last, with Dorothy Dale and Octavia Travers passengers for the little place called Glenwood, situated away off in the New England mountains. Major Dale felt lonely indeed when his Little Captain had kissed the two boys—her soldiers—good-bye, and, when she pressed her warm cheek to his own anxious face, it did seem as if a great big slice of sunshine had suddenly darted under a heavy black cloud. But it was best she should go, he reflected, and they must get along without her. Tavia's folks were conscious of similar sentiments. The squire, her father, and her little brother Johnnie went to the station to see the girls off, and Johnnie felt so badly that he actually refused to go fishing with Joe Dale, an opportunity he would have "jumped at" under any other circumstances. Roger Dale had rubbed his pretty eyes almost sightless trying not to cry and listening to Aunt Libby's oft-told story that had never yet failed to heal a wound of the baby's heart, but he surely did not want Doro to go, and he surely would cry every single night when she did not come to kiss him. "I just do want her," he blubbered on the newly-ironed gingham apron that Aunt Libby buried his sweet face in, "and I don't love Auntie Winnie for taking her away." So the Dalton home was left behind. "I wish we did not have to change so often," said Dorothy to Tavia, when she had finally dried her eyes and looked around with the determination of being young-lady-like, and not crying for those left behind in dear old Dalton. "Oh, that's the most fun," declared Tavia. "All new people maybe, and different conductors, besides a chance to try if our feet are asleep—mine feel drowsy now," and she jumped into the aisle just to straighten out and make people wonder if she had lost something. "We will meet the others at the junction—Viola's folks, you know. And that reminds me,—I never had a chance to tell you why she was called Viola. Her grandfather was a great violinist and she was called after his—" "Fiddle! Good!" interrupted Tavia, the irrepressible. "Then I'll call her 'Fiddle.' That's lots better than the vegetables." "It's a comfort to have all our things go by express," Dorothy remarked when "Next station Junction!" was called from the front door of the car. "I feel as if I am constantly forgetting something, when I have nothing to carry, but it is a relief to find our racks empty." "My hat is up there," Tavia remarked, taking down the straw sailor. "And our box of candy—you don't call that an empty rack, do you? Alice's best mixed—all chocolate too." "I was quite sure you wouldn't forget the candy," answered Dorothy. "And it was awfully good of Alice." "Junction! Junct-shon!" called the trainman. "There's our porter," remarked Tavia; with conscious pride as the colored man, whom the major had given the girls in charge of, stepped up the aisle, secured the small satchels and, without so much as, "by your leave," or, "are you ready," handed the two girls off the train. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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