Dorothy Dale's Camping Days

"It's a pretty book," said Dorothy, "and I am sure I shall enjoy it."

"Yes, then I'll be off. Only let me tell you one thing dear," and the woman came up very close to Dorothy, "you must promise me not to try to get away until I can take you to the station. Josh has the wagon."

"All right," replied Dorothy with an amused smile. "Why should I try to get away?"

"Don't know, dear, only I must have your promise."

Dorothy felt queer—she had reason to be grateful to Mrs. Hobbs, and to give a promise would involve an obligation. Yet she must make her escape. Some disturbance downstairs saved the girl further anxiety on the question of the promise. Mrs. Hobbs ran down to the door, and she did not return.

As if Dorothy could help attracting attention!

Mrs. Hobbs's generous form had dropped behind the hill. There was nothing to wait for now, Dorothy must get out of that window.

The window frame was that sort that runs to the roof and has not far to go. It was really not half a window, but it was large enough for the girl's slim form to slip through. It was no distance to the roof, then she could slide down the post.

Dorothy was out. She sat upon the roof and with a careful move slid toward the edge.

Yes, what blessing! She was directly above the post!

Dorothy was not an athlete, but she was always able to climb. She swung around the post—down—down—to the ground!

But no sooner had her feet touched the welcome earth that a shrill scream startled her!

She was puzzled and alarmed until she saw a big, green parrot in a cage. And the bird was screeching to the limit of its capacity. Mrs. Hobbs could hear it! Should Dorothy throw a mat from the porch over its cage!

No, the door was opened, the bird was out,—and it was actually flying at Dorothy!

"Mama! Mama!" it yelled. "Come quick! Come quick!"

Snatching up a stick, Dorothy made an attempt to strike the green thing as it flapped toward her. But she could not hit it! And if she turned to run it would likely settle its claws into her head. Yet she must run! Mrs. Hobbs—

Without time for further thought Dorothy did run; down the lane, and into the road.

Gratefully she raised her eyes to the clear sky. Her heart sent up its thanks—to the Friend who is never hidden from those who seek Him.

"And there comes a carriage," she told herself, as a rumbling of wheels took her attention. "Perhaps the driver will give me a lift."

The wagon was hidden from view as the road turned sharply just under the oaks. Dorothy waited. Yes, and there was a young woman in the carriage. Wasn't that fortunate?

The carriage turned so close to Dorothy that she had no need to take a single step to hail it. And it was almost stopped, yes; it did stop now.

The young woman in the carriage was garbed in white—a nurse.

"Is this the Hobb's place?" she asked of Dorothy.

"Yes," replied the girl in surprise.

Then the nurse jumped out of the carriage. She looked keenly at Dorothy.

"Do you—stop there?" she asked curiously.

"I have been stopping there," answered Dorothy, now completely mystified by the young woman's manner.

"Is your name——"

"Why, of course I will assist you!" replied the nurse in the most affable manner. "Get right into the carriage, and we will have you back at camp in no time." Dorothy hesitated. The nurse consulted a small note book.

"Come right in, dear. We are going straight down to Everglade," and she touched Dorothy's arm to urge her.

"Strange, I feel so nervous about falling into traps," said Dorothy honestly, looking deeply into the eyes that were investigating every feature of her own fair face. "But you see I did fall, literally, and——"

"Of course, and you were hurt." Dorothy could not understand that caressing manner. It was identical with that exercised by Mrs. Hobbs. "Now, come," and Dorothy did step into the carriage. "We will drive along quickly, so that we may reach camp before luncheon. James, hurry your horse."

"I've had quite a time of it these last two days," she remarked, glancing timidly at the figure in white beside her, "but it seems all things come out right—if we only have patience."

"But I wouldn't talk dear—the sun has been warm, and you are quite overheated. Wouldn't you like to rest your head here, on my lap?"

Dorothy sat up erect. This was surely unheard of. Who was this nurse? Where was she taking her?

"I am perfectly well, thank you," she said in the firmest tones she could command, "and I really would like to know where we are going? Why do you treat me as if I were ill or a child?"

"There, there," and the nurse touched Dorothy's hand. "Of course you are perfectly well, and of course, we are going to camp. James, is your horse asleep?"

Mr. Hobbs!

Dorothy's heart gave a leap as his old wagon stopped! The nurse put her head out of the little curtained window and made signs to him.

"All right! All right!" he replied. "Yes, that's her!"

"That's her!" repeated Dorothy. "That's me! What is this trick? Let me out of this carriage instantly, or I will call for help!"

"If you do not keep quiet, I shall be obliged to restrain you," said the nurse. "Miss Harriwell, we are taking you back to the sanitarium. I am your new nurse."

"Sanitarium! New nurse! Miss Harriwell! I am Dorothy Dale, and I have never been inside a sanitarium!"

The carriage dashed into a driveway! A big brownstone building confronted them.

A corps of nurses hurried out to the path!

When Dorothy saw them she fainted!

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.'"

"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.

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.

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?

"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.

"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."

"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——"

"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?

"Oh!" sighed the girl. "Where am I? Who are you?" There was a change—a great change in her manner.

"Oh, I am so glad you are alive!" breathed Tavia. "And how do you feel?"

"As if something—moved in—my head. Where is mother?"

There was no rambling, she spoke coherently!

"Are you hurt?" pressed Tavia. "If only you can move?"

"I am sure I can," the sufferer replied, at the same time making an effort to sit up. "I feel better—somehow. How did you come to me? I had a terrible dream."

"I met you. Do you remember your name?"

The girl did not answer at once. Then she said very slowly: "I am Mary, but they call me Molly."

"Mary what?"

"Mary Harriwell."

Tavia knew better than to ask more questions just then. She almost forgot their predicament in the joy of seeing the girl apparently sane.

"I wonder if you can walk?"

"I wonder might there be a path? I was so alarmed when you fell, that I did not take time to look for one, I just slid down the rocks. But to get up would be very different."

"It is—dark, almost. We will have to look—I can't talk—just now. I have that strange feeling in my head."

"You must not talk. Just follow me, lean on me! Oh, I am sure we will get up safely; and once upon the road we must find some help!"

Tavia was afraid to look with too much scrutiny into the white face, afraid she might again see that wild-eyed warning.

Following the mossy way they trudged along. How far away even the sky was! Could two girls be more desolate?

Thoughts of camp, and of Dorothy, almost crushed Tavia. Young and strong as she was, her experience was beginning to leave its mark. She felt weak, and was hungry!

But the strange girl seemed to have recovered her reason! Tavia must not falter, she must get up, out to the roadway.

"What is your name?" asked the strange girl suddenly.

"Tavia—Tavia Travers. And I am lost—far away from every one!"

Tears welled into Tavia's eyes. Yes, she was lost!

"And I am—lost! How strange that we should meet."

"But are you not hurt? You walk——"

"Yes, something does hurt, but I don't mind, for that awful dream is gone. I can walk, and then when—we are—found——"

"Oh, yes. I am sure you will be all right as soon as we—are—found!"

They had almost reached the crest of the hill. Up there at least they could see.

"I hear a step," said Tavia. "We must hurry."

It was difficult to do that, however, for Mary, or Molly, limped painfully.

The step was plain now, as it crushed the dried leaves and brush.

"Oh!" screamed Tavia. "We must run, or hide! It is that dreadful man! That—other—that lunatic!" and she clutched the arm beside her, and dragged the frightened girl to the edge of the roadway.

Mortimer Morrison, with his big, rough, mountain stick, was about to pass!

"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."

"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."

"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."

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."

"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."

"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."

"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 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?"

"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.

The strangers were up to him now.

"That's him!" the girls heard them say. "That's Morrison."

"Who are you?" demanded the queer man.

"Well, we are just friends," said a tall man with a gold-trimmed cap. "We have been looking for you. Won't you come over to the hotel and stay for the night?"

"Not much," replied Morrison. "I never go into hotels—I only go on the legitimate stage. I was never a cheap actor."

"Well, come along to the legitimate stage then," said the man kindly. "We will take good care of you."

"I have lost a friend," went on Morrison, in a rambling way, "and until she is found I do not leave these woods."

Tavia's heart stood still. Would the men find them?

"Oh," sighed the girl with the injured foot, "I will throw myself into the creek before I will go back to the——"

"Hush! They have got him!"

Morrison struggled frantically. In the excitement Tavia and Molly stepped out of their hiding place, but there was so much confusion trying to overcome Morrison, that the girls were not noticed.

"Oh, mercy!" gasped Molly, "they will hurt him."

"Not likely," said Tavia. "They are hospital attendants."

"There is the wagon! Oh, I remember it! They took me in that!"

"Molly, dear! You are not to remember anything—except that you are with me!"

"But what shall we do when they go? It is night!"

"We will find shelter some place. I am an expert on finding shelter!"

The girl rested her head against Tavia's shoulder. Whatever compunction Tavia had felt for her part in the unfortunate state of affairs, she felt at ease now in the thought that she had saved this girl. That the hospital men were attending to Morrison, and that he would soon be out of reach of harming her, also consoled Tavia.

"I—don't—remember," breathed Molly. "I guess I was never out this way before."

"If only I knew—— But what is the use of my acting like a baby?" exclaimed Tavia. "I am sure the folks at camp think me dead. Dorothy, especially, will be heartbroken."

"They are taking him away!"

The men had seized the struggling Morrison, and were carrying him to the roadside, where the wagon stood waiting.

Tavia wondered if she was doing right or wrong in not making her presence known. Then she thought how hard it would be to have Mary again placed in a sanitarium, and she decided to fight her way alone. But it was getting dark. They could now barely see the men lifting that struggling form into the closely-covered wagon.

"I wonder how they knew he was here?" mused Tavia. "If they had not found him what would have become of us?"

"Oh, my foot! I am sure something is broken!"

With these words Molly sank down, helpless. The wagon had rattled off, and again the girls were alone in that deep wood, with night settling down.

"But where can we go? Oh, I did not know I was hurt! I am afraid my leg is broken!" sobbed Molly.

"There must be some house or hut near here," declared Tavia, "and I will carry you along until we reach it. We can not spend the night here, starving."

The strange girl was indeed light in weight. Naturally slight, her sickness had also taken flesh from her, so that when Tavia put her arms about her, and the other threw her arms over Tavia's shoulders, the two trudged along over the rough path, and soon were out on a roadway.

"There is a camp over there," said Tavia, as they came in sight of something white, just showing through the sunset. "We must go to that."

"I can walk," insisted Molly. "It is too much——"

"So can I carry you," argued Tavia, "and if you have any bones broken you must not strain them further."

It did seem a long way to the tent, but the road that led up to it showed travel, and was therefore more easily followed.

"That is because you are stunned—you had a very bad fall," said Tavia. "I feel that way myself—I have gone through a great deal, lately, too."

"Now, let me walk—it is only a step," begged Molly, at the same moment getting down from Tavia's arms. "Here we are right at the tent."

Welcome shelter! Never were two girls more in need of it.

"And the queer part of it is," said Tavia, "I am supposed to be a joke—to get and take everything funny. This is certainly no joke. How do you feel, dear? I hope these people will let us in. We may get some camping days after all."

They timidly made their way to the tent. It was closed!

"No lights," remarked Molly. "Oh, Tavia. My head hurts again!"

"Mercy!" exclaimed Tavia, without showing why she was so alarmed. "Do you suppose it is just a headache or——"

Molly had sunk down on her knees. Tavia sprang to the flap of the tent, and dragged the rope from the stake.

"But if they are rough men——"

"No, rough men do not furnish a tent like this. See the pictures pinned up; and what is this?"

Tavia had lighted a candle that was placed conveniently near the flap, with matches at hand, showing that whoever lived in the tent intended to return at dark, and so had their light ready. Beside this candle was a printed slip of paper. Tavia read:

"A thousand dollars reward for information that will lead to the finding, dead or alive, of Dorothy Dale and Tavia Travers."

"Dorothy gone too!" shrieked Tavia. "Then they are scouring the woods for us, and that is why this camp is deserted!"

"If only I could walk!" breathed Molly.

"Never mind. We will stay here—until something else happens—but who can tell what that may be!"

The shock of the news about Dorothy absolutely stunned Tavia. With it went all her strength, all her courage, and she felt then like lying down to die!