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CHAPTER XIV A TURN IN THE TIDE
For two weeks after this excitement, things ran rather steadily at Glenwood. The pupils had been given their work to do, and after vacation it was not so easy to get minds back to study and to discipline.

The Glenwood Gleaner apologized in its next issue for the trashy report of Dorothy’s lunch-counter experience, and attributed the error to a new reporter, who had gotten in conversation with some of the “new pupils,” the combination resulting in what seemed to the reporter to be a “good story.” But he was not acquainted with the exclusiveness of the territory where the paper circulated.

One matter remained unexplained. How did the paper get Dorothy’s picture off Tavia’s dresser? On this question the paper and its editor had nothing to say.

In spite of the shock that the reading of the article caused Dorothy, when she recovered her poise she was almost relieved that it was all about106 herself, and had nothing to do with her father’s business. It was this last which caused her the most severe anxiety.

But now two letters had come from home. Each was from Major Dale, Dorothy’s father, and each was in a cheerful strain, one even inclosing a five dollar note for “some extras she might need.” So that Dorothy was now comparatively happy. Her old-time smile had come back to her, and she was willing, and ready, to take part in all the school affairs, whether in the regular, or improvised course.

To-day there was only half the usual amount of study to be finished, and, of course, in the other part of the day, there were to be so many things done that each girl planned about what would normally fit into a week’s time. Tavia, Cologne and Ned had much whispering to do, and they did not seem to want Dorothy to guess its purport.

The village post-office was not far from the school, but, as the mail was always delivered at the hall, the girls only went over there for recreation and post cards. On this half-holiday, however, it seemed that Tavia had much business at the post-office. She had been down twice, once for each mail, and besides this she made a trip somewhere else to parts unknown to Dorothy.

“I got it,” Dorothy heard her tell Ned. “Now if we can manage the rest.”

107 After that the two girls disappeared in the direction of the stables, where Jacob was busy with the bus and horses.

Dorothy felt very much like following them, for she knew, of old, Tavia’s proclivities for mischief, but the way Ned looked at her as they said: “We’ll be back directly, Dorothy,” debarred that attempt.

Perhaps an hour passed, and the girls did not return. Then Dorothy walked to the stable.

“Good afternoon, Jacob,” she said pleasantly, to the man who was polishing harness. “I thought some of the girls came up this way.”

“They did, miss, but it was them two that I can’t watch, so I told them I was busy in a way that meant they were not welcome,” replied Jacob. “Them two are always up to some mischief. Not but they’re jolly enough, and good company, but sometimes I’m afraid they’ll steal out after dark and hitch up a team. I believe they would!”

“Oh hardly that,” said Dorothy, laughing, “but I can’t imagine where they have gone, for I have been at the other path, and they could not have gotten out through the big gate.”

“Likely they would find a hole in the fence somewhere,” he said. “But that they are gone is all I care about. Would you like to see the little white dog? The one we picked up on the108 road? I call him Ravelings, for he is just like a spool of white silk unraveled.”

“Yes, I would like to see him,” Dorothy replied. “I suppose you are so careful of him you don’t let him run too far from your sight.”

“I don’t dare to, for he’s a valuable dog. I may get him in at the show in November,” and the man led the way to the corner that was fixed up for Ravelings.

There was a box, with the side cut down, and in this was a bed of perfectly fresh straw. Then, beside the bed, was a white dish of milk, and some crackers; in fact the dog had quite a little home of his own in Jake’s stable.

“He’s in hiding, I suppose,” said Jacob, searching about under the straw. “But he’s a rascal—I ought to call him Rascal, instead of Ravelings, I guess.”

He whistled, pulled all the straw out, looked in every corner, but no little white dog appeared. A sudden fear overcame Dorothy. What if the girls had taken the dog?

“Do you ever let anyone take him out?&rdq............
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