It was very near Christmas, and events were crowding about The . Dorothy, as usual, had assumed more than her share of responsibility, for Tavia somehow acted queerly. She spent much time running back and to the post-office, and it was evident to all that she and Nat were not the friends they had been . Besides this, Ned had spoken to Dorothy, and had actually asked her not to "" with those college boys!  
This was unlike Ned, and a positive shock to Dorothy. To be sure, he chose the word "flirt" indifferently, but to Dorothy it had an ugly sound, and that night, after all her worries at the , she went to bed with a pair of very red eyes.
 
Perhaps it was the rush and excitement that caused every one to be so and to so misunderstand things. Certainly Tavia had some worry, and Ned did not act like himself, while Nat looked . It would be a queer holiday unless things mended .
 
It was a pleasant morning, and Dorothy, feeling that a run in the open air would do her nerves good, seized upon some excuse to go to the village.
 
She wanted to be alone—to think about what Ned had said, to look over everything carefully, and see if he had any excuse for such a remark. Had she acted foolishly? Could her innocent freedom with Tom Jennings be misunderstood? Was it not possible for a girl to act naturally after she had passed the age of fifteen years?
 
Her head filled with such thoughts as these, in all the power that they may assume when first encountered by a young girl, Dorothy hurried along. She would simply tell Ned all about it, she . He surely would understand that she never dreamed of "."
 
From the main highway she was obliged to turn into a branch of the road from Ferndale to reach the post-office, that little building being at the of both thoroughfares.
 
In her excitement she had scarcely glanced before her, but now, as she turned into the Ferndale road, she observed a woman coming along the same path. It was Miss .
 
Somehow Dorothy was glad to meet her. After all, it was not pleasant to think too seriously.
 
"Good-morning," said Dorothy with all the she could summon. "Looking for Christmas mail too?"
 
"Yes," replied Miss Brooks, with something of a sigh. "There are many kinds of Christmas mail, I suppose."
 
The reply confused Dorothy. She did not want to bring sad reflections to the "little woman in black."
 
"I guess we will have pleasant weather," Dorothy hurried to say . "I hope so, at any rate, for we must depend upon the weather for the success of our hospital entertainment. You know, we are to have one."
 
"Yes, I've seen the tickets," said Miss Brooks, walking along with Dorothy. Then both paused. Both had evidently the commonplace.
 
Miss Brooks looked keenly at Dorothy. The latter could feel her searching gaze, and wondered secretly what it could mean. Presently Miss Brooks said:
 
"I believe you are a girl, Miss Dale, and I wonder if I might trust you with a delicate—matter?"
 
"If I can help you—yes," answered Dorothy promptly.
 
"It is not to help me," said the other, "but to help your friend, Miss Travers."
 
Dorothy felt instantly that she referred to Tavia's troubles—those troubles which Tavia herself had refused to in her. Should she hear them from another?
 
In her direct way, without <............