But one week remained now of all the long summer vacation—then school must be taken up again, and the labor of learning must become both work and play for our young friends.

Dorothy and Tavia were to go back to Glenwood. Mrs. White had decided that the girls should not be separated, and consequently she provided the funds that were lacking on the part of the Travers family; for Tavia’s father had not been as prosperous in business during the past summer as he had formerly been, and in spite of many heroic efforts on his part, it was found impossible to get the necessary money together to send Tavia back to Glenwood.

It was on the very evening that Dorothy came in from her walk with Urania, that the school affairs were definitely decided upon. Mrs. White had received from Mr. Travers an answer to her letter regarding the school question, and so, when dinner was over, and stolen pigeons fully and finally discussed (they had not come home, however), Dorothy, Tavia and Mrs. White—the boys being rigorously excluded—adjourned to the sitting room to make notes and give notes, necessary in the formality of getting ready for boarding school.

Mrs. White was a beautiful woman, and her very presence seemed an inspiration to young girls, she was so gentle, so kind, so charming and so correct, without being prudish. Even the careless, frivolous Tavia “went down” beneath Aunt Winnie’s power, and was bound to admit it was “nice” to be well dressed, and “attractive” to have good manners.

On this particular evening Mrs. White was gowned in the palest lavender—a delicate orchid shade, and in her hair was a wild flower that Dorothy had brought in from the woods, the tints of this little spray toning exactly with the shade of the soft, silky gown.

Dorothy, too, was becomingly dressed. She wore her favorite light green—the one that Tavia always declared made Dorothy look like a lily, for her fair head above the “green stalk” easily suggested the comparison. Tavia, as usual, picked out the first dress that brushed her face as she entered the wardrobe, but it happened to be a pretty one, a bright plaid in fine Scotch gingham, that suited Tavia’s high color and light brown hair admirably.

“Now, my dears,” began Mrs. White, “I think we had best all go to town together, and then there will be no mistakes made about the sizes of your school things. The boys will leave for Cadet Hall in a few days, and after that we will be at liberty to take a whole day in town without neglecting any one. Major and the little boys” (Dorothy’s brothers) “will not be home for a week yet, schools do vary so in the time of opening, so that the thing for us to do now is, first: get Nat and Ned off, then attend to the shopping. After that we will just have time for a little reunion with the major and the boys, then it will be time to pack my girls off. Dear me,” said she, laughing, “I have quite a large family nowadays, but their care seems to agree with me.”

“You never looked better, Aunt Winnie,” declared Dorothy, with evident sincerity. “I hope I will grow tall and—straight like you.”

“You are doing your best now, girlie,” her aunt assured her, as she glanced at Dorothy’s slender form, that made such a pretty picture against the dark portieres she happened to cling to. “But I’m getting fat,” groaned Tavia. “My clothes won’t button, and, oh, I do hate fat!”

“Take more exercise,” said Mrs. White, with a meaning laugh, for Tavia’s “tom-boy” habits were a confirmed joke among her friends, and for her “to take more exercise” seemed to mean to climb more fences and tear more dresses.

The sitting room was on the first floor, just off the side porch, and the long, low, French windows in the room were draped with a transparent stuff, but on this evening the shades had not yet been drawn.

There was a fixed rule at the Cedars that all shades should be drawn down as soon as the lights were turned on, but the interest in school talk so occupied our little party that the uncovered windows were entirely overlooked on this particular evening.

Tavia was seated on a low stool, very close to an open window, and just as Mrs. White made the remark about the major being away from home, Tavia fancied she heard a step on the side porch. She was positive the boys had gone out in their automobile, the Fire Bird, and so was puzzled as to the sound—it certainly was a step and a very light one, as well. But Tavia did not interrupt the talk, in fact, she had no idea of alarming any one while the boys were away, and perhaps the servants might be off somewhere, for the evening was a pleasant one, and everybody seemed to be making the most of these last few fine nights of summer.

“And about your trunks,” went on Mrs. White, “I think we had better get larger ones, for you say you did have such a time getting all your clothes in when leaving school last term. Don’t you think, Tavia—but what are you listening to?” asked Mrs. White, noting the look on Tavia’s face. “Do you hear the boys coming? My! we have forgotten to draw the shades. Dorothy, just draw that one, and, Tavia, close the one at your elbow. It is never safe to sit by uncovered windows after dark.”

The light from the room fell across the broad piazza and as Tavia put her arm up to the shade she distinctly saw the line of light outside crossed by a shadow. She stepped back involuntarily, and at the same instant Dorothy gave a scream.

“A man!” she called. “He just passed the window. And, oh, he looked at me so!”

This was all Dorothy could say. Then she sank into a chair trembling visibly. “I saw him,” said Tavia, “but I’ve seen him before. I suppose he’s prowling around for something to eat.”

“There is no need to be so frightened, Dorothy,” said Mrs. White. “We will just go about and see that things are locked up. I do wish the boys were in, though, and perhaps you had better call up the stable, Tavia, and ask John to come down to the house.”

The ’phone to the stable was just at the door of the sitting room, so Tavia did not have to venture far to call the man. But no answer came to the summons. John was not in the stable.

“Well, the boys will be back shortly,” Mrs. White said confidently, “and there is no need for alarm. We will see that the doors are fastened. You did get a start, Dorothy, but you know, my dear, in the country people cross lawns and take short cuts without really meaning to trespass.”

“Oh, I’m all right now,” replied Dorothy, “but it was—sudden. I’ll see that the shades are drawn at dark after this,” and she laughed lightly as she followed her aunt and Tavia through the hall to fasten the front door.

It was strange they should be so alarmed, but they were, and the measured tread that marked the small procession on its way to the front door showed plainly that each member of the trio wanted the door locked, but was not personally anxious to turn the key.

“There,” sighed Mrs. White, when finally her jeweled finger was withdrawn from the heavy panel. “I have often dreamed of doing that—and having some one grab me as I turned the key, but I escaped, luckily, this time. Now we may go back to our school plans. Suppose we sit in the library, just to get away from the side porch.”

To this welcome suggestion the girls promptly agreed, and if the intruder who had so disturbed them a few minutes before, chose to follow them up, and peer through the library windows, he would have had to cross directly under the electric light that illumined the entrance to the villa at the Cedars.

But, somehow, Dorothy could not forget the face that she had caught sight of, and she felt instinctively that the prowler was not a neighbor “taking a short cut,” for he need not have stepped on the porch in that case.

So when school matters were settled, and the boys had returned from their ride in the Fire Bird to hear the account of the little adventure, and to take extra precautions in locking up the big house, Dorothy whispered to Ned and Nat her suspicion—that the man who peeked in at the windows might be one of the bad gypsies, and that he might know something about the stolen pigeons.

“We ought to set a trap for the rascal,” Ned whispered in answer to his cousin’s suspicions, “he may be coming back for the rest of the birds. I wish I had told John to keep his ears open while his eyes were shut, but it’s too late to do that now,” and then, with every assurance of safety, and the promise to be up at the slightest alarm, Ned and Nat said good-night to their cousin, and Dorothy’s fears were soon forgotten in the sleep that comes to healthy girls after the pleasant exercise of a lingering summer’s day.

Ned and Nat, too, soon fell into sound sleep, for their evening ride left in its tracks the pleasant flavor of most persuasive drowsiness, in spite of the promises made to Dorothy that they would be “on the lookout” all night, and no intruder should come around the Cedars without the two youths of the estate being aware of the intrusion.

But alas for such promises! Did boys ever sleep so soundly? And even Dorothy, though usually one apt to awake at small sounds, “hugged her pillow” with a mighty “grip,” because, of course, when a girl insists upon keeping awake just as long as she can keep her eyes propped open, when the “props” do slip away, sleep comes with a “thud.”

So it was that Tavia, she who made a practice of covering up her head and getting to sleep in order to avoid trouble (when she heard it coming)—Tavia it was who heard something very like a step on the side porch, just after midnight.

Some one has said that it is easier to keep burglars out than to chase them out: this infers, of course, that it may be wiser to give a false alarm than to take the opposite course. But true to her principles Tavia covered up her head, and told herself that it would be very foolish to arouse the household just because she heard a strange sound.

Yet there was something uncanny about the noise! There it was again!

Tavia raised her head and looked around. Dorothy slept in the alcove and a light burned dimly from a shaded lamp between the two sleeping apartments. Tavia could see that her chum was sleeping soundly.

“Dorothy! Dorothy!” she whispered, afraid now to hear her own voice. “Dorothy! get up! I think I hear some one—”

Crash! Every one in the house heard that! It came from the dining room and was surely a heavy crash of glass breaking!

Instantly Dorothy dashed to the door, and putting her finger on an electric button, flooded the hallways upstairs and down with glaring light. The next moment she touched another button! The burglar alarm.

And all this time Tavia trembled there, in her bed—she who was wide awake, and she who usually could boast of some courage!

“Oh!” she kept gasping, “I heard them long ago! They are inside, I’m sure!”

“Heard them long ago!” Dorothy took time to exclaim, “Then do, for goodness sake, do something! Get up and make a noise anyway! John will be in from the stable in a moment. Get up and slip on your robe,” for Tavia seemed “glued” to the spot.

By this time the boys were out in the hall, Ned with a glittering revolver clutched firmly in his hand, and his younger brother leading the way with a night light thrust out like a danger signal.

“Boys! boys!” begged Mrs. White. “Do be careful! Don’t shoot even if you—Oh, I wish you would wait until John comes. I know I shall faint if I hear a shot!” Indeed, the mother was almost in a state of collapse at that very moment, and Dorothy, meeting her aunt in the hall, quietly put her arm around her and led her away from the stairway into the secluded alcove.

“Auntie, dear! Don’t be so alarmed,” soothed Dorothy. “They are surely gone by this time. They never hang around after the lights are turned on. And when that bell went off, I know they were glad to get off at that signal.”

“Oh, I’m so—glad—Dorothy, that you turned in the alarm,” gasped Mrs. White, “for the boys—were determined to go right down upon them—Oh! I feel some one would surely have been shot—if you had not acted so quickly!” and the trembling woman sank down on Dorothy’s couch, thoroughly exhausted.

“There they go! There they go!” called Tavia, throwing up the curtains, and thrusting her head out of the window.

“See! There’s two men! Running down the path!”

That instant a shot rang out, and then another!

“Oh!” screamed Mrs. White, dashing up and rushing down the stairs with Dorothy close behind her. “The boys! My boys!” Then she stumbled and fell into the arms of Ned, who knew how keen would be her anxiety, and was hurrying to assure her that the shots were only sent out to alarm the neighborhood, and that John and men from other nearby stables were now trying to run down the midnight intruders.

“Mother! Mother!” whispered the youth. “Everything is all right. No one is hurt. Mother, see! Here is Nat now. He didn’t go out. Come, let us put you to bed.”

“Boys!” breathed Mrs. White, opening her eyes. “I am all right now. But I was so frightened! Ned—Nat, are you both here? Then I will go upstairs,” and she rallied bravely. “I do hate so to hear a pistol shot. It was that—but no one is hurt, and they are gone? No matter what they took, I am so glad they did get away.”

In spite of the boys’ regard for their mother, it was quite evident they were not so well pleased at the safe departure of the robbers, but now they must “put their mother to bed,” and then—

“You girls stay upstairs with her,” whispered Nat to Dorothy, as the party made its way to Mrs. White’s room. “We may be out for a while. If she calls us, just say—”

“Oh, leave that to me,” said Dorothy authoritatively. “We can keep the burglars out now, I guess,” and she laughed lightly at the “guess,” when there was positive assurance that the burglar scare had entirely subsided, and that John and the others were on active “picket duty” about the place.

“What was broken?” Mrs. White asked, more for the sake of saying something than to express interest in the loss.

“The lamp,” answered Dorothy, “and what a pity. That lamp was such a beauty. It came as near making moonlight as anything artificial possibly could.”

“Then we will get a sunshine in place of it,” said Mrs. White, brightening up.

“Yes, daylight for mine,” added Tavia, with a “scary” face. “Mr. Moon goes behind a cloud too—”

“Noisily,” finished Dorothy. “At the same time he acted promptly in this case. It is not a bad idea to have some such safeguard.”

“I always thought the lamp was in the way,” agreed the aunt, “but as you say, Dorothy, it was in the right way this time. Well, let us be thankful no one is hurt—it is easy to replace mere merchandise.”

Dawn was peeping through blinds, and with the first ray of light quietness again fell upon the Cedars. The servants had gone back to their rooms, Dorothy and Tavia were again in their “corners,” as Tavia termed the pretty twin alcoves, allotted the young girls while visiting at the Cedars, and the young men—well, they did not return to their rooms. To lose five homing pigeons, and good family silver all within one week, was rather too exciting for boys like Nat and Ned. There was something to be done other than sleeping just then.

Even real, daring burglars are only mortal, and sometimes the most daring are the greatest cowards—when daylight comes and people are wide awake!