For an instant the girls halted, then Dorothy attempted to go on.

“Let us pass,” she demanded. “What do you mean by this?”

“I mean to get some money,” said the boy, scowling. “I need it.”

“But we have none to give you. You can see we have only stepped—”

Dorothy stopped. Something about the boy startled her. Where had she seen that face? How queerly the boy’s hair was cut!

At the same moment the boy started—he looked at Dorothy for an instant, then turned and started to run through the brush.

“Oh, don’t run away,” called Dorothy after him. “I know you! Surely you can trust me!”

The rustling in the leaves ceased—the runner stopped. Dorothy saw this and hurried to add to her entreaties. “Do come over and let me talk to you. I am glad I found you. You surely do need help.”

At this the boy again appeared on the path. What a forlorn creature! Tattered clothes that never were intended for so small a form, a cap that bent down the child’s ears, old rubbers tied on the feet for shoes, and a face so dirty!

“Don’t say my name,” begged the boy, “you know they are after me.”

“But you need not fear us,” replied Dorothy, “we will help you all we can. Come right along with me. I will see that you are not caught, and that you get something to eat. Certainly you must be hungry.”

“Starved,” replied the other. “I have been living on stuff I picked up all over—even in ash cans. I was afraid to ask for things lately.”

“You poor child,” exclaimed Dorothy. “Have you been in the woods long?”

“Since I heard they were after me.”

“Well, come. This is Miette, a great friend of mine,” Miette had been watching in wondering silence, “she will keep our secret safe.”

They started off, the boy shuffling along after them. Dorothy could not hide her pleasure—she was plainly glad to have come across this queer boy, and he seemed glad, too, to have met Dorothy. Occasionally he would ask a question as they walked along, but in answering those put by Dorothy he seemed very cautious.

“This is Glenwood School,” she said, as the big brown building on the hill rose up before them.

“I—I can’t go there,” objected the child.

“Only to the basement,” Dorothy replied, “I will have you cared for without bringing you where the pupils are. The president, Mrs. Pangborn, is a very kind woman, and when I tell her your story I am sure she will help take care of you, until we can arrange something else.”

Miette seemed speechless. What in the world could Dorothy be doing? Dragging this dirty boy along, and talking as if he were an old friend? Surely Dorothy Dale was a strange girl. Someone had told her that when she came to Glenwood. Now she understood why.

At the gate they met Tavia and Edna. The two had been after hazel nuts and were returning with hats full of the knotted green burs.

“’Lo there!” called Tavia, “want some hazels? Good mind not to give you one, you were so stingy about your old walk.”

The boy lowered his head, and pulled the ragged cap down on his eyes. “You need not be afraid of Tavia,” spoke up Dorothy, as Tavia came up and stood staring at the strange boy.

“Well, of all things—” she began.

“No, not of all things,” interrupted Dorothy with a wink at Tavia. “You see we found a hungry boy and are bringing him along to get something to eat. He came near scaring us at first, but turned out more harmed than harmful.”

Tavia looked from one to the other. Then she seemed to understand.

“Well, if he can get anything worth eating here,” she said, “I hope he’ll be good enough to pass on the tip. I’m about famished myself, and these nuts are too green for regular diet.”

“I’ve been eating them for days,” said the stranger, “but a change would go good.”

Edna looked mystified. She saw that Dorothy acted queerly—to talk so familiarly to a strange boy! But then Dorothy always tried to make people feel comfortable, she reflected; perhaps this was the case at present.

Further along they encountered other girls coming in from their exercise. All cast wondering eyes at the group with Dorothy, but the questions asked were answered vaguely—without really imparting any information, concerning the strange boy. Some of the girls were inclined to sneer, of course, but when Tavia fell back and whispered that the poor boy was almost starved, and the girls should not make fun of him, even Nita Brandt looked on with pity.

“We’ll go around the kitchen way,” said Dorothy to the stranger, as they reached the building. “We’ll see you later girls,” she told Tavia and Miette, “but this is a good time to talk to the cook.”

Miette had almost forgotten her own troubles, so absorbed was she in the plight of the poor boy.

“He ran out and tried to frighten us,” she told Tavia. “At first we were very much afraid. But Dorothy called to him—she seemed to know him—”

“Oh, Dorothy knows most every poor person around here,” interrupted Tavia. “I shouldn’t like to have to keep up her charity list.”

“Indeed she is a very kind girl,” Miette hastened to add. “I should call her a wonderful girl.”

“Sometimes she is,” admitted Tavia, “but once she gets on your track you might as well give up, she is a born detective. I don’t mean that against her,” Tavia said quickly, noting the look that came into Miette’s face, and realizing that the French girl was not accustomed to her sort of jokes. “But one time I had a secret—or I thought I had one. But when Dorothy Dale scented it I was a goner—she had me ‘dead to rights’ before I knew whether it was my secret or hers.”

This brought a smile to Miette’s eyes and lips, and she tossed her head back defiantly.

“Well she is welcome to all my secrets,” she said suddenly. “I think it is very nice to have some one willing to share them.”

This remark surprised Tavia, but she did not look at Miette to question the sincerity of her words.

“I hope we have something hot for tea,” said Tavia, as they entered the hall. “I am starved for a good hot feed of indigestible buns or biscuits,—or even muffins would answer.”

“I am thankful if I have hot chocolate,” replied Miette, lightly.

“Hot chocolate,” repeated Tavia, “what an incorrigible you are on that drink! I suppose that is why you have such lovely red cheeks.”

Miette blushed. Certainly she did have “lovely red cheeks.”

“And your walk has done you so much good,” added Tavia. “Nothing like Dorothy Dale and fresh air to cure the blues. You should repeat the dose—every day. It’s a great thing for the nerves.”

“I agree with you,” said Miette, smiling with more reality than she had been noticed to assume since her very first day at Glenwood. “I think your autumn air would cure almost anything,” she finished.

“Except poverty,” joked Tavia. “It never puts a single cent in my purse, much as I coax and beg. I have even left my pocketbook wide open on the low bough of a tree all night, and in the morning went to find I was slighted by the woodland Santa Claus. And lots of girls had passed and looked deep down into that poor pocketbook’s sad, empty heart.”

“And so you got nothing?” asked Miette, laughing.

“Oh, yes, I got a poor scared treetoad, and I’ve got him yet. If you come over to room nineteen after tea I will show him to you. He is a star treetoad, and I’m teaching him tricks.”

Miette thought Tavia the funniest girl—always joking and never seeming to take anything—not even her lessons—seriously.

“I must wash up,” said Tavia, as they reached the turn in the corridor. “And I’m so torn—I don’t believe it will pay to try to patch up. They all match this way,” indicating the rents, one in her sleeve, one in her blouse, and a series of network streaks in her stockings.

“You should wear boots when you go in the woods, your briars are so affectionate.”

“But I have no boots,” answered Tavia, “except the big rubber kind I use at home when I go a-water-cressing.”

At this moment a group of girls espied the nuts Tavia was carrying in her Tam O’Shanter. With a most unlady-like whoop they descended upon her, and almost instantly succeeded in scattering the nuts about the hall.

“You thieves!” Tavia almost shouted. “I call that a mean hold-up—not to give any warning. But here comes Miss Bylow. Now you may have the old nuts, and you may also tell her how they came upon the floor,” and at this Tavia, more pleased than offended, at the turn the incident had taken, hurried off, leaving the surprised girls to explain to Miss Bylow.

“Why, young ladies!” the teacher exclaimed, shocked at their attitudes, as well as perplexed at the sight of the scattered nuts. “You surely were not bringing such things to your rooms? You would not think of eating that green stuff!” “Oh, no,” replied Rose-Mary, “We were only gathering them for Hallow E’en. They make a lovely blaze in the Assembly hearth when they’re dry.”

“Oh,” replied the teacher. “But how came they to be all scattered—”

“We ran into Tavia,” answered Cologne, truthfully enough, “and she had them in her Tam.”

“Well, see that they are all picked up,” ordered the much-disliked teacher, “and say to Miss Travers that she is to put them in the storeroom—not in her own room.”

“Huh!” sneered Rose-Mary with a comical face, as Miss Bylow turned away.

“Also ha!” added Adele Thomas, who was on her knees picking up the nuts.

“I’d like to throw this at her,” said Ned, holding up a particularly large bunch of the green, fringy nuts.

“Dare you,” came a chorus.

“She’s just under the stair,” whispered Lena Berg. “Drop it down, heavy.”

The temptation was too great. Edna slipped over to the rail, took aim, and let the bunch of green burs go!