“Now for steam engines,” she declared, “and if anything else happens to prevent us from buying our Christmas gifts—­”

“We will make trouble ourselves,” finished Tavia, and then they darted off in the direction of the toy department.

Some one jostled them as they neared the arch.

“That woman!” whispered Tavia.  “I am perfectly sure she took that ring and threw it in your bag.”

“Hush!” cautioned Dorothy.  “She can hear you!”

“I intend her to,” replied Tavia.  “I guess she made enough trouble for us.”

“But we only think she did,” corrected Dorothy.  “It is just as easy for us to be mistaken as it was for the others.”

“If she did not intend some wrong, why in the world is she tagging around after us?” persisted Tavia.

“And if she did do wrong I cannot imagine why she would keep after us,” objected Dorothy.  “I am sure if she had anything to do with the ring she would be glad of a chance to get out of the store.  Dear, I fancy every one is looking at me!” as some one turned at the sound of Dorothy’s voice.  “It must be awful to be tempted and actually do wrong.”

“It is,” replied Tavia, and Dorothy wondered how she would know enough about such things to speak as decidedly as she had spoken.

CHAPTER VII

THE HAUNTED WOODS

That night Dorothy Dale retired to her own cozy little room with her head swathed in cooling cloths.  The excitement of the day had cost her more than mere experience and an unexplainable interest in the pale little woman in black.

When the whole matter had been discussed, Major Dale was naturally indignant, and declared in plain terms that the unwarranted zeal some detectives evinced in trying to convict supposed wrongdoers without sufficient evidence would some day bring these selfsame sleuths into serious trouble.

Mrs. White, too, was annoyed and anxious.  Dorothy was not the type of girl who would soon forget her experience.  The boys, even to little Roger, declared the whole thing an outrage, and they wanted to go right to town and tell somebody so.

But Dorothy tried to make the best of it, and said her head would be all right after a night’s rest.

“If you are really better, Doro,” whispered Roger, kissing her good-night, “we may go to Tanglewood Park for the Christmas tree.  Nat promised we could—­and then perhaps we will see Tavia’s ghost.”

“Tavia’s ghost?” repeated his sister.  “Oh, you mean the ghost Tavia was telling us about.  Well, I am sure to be better, and then we may have a chance to prove that there is absolutely no such thing in this world as ghosts,” and with a fond embrace Dorothy dismissed the boy with the yellow hair, so like her own, and eyes just as blue.  Surely Roger and Dorothy belonged to the Dales, while Joe, with his dark, rich coloring, was like the other branch of their family.