“I sent my things off to-day,” said Tavia in a relieved tone.

“So early?”

“It is a little early, but they say express packages are always sure to be delayed at this season, and I would simply not live through it if Johnnie did not have his steam engine for Christmas morning.  It was awfully sweet of you, Doro, to lend me that money.”

“Why shouldn’t I when you had to spend yours for needed things?  I only wish it had been twice as much.  You would have been welcome to it, Tavia.  I don’t forget chewing-gum days in dear old Dalton.”

Tavia’s brow was clouded.  What an opportunity for her confession!  Why did she so dread to tell Dorothy what her own five dollars had gone for?  Nat said it would positively leak out some day.  Yet he promised not to tell.

“Do you want me to go with you to see Miss Brooks?” asked Dorothy suddenly.

“Why,” stammered Tavia, “I don’t know that I will go at all.  Such a wild-goose chase!  I am really not so curious as some might think me.  I can overcome a desire for further knowledge of that peaked little thing.  In fact, she makes me—­creepy.”

“Just as you like, of course,” replied Dorothy, her manner somewhat strained.  “I only thought you might not like to go alone.”

But Tavia had made up her mind to precisely that thing.

“I must sew the ribbons on Aunt Winnie’s bag,” went on Dorothy pleasantly after a pause.  “Don’t you think it pretty?” and she displayed a small bag made of white oiled silk and fitted up with all the little pockets needed in traveling.  One for the wet sponge, another for the toothbrush, then a place for soap; in fact, a place for everything necessary in the emergency of traveling.

“It is dear,” agreed Tavia, looking the prospective gift over carefully.  “I don’t see how you have patience to do such fine work.”

“Oh, that is not fine,” replied Dorothy.  “See my lace pieces.  They are what I call fine.”

“Oh, they are simply beyond my understanding altogether.  Like geometry, you know.  But I forgot to ask Nat something.  I wonder if he has gone up to his room yet?” and Tavia rose to ascertain.

“It’s nearly ten,” Dorothy told her, “and he usually retires before ten o’clock.”

“Well, I’ll just run down to the library and find out.  I may forget it by morning.”

Dorothy could not help thinking that so urgent a matter as one which required that attention would scarcely be so easily forgotten, but when Tavia left the room she put her little gifts away and soon forgot all about Tavia’s sudden determination to seek Nat.  Dorothy had so many other more interesting things to dwell upon.

“But I do hope she will not sit up late,” came the thought, when some time after Tavia’s exit Dorothy remembered that no sound had since indicated that her chum had come toward the room.  “Aunt Winnie does not like these little late conferences.”