The low windows were shut, and the air of the room was stifling.  Dorothy groped around to see if she might find the candle that she had noticed on the stand, but it was gone.

“They haven’t even left me a match,” she told herself.  “Did they think I would eat matches?”

Then she decided she would raise a window if she had to break it open.  A curtain roller lay on the floor.  With this she tried to pry up the uncertain sash, and in doing so she fell over a low stool.

The noise disturbed the folks in the lower rooms, for directly Dorothy heard a shuffle of feet on the stairs.

At first she felt indignant, then her helplessness prompted caution, and she hurried into bed.

The door opened softly.

“What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. Hobbs, who, as Dorothy could see, was enveloped in a robe of the same pattern as that which she herself wore.  “Did you call?”

“Oh, thank you.  I only wanted a little air,” replied Dorothy.  “Couldn’t we open a window?”

“Well, perhaps we had best not, dearie,” replied the woman.  “There might be a draught.”

“I wish there was,” Dorothy could not help replying.  Then she quickly added:  “Don’t you think fresh air is very good at this warm season?”

“Oh, yes, for some folks,” said Mrs. Hobbs, tucking the warm bed clothes more warmly about the sweltering girl.  “But, you see—­well, this room—­we don’t always open the windows—­fer company.”

“I will be able to go back to my friends in the morning,” said Dorothy promptly.  “I am sure it has been very kind of you to take care of me as you have done.”

“Now, don’t talk too much dearie,” ordered the woman.  “You see, head troubles—­that is, when a girl falls on her head—­she has got to be dreadful careful, fer a long time.”

“Oh, my head is not hurt,” declared Dorothy, as she leaned upon her elbow.  “I feel able to walk back to camp now.”

“Camp?” asked the woman.

“Why, yes.  Didn’t you know I came from a camp out Everglade way?  I was with one of the other girls from camp when I—­got lost,” finished Dorothy quite helplessly.

“Some folks don’t call them places ‘camps,’” Mrs. Hobbs ventured.  “But of course the name ain’t got anything to do with it.”

“What do they call them?” pressed Dorothy.

“Oh, now, you never mind.  You will be all right.  Jest go off to sleep, and as soon as Josh milks, I’ll fetch you a nice drink of the warm suds—­it’s splendid fer nerves.”

Dorothy was completely mystified.  Perhaps the old woman was queer, and she might better humor her.

“Well, I may sleep a little more,” she said, “and then when daylight comes, I shall be ready to start off.  Would you mind handing me my jacket.  It has my purse in it, and I want to make sure that it is all right.”

Samanthy Hobbs hobbled over to where Dorothy’s clothes lay in a heap.  She fumbled through the garments, and Dorothy distinctly saw her take the beaded purse in her hand.