“Now please, Tavia, don’t be absurd.  There is something wonderfully winning about Mr. Burlock.”

“Of course there is.  Wicked people are always winners.”

“I won’t tell you one thing more!”

“Now Doro!  Doro!  You know I love to hear you talk that way.  And if it were not so dark I could see your eyes show how deep they are, just like the Jacks-in-the-Pulpit I gathered in the woods yesterday.  You are nothing like a wild flower, more like a beautiful pink and white hyacinth, that grows in the Douglass garden; but sometimes, when you pretend to be angry, you make me think of the wood flowers.  They have such a way of blooming best when some other growing thing tries to stop them.  Jacks-in-the-Pulpit grow right up through stones, and bloom in tangles of poison ivy.”

“I am sure I have no right to compare myself with flowers,” answered the other pleasantly, for she always admired her friend’s poetic ideas, although other people might laugh at them.

“Shows she is thoughtful, anyway,” Dorothy would tell herself, “and that is what Ralph meant when he said she could not make serious mistakes when she followed the advice of her kind heart.”

The Dale house could be seen through the trees now.  Voices were heard outside; perhaps the boys playing some games.

“I’ll leave you here,” said Tavia, “you are not afraid of bugaboos are you?”

“Not a bit,” answered Dorothy, laughing.  “Be sure to be on time at school to-morrow.  No use adding coals to the fire.”

“It depends on whether you intend to wash, bake, or iron.  Now I am going to do all three at school to-morrow, so I may as well keep up a good, warm fire;” and giving her chum a hearty hug Tavia started off.

Dorothy stopped as she neared the piazza.

Surely that was a strange voice.  A man was talking very earnestly to her father.

It was Miles Burlock!

CHAPTER V

MILES BURLOCK

What could that man want of her father?

And what was so mysterious about their conversation that reached her ears in spite of her attempting to enter the house without intruding upon her father’s company?

Her name was being spoken, and why would Aunt Libby not open that door?

“There she is now,” said Major Dale, as Dorothy gave one more knock.  “Daughter, come this way.  We are waiting for you.”

How hard her heart beat!  And how foolish she was to be nervous!

“This gentleman,” began Major Dale, “wants you to hear a story.  It may be sad for ears so young, but perhaps the knowledge that you have helped Mr. Burlock to settle one point in this story may make it more interesting to you.”

The faint moonlight, that now streamed from the spring sky, made a silvery glow upon the faces of the two men, and even in the shadows, that of Miles Burlock showed features firm and what might be called handsome.  Dorothy had often seen him before, but he had never looked that way.  His face was clearer now he was changed.