“What, going back on your party?” said Mr. MacAllister, laughing.

“Either that or go back on my own daughter,” commented Mr. Ford.  “It seems this is the girls’ election.”

The major could hardly disguise his pride—­Dorothy had certainly “been busy” lately, and every undertaking of hers had met with success.  A girl, after all, may be something more than a pretty doll, he thought.  But the whole thing is to get them to exert their influence in the right direction.  See how Dorothy had helped in the liquor crusade.  And without “soiling her finger tips,” thought the major, proudly.

And while this caucus was being held in the major’s office, Dorothy was conducting another sort of meeting at the Ford home.

Tavia and Sarah had “made up” most affectionately.  Sickness, sometimes is a powerful teacher, and afforded, in Sarah’s case, time to think reasonably which was plainly what she needed.

“I always thought the girls disliked me,” she told Tavia, “that, of course, made me dislike most of them.  But I did love Dorothy,” she hastened to declare, “and I was jealous of her love for you.”

“I don’t blame you a bit,” answered Tavia, in her direct way.  “If she should turn ’round and fall in love with you—­why then no telling what might happen.”

Sarah was now able to walk around with the aid of a cane, and this afternoon she sat out on the porch entertaining her friends.

“I do hope,” said Dorothy, “that you will be able to go on the picnic with us, Sarah.  Perhaps that, too, will be all the better for being postponed.”

“Only my lunch,” sighed Tavia, melodramatically.  “I shall never be able to put up another such!” and she smacked her lips in remembrance of the good things the borrowed lunch box had contained.

“Perhaps, then, I will be able to invite you to take some of mine,” said Sarah politely.  “Mother just loves to do up dainty lunches.”

“Accepted with pleasure,” replied Tavia, imitating society manners.  “Make it enough for yourself, plenty for me, and a little to spare.  Then we will be sure to come out all right.”

Mrs. Ford came out to ask the visitors to remain to tea, but they politely declined.  She was especially kind in talking to Tavia, and invited her to come again with Dorothy.

“They say,” remarked Dorothy to Tavia, as the girls hurried along the lane, “’that love scarce is love that does not know the sweetness of forgiving,’ and it does seem that way, don’t you think so?”

“Oh, that was what ailed us all, was it?  Not our fault at all, but the fault of some old mildewed poet, that wanted to make good his verses.  The ‘sweetness of forgiving,’ eh?  Well, it is better than scrapping, I’ll admit, but I wish poets would make up something handier.  We went through quite something to find the sweetness.”

“Hurry,” whispered Dorothy, “I thought I heard something move in the bushes!”