Aunt Libby could not hide a tear when Dorothy put her arms about the wrinkled neck, but when Major Dale helped his daughter to step upon the train platform he was smiling; glad to have her go it seemed.  Joe told Johnnie afterwards that was the way soldiers always act when they face trouble.

Mrs. Travers was really glad to have Tavia go, and she did not deny it.  It was such a chance for her, she told Aunt Libby, as they went home from the depot, and Tavia, she declared, was a girl who always made the most of her chances.

As the train flew along, or Dalton flew away, as it seemed from the car windows, both girls indulged in a very creditable sentiment—­a streak of homesickness.

“It will be fun, of course,” remarked Tavia, “but it’s creepy to leave them all.”

Passengers about them soon attracted their attention sufficiently to make the journey interesting.  Tavia had such a way of seeing things to make Dorothy laugh, that little of interest escaped her.

Old ladies with black silk bags were her especial prey, and these she never failed to analyze—­according to her own special method.

Women with babies also afforded no end of amusement to Tavia, and when she found a regular nursery cooking outfit in the “end room” of the car she could scarcely be restrained.

“I could make you the nicest clam bouillon,” she told Dorothy, “and besides cooking, that little alcohol lamp is just the thing for hair crimping.  I will crimp mine if I can find anything to make a hot poker of in this train.”

“You really must not touch anything,” Dorothy insisted, alarmed lest Tavia should do something reckless.

“Touch anything?  Why my dear girl I have tested the entire outfit, and I am going to get one just like it for my hasty breakfasts.”

The woman to whom the “entire outfit” belonged was now almost asleep beside her baby, on the end sofa, and Tavia assuring Dorothy she would stay there indefinitely, sallied forth to further investigate the mysteries of a nursery cooking outfit, en route.

CHAPTER XX

EVENTFUL JOURNEY

As Tavia reached the end sofa, upon which a pretty golden-haired baby lay curled beside a sleepy mother, she made a motion to attract the child’s attention.  The little one saw it at once, promptly slipped down and stole away from the sofa without in the least disturbing the woman.

The tot followed Tavia to the little end room—­Dorothy saw her going, and though feeling very drowsy herself (which really was the reason Tavia left her alone) Dorothy kept her eyes opened long enough to see that the mother was sound asleep, and had not missed her baby.

“I am sure Tavia will take good care of her,” thought Dorothy, as she settled down for a rest, “she is so fond of children, and it will be a change for the child—­traveling must be very tiresome to such little ones.”