ose it in that way.

"Is it about your mother?" asked the unsuspecting Dorothy.

"Yes, it is," wailed Viola. "It is really about her, although I am in
it too."

"Is she worse?"

"Dreadfully bad"--and in this Viola did not deceive--. "I had a letter
to-day--But Oh! Dorothy, promise you will help me!"

"I certainly will if I can!" declared Dorothy, warmly, quite anxious
about Viola's grief.

"Oh, you can--and you are the only one who can! But how will I ask
you?" and again Viola buried her white face in her equally white hands.

"Tell me what it is," said Dorothy, gently.

"Oh, you know that foolish story about the Dalton police wagon--"

"What about it?" asked Dorothy, perplexed.

"Oh, that nonsense about you and Tavia riding in it," and Viola tried
to pass off the "nonsense" without allowing Dorothy time to realize
just what she had to say.

"Well, what of that?" asked Dorothy again.

Would she ever grasp it? Viola was almost impatient, but of course she
dare not show such a sentiment.

"Why, you know I told it to a couple of girls just for fun one day, and
they took it up in earnest. The silly things!--and then to make all
this trouble over it!"

"What trouble could that have possibly made?" and Dorothy seemed as
much in the dark as ever.

Could it be that Dorothy had lived it all down and did not now consider
it trouble? Viola's heart gave a jump for joy at the thought. It
might after all be easier than she expected.

"I am so glad they have not said anything to you about it. I have been
dreadfully worried over it," went on Viola with a sigh.

"I am sorry, I hope you haven't been worrying on my account."

"Well, I was. You did seem so sad--but I should have known you had
better sense."

"I have been and am still very sad at Glenwood. In fact, I have almost
made up my mind to leave."

"When?" gasped Viola. Then to hide the joy that Dorothy's words
brought her, she continued, "Do you have to go? Is someone ill?"

"No, not at home. But I am afraid I'll be ill if I do not stop this
worrying," and Dorothy indeed looked very pale and miserable. Even
Viola could not help noticing that.

"I wouldn't blame you," spoke Viola. "It's dreadful to be homesick."

"But I am not homesick," replied Dorothy. "I would not allow that
feeling to conquer me when I know what it meant for father to let me
come here. I must make good use of my time, and not be foolish. But
no matter how I try to