make out by her little watch that it was two o'clock when she started. She felt no fear of bears or wolves now, for her whole mind and soul were filled with the one idea of going home. She would have started, had the road been lined with hot ploughshares, so indomitable was her will and so strong her resolution. She gave no thought or heed to possible difficulties or dangers. She knew the way, there was no chance of getting lost, and she had in her bag money enough to buy a ticket home. She felt guilty and even ashamed at leaving her kind friends in this manner, but that thought was swallowed up and lost sight of in the terrible gnawing agony of her longing for home.
So she set forth along the path at a swift, steady gait which promised fair for the accomplishment of her design. As she walked along the stars seemed brighter and seemed to wink at her more kindly, as if willing to do all they could to help along a poor little homesick, mother-lonely child. Though without hat or coat, her swift pace kept her warm enough for a time, but at last poor little Dolly grew very weary. She had not walked much since her illness and her newly mended leg felt the strain and began to ache terribly. She sat down to rest on a flat stone and was surprised to find that her leg ached worse sitting down than it had walking. Moreover, when she stopped exercising, she became very chilly and in addition to this she realised afresh that she was exceedingly hungry.
Poor little Dolly! She could scarcely have been more physically miserable, and yet her material discomfort was as nothing to her pangs of homesickness. She felt she could not pursue her journey, and yet it made her shudder to think of returning to that awful camp.
So after a time, hoping she had rested enough, she rose and plodded on again. She kept up this means of procedure, walking until utterly exhausted and then stopping to rest, until somehow she managed to cover the distance to the station.
It was half-past four when she reached the forlorn little building and found it closed and deserted. But there was a bench outside and Dolly sank upon this in a state bordering upon utter collapse. She fell asleep there and was only awakened when, shortly before six, the station agent came to unlock his office.
"Bless my soul! who are you?" he exclaimed, and Dolly sat up blinking in the early sunlight.
"I'm a passenger," she said; "I want to take the early train."
"Humph! a pretty looking passenger you are! Where's your hat?"
"I don't always wear a hat in summer," and Dolly tossed back her golden curls and looked at the man steadily. Her sleep had refreshed her somewhat, and she had recovered her poise. Her determination was still unshaken and she had every intention of going on that six o'clock train.
But the station master was a knowing sort of man and he had before this seen campers afflicted with a desperate desire to go back to civilisation.
"Didn't you come up here last night with the Roses?" he inquired affably.
"Yes," replied Dolly, "but I'm going back to town to-day."
"Pshaw, now, is that so? Don't like it, hey?" The station master had a kindly way with him, and as he threw open the door he invited Dolly to enter the little waiting-room. "You stay here a spell," he said, "that train ain't due for fifteen minutes."
He disappeared into the ticket office and closed the door. Then he called up Mr. Rose on the telephone.
"Hello! what is it?" responded that gentleman sleepily, for he had been roused from a sound slumber.
"I'm Briggs, the station agent. That little yellow-haired girl you brought with you last night is here in the station. Says she's goin' home."
"Dolly Fayre! At the station? Impossible!"
"Yep. She's here. And she's just about all in. You don't want I should let her go on the train, do you?"
"Good gracious, no! Keep her there somehow till I can get there."
"I'll try, but she's terrible set on goin'."
"Keep her somehow, Briggs, if you have to lock her in. I'll be down there inside of half an hour."
"All right, Mr. Rose. Good-bye." Briggs hung up the receiver and sauntered back to the waiting-room.
"Best come over home with me, little Miss and get a bite of breakfast. How about it? My home's just across the street and my wife'll be glad to give you a snack."
"Thank you," said Dolly, doubtfully, "but I don't want to miss that train."
"Oh, land! she's likely to be half an hour late! Come along, I'll keep my eye out for the train."
Dolly hesitated. She was awfully hungry, but it was five minutes of six and the train might not be late after all. Moreover, it seemed to her that the station man was a little too anxious. Perhaps he wished to detain her, though she could see no reason why he should interfere with her plans. Unless it might be because she had no hat on. Still it was not a crime to go hatless in the summer time, though it might be unconventional when travelling.
"Pretty good breakfast my wife cooks," said Briggs, temptingly.
"Perhaps I would have time just for a glass of milk," said Dolly, "but no, I hear a locomotive whistle now!"
"Aw, she's way up round the bend. Sound carries awful far 'mong these hills. She won't be here for ten minutes yet. Come on."
"What are you talking about? There's the train now!" And from the window Dolly saw the smoke of the approaching engine.
"Why, so 'tis!" and with a strange smile on his face, Briggs whisked the door open, flew out and slammed it behind him and turned the big key, making Dolly a prisoner in the little waiting-room.
For a moment she was too amazed to do or say anything. She stood watching the train draw nearer and stop at the little station.
Then she realised what had happened and she flew to the door and pounded on it with her little fists, crying, "Let me out! you awful, dreadful man, let me out!"
But the door did not open, and after a couple of minutes the train went on its way.
Then Briggs unlocked the door and came in. "Bless my soul!" he said, "if I didn't forget you wanted to go by that train! Well, it's too late now, so you might as well come on over to breakfast."
"You didn't forget it, any such thing! You locked me in here on purpose! You had no right to do it, and my father will pers—persecute you,—or whatever you call it!"
"Well, anyhow the train's gone, and you can't get it back, so make the best of things and smile and come along."
From sheer lack of anything better to do, Dolly rose and walked with Briggs across the street to his little cottage.
"Hello, Mother," he called out, as they entered, "I've brought a visitor to breakfast. Got enough to go round?"
"Yes, indeedy!" and a fat, comfortable looking woman smiled pleasantly at Dolly; "why, you poor baby, you're all tuckered out. Here sit right down and drink this fresh milk, it's a little warm yet. Take slow sips, now, don't swallow it all at once. Here's a nice piece of toast."
Dolly eagerly accepted the fresh milk and the golden-brown buttered toast, and was glad to follow Mrs. Briggs' advice and partake slowly.
The
