"I am not sure that I
will wake up until the day after Christmas."
"To bed! To bed, every one!" called Mrs. White, and then both troubles and
pleasant anticipations for a happy ending to the queer holiday became
hopelessly tangled in the dreams of the young folks at The Cedars.
Dorothy's last clear thought was: "To-morrow something must happen to make
it all right, for to-morrow is the day before Christmas."
The sun was streaming in her window when she opened her eyes. She jumped
up with a start, for she was to get an early train, go first to the
hospital, then search out the wretched Miss Dearing.
"I could never be happy on Christmas, and think perhaps she might be
starving. When I find her I will-- But how can I tell what I may have to
do?"
Hurriedly she partook of breakfast and jumped into the depot cart that Nat
had driven up to the door.
"Take care that Tavia does not worry," Dorothy cautioned the young man. "I
know she has a trouble, and I am sure somehow it will be all adjusted by
to-night. I depend upon the witches of Christmas Eve."
Nat laughed and assured her he "would keep track of Tavia." Then the train
steamed in, and Dorothy was gone.
"Suppose she fails to meet me," mused the girl, whose very red cheeks were
the source of some remarks from a lady in the opposite seat.
Dorothy always looked pretty, but she looked charming when the clear red
blood rose to her cheeks and made her deep blue eyes flash like stars,
actually ignited with the torch of anticipation.
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