the wood smoke curled up in a spiral from the side of a big, rotting log where nat had settled on the camp. the
firebird stood beside the narrow road with the lunch board spread, and ned and abe were diligently making ready the
picnic repast, of which the seven pound trout and a half-peck of potatoes, bought of a farmer, were the main viands.
but how good it all did smell! the girls had appetites equal to the boys’ own. and although dorothy and tavia were
deeply disappointed in their search for tom moran, they “threw aside carking care,” as nat said, for the time
being.
“for there is another day coming, dot!” he declared. “a man with a head as red as that fellow’s cannot be lost
for long—no, indeed!”
“cheerful soul, is nattie,” jollied ned. “he always was hopeful. ’member when you were fishing in the bathtub
that time, kid?”
“what time?” demanded his brother, suspecting one of edward’s jokes.
202 “you know—when mother asked you what you expected to catch? and says you: ‘pollyglubs.’
“‘what is a pollyglub?’ says the mater, and you handed her back a hot one.
“oh, i did?” grunted nat. “don’t remember it. what did i say?”
“why, says you: ‘don’t know; i haven’t caught one yet.’ oh, you couldn’t beat nattie for hopefulness. he was
one sanguine kid,” laughed ned. bob slapped nat on the back at that and rolled him over on a dry bit of sod where
they wrestled for a few minutes—until ned yelled for help at the campfire. soon all six of the young folk were busy
discussing the luncheon.
“this is really the nicest meal i’ve eaten since we were in camp—eh, doro?” asked tavia.
“i believe you, dear,” admitted her friend.
but dorothy could not be very enthusiastic. her disappointment over missing tom moran was keen. and she was not much
fun that night when the boys all came over to tavia’s for a “sing” and a general good time. her mind was fixed
upon the watch-and-watch they were to keep upon the general delivery window of the post-office the next day.
joe demanded the privilege of being the first “man on duty.” he was deeply interested in the tom moran conspiracy,
as he insisted upon calling it because he admired dorothy so, and because203 his boyish heart and sense of chivalry
had been touched by the story of little celia, “the findling.”
“if this chap who’s written to you, doro,” said joe, with decided appreciation of the situation, “is in
communication with tom moran, maybe we can catch celia’s brother before he gets any farther away from dalton.”
“but he’s going farther away all the time, it seems,” sighed dorothy. “and up there beyond polk’s mill is a
wild country.”
young joe went off after an early breakfast in tavia’s kitchen, full of importance. he was to stand guard at the
post-office window until ten o’clock, or until one of the other boys, or dorothy or tavia, relieved him.
the signal agreed upon with the mail-clerk was a newspaper dropped through the opening after the person calling for
“john smith’s” letter turned away. joe served his time patiently, and nothing happened. nat white lounged down,
entered the post-office corridor, tweaked joe’s ear, and sent him off about his business.
“johnny travers and rogue are waiting for you to go woodchucking,” nat told his cousin. “off with you!”
dorothy took her own luncheon early, and drifted into the post-office about one o’clock. tavia was to join her
later.
204 “never did think you’d come,” groaned nat. “i’m starved to death.”
“no sign of the mystery yet?” breathed dorothy.
“nary a sign. i’m off! good luck.”
and if finding the mysterious “john smith” was sure enough good luck, dorothy could consider herself fortunate
within half on hour. a lanky, hesitating youth approached the general delivery window. twice he stepped back and
allowed other people to get in front of him. somehow dorothy’s attention was particularly attracted to the
nondescript’s face.
he might have been seventeen—perhaps older. there was a little yellow fuzz on his cheeks and chin, showing that his
blonde beard was sprouting early. he was possessed of sharp features and a high and narrow forehead, prominent,
watery blue eyes, and scarcely a vestige of eyebrows or lashes. this lack in the upper part of his face gave him a
blank appearance—like the end wall of a house with two shutterless windows in it.
below his countenance was quite as unattractive. in the first place he had a retreating, weak chin, prominent upper
teeth, and an enormous adam’s apple. he was evidently nervous, or bashful. dorothy saw him swallow several times
before he could speak to the clerk inside the window.205 and when he swallowed, that bunch in his throat went up and
down in a most ridiculous way.
“what did you say the name was?” dorothy heard the mail clerk ask.
the shambling youth repeated it: “john smith. mis-ter john smith. yes, sir. thank ye, sir.”
the boy backed away with something white in his hand which dorothy knew to be her letter. a newspaper, pushed
through the window, fluttered to the floor of the corridor. but dorothy was already going out of the post-office.
the youth followed her out. the letter had been put away somewhere in his skimpy clothing; for it must be admitted
that not a garment visible on the stranger seemed to fit him.
either his trousers, and coat, and vest, had been intended for a much smaller youth, or he was growing so fast that
he could not wear a suit out before wrists, ankles, and neck were thrust through their several openings in the
clothes in a most ridiculous fashion.
“i never saw such a funny-looking creature,” dorothy told herself, as she watched the boy from across the street.
“and i don’t remember ever having seen him in dalton before. he looks ignorant enough to have written that letter
i received, too; and yet—there is an innocent look about his face. i wonder if he really has intelligence206 enough
to fix up any scheme to make money out of those who wish to find tom moran?”
the boy dawdled along the street and dorothy walked on the other side, looking into shop windows now and then, but
unfailing in her vigilance. she did not let the shambling youth out of her line of vision; and especially was she
watchful when he passed close to any other person.
nobody spoke to him; he seemed quite unknown in the town. he drifted down toward the railroad yards where—in two or
three mean streets—the poorer and most shiftless denizens of dalton resided.
down here was an open lot on which much of the refuse of the town was dumped to fill in a yawning gully. ashes and
piles of cans, and boxes and the like, offered to the poorer children a playground most amusing, if not conducive to
health. at one corner two or three shacks—incongruous huts they were—had been constructed. certain squatters
evidently had taken up their abode in these, despite the still cool weather.
lengths of rusty stovepipes were thrust through the side walls of these huts. the roofs were made of oil cans,
unsoldered, and beaten flat, the sheets overlapping one another. doors wabbled on leather hinges. a broken window
was plugged up with an old silk hat.
“i’d very much like to know your name,” said dorothy.
dorothy dale’s promise. page 207.
dorothy felt a shiver as she ventured further into207 the bad section of the town; but she was determined to learn
something more of the boy who had received the letter addressed to “john smith” from the post-office.
he crossed the open lot, aiming without doubt for the squalid huts. dorothy quickened her steps and remained on the
sidewalk, following the line of the open square. she reached the corner nearest to the huts just as the youth
strolled out of the open gully and to the side of the nearest shack.
there, sitting upon an overturned tub, barefooted, and dressed in coarse petticoat and blouse, was a hatless woman
picking over a mess of greens in a rusty dishpan.
“wa-al! i wanter know, poke!” she drawled, looking up at the shambling youth. “y’ don’t mean ter say you’ve
got back?”
“ye din’t tell me ter run,” said the young fellow, dropping down upon a broken box beside her.
“wal! plague take it! you air the laziest—— good afternoon, ma’am! was you wantin’ anything?”
this last question was directed at dorothy. the girl, quite thoughtless in her excitement, had crossed the street
and stood before the woman and the youth.
“i—i—— oh! i’d very much like to know your name,” said dorothy, rather confused.
208 “huh? y’ got some pertic’lar reason for findin’ out, miss?”
“perhaps,” and dorothy began to look at the woman more calmly.
“i ain’t none ashamed of it. it’s daggett. jane daggett. and this is my boy, poke daggett.”
“you never were called smith, i suppose?” queried dorothy, quickly.
“smith?” the woman exclaimed, and although she did not change color—she was too sallow for that—her little black
eyes brightened perceptibly. “no. i can’t say i ever was. daggett was my secon’ husban’; but i never married a
smith, an’ my own name—’fore i married a-tall—was blinkensopp. now, air you satisfied, miss?”
“not wholly,” dorothy said, with courage. “if your name is not smith, and your son’s name is not smith, why did
he just get a letter from the post-office addressed to mr. john smith?”
the boy, poke, jumped; indeed, he almost fell off the box. his mother pinched him sharply in the leg.
“dunno what ye mean, lady,” she whined. “poke ain’t never got a letter in his life—i don’t believe. has you,
poke?”
“i—i never!” gasped poke, the lie showing plainly in his face.
“you have a letter somewhere in your pocket now,” accused dorothy, looking at the youth directly.209 “don’t deny
it. i wrote it myself, so i should know. and,” she added, wheeling on the mother, who had risen and let the greens
slip from her lap, “i want to know what you know about tom moran?”
“tom moran?” whispered the boy, shaking his head, and looking terrified.
but the woman wasn’t like that. she was a hard, bony-looking woman, and very tall and strong. while dorothy was
speaking she had beckoned to a black-haired, red-faced woman who stood curiously a little distance away.
“what’s wanted, jane?” demanded this virago, coming forward.
“here’s a poor gal out o’ her senses, i make no doubt,” said the woman who owned the name of jane daggett. “she
—she’s firm’ off her mouth too much—that’s what she’s doin’. sech folks oughter be restrained——”
“an’ we’ll restrain ’em!” declared the black-haired woman, and the next instant she seized dorothy by the
shoulders and ran into the open door of the hut.
both women were in the shack with the girl, and the door was closed, before dorothy could even scream.
