Dorothy Dale in the City

Publisher Marketing: Neither books, papers nor pencils were to be seen in the confused mass of articles, piled high, if not dry, in the rooms of the pupils of Glenwood Hall, who were now packing up to leave the boarding school for the Christmas holidays. "Going home is so very different from leaving home," remarked Dorothy Dale, as she plunged a knot of unfolded ribbons into the tray of her trunk. "I'm always ashamed to face my things when I unpack." "Don't," advised Tavia. "I never look at mine until they have been scattered on the floor for a few days. Then they all look like a fire sale," and she wound her tennis shoes inside a perfectly helpless lingerie waist. "I don't see why we bring parasols in September to take them back in Christmas snows," went on Dorothy. "I have a mind to give this to Betty," and she raised the flowery canopy over her head. "Oh, don't!" begged Tavia. "Listen! That's bad luck!" "Which?" asked Dorothy, "the parasol or Betty?" "Neither," replied Tavia. "But the fact that I hear Ned's voice. Also the clatter of Cologne's heavy feet. That means the plunge-our very last racket." "I hope you take the racket out of this room," said Dorothy, "for I have some Christmas cards to get off." "Let us in!" called a voice on the outer side of the door. "We've got good news." "Only news?" asked Tavia. "We have lots of that ourselves. Make it something more substantial." "Hurry!" begged the voice of Edna Black, otherwise known as Ned Ebony. "We'll be caught!" Tavia brought herself to her feet from the Turkish mat as if she were on springs. Then she opened the door cautiously. "What is it?" she demanded. "Is it alive?" "It was once," replied Edna, "but it isn't now." The giggling at the door was punctuated with a struggle.