"Don’t you want I should stay?" asked Daniel, and his eyes hinted that he understood she was in trouble. "Oh, no, thank you, Daniel," she said, trying to make her voice sound cheery and natural, but somehow it broke into almost a sob. Daniel eyed her curiously for a moment, and then got up slowly from his desk and went out. He gave Rags a look as he passed. The boy and the dog thoroughly understood each other. Rags did not stir. Daniel went down the path and out to the road; then down the road a few paces, after which he climbed the fence back into the school-yard. Then he walked over to a log behind the school-house and sat down where he could watch the road to the village. As soon as he was gone, Dawn looked about her, caught her breath a moment, and seemed to bid good-by to all the childish forms that had but a few minutes before occupied the now empty benches. Then, spying Rags still sitting in the doorway, she took the note she had written to Daniel and, going over to the dog, tied it around his neck with a bit of string. Rags got up and wagged his tail, glancing eagerly at her, then back to the road again. Dawn patted him lovingly. "Take that note to Dan, Rags," she commanded. Rags barked questioningly. He wanted to tell her that he had been ordered to stay with her, but she did not seem to understand. He wagged his tail harder, but he did not budge. "Go, Rags, good dog. Take that to Dan." She pointed out the door. Rags cast a protesting, anxious bark at her, a furtive glance down the empty road, and hustled out the door. He reasoned that Dan was near at hand and must settle the confliction of duties himself. He could not but obey the one whom he and his master alike worshipped. The minute the dog had gone, Dawn put on her bonnet, caught up her cape and bag, and slipped out of the door and around the school-house on the side farthest from the village. She fled through the back yard, crept under the lower rail of the fence, and proceeded over into the meadow where they had coasted all winter. In a moment more she was out of sight down the hill. She had but to cross the log which formed a bridge across the brook and she would enter the woods that lay at the foot of Wintergreen Hill. There she would be safe and could get away without seen by any one. Daniel cut the string which held the note and sent the dog back to his post, while he slowly unfolded it and read, his hands trembling at the thought that she had written and sealed it, and that it was for him. A great tumult of emotions went through his big, immature heart as he tried to take it in. He had known something would happen, and was glad he had not gone away.