"My dear," began the hostess, "I have just received a message from Major Dale. He wants you to come home--at once. He is called to Rochester on important business, and as he says Mrs. Martin is not well, so he cannot leave without having his little housekeeper in charge of things--Dorothy, you are a real Dale, able at your age to keep house." "Aunt Libby sick," was Dorothy's first thought and exclamation. "The Rochester case," declared Tavia. "That means the Burlock mystery is going to be cleared up." "The major did not, of course, hint at the nature of his business, but I am really so sorry to lose you just now. And the boys at camp--they will be painfully disappointed," said Mrs. White. "We have had a perfectly splendid time," declared Dorothy, "and I am sure we can hardly thank you for your--attention. You have so many calls upon your time and you did all that shopping for us." "My dear," and the aunt tilted Dorothy's chin to kiss it, "that was a real dissipation. To shop for my own girls. Why, it made me feel like a youngster, myself. And besides, I had orders from Dalton." "Even so," insisted Dorothy, showing some surprise at the word "orders." "It took a lot of time and it was such a warm day. But you did a great deal more than that for us, Aunt Winnie, you must remember how much I can do, too, and give me a chance some day, when you want a rest." "Bless the baby's heart! Hear her talk!" and the woman in the soft gray robe threw her arms about Dorothy. "All the same, when my heart gets unconquerably lonely for my daughter, I shall command her to come to me." Tavia was "standing afar off." Her burning cheeks grew more scarlet every moment, and were plainly a matter of great embarrassment to her. She did want to offer her thanks with those of Dorothy, but somehow, her words were scorched when they reached her lips, and they "stuck there." "My dear," exclaimed Mrs. White, presently noticing Tavia's confusion. "Have you been in poison ivy? Your cheeks show a poison!" "Only mullen leaves," answered Tavia promptly, relieved to have made the confession without further parleying. "Mullen leaves," in a surprised voice, then adding quickly, "Oh, of course, we all used to do that. You were painting to go out to camp," said Mrs. White. "Tavia was going to help play a joke on Rosabel," interrupted Dorothy, anxious to make the matter as light as possible, and help Tavia with her honesty. "Why, that would be too bad," said Mrs. White, "Poor Rosabel has trouble with her skin. It is always flaming red, and it seems almost impossible to cool down the sudden flashes. It is caused by a nervous condition." Tavia dropped her eyes. What if Dorothy had not spoken against the joke, and if they had really gone to camp?