“Oh! don’t tell him!” breathed Tavia. But her friend, if physically afraid, was never a moral coward. She looked straight into the angry conductor’s face and said: “I did.” “What for?” he demanded. “To stop the train. My brothers were in danger——” “Say! What’s that?” demanded the Pullman conductor of Tavia. “Where are her brothers?” The brakeman, who had long run over this road, pulled at the conductor’s sleeve. “That’s Major Dale’s girl,” he whispered, and Tavia heard if Dorothy did not. “Who’s Major Dale?” asked the conductor, in a low voice, turning aside. “Somebody on the road?” “Owns stock in it all right. And a bigwig around North Birchland. Go easy, I say,” advised the brakeman, immediately turning back to the door. The train, meanwhile, had started on again, for undoubtedly the other conductor had given the engineer the signal to go ahead. Through the window across the car Dorothy could see out upon the road beyond the tracks. There was the little “scooter” at a standstill. Joe and Roger were standing up and waving their caps at the train. “They’re safe!” Dorothy cried to Tavia. “I see they are; but you’re not—yet,” returned her chum. “Who’s that is safe?” asked the conductor, still in doubt. “My brothers—there,” answered Dorothy, pointing. “They had to cross in front of the train because the bridge is open. They couldn’t stop at the bottom of the hill.” The Pullman conductor understood at last. “But I’ll have to make a report of this, Miss Dale,” he said, complainingly. Dorothy had seated herself and she was very pale. The fright for her at least had been serious. “Make a dozen reports if you like—help yourself,” said Tavia, tartly, bending over her friend. “If there is anything to pay send the bill to Major Dale.” The conductor grumbled something and went out, notebook in hand. In a few moments the train came to a standstill at the North Birchland station. The girls had to bestir themselves to get out in season, and that helped rouse Dorothy. “Those rascals!” said Tavia, once they were on the platform. “Joe and Roger should be spanked.” “I’m afraid Joe is too big for that,” sighed Dorothy. “And who would spank them? It is something they didn’t get when they were little——” “And see the result!” “Your brothers were whipped sufficiently, I am sure,” Dorothy said, smiling at length. “They are not one whit better than Joe and Roger.” “Dear me! that’s so,” admitted Tavia. “But just the same, I belieev in whippings—for boys.” “And no whippings for girls?” “I should say not!” cried Tavia. “There never _was_ a girl who deserved corporal punishment.” “Not even Nita Brandt?” suggested Dorothy, naming a girl who had ever been a thorn in the flesh for Tavia during their days at Glenwood. “Well—perhaps _she_. But Nita’s about the only one, I guess.” The next moment Tavia started to run down the long platform, dropping her bag and screaming: