“My dear,” said her friend, with serious mouth but dancing orbs. “I never would have thought it possible—of _you_. ‘Love like a lightning bolt’—just like that. And the cautious Dorothy!” Then she went on: “But, Dorothy, how will you ever find him?” “You have done your best, Tavia,” her friend said, nodding. “I suppose I might have tried Lance Petterby, too. But now I shall put Aunt Winnie’s lawyers to work out there. If possible, Mr. Knapp must be found before those real estate sharks buy his land. But if the transaction is completed, we shall have to reach him in some other way.” “Dorothy! You sound woefully strong-minded. Do you mean to go right after the young man—just as though it were leap year?” and Tavia giggled. “I hope,” said Dorothy Dale, girl of to-day that she was, “I have too much good sense to lose the chance of showing the man I love that he can win me, because of any foolish or old-fashioned ideas of conventionalities. If Garry Knapp thinks as much of me as I do of him, his lack of an equal fortune sha’n’t stand in the way, either.” “Oh, Doro! it sounds awful—but bully!” Tavia declared, her eyes round. “Do you mean it?” “Yes,” said Dorothy, courageously. “But suppose he is one of those stubborn beings you read about—one of the men who will not marry a girl with money unless he has a ‘working capital’ himself?” “That shall not stand in our way.” “What do you mean?” gasped Tavia. “Not that you would give up your money for him?” “If I find I love him enough—yes,” said Dorothy, softly. CHAPTER XXI THE BUD UNFOLDS In a certain way it ages a girl to be left motherless as Dorothy Dale had been. She had been obliged to “play mother” herself so early that her maternal instincts were strongly and early developed. Until the Dale family had come away from Dalton to live with Aunt Winnie at The Cedars, Dorothy had exercised her motherly oversight in the little family. Indeed, Roger scarcely knew any other mother than Dorothy, and Joe had almost forgotten her who had passed away soon after Roger was born. As for the major, he had soon given all domestic matters over into the small but capable hands of “the little captain” while they were still struggling in poverty. After coming to The Cedars, Dorothy, of course, had been relieved of the close oversight of domestic and family matters that had previously been her portion. But its effect upon her character was plain to all observing eyes. Nor had her so early developed maternal characteristics failed to affect the other members of the family. Now that she was really grown up past the schoolgirl age and of a serious and thoughtful demeanor, even Aunt Winnie looked upon her as being much older than Tavia—and years older than the boys. That Ned and Nat were both several years Dorothy’s senior made no difference. “Boys are to a degree irresponsible—and always are, no matter how old they become,” said Aunt Winnie. “But _Dorothy_——”