But the major rather lost the thread of her story for a moment. He was staring closely at her, shaking his shaggy head slowly. “My dear! my dear!” he murmured, “you have grown up. The bud has unfolded. Our demure little Dorothy is—and with shocking abruptness—blown into full womanhood. My dear!” and he put his arms about her again more tightly. CHAPTER XXII DOROTHY DECIDES Joe and Roger Dale did not feel that they were exactly neglected during these winter holidays. It is true they found their cousins, the “big fellows,” not so much fun as they were wont to be, and even Dorothy failed them at times. But because of these very facts the lads had more freedom of action than ever before. They were learning to think for themselves, especially Joe. Nor was it always mischief they thought of, though frequently managing to get into trouble—for what live and healthy boys of their age do not? Many of their narrow escapes even Dorothy knew nothing about. None of the family, for instance, knew about Joe and the lame pigeon until the North Birchland Fire Department was on the grounds with all their apparatus. This moving incident (Tavia declared it should have been a movie incident) happened between Christmas and the new year. Although there had been a good fall of snow before Kris Kringle’s day, it had all gone now and the roads were firmly frozen again, so the Fire Department got to The Cedars in record time. To begin with Joe and Roger were breeders of pigeons, as Ned and Nat had been several years before. On pleasant days in the winter they let their flock into the big flying cage, and occasionally allowed the carriers to take a flight in the open. On one of these occasions when the flock returned there was a stray with them. Roger’s sharp eyes spied this bird which alighted on the ridgepole of the stable. “Oh, lookut! lookut!” exclaimed the youngest Dale. “What a pretty one, Joe!” “We’ll coax it down. It’s a stray,” his brother said eagerly, “and all strays are fair game.” “But it’s lame, Joe,” Roger declared. “See! it can scarcely hop. And it acts as if all tired out.” “It’s a carrier, all right,” Joe said. “I bet it’s come a long way.” The bird, however, would not be coaxed to the ground or into the big cage. It really did appear exhausted. “I bet if I could get up there on the stable roof, I could pick it right up in my hand,” cried Joe. “I’m—I’m a-going—to try it!” “Oh!” murmured Roger, both his eyes and mouth very round. Joe was no “blowhard,” as the boys say. When he said he’d do a thing he did his best to accomplish it. He threw off his thick jacket that would have hampered him, and kicked aside his overshoes that made his feet clumsy, and started to go aloft in the stable. “You go outside and watch, Roger,” he commanded. “There’s no skylight in this old barn roof—only the cupola, and I can’t get out through that.” “How are you going to do it then?” gasped Roger.