ecidedly rakish angle, while Dorothy busied herself with a
thorough investigation of the wreck of her own headpiece.

As told in "Dorothy Dale: A Girl of To-Day," the first book of this
series, these two girls, Dorothy Dale and Octavia Travers, were school
friends, home friends and all kinds of friends, both about the same
age, and both living in a little interesting town called Dalton, in New
York state. Dorothy was the daughter of Major Dale, a prominent
citizen of the place, while Tavia's father was Squire Travers, a man
who was largely indebted to Dorothy for the office he held, inasmuch as
she had managed, in a girl's way, to bring about his election.

Tavia had a brother Johnnie, quite an ordinary boy, while Dorothy had
two brothers, Joe, aged nine and Roger, aged seven years.

There was one other member of the Dale household, Mrs. Martin, the
housekeeper, who had cared for the children since their mother had been
called away. She was that sort of responsible aged woman who seems to
grow more and more particular with years, and perhaps her only fault,
if it might be termed such, was her excessive care of Roger--her baby,
she insisted,--for to her his seven years by no means constituted a
length of time sufficient to make a boy of him. The children called
Mrs. Martin, Aunt Libby, and to them she was indeed as kind and loving
as any aunt could be.

Dorothy had an aunt, Mrs. Winthrop White, of North Birchland in summer,
and of the city in winter, a woman of social importance, as well as
being a most lovable and charming lady personally. A visit of Dorothy
and Tavia to the Cedars, Mrs. White's country place, as related in
"Dorothy Dale," was full of incidents, and in the present volume we
shall become still better acquainted with the family, which included
Mrs. White's two sons, Ned and Nat, both young men well worth knowing.

Dorothy and Tavia might well rejoice in the good news that the major
had so lately been informed of, for the acquirement of means to Dorothy
would undoubtedly bring good times to Tavia, and both deserved the
prospects of sunshine and laughter, for alas--in all lives, even those
scarcely old enough to take upon their shoulders the burden of cares,
there comes some blot to mar the page: some speck to break the glorious
blue of the noonday sky.

Dorothy Dale was not without her sorrow. A wicked man, Andrew Anderson
by name, had come into her life in a mysterious way. Dorothy had
befrien