Dorothy Dale to the Rescue by Margaret Penrose

Dorothy stood very quiet for a moment, saying nothing, just staring at her chum.

Then suddenly she began to laugh-a wild sort of laughter that had tears in it.

Tavia looked at her sharply, then reached out a hand and gripped her hard.

"Dorothy, you've got to stop that! " she cried. "There isn't anything to laugh about-really, you know."

"That's why I'm laughing, I guess! " retorted Dorothy.

But she had stopped her untimely mirth and was gazing moodily enough at the sodden, dreary forest about them.

"We shouldn't be standing under a tree in a thunder and lightning storm," she said absently. "It's dangerous."

It was Tavia's turn to laugh.

"So I've heard," she said. "And if you can tell me any way that we can avoid it, I'll be very grateful. Oh, Doro, what's the use? We are just stuck, that's all."

That fact was so obvious that Dorothy did not take the trouble to answer it.

"It's all my fault," said Tavia after a moment, her voice sounding queer and remote above the clamor of the storm. "I ought to have looked where I was going."

"It isn't your fault any more than mine," Dorothy declared. "Anyway, nobody could look where she was going in this storm."

"Well, I suppose we might as well go on," said Tavia, slapping the reins upon the pony's sleek and steaming back. "If we have luck we may stumble on the path."

"Stumble is right," said Dorothy wearily, as she urged her reluctant pony onward. "Oh, if I could only lie down somewhere," she added, in a tone that she made sure would not reach Tavia. Then the absurdity of her wish appealed to her and in spite of the misery and danger of their predicament, she was forced to laugh at herself.

"So many nice comfortable places around here to lie down in," she told herself, sweeping a hand about at the sodden landscape. "Although it would be hard to be more wet and miserable than we are just now," she added.

They wandered on for a long time-they had no conception of just how long. Finally, because the chill was creeping into their bones and they felt stiff and cramped in their saddles, they dismounted and stumbled along on foot, leading their ponies.

At least they would get some exercise and keep the blood stirring in their veins.

Then at last relief came, or partial relief. The storm at last blew itself away and the sun-a faltering and late-afternoon sun, but the sun nevertheless-broke through the heavy clouds.

Tavia was inclined to greet him with loud exclamations of joy, but Dorothy was too bruised and anxious and miserable of mind and body to care very much whether the sun shone or not.

They sat down after a while on a couple of rocks that seemed not quite so wet as the surrounding country to talk things over.