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diff --git a/36229-0.txt b/36229-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e0a201 --- /dev/null +++ b/36229-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5045 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Camp Fire Girls' Careers, by Margaret Vandercook + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Camp Fire Girls' Careers + +Author: Margaret Vandercook + +Release Date: May 26, 2011 [EBook #36229] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' CAREERS *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank, Larry B. Harrison and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK + + + THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES + + The Ranch Girls at Rainbow Lodge + The Ranch Girls’ Pot of Gold + The Ranch Girls at Boarding School + The Ranch Girls in Europe + The Ranch Girls at Home Again + The Ranch Girls and their Great Adventure + + + THE RED CROSS GIRLS SERIES + + The Red Cross Girls in the British Trenches + The Red Cross Girls on the French Firing Line + The Red Cross Girls in Belgium + The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army + The Red Cross Girls with the Italian Army + The Red Cross Girls Under the Stars and Stripes + + + STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS + + The Camp Fire Girls at Sunrise Hill + The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows + The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World + The Camp Fire Girls Across the Sea + The Camp Fire Girls’ Careers + The Camp Fire Girls in After Years + The Camp Fire Girls in the Desert + The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail + + + + +[Illustration: “I Am Sorry,” Billy Replied] + + + + +THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS’ CAREERS + +BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK + +Author of “The Ranch Girls Series,” etc. + +ILLUSTRATED + +PHILADELPHIA + +THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO. + +PUBLISHERS + + + + +Copyright, 1915, by + +The John C. Winston Company + + + + + STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS + + Six Volumes + + The Camp Fire Girls at Sunrise Hill + The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows + The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World + The Camp Fire Girls Across the Sea + The Camp Fire Girls’ Careers + The Camp Fire Girls in After Years + + + + + CONTENTS + + CHAPTER PAGE + I. Success or Failure? 7 + II. “Belinda” 17 + III. Friends and Enemies 33 + IV. Farewell! 43 + V. Other Girls 55 + VI. The Fire-Maker’s Desire 82 + VII. “The Flames in the Wind” 74 + VIII. Afternoon Tea and a Mystery 83 + IX. Preparations 94 + X. More Puzzles 105 + XI. A Christmas Song and Recognition 119 + XII. After Her Fashion Polly Explains 133 + XIII. A Place of Memories 149 + XIV. A Sudden Summons 163 + XV. “Little Old New York” 174 + XVI. “Moira” 185 + XVII. A Reunion 195 + XVIII. Home Again 209 + XIX. Illusions Swept Away 218 + XX. Two Engagements 233 + XXI. At the Turn of the Road 243 + + + + + ILLUSTRATIONS + + “I Am Sorry,” Billy Replied Frontispiece + Polly Stopped Shaking to Glance at Her Companion 13 + She Came Out Carrying Red Roses, Holly and Cedar 63 + “Why Did You Think I Had Ever Heard of Your Friend?” 151 + + + + +The Camp Fire Girls’ Careers + + + + +CHAPTER I—Success or Failure + + +The entire theater was in darkness but for a single light burning at one +corner of the bare stage, where stood a man and girl. + +“Now once more, Miss Polly, please,” the man said encouragingly. “That +last try had a bit more life in it. Only do remember that you are +supposed to be amusing, and don’t wear such a tragic expression.” + +Then a stiff figure, very young, very thin, and with a tense white face, +moved backward half a dozen steps, only to stumble awkwardly forward the +next instant with both hands pressed tight together. + +“I can’t—I can’t find it,” she began uncertainly, “I have searched——” + +Lifting her eyes at this moment to her companion’s, Polly O’Neill burst +into tears. + +“I am a hopeless, abject failure, Mr. Hunt, and I shall never, never +learn to act in a thousand years. There is no use in your trying to +teach me, for if we remain at the theater for the rest of the day I +shall make exactly the same mistakes tonight. Oh, how can I possibly +play a funny character when my teeth are positively chattering with +fright even at a rehearsal? It is sheer madness, my daring to appear +with you and Margaret Adams before a first-night New York audience and +in a new play. Even if I have only a tiny part, I can manage to make +just as great a mess of it. Why, why did I ever dream I wished to have a +career, I wonder. I only want to go back home this minute to Woodford +and never stir a step away from that blessed village as long as I live.” + +“Heigho, says Mistress Polly,” quoted her companion and then waited +without smiling while the girl dried her tears. + +“But you felt very differently from this several years ago when you +acted with me in The Castle of Life,” he argued in a reassuring tone. +“Besides, you were then very young and had not had two years of dramatic +training. I was amazed at your self-confidence, and now I don’t +understand why you should feel so much more nervous.” + +Polly squared her slender shoulders. “Yes you do, Mr. Hunt,” she +insisted, bluntly. “However, if you really don’t understand, I think I +can make you see in a moment. Four years ago when I behaved like a +naughty child and without letting my friends or family know acted the +part of the fairy of the woods in the Christmas pantomime, I had not the +faintest idea of what a serious thing I was attempting. I did not even +dream of how many mistakes I could make. Besides, that was only a +school-girl prank and I never thought that any one in the audience might +know me. But now, why at this moment I can hear dozens of people +whispering: ‘See that girl on the stage there taking the character of +the maid, Belinda; she is Polly O’Neill. You may remember that she is +one of the old Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls and for years has been +worrying her family to let her become an actress. I don’t believe she +will ever make a success. Really, she is the worst stick I ever saw on +the stage!’” + +And so real had her imaginary critic become that Polly shuddered and +then clasped her hands together in a tragic fashion. + +“Then think of my poor mother and my sister, Mollie, and Betty Ashton +and a dozen or more of my old Camp Fire friends who have come to New +York to see me make my début tonight! Can’t you tell Miss Adams I am +ill; isn’t there some one who can take my place? I really am ill, you +know, Mr. Hunt,” Polly pleaded, the tears again starting to her eyes. + +Since Polly’s return from the summer in Europe, two years of eager +ambition and hard work had been spent in a difficult training. As a +result she looked older and more fragile. This morning her face was +characteristically pale and the two bright patches of color usually +burning on her cheek bones had vanished. Her chin had become so pointed +that it seemed almost elfish, and her head appeared too small for its +heavy crown of jet-black hair. Indeed, at this time in her life, in the +opinion of strangers, only the blueness of her eyes with the Irish +shadows underneath saved the girl from positive plainness. To her +friends, of course, she was always just Polly and so beyond criticism. + +Having finally through years of persuasion and Margaret Adams’ added +influence won her mother’s consent to follow the stage for her +profession, Polly had come to New York, where she devoted every possible +hour of the day and night to her work. There had been hundreds of +lessons in physical culture, in learning to walk properly and to sit +down. Still more important had been the struggle with the pronunciation +of even the simplest words, besides the hundred and one minor lessons of +which the outsider never dreams. Polly had continued patient, +hard-working and determined. No longer did she give performances of +Juliet, draped in a red tablecloth, before audiences of admiring girls. + +Never for a moment since their first meeting at the Camp Fire play in +Sunrise Hill cabin had Margaret Adams ceased to show a deep interest in +the wayward, ambitious and often unreliable Polly. She it was who had +recommended the school in New York City and the master under whom Polly +was to make her stage preparations. And here at the first possible +moment Margaret Adams had offered her the chance for a début under the +most auspicious conditions. + +The play was a clever farce called A Woman’s Wit, and especially written +for the celebrated actress, who was to be supported by Richard Hunt, +Polly’s former acquaintance, as leading man. + +Of course the play had been in rehearsal for several weeks; but Polly +had been convinced that her own work had been growing poorer and poorer +as each day went by. + +“Look here, Miss O’Neill,” a voice said harshly, and Polly stopped +shaking to glance at her companion in surprise. During the last few +months she and Richard Hunt had renewed their acquaintance and in every +possible way Mr. Hunt had been kind and helpful. Yet now his manner had +suddenly grown stern and forbidding. + +[Illustration: Polly Stopped Shaking to Glance at Her Companion] + +“You are talking wildly and absurdly and like a foolish child instead of +a woman,” he said coldly. “Surely you must know that you are having a +rare chance tonight because of Miss Adams’ friendship and you must not +disappoint her. If you fail to succeed, that will be unfortunate, but if +you run away—” Suddenly Richard Hunt laughed. What a ridiculous +suggestion! Of course Polly had only been talking in a silly school-girl +fashion without any idea of being taken seriously. + +“Good-by, Miss Polly, and cheer up,” Richard Hunt finally said, holding +out his hand, his manner friendly once more; for after all she was only +a frightened child and he was at least ten years her senior. “Doubtless +you’ll put us all to shame tonight and Belinda will be the success of +the evening.” Then as he moved away toward the stage door he added, “It +was absurd of me to be so annoyed, but do you know, for a moment you +made me believe you really thought of running away. What about the Camp +Fire law of that famous club to which you once belonged? Did it not tell +you to be trustworthy and not to undertake an enterprise rashly, but, +having undertaken it, to complete it unflinchingly. Do go home now and +rest, child, things are sure to turn out splendidly.” And with a smile +of sympathy the man walked away. + +So in another moment Polly was standing alone on an otherwise empty +stage, torn with indecision and dread. Was Mr. Hunt right in believing +that she had uttered only an idle threat in saying that she meant to run +away? Yet would it not be wiser to disappear than to make an utter +failure of her part tonight and be unable either to move or speak when +the eyes of the audience were fixed expectantly upon her? + +Slowly the girl walked toward the door, her face scarlet one moment, +then like chalk the next. She could hear the scene-shifters moving about +and realized that she would soon be in their way. But what should she +do? Polly realized that if she went to her boarding place her mother and +Mollie would be there waiting for her and then there could be no +possible chance of escape. + +Always Polly O’Neill had permitted herself to yield to sudden, nearly +uncontrollable impulses. Should she do so now? In the last few years she +believed she had acquired more self-control, better judgment. Yet in +this panic of fear they had vanished once more. Of course Miss Adams +would never forgive her, and no one would have any respect for her +again. All this the girl realized and yet at the moment nothing appeared +so dreadful as walking out on the stage and repeating the dozen or more +sentences required of her. Rather would she have faced the guillotine. + +“‘Finvarra and their land of heart’s desire,’” Polly quoted softly and +scornfully to herself. Well, she had been hoping that she was to reach +the land of her heart’s desire tonight. Was this not to be the beginning +of the stage career for which she had worked and prayed and dreamed? + +Out on the street Polly was now walking blindly ahead. She had at last +reached her decision, and yet how could she ever arrange to carry it +out? + + + + +CHAPTER II—“Belinda” + + +It was twenty-five minutes past eight o’clock and at half-past eight the +curtain was to rise on the first performance of A Woman’s Wit, written +especially for Margaret Adams. And because of her popularity and that of +her leading man, the house had been sold out weeks in advance. + +The action of the play was to take place in a small town in Colorado, +where a man and his wife were both endeavoring to be elected to the +office of Mayor. Polly was to play the part of a clever little +shop-girl, whom the heroine had brought into her home, supposedly as a +parlor maid. But in reality the girl was to do all that was in her power +to assist her mistress in gaining a victory over her husband. She was to +watch his movements and to suggest any schemes that she might devise for +their success. + +In the act which Polly had recently been rehearsing she was engaged in +trying to discover a political speech written by the hero, so that the +wife might read it beforehand and so answer it in a convincing fashion +before the evening meeting of the Woman’s Club. The play was a witty +farce, and Belinda was supposedly one of the cleverest and most amusing +characters. Yet whether Polly could succeed in making her appear so was +still exceedingly doubtful. + +With this idea in mind Richard Hunt left his dressing room, hoping to +see Polly for a few moments if possible before the play began. Perhaps +her fright had passed. For already the man and girl were sufficiently +intimate friends for him to understand how swiftly her moods changed. + +Polly had apparently left her dressing room, since there was no answer +to repeated knockings. She could not have carried out her threat of the +morning? Of course such a supposition was an absurdity. And yet the +man’s frown relaxed and his smile was one of unconscious relief when a +tall, delicate figure in a blue dress came hurrying toward him along the +dimly-lighted passage-way. The girl did not seem aware of anything or +anybody, so great was her hurry and nervousness. However, this was not +unreasonable, for instead of having on her maid’s costume for the +performance, she was wearing an evening gown of shimmering silk and in +the coiled braids of her black hair a single pink rose. + +“You are late, Miss Polly; may I find some one to help you dress?” + +Instantly a pair of blue eyes were turned toward him in surprise and +reproach. They were probably not such intensely blue eyes as Polly +O’Neill’s and they had a far gentler expression, though they were of +exactly the same shape. And the girl’s hair was equally black, her +figure and carriage almost similar, except that she was less thin. But +instead of Polly’s accustomed pallor this girl’s cheeks were as +delicately flushed as the rose in her hair. “Could an evening costume so +metamorphose a human being?” Richard Hunt wondered in a vaguely puzzled, +uncertain fashion. + +A small hand was thrust forward without the least sign of haste, +although it trembled a little from shyness. + +“I’m not Polly, Mr. Hunt,” the girl said smiling. “I am Mollie, her twin +sister. But you must not mistake us, because even if we do look alike, +we are not in the least alike in other ways. For one thing, I wouldn’t +be in Polly O’Neill’s shoes tonight, not for this whole world with a +fence around it. How can she do such a horrible thing as to be an +actress? Polly considers that I haven’t a spark of ambition, but why on +earth should a sensible girl want a career?” + +Suddenly Mollie blushed until her cheeks were pinker than before. “Oh, I +am so sorry! I forgot for the moment that you were an actor, Mr. Hunt. +Of course things are very different with you. A man must have a career! +But I ought to apologize for talking to you without our having met each +other. You see, Polly has spoken of you so many times, saying how kind +you had been in trying to help her, that I thought for the instant I +actually did know you. Forgive me, and now I must find Polly.” + +Mollie was always shy, but realizing all at once how much she had +confided to a stranger, she felt overwhelmed with embarrassment. How the +other girls would laugh if they ever learned of what she had said. Yet +Mr. Hunt was not laughing at her, nor did he appear in the least +offended. Mollie was sure he must be as kind as Polly had declared him, +although he did look older than she had expected and must be quite +thirty, as his hair was beginning to turn gray at the temples and there +were heavy lines about the corners of his mouth. As Mollie now turned +the handle of her sister’s dressing-room door she was hoping that her +new acquaintance had not noticed how closely she had studied him. + +However, she need not have worried, for her companion was only thinking +of how pretty she was and yet how oddly like her twin sister. For Mollie +seemed to possess the very graces that Polly lacked. Evidently she was +more amiable, better poised and more reliable, her figure was more +attractive, her color prettier and her manner gracious and appealing. + +“I am afraid you won’t find your sister in there, Miss O’Neill. I have +knocked several times without an answer,” Richard Hunt finally +interposed. + +“Won’t find her?” Mollie repeated the words in consternation. “Then +where on earth is she? Miss Adams sent me to tell Polly that she wished +to speak to her for half a moment before the curtain went up. Besides, +Miss Ashton has already searched everywhere for her for quite ten +minutes and then came back to her seat in the theater, having had to +give up.” + +Forcibly Mollie now turned the handle of the door and peered in. The +small room was unoccupied, as the other two members of the company who +shared it with Polly, having dressed some time before, had also +disappeared. + +But Richard Hunt could wait no longer to assist in discovering the +wanderer. Five minutes had passed, so that his presence would soon be +required upon the stage. Surely if Polly had failed to appear at the +theater her sister would be aware of it. Yet there was still a chance +that she had sent a hurried message to the stage director so that her +character could be played by an understudy. Even Polly would scarcely +wreck the play by simply failing at the last moment. + +He was vaguely uneasy. He had been interested in Polly, first because of +their chance acquaintance several years before when they both acted in +The Castle of Life, and also because of Miss Adams’ deep affection for +her protégé. The man had been unable to decide whether Polly had any +talent for the career which she professed to care for so greatly. + +Now and then during the frequent rehearsals of their new play she had +done very well. But the very day after a clever performance she was more +than apt to give a poor one until the stage manager had almost +despaired. Nevertheless Richard Hunt acknowledged to himself that there +was something about the girl that made one unable to forget her. She was +so intense, loving and hating, laughing and crying with her whole soul. +Whatever her fate in after years, one could not believe that it would be +an entirely conventional one. + +His cue had been called and Miss Adams was already on the stage. In a +quarter of an hour when Belinda was summoned by her mistress, he would +know whether or not Polly had feigned illness or whether she had kept +her threat and ignominiously run away. + +The moment came. A door swung abruptly forward at the rear of the stage +and through it a girl entered swiftly. She was dressed in a +tight-fitting gray frock with black silk stockings and slippers. There +was a tiny white cap on her head and she wore a small fluted apron. She +looked very young, very clever and graceful. And it was Polly O’Neill, +and Polly at her best! + +For the briefest instant Richard Hunt and Margaret Adams exchanged +glances. It was obvious that Margaret Adams had also been uneasy over +her favorite’s début. For her eyes brightened and she nodded +encouragingly as the little maid set down the tray she was carrying with +a bang and then turned saucily to speak to her master. A laugh from the +audience followed her first speech. + +The Polly of the morning had completely vanished. This girl’s cheeks +were crimson, her eyes danced with excitement and vivacity. She was +fairly sparkling with Irish wit and grace and, best of all, she appeared +entirely unafraid. + +It was not alone Polly O’Neill’s two comparatively new friends upon the +stage with her, who now felt relieved from anxiety by her clever +entrance. More than a dozen persons in the audience forming a large +theater party occupying the sixth and seventh rows in the orchestra +chairs, breathed inaudible sighs of relief. + +There sat Betty Ashton and Dick and Esther, who had come down from +Boston to New York City for Polly’s début. Next Betty was a handsome, +grave young man, who had only a few days before been elected to the New +Hampshire Legislature by the residents of Woodford and the surrounding +country, Anthony Graham. On his other side eat his sister, Nan, a +dark-eyed, dark-haired girl with a quiet, refined manner. Near by and +staring straight ahead through a pair of large, gold-rimmed spectacles +was another girl with sandy hair, light blue eyes, a square jaw and a +determined, serious expression. Nothing did Sylvia Wharton take lightly, +and least of all the success or failure tonight of her adored +step-sister. For Sylvia’s ardent affection for Polly had never wavered +since the early Camp Fire days at Sunrise Hill. And while she often +disapproved of her and freely told her so, as she had then, still Polly +knew that Sylvia could always be counted on through good and ill. + +So far as the younger girl’s own work was concerned there was little +doubt of her success. Each year she had been at the head of her class in +the training school for nurses and had since taken up the study of +medicine. For Sylvia had never cared for frivolities, for beaus or +dancing or ordinary good times. Polly often used to say that she would +like to shake her younger step-sister for her utter seriousness, yet +Sylvia rarely replied that she might have other and better reasons for +administering the same discipline to Polly. + +Back of this party of six friends Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, Polly’s mother +and stepfather, her sister Mollie and Billy Webster were seated. Billy, +however, was no longer called by this youthful title except by his most +intimate friends. He had never since the day Polly had teased him +concerning it, asking him how it felt to be a shadowy imitation of a +great man, used the name of Daniel. He was known to the people in +Woodford and the neighborhood as William Webster, since Billy’s father +had died a year before and he now had the entire management of their +large and successful farm. Indeed, the young man was considered one of +the most expert of the new school of scientific farmers in his section +of the country. And although Billy undoubtedly looked like a country +fellow, there was no denying that he was exceedingly handsome. He was +six feet tall, with broad shoulders and an erect carriage; his skin was +tanned by the sun and wind, making his eyes appear more deeply blue and +his hair almost the color of copper. Now seated next to Mollie he was +endeavoring to make her less nervous, although any one could have seen +he was equally nervous himself. + +Frank Wharton and Eleanor Meade, who were to be married in a few months, +were together, and next came yellow-haired Meg and her brother, John. +Then only a few places away Rose and Dr. Barton and Faith, the youngest +of the former group of Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls, who had been +adopted by her former guardian and now was known by Dr. Barton’s name. +Faith was an unusual-looking girl, with the palest gold hair which she +wore tied back with a black velvet ribbon. She had a curious, far-away +expression in her great blue eyes and the simplicity of a little child. +For Faith had never ceased her odd fashion of living in dreams, so that +the real world was yet an unexplored country to her. Indeed, in her +quaint short-waisted white muslin frock, with a tiny fan and a bunch of +country flowers in her hand, she might have sat as one of the models for +Arthur Rackham’s spiritual, half-fairy children. Tonight she was even +more quiet than usual, since this was the first time she had ever been +inside a theater in her life. And had it not been for the reality of +Polly O’Neill’s presence, one of her very own group of Camp Fire girls, +she must have thought herself on a different planet. + +Herr and Frau Krippen had not been able to leave Woodford for this great +occasion, since they boasted a very small and very new baby, with hair +as red as its father’s and as Esther’s. But otherwise it looked +singularly like the first of the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire guardians, the +Miss Martha, whom the girls had then believed fore-ordained to eternal +old-maidenhood. + +So on this eventful night in her career, Polly O’Neill’s old friends and +family were certainly well represented. Fortunately, however, she had so +far given no thought to their presence. + +Now Belinda must rush frantically about on the stage, making a pretext +of dusting the while she is eagerly listening to the conversation taking +place between her master and mistress. Then in another moment they both +leave the stage and Polly at last has her real opportunity. For with +Margaret Adams present, naturally the chief attention of the audience +would be concentrated upon her with her talent, her magnetism and her +great reputation. + +Yet as Miss Adams slipped away with a fleeting and encouraging lifting +of her eyebrows toward her little maid, suddenly Polly O’Neill felt that +the hour of her final reckoning had come. Curiously, until now she had +not been self-conscious nor frightened; not for an instant had she been +pursued by the terrors that had so harassed her all day that she had +made a dozen plans to escape. Yet with the attention of the large +audience suddenly riveted upon her alone, they were returning like a +thousand fiends. + +Polly felt like an atom surrounded by infinite space, like a spot of +light in an eternity of darkness. Her voice had gone, her limbs were +stiff, yet automatically she continued her dusting for a moment longer, +hoping that a miracle might turn her into a human being again. Useless: +her voice would never return, her legs felt as if they belonged to a +figure in Mrs. Jarley’s waxworks. + +One could not devote the entire evening polishing the stage furniture! +Already she could hear the agonized voice of the prompter whispering her +lines, which he naturally supposed her to have forgotten. + +In some fashion Polly must have dragged herself to the spot on the stage +where she had been previously instructed to stand, and there somehow she +must have succeeded in repeating the few sentences required of her, +although she never knew how she did the one or the other; for soon the +other players made their proper entrances and the unhappy Belinda was +allowed to withdraw. + +Yet although Polly could never clearly recall the events on the stage +during these few moments, of one thing she was absolutely conscious. By +some wretched accident she had glanced appealingly down, hoping to find +encouragement in the face of her mother, sister, or Betty Ashton. +Instead, however, she had caught the blue eyes of her old antagonist, +Billy Webster, fixed upon her with such an expression of consternation, +sympathy and amusement that she was never to forget the look for the +rest of her life. + +In the final scene, the one so diligently rehearsed during the morning, +Belinda did not make such a complete failure. But, as she slipped away +to her dressing room at the close of the performance, Polly O’Neill +knew, before tongue or pen could set it down, the verdict that must +follow her long-desired stage début. Alas, that in this world there are +many of us unlike Cæsar: we come, we see, but we do not conquer! + + + + +CHAPTER III—Friends and Enemies + + +Standing outside in the dark passage for a moment, Polly hesitated with +her hand on the door-knob, having already opened the door a few inches. +From the inside she could plainly hear the voices of the two girls who +shared the dressing room with her. Neither one of them had an important +place in the cast. They merely came on in one of the scenes as members +of a group and without speaking. However, they were both clever, +ambitious girls whom Polly liked. Now her attention had been arrested by +hearing the sound of her own name. + +“Polly O’Neill was a dreadful failure, wasn’t she?” one of them was +saying. “Well, I am not in the least surprised. Indeed, it was just what +I expected. Of course, she was only given the part of Belinda because of +favoritism. Miss Adams is such a great friend of hers!” + +Then before Polly could make her presence known the second girl replied: + +“So far as I can see, Polly O’Neill has never shown a particle of +ability at any of the rehearsals that would justify her being placed +over the rest of us. I am sure that either you or I would have done far +better. But never mind; perhaps some day we may be famous actresses and +she nothing at all, when there is no Miss Adams to help her along.” + +But at this same instant Polly walked into the room. + +“I am so sorry I overheard what you said, but it was entirely my fault, +not yours,” she began directly. “Only please don’t think I intended to +be eavesdropping. It was quite an accident my appearing just at the +wrong moment. Of course I am hurt by your thinking I acted Belinda so +poorly. Perhaps one of you would have been more successful. But do +please understand that I realize perfectly that I had the chance given +me because of Miss Adams’ friendship and not because of my own talents.” +Then, though Polly’s cheeks were flaming during her long speech and her +tones not always steady, she smiled at her companions in entire good +fellowship. + +Immediately the older girl, walking across the floor, laid her hand on +Polly’s shoulder. “I am not going to take back all I said a while ago, +for I meant a part of it,” she declared half apologetically and half +with bravado. “Honestly, I don’t think you were very good as Belinda. +But I have seen you act rather well at rehearsals now and then. I think +you failed tonight because you suddenly grew so frightened. Don’t be +discouraged; goodness knows it has happened to many an actor before who +afterwards became famous,” she ended in an effort to be comforting. + +“Yes, and it is all very well for us to talk here in our dressing rooms +about being more successful than you were,” the second girl added, “but +there is no way of our proving that we would not have had even worse +cases of stage fright.” She gave Polly’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Of +course, you must know we are both jealous of Miss Adams’ affection for +you or we would never have been such horrid cats.” The girl blushed. “Do +try and forget what we said, it was horrid not to have been kinder and +more sympathetic. You may have a chance to pay us back with interest +some day. Anyhow, you are a splendid sport not to be angry. I am sure it +is the people who take things as you have this who will win out in the +end.” + +Then no one referred to the subject again. For it was plain that Polly +was exhausted and that her nerves had nearly reached the breaking point. +Instead, both girls now did their best to assist her in taking off the +costume of the ill-fated Belinda and in getting into an ordinary street +costume. For Polly was to meet her family and friends in a small +reception room adjoining Miss Adams’ dressing room, five minutes after +the close of the play. She would have preferred to have marched up to +the cannon’s mouth, and she was much too tired at present either for +congratulations or censure. She heard Mollie and Betty Ashton coming +toward the door to seek for her. + +Of course they were both immediately enthusiastic over Polly’s début and +were sure that she had been a pronounced success. For in the minds of +her sister and friend, Polly was simply incapable of failure. And +perhaps they did succeed in making the rest of the evening easier for +her. But then all of her old Camp Fire and Woodford friends were as kind +as possible. To have one of their own girls acting on a real stage +seemed fame enough in itself. + +But from two of her friends, from Sylvia Wharton and from Billy Webster, +Polly received the truth as they saw it. Sylvia’s came with spoken +words, and Billy’s by a more painful silence. + +As Polly entered the room, Sylvia came forward, and kissed her solemnly. +The two girls had not seen each other for a number of weeks. Sylvia had +only arrived in New York a few hours before. + +“You were dreadfully nervous, Polly, just as I thought you would be,” +Sylvia remarked quietly, holding her step-sister’s attention by the +intensity and concentration of her gaze behind the gold-rimmed +spectacles. “Now I am afraid you are fearfully tired and upset. I do +wish you would go home immediately and go to bed instead of talking to +all these people. But I suppose you have already decided because you did +not act as well as you expected this evening that you will never do any +better. Promise me to be reasonable this one time, Polly, and may I see +you alone and have a talk with you tomorrow?” + +Then there was only time for the older girl to nod agreement and to +place her hot hand for an instant into Sylvia’s large, strong one, that +already had a kind of healing touch. + +For Mrs. Wharton was now demanding her daughter’s attention, wishing to +introduce her to friends. Since she had finally made up her mind to +allow Polly to try her fate as an actress, Mrs. Wharton had no doubt of +her ultimate brilliant success. + +Five minutes afterwards, quite by accident, Richard Hunt found himself +standing near enough to Polly to feel that he must also say something in +regard to her début. + +“I am glad Belinda did not run away today, Miss Polly,” he whispered. +“Do you know I almost believed she intended to for a few moments this +morning?” And the man smiled at the absurdity of his idea. + +Polly glanced quickly up toward her companion, a warm flush coloring her +tired face. “It might have been better for the play if I had, Mr. Hunt, +I’m a-thinking,” she answered with a mellow Irish intonation in the low +tones of her voice. “But you need not think I did not mean what I said. +Don’t tell on me, but I had a ticket bought and my bag packed and all my +plans made for running away and then at the last even I could not be +quite such a coward.” The girl’s expression changed. “Perhaps, after +all, I may yet be forced into using that ticket some day,” she added, +half laughing and half serious, as she turned to speak to some one else +who had joined them. + +For another idle moment the man still thought of his recent companion. +How much or how little of her rash statements did the child mean? Yet he +might have spared himself the trouble of this reflection, for this +question about Polly was never to be satisfactorily answered. + +Although by this time the greater number of persons in Margaret Adams’ +reception room had spoken to Polly either to say kind things or the +reverse, there was, however, one individual who had devoted his best +efforts to avoiding her. Yet there had never been such an occasion +before tonight. For whether he chanced to be angry with her at the +moment or pleased, Billy Webster had always enjoyed the opportunity of +talking to Polly, since she always stirred his deepest emotions, no +matter what the emotions chanced to be. Tonight he had no desire to +repeat the fatal words, “I told you so.” + +Of course he had always known that Polly O’Neill would never be a +successful actress; she was far too erratic, too emotional. If only she +had been sensible for once and listened to him that day in the woods +long ago! Suddenly Billy squared his broad shoulders and closed his firm +young lips. For, separating herself from every one else, Polly was +actually marching directly toward him, and she had ever an uncanny +fashion of guessing what was going on in other people’s heads. + +Underneath his country tan Billy Webster blushed furiously and honestly. + +“You think I was a rank failure, don’t you?” Polly demanded at once. + +Still speechless, the young man nodded his head. + +“You don’t believe I ever will do much better?” Again Billy nodded +agreement. + +“And that I had much better have stayed at home in Woodford and learned +to cook and sew and—and—well, some day try to be somebody’s wife?” the +girl ended a little breathlessly. + +This time Billy Webster did not mince matters. “I most assuredly do,” he +answered with praiseworthy bluntness. + +Now for the first time since her fiasco as Belinda, Polly’s eyes flashed +with something of their old fire. And there in the presence of the +company, though unheeded by them, she stamped her foot just as she +always had as a naughty child. + +“I will succeed, Billy Webster, I will, I will! I don’t care how many +failures I may make in learning! And just because I want to be a good +actress is no reason why I can’t marry some day, if there is any man in +the world who could both love and understand me and who would not wish +to make me over according to his own particular pattern.” Then Polly +smiled. “Thank you a thousand times, though, Billy, for you are the +solitary person who has done me any good tonight. It is quite like old +times, isn’t it, for us to start quarreling as soon as we meet. But, +farewell, I must go home now and to bed.” Polly held out her hand. “You +are an obstinate soul, Billy, but I can’t help admiring you for the +steadfast way in which you disapprove of me.” + + + + +CHAPTER IV—Farewell! + + +Margaret Adams was in her private sitting room in her own home, an +old-fashioned red brick house near Washington Square. She had been +writing letters for more than an hour and had just seated herself in a +big chair and closed her eyes. She looked very young and tiny at this +instant to be such a great lady. Her silk morning dress was only a shade +lighter than the rose-colored chair. + +Suddenly ten fingers were lightly laid over her eyes. + +“Guess who I am or I shall never release you,” a rich, soft voice +demanded, and Margaret Adams drew the fingers down and kissed them. + +“Silly Polly, as if it could be any one else? What ever made you come +out in this rain, child? You had a cold, anyway, and it is a perfectly +beastly day.” + +Instead of replying, Polly sat down in front of a small, open fire, +putting her toes up on the fender. + +“You are a hospitable lady,” she remarked finally, “but I am not wet +specially. I left my damp things down stairs so as not to bring them +into this pretty room. It always makes me think of the rose lining to a +cloud; one could never have the blues in here.” + +The room was charming. The walls were delicately pink, almost flesh +color, with a deeper pink border above. A few original paintings were +hung in a low line—one of an orchard with apple trees in spring bloom. +The mantel was of white Italian marble with a bust of Dante’s Beatrice +upon it and this morning it also held a vase of roses. Over near the +window a desk of inlaid mahogany was littered with letters, papers, +writing materials and photographs. On a table opposite the newest +magazines and books were carefully arranged, together with a framed +photograph of Polly and Margaret Adams’ taken when they were in London +several years before. There was also a photograph of Richard Hunt and +several others of distinguished men and women who were devoted friends +of the famous actress. + +A big, rose-colored divan was piled with a number of silk and velvet +cushions of pale green and rose. Then there were other odd chairs and +tables and shaded lamps and curtains of rose-colored damask hung over +white net. But the room was neither too beautiful nor fanciful to be +homelike and comfortable. Two or three ugly things Margaret Adams still +kept near her for old associations’ sake and these alone, Polly +insisted, made it possible for her to come into this room. For she, too, +was an ugly thing, allowed to stay there now and then because of past +association. + +Polly was not looking particularly well today. She had been acting for +ten days in A Woman’s Wit, though that would scarcely explain her heavy +eyelids, nor her colorless cheeks. Polly’s eyes were so big in her white +face and her hair so black that actually she looked more like an Irish +pixie than an ordinary every-day girl. + +“You’ll stay to lunch with me, Polly, and I’ll send you home in my +motor,” Margaret Adams announced authoritatively. “I suppose your mother +and Mollie have gone back to Woodford? I know Betty has returned to +Boston, she came in to say good-by and to tell me that she is spending +the winter in Boston with her brother, Dr. Ashton, and his wife. Betty +is really prettier than ever, don’t you think so? I believe it was you, +Polly, who really saved Betty from marrying her German princeling, but +what will the child do now without you to look after her?” + +Margaret Adams arose and walked across the room, presumably to ring for +her maid, but in reality to have a closer look at her visitor. For Polly +had not yet answered her idle questions; nor did she even show the +slightest interest in the mention of her beloved Betty’s name. Something +most unusual must be the matter with her. + +“I should like to stay to lunch if no one else is coming,” Polly +returned a moment later. “I did not like to disturb you earlier. There +is something I want to tell you and so I might as well say it at once. I +am not going to try to act Belinda any longer. I am going away from New +York tomorrow. Yet you must not think I am ungrateful, even though I am +not going to tell you where I am going nor what I intend to do.” Polly +clasped her thin arms about her knees and began slowly rocking herself +back and forth with her eyes fastened on the fire, as though not daring +to glance toward her friend. + +At first Margaret Adams made no reply. Then she answered coldly and a +little disdainfully: “So you are playing the coward, Polly! Instead of +trying each night to do better and better work you are running away. If +for an instant I had dreamed that you had so little courage, so little +backbone, I never should have encouraged you to enter one of the most +difficult professions in the whole world. Come, dear, you are tired and +perhaps ill. I ought not to scold you. But I want you to forget what you +have just said. Goodness knows, I have not forgotten the bitterly +discouraged days I used to have and do still have every now and then. +Only somehow I hoped a Camp Fire girl might be different, that her club +training might give her fortitude. Remember ‘Wohelo means work. We +glorify work because through work we are free. We work to win, to +conquer and be masters. We work for the joy of working and because we +are free.’ Long ago I thought you and I decided that the Camp Fire rules +would apply equally well to whatever career a girl undertook, no matter +what she might try to do or be.” + +“Oh, I have not forgotten; I think of our old talks very often,” was +Polly’s unsatisfactory reply. + +A little nearer the fire Margaret Adams now drew her own big chair. It +was October and the rain was a cold one, making the blaze comforting. +The whole atmosphere of the room was peculiarly intimate and cozy and +yet the girl did not appear any happier. + +“I wonder if you would like to hear of my early trials, Polly?” Margaret +asked. “Not because they were different from other people’s, but perhaps +because they were so like. I believe I promised to tell you my history +once several years ago.” + +The older woman did not glance toward her visitor, as she had no doubt +of her interest. Instead she merely curled herself up in her chair like +a girl eager to tell a most interesting story. + +“You see, dear, I made my début not when I was twenty-one like you are, +but when I was exactly seven. Of course even now one does not like to +talk of it, but I never remember either my father or mother. They were +both actors and died when I was very young, leaving me without money and +to be brought up in any way fate chose. I don’t know just why I was not +sent at once to an orphan asylum, but for some reason or other a woman +took charge of me who used to do all kinds of odd work about the +theater, help mend clothes, assist with the dressing, scrub floors if +necessary. She was frightfully poor, so of course there is no blame to +be attached to her for making me try to earn my own bread as soon as +possible. And bread it was actually.” Margaret Adams laughed, yet not +with the least trace of bitterness. “A child was needed in a play, one +of the melodramas that used to be so popular when I was young, a little +half-starved waif. I dare say I had no trouble in looking the part. You +see I’m not very big now, Polly, so I must have been a ridiculously +thin, homely child, all big staring eyes and straight brownish hair. I +was engaged to stand outside a baker’s shop window gazing wistfully in +at a beautiful display of shiny currant buns until the heroine appeared. +Then, touched by my plight, she nobly presented me with a penny with +which I purchased a bun. Well, dear, that piece of bread was all the pay +I received for my night’s performance, and it was all the supper I had. +One night—funny how I can recall it all as if it were yesterday—coming +out of the shop I stumbled, dropped my bun and at the same instant saw +it rolling away from me down toward the blazing row of footlights. I had +not a thought then of where I was or of anything in all the world but +that I was a desperately hungry child, losing my supper. So with a +pitiful cry I jumped up and ran after my bread. When I picked it up I +think I hugged it close to me like a treasure and kissed it. Well, dear, +you can imagine that the very unconsciousness, the genuineness of the +little act won the audience. I know a good many people cried that night +and afterwards. The reason I still remember the little scene so +perfectly was because after that first time I had to do the same thing +over and over again as long as the play ran. It was my first ‘hit,’ +Polly, though I never understood what it meant for years and years +afterwards.” + +“Poor baby,” Polly whispered softly, taking her friend’s hand and +touching it with her lips. “But I don’t care how or why the thing +happened I have always known that you must have been a genius from the +very first.” + +“Genius?” The older woman smiled, shaking her head. “I don’t think so, +Polly; I may have had some talent, although it took me many years to +prove it. Mostly it has all been just hard work with me and beginning at +seven, you see I have had a good many years. Do you think I became +famous immediately after I captured the audience and the bun? My dear, I +don’t believe I have ever known another girl as impossible as I was as +an actress after I finally grew up. I did not continue acting. My foster +mother married and I was then sent to school for a number of years. +Finally, when I was sixteen, I came back to the stage, though I did not +have a speaking part till five years later. You see, I was not pretty, +and I never got very big in spite of the buns. It was not until I played +in The Little Curate years after that I made any kind of reputation.” + +Margaret Adams leaned over and put both hands on Polly’s thin shoulders. + +“Don’t you see, dear, how silly, how almost wicked you will be if you +run away from the opportunity I am able to give you. I never had any one +to help me. It was all nothing but hard, wearing work and few friends, +with almost no encouragement.” + +“I see, Margaret,” Polly returned gravely. Then, getting up, she sat for +a few moments on the arm of her friend’s chair. “Yet I must give up the +chance you have given me just the same, dear, and I must go away from +New York tomorrow. I can’t tell you why I am going or where because I am +afraid you might dissuade me. Oh, I suppose it is foolish, even mad, of +me, but I would not be myself if I were reasonable, and I am doing what +seems wisest to me. I have written to mother and made her understand and +to Sylvia because she almost forced me into promising her that I would +keep her informed this winter where I was and what I was doing. I am not +confiding in any one else in the whole world. But if you think I am +ungrateful, Margaret, you think the very wrongest thing in the whole +world and I’ll prove it to you one day, no matter what it costs. The +most dreadful part is that I am not going to be able to see you for a +long time. That is the hardest thing. You will never know what you have +meant to me in these last few years when I have been away from home and +my old friends. But I believe you are lonely too, dear, now and then in +spite of your reputation and money and all the people who would like to +know you.” Polly got up now and began walking restlessly about the room, +not knowing how to say anything more without betraying her secret. + +She glanced at the photograph of Richard Hunt. + +“Are you and Mr. Hunt very special friends, Margaret?” Polly asked, an +idea having suddenly come into her mind. “I think he is half as nice as +you are and that is saying a great deal.” + +For a perceptible moment Margaret Adams did not reply and then she +seemed to hesitate, perhaps thinking of something else. “Yes, we have +been friends for a number of years, sometimes intimate ones, sometimes +not,” she returned finally. “But I don’t want to talk about Mr. Hunt. I +still want to be told what mad thing Polly O’Neill is planning to do +next.” + +“And if she can’t tell you?” Polly pleaded. + +“Then I suppose I will have to forgive her, because friendship without +faith is of very little value.” + +And at this instant Margaret Adams’ maid came in to announce luncheon. + + + + +CHAPTER V—Other Girls + + + +“No, I am not in the least unhappy or discontented either, Esther; I +don’t know how you can say such a thing,” Betty Ashton answered +argumentatively. “You talk as though I did not like living here with you +and Dick. You know perfectly well I might have gone south with mother +for the winter if I had not a thousand times preferred staying with +you.” Yet as she finished her speech, quite unconsciously Betty sighed. + +She and Esther were standing in a pretty living room that held a grand +piano, shelves of books, a desk and reading table; indeed, a room that +served all purposes except that of sleeping and dining. For Dick and +Esther had taken a small house on the outskirts of Boston and were +beginning their married life together as simply as possible, until Dr. +Ashton should make a name and fame for himself. + +Esther was now dressed for going out in a dark brown suit and hat with +mink furs and a muff. Happiness and the fulfilling of her dreams had +given her a beauty and dignity which her girlhood had not held. She was +larger and had a soft, healthy color. With the becoming costumes which +Betty now helped her select her red hair had become a beauty rather than +a disfigurement and the content in her eyes gave them more color and +depth, while about her always beautiful mouth the lines were so cheerful +and serene that strangers often paused to look at her the second time +and then went their way with a new sense of encouragement. + +Betty had no thought of going out, although it was a brilliant December +day. She had on a blue cashmere house dress and her hair was loosely +tucked up on her head in a confusion of half-tangled curls. She had +evidently been dusting, for she still held a dusting cloth in her hand. +Her manner was listless and uninterested, and she was pale and frowning +a little. Her gayety and vitality, temporarily at least, were playing +truant. + +“Still I know perfectly well, Betty dear, that you came to be with Dick +and me this winter not only because you wanted to come, but because you +knew your board would help us along while Dick is getting his start. So +it is perfectly natural that you should be lonely and miss your old +friends in Woodford. Of course, Meg isn’t far away here at Radcliffe, +but she is so busy with Harvard students as well as getting her degree +that you don’t see much of each other. Suppose you come now and take a +walk with me, or else you ride with Dick and I’ll go on the street car. +I am only going to church for a rehearsal. You know I am to sing a solo +on Sunday,” Esther continued in a persuasive tone. + +“Yes, and of course Dick would so much prefer taking his sister to ride +than taking his wife,” the other girl returned rather pettishly, +abstractedly rubbing the surface of the mahogany table which already +shone with much polishing. + +Esther shook her head. “Well, even though you won’t confess it, +something is the matter with you, Betty. You have not been a bit like +yourself since you were in Woodford last fall. Something must have +happened there. I don’t wish your confidence unless you desire to give +it me. But even while we were in New York, you were cold and stiff and +unlike yourself, especially to Anthony Graham, and I thought you used to +be such good friends.” + +There was no lack of color now in Betty Ashton’s face, although she +still kept her back turned to her older sister. + +“We are not special friends any longer,” she returned coldly, “though I +have nothing in the world against Anthony. Of course, I consider that he +is rather spoiled by his political success, being elected to the +Legislature when he is so young, but then that is not my affair.” Betty +now turned her face toward her sister. “I suppose I need something to +do—that is really what is the matter with me, Esther dear. Lately I have +been thinking that I am the only one of the old Sunrise Hill Camp Fire +girls who amounts to nothing. And I wanted so much to be loyal to our +old ideals. There is Meg at college, Sylvia and Nan both studying +professions, Edith married and Eleanor about to be. You have Dick, your +music and your house, Mollie is relieving her mother of the +responsibility of their big establishment and even little Faith had a +poem published in a magazine last week. It is hard to be the only +failure. Then of course there is Polly!” + +“Never a word from her in all this time?” + +“Not a line since the note I received from her last October asking me +not to be angry if I did not hear from her in a long time. No one has +the faintest idea what has become of her—none of her friends, not even +Mollie knows. I suppose she is all right though, because her mother is +satisfied about her. Yet I can’t help wondering and feeling worried. +What on earth could have induced Polly O’Neill to give up her splendid +chance with Miss Adams, a chance she has been working and waiting for +these two years?” Betty shrugged her shoulders. “It is stupid of me to +be asking such questions. No one yet has ever found the answer to the +riddle of Polly O’Neill. Perhaps that is why she is so fascinating. I +always do and say exactly what people expect, so no wonder I am +uninteresting. But there, run along, Esther, I hear Dick whistling for +you. Don’t make him late. Perhaps I’ll get over having ‘the dumps’ while +you are away.” + +Esther started toward the door. “If only I could think of something that +would interest or amuse you! I can’t get hold of Polly to cheer you up, +but I shall write Mrs. Wharton this very evening and ask her to let +Mollie come and spend Christmas with us. I believe Dick has already +asked Anthony Graham. You won’t mind, will you, Betty? We wanted to have +as many old friends as possible in our new house.” + +Once again Betty flushed uncomfortably, although she answered carelessly +enough. “Certainly I don’t mind. Why should I? Now do run along. Perhaps +I’ll make you and Dick a cake while you are gone. An old maid needs to +have useful accomplishments.” + +Esther laughed. “An old maid at twenty-one! Well, farewell, Spinster +Princess. I know you are a better cook and housekeeper than I am.” In +answer to her husband’s more impatient whistling Esther fled out of the +room, though still vaguely troubled. Betty was not in good spirits, yet +what could be the matter with her? Of course, she missed the stimulus of +Polly’s society; however, that in itself was not a sufficient +explanation. What could have happened between Betty and Anthony? +Actually, there had been a time when Dick had feared that they might +care seriously for each other. Thank goodness, that was a mistake! + +Left alone Betty slowly drew out a letter from inside her blue gown. It +had previously been opened; but she read it for the second time. Then, +lighting a tall candle on the mantel, she placed the letter in the +flame, watching it burn until finally the charred scraps were thrown +aside. + +Betty had evidently changed her mind in regard to her promise to her +sister. For instead of going into the kitchen a very little while later +she came downstairs dressed for the street. Opening the front door, she +went out into the winter sunshine and started walking as rapidly as +possible in the direction of one of the poorer quarters of the city. + + + + +CHAPTER VI—The Fire-Maker’s Desire + + +Outside the window of a small florist’s shop Betty paused for an +instant. Then she stepped in and a little later came out carrying half a +dozen red roses and a bunch of holly and fragrant cedar. Curiously +enough, her expression in this short time had changed. Perhaps the +flowers gave the added color to her face. She was repeating something +over to herself and half smiling; but, as there were no people on the +street except a few dirty children who were playing cheerfully in the +gutter, no one observed her eccentric behavior. + +[Illustration: She Came Out Carrying Red Roses, Holly and Cedar] + + “As fuel is brought to the fire + So I purpose to bring + My strength, + My ambition, + My heart’s desire, + My joy + And my sorrow + To the fire + Of humankind. + For I will tend, + As my fathers have tended, + And my father’s fathers, + Since time began, + The fire that is called + The love of man for man, + The love of man for God.” + +Betty’s delicate, eyebrows were drawn so close together that they +appeared almost heart shaped. “I fear I have only been tending the love +of a girl for herself these past few months, so perhaps it is just as +well that I should try to reform,” she thought half whimsically and yet +with reproach. “Anyhow, I shall telephone Meg Everett this very +afternoon, though I am glad Esther does not know the reason Meg and I +have been seeing so little of each other lately, and that the fault is +mine, not hers.” + +By this time the girl had arrived in front of a large, dull, brown-stone +building in the middle of a dingy street, with a subdued hush about it. +Above the broad entrance hung a sign, “Home For Crippled Children.” Here +for a moment Betty Ashton’s courage seemed to waver, for she paused +irresolutely, but a little later she entered the hall. A week before she +had promised an acquaintance at the church where Esther was singing to +come to the children’s hospital some day and amuse them by telling +stories. Since she had not thought seriously of her promise, although +intending to fulfill it when she had discovered stories worth the +telling. This morning while worrying over her own affair it had occurred +to her that the best thing she could do was to do something for some one +else. Hence the visit to the hospital. + +Yet here at the moment of her arrival Betty had not the faintest idea of +what she could do or say to make herself acceptable as a visitor. She +had a peculiar antipathy to being regarded as a conventional +philanthropist, one of the individuals with the instinct to patronize +persons less fortunate. + +Long ago when through her wealth and sympathy Betty had been able to do +helpful things for her acquaintances, always she had felt the same +shrinking sense of embarrassment, disliking to be thanked for +kindnesses. Yet actually in his last letter Anthony Graham had dared +remind her of their first meeting, an occasion she wished forgotten +between them both. + +The matron of the children’s hospital had been sent for and a little +later she was conducting Betty down a broad, bare hall and then ushering +her into a big sunlit room, not half so cheerless as its visitor had +anticipated. + +There were two large French windows on the southern side and a table +piled with books and magazines. Near one of these windows two girls were +seated in rolling chairs reading. They must have been about fourteen +years old and did not look particularly frail. Across from them were +four other girls, perhaps a year or so younger, engaged in a game of +parchesi. On the floor in the corner a pretty little girl was sewing on +her doll clothes and another was hopping merrily about on her crutches, +interfering with every one else. Only two of the cot beds in the room +were occupied, and to these Betty’s eyes turned instinctively. In one +she saw a happy little German maiden with yellow hair and pale pink +cheeks propped up on pillows, busily assorting half a dozen colors of +crochet cotton. In the other a figure was lying flat with the eyes +staring at the ceiling. And at the first glance there was merely an +effect of some one indescribably thin with a quantity of short, curly +dark hair spread out on the white pillow. + +The matron introduced Betty, told her errand, and then went swiftly +away, leaving her to do the rest for herself, and the rest appeared +exceedingly difficult. The older girls who were reading closed their +books politely and bowed. Yet it was self-evident that they would have +preferred going on with their books to hearing anything their visitor +might have to tell. Among the parchesi players there was a hurried +consultation and then one of them looked up. “We will be through with +our game in a few moments,” she explained with a note of interrogation +in her voice. + +“Oh, please don’t stop on my account,” the newcomer said hastily. + +On the big table Betty put down her roses and evergreens, not liking to +present them with any formality under the circumstances. She could see +that the little girl who was sewing in the corner was smiling a welcome +to her and that the little German Mädchen in bed was pleased with her +winter bouquet. For she had whispered, “Schön, wunderschön,” and stopped +assorting her crochet work. Then the child on crutches came across the +floor, and picking up one of the roses placed it on the pillow by the +dark-eyed girl, who showed not the least sign of having noticed the +attention. + +“She will look at it in a moment if she thinks we are not watching her,” +explained Betty’s one friendly confidant, motioning to a chair to +suggest that their visitor might sit down if she wished. + +It was an extremely awkward situation. Betty sat down. She had come to +make a call at a place where her society was not desired and though they +were only children, and she a grown woman, still she had no right to +intrude upon their privacy. She found herself blushing furiously. +Besides, what story had she to tell that would be of sufficient interest +to hold their attention? Had she not thought of at least a dozen, only +to discard them all as unsuitable? + +“I believe you were going to entertain us, I suppose with a fairy +story,” began one of the girls, still keeping her finger between the +covers of Little Women. It was hard luck to be torn away from that +delightful love scene between Laurie and Jo to hear some silly tale of +princes and princesses and probably a golden apple when one was fourteen +years old. However, this morning’s visitor was so pretty it was a +pleasure to look at her. Besides, she had on lovely clothes and was +dreadfully embarrassed. Moreover, she was sitting quite still and +helpless instead of poking about, asking tiresome questions as most +visitors did. One could not avoid feeling a little sorry for her instead +of having to receive her pity. + +Both wheeled chairs were now rolled over alongside Betty and Little +Women was closed and laid on the table. The next instant the parchesi +game was finished and the four players glanced with greater interest at +their guest. The girl who had been dancing about on her crutches hopped +up on the table. + +“I am ‘Cricket’ not on the hearth, but on the table at this moment,” she +confided gayly; “at least, that is what the girls here call me and it is +as good a name as any other. Now won’t you tell us your name?” + +“Betty Ashton,” the visitor answered, still feeling ill at ease and +angry and disgusted with herself for not knowing how to make the best of +the situation. Yet she need no longer have worried. For there was some +silent, almost indescribable influence at work in the little company +until almost irresistibly most of its occupants felt themselves drawn +toward the newcomer. Of course, Polly O’Neill would have described this +influence as the Princess’ charm and that is as good an explanation as +any other. But I think it was Betty Ashton’s ability to put herself in +other people’s places, to think and feel and understand for them and +with them. Now she knew that these eight girls, poor and ill though they +might be, did not want either her pity or her patronage. + +“Well, fire away with your tale, Miss Ashton,” suggested Cricket +somewhat impatiently, “and don’t make it too goody-goody if you can help +it. Most of us are anxious to hear.” Cricket had pretty gray eyes and a +great deal of fluffy brown hair, but otherwise the face was plain, +except for its clever, good-natured expression. She gave a sudden side +glance toward the figure on the bed only a dozen feet away and Betty’s +glance followed hers. + +She saw that the red rose had been taken off the pillow and that the +eyes that had been staring at the ceiling were gazing toward her. +However, their look was anything but friendly. + +For some foolish, unexplainable reason the girl made Betty think of +Polly. Yet this child’s eyes were black instead of blue, her hair short +and curly instead of long and dark. And though Polly had often been +impatient and dissatisfied, thank heaven she had never had that +expression of sullen anger and of something else that Betty could not +yet understand. + +For Betty had of course to turn again toward her auditors and smile an +entirely friendly and charming smile. + +“May I take off my hat first? It may help me to think,” she said. Then +when Cricket had helped her remove both her coat and hat she sat down +again and sighed. + +“Do you know I have come here under absolutely false pretences? I +announced that I had a story to tell, but I simply can’t think of +anything that would entertain you in the least and I should so hate to +be a bore.” + +Then in spite of her twenty-one years, Betty Ashton seemed as young as +any girl in the room. Moreover, she was exquisitely pretty. Her auburn +hair, now neatly coiled, shone gold from the light behind her. Her +cheeks were almost too flushed and every now and then her dark lashes +drooped, shading the frank friendliness of her gray eyes. She wore a +walking skirt, beautifully tailored, and a soft white silk blouse with a +knot of her same favorite blue velvet pinned at her throat with her +torch-bearer’s pin. + +Agnes Edgerton, the former reader of Little Women, made no effort to +conceal her admiration. “Oh, don’t tell us a story,” she protested, “we +read such a lot of books. Tell us something about yourself. Real people +are so much more interesting.” + +“But there isn’t anything very interesting about me, I am far too +ordinary a person,” Betty returned. Then she glanced almost desperately +about the big room. There was a mantel and a fireplace, but no fire, as +the room was warmed with steam radiators. However, on the mantel stood +three brass candlesticks holding three white candles and these may have +been the source of Betty’s inspiration. + +Outside the smoky chimney tops of old Boston houses and factories reared +their heads against the winter sky, and yet Betty began her story +telling with the question: “I wonder if you would like me to tell you of +a summer twelve girls spent together at Sunrise Hill?” For in the glory +of the early morning, with the Camp Fire cabin at its base, Sunrise Hill +had suddenly flashed before her eyes like a welcome vision. + + + + +CHAPTER VII—“The Flames in the Wind” + + +When an hour later Betty Ashton finished her story of the first years of +the Camp Fire girls at Sunrise Hill on the table nearby three candles +were burning and about them was a circle of eager faces. + +Moreover, from the cedar which Betty had bought as a part of her winter +bouquet a miniature tree had been built as the eternal Camp Fire emblem +and there also were the emblems of the wood gatherer, fire maker and +torch bearer constructed from odd sticks which Cricket had mysteriously +produced in the interval of the story telling. + +“That is the most delightful experience that I ever heard of girls +having, a whole year out of doors with a chance to do nice things for +yourself, a fairy story that was really true,” Cricket sighed finally. +“Funny, but I never heard of a Camp Fire club and I have never been to +the country.” + +“You have never been to the country?” Betty repeated her words slowly, +staring first at Cricket and then at the other girls. No one else seemed +surprised by the remark. + +In answer the younger girl flushed. “I told you I had not,” she repeated +in a slightly sarcastic tone. “But please don’t look as if the world had +come to an end. Lots of poor people don’t do much traveling and we have +five children in the family besides me. Of course, I couldn’t go on +school picnics and Sunday-school excursions like the others.” Here an +annoyed, disappointed expression crept into Cricket’s eyes and she grew +less cheerful. + +“Please don’t spoil our nice morning together, Miss Ashton, by beginning +to pity me. I hate people who are sorry for themselves. That is the +reason we girls have liked you so much, you have been so different from +the others.” + +Quietly Betty began putting on her wraps. She had been watching +Cricket’s face all the time she had been talking of Sunrise Hill, of the +grove of pine trees and the lake. Yet if the thought had leapt into her +mind that she would like to show her new acquaintance something more +beautiful than the chimney tops of Boston, it was now plain that she +must wait until they were better friends. + +“But you’ll come again soon and tell us more?” Cricket next asked, +picking up their visitor’s muff and pressing it close to her face with +something like a caress. Then more softly, “I did not mean to be rude.” + +Betty nodded. “Of course I’ll come if you wish me. You see, I am a +stranger in Boston and lonely. But I’ll never have anything half so +interesting to tell you as the history of our club with such girls as +Polly O’Neill, Esther and Meg and the rest for heroines. Nothing in my +whole life has ever been such fun. Do you know I was wondering——” + +Here a slight noise from the figure on the cot near them for an instant +distracted Betty’s attention. Yet glancing in that direction, there +seemed to have been no movement. Not for a single moment did she believe +the little girl had been listening to a word she was saying. For she had +never caught another glance straying in her direction. + +“You were wondering what?” Agnes Edgerton demanded a little impatiently +and Betty thought she saw the same expression on all the faces about +her. + +“Wondering if you would like my sister, Esther, to come and sing our old +Camp Fire songs to you some day?” This time there was no mistaking it. +Her audience did look disappointed. “And wondering something else, only +perhaps I had best wait, you may not think it would be fun, or perhaps +it might be too much work—” Betty’s face was flushed, again she seemed +very little older than the other girls about her. + +“Yes, we would,” Agnes Edgerton answered gravely, having by this time +quite forgotten the interruption of Little Women in her new interest. “I +know what you mean, because almost from the start I have been wondering +the same thing. Do you think we girls could start a Camp Fire club here +among ourselves, if you would show us how? Why, it would make everything +so much easier and happier. There are some of the Camp Fire things we +could not do, of course, but the greater part of them——” + +Here, with a sudden exclamation of pleasure, Cricket bounced off her +perch on the table and began dancing about in a fashion which showed how +she had earned her name. + +“Hurrah for the Shut-In Camp Fire Girls and the fairy princess who +brought us the idea!” she exclaimed. Then, surveying Betty more +critically, “You know you do look rather like a princess. Are you one in +disguise?” + +Betty laughed. She had not felt so cheerful in months. For with Agnes +and Cricket on her side, the thought that had slowly been growing in her +mind would surely bear fruit. But how strangely her old title sounded! +How it did bring back the past Camp Fire days! + +“No,” she returned, “I am not a princess or anything in the least like +one. But we can all have new names in our Camp Fire club if we like, +select any character or idea we choose and try to live up to it. Next +time I come I will try and explain things better and bring you our +manual. Now I really must hurry.” + +Betty Ashton was moving quickly toward the door, accompanied by Cricket, +when a hand reached suddenly out from the side of a bed clutching at her +skirt. + +“I would rather have that Polly girl come the next time instead of you; +I am sure I should like her much better,” the voice said with a +decidedly foreign accent. Then Betty looked quickly into the pair of +black eyes that had been so relentlessly fixed upon the ceiling. + +“I don’t wonder you would rather have the Polly girl instead of me,” she +returned smiling; “most people would, and perhaps you may see her some +day if I can find her. Only I don’t know where she is just at present.” + +So this strange child had been listening to her story-telling after all. +Curious that her fancy had lighted upon Polly, but perhaps the name +carried its own magic. + +Out in the hall Betty whispered to her companion: + +“Tell me that little girl’s name, won’t you, Cricket? I didn’t dare ask +her. What a strange little thing she is, and yet she makes me think of +an old friend. Already I believe she has taken a dislike to me.” + +The other girl shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t be flattered, she dislikes +everybody and won’t have anything to do with the rest of us if she can +help it. Yet her name is Angelique, that is all we know. ‘The Angel’ we +call her when we wish to make her particularly furious. She is French, +and we believe an orphan, because no one comes to see her, though she +has letters now and then, which she hides under her pillow,” Cricket +concluded almost spitefully, since curiosity was one of her leading +traits. + +On her way back home, oddly enough, Betty found her attention divided +between two subjects. The first was natural enough; she was greatly +pleased with her morning’s experience. Perhaps, if she could interest +her new acquaintances in forming a Camp Fire, her winter need not be an +altogether unhappy and dissatisfied one. + +There had been a definite reason for her leaving Woodford, which she +hoped was known to no one but herself. It had been making her very +unhappy, but now she intended rising above it if possible. Of course, +work in which she felt an interest was the best possible cure; there was +no use in preaching such a transparent philosophy as Esther had earlier +in the day. But she had no inclination toward pursuing a definite career +such as Sylvia, Nan and Polly had chosen. The money Judge Maynard had +left her relieved her from this necessity. But the name of Polly +immediately set her thinking along the second direction. What was it in +the unfortunate child at the hospital that had brought Polly so forcibly +before her mind? There was no definite resemblance between them, only a +line here and there in the face or a slight movement. Could Polly even +be conscious of the girl’s existence? For Betty felt that there were +many unexplainable forms of mental telegraphy by which one might +communicate a thought to a friend closely in sympathy with one’s own +nature. + +But by this time, as she was within a few feet of Esther’s and Dick’s +home, Betty smiled to herself. She had merely become interested in this +particular child because she seemed more unfortunate and less content +than the others and she meant to do what she could to help her, no +matter what her personal attitude might be. As for Polly’s influence in +the matter, it of course amounted to nothing. Was she not always +wondering what had become of her best-loved friend and hoping she might +soon be taken into her confidence? + + + + +CHAPTER VIII—Afternoon Tea and a Mystery + + +Ten days later, returning from another of her now regular visits to the +hospital, Betty Ashton was surprised by hearing voices inside the living +room just as she was passing the closed door. Possibly Esther had +invited some of their new acquaintances in to tea and had forgotten to +mention it. Now she could hear her own name being called. + +Her hair had been blown in every direction by the east wind and she had +been sitting on the floor at the hospital, building a camp fire in the +old chimney place, with the grate removed, according to the most +approved camping methods. Straightening her hat and rubbing her face for +an instant with her handkerchief, Betty made a casual entrance into the +room, trying to assume an agreeable society manner to make up for her +other deficiencies. + +It was five o’clock and growing dark, although as yet the lights were +not on. Esther was sitting at a little round wicker table pouring tea +and Meg, who had evidently lately arrived, was standing near waiting to +receive her cup. But in the largest chair in the room with her back +turned to the opening door was a figure that made Betty’s heart behave +in the most extraordinary fashion. The hair was so black, the figure so +graceful that for the moment it seemed it could only be one +person—Polly! Betty’s welcome was no less spontaneous, however, when +Mollie O’Neill, jumping up, ran quickly toward her. + +“No, I am not Polly, Betty dear! I only wish I were, for then we should +at least know what had become of her. But Esther has asked me to spend +Christmas with you and I hope you are half as glad to see me as I am to +be with you.” + +Half an hour later, Esther having disappeared to see about dinner as Meg +was also to remain for the night, the three old friends dropped down on +sofa cushions before the fire, Camp Fire fashion, and with the tea pot +between them began talking all at the same time. + +“Do, do tell me everything about Woodford,” Betty demanded. “I never +shall love any place half so well as my native town and I have not heard +a word except through letters, for ages.” + +Ceasing her own questioning of Meg in regard to the pleasures of college +life, Mollie at once turned her serious blue eyes upon her other friend. +“Haven’t heard of Woodford, Betty!” she exclaimed, “what on earth do you +mean? Then what do you and Anthony Graham talk about when he comes to +Boston? I know he has been here twice lately, because he told me so +himself and said you were well.” + +Suddenly in Esther’s pretty sitting room all conversation abruptly ended +and only the ticking of the clock could be heard. Fortunately the room +was still in shadow, for unexpectedly Meg’s cheeks had turned scarlet, +as she glanced toward the window with a perfectly unnecessary expression +of unconcern. But Betty did not change color nor did her gray eyes +falter for an instant from those of her friend. Yet before she received +her answer Mollie was conscious that she must in some fashion have said +the wrong thing. + +Yet what could have been the fault with her question? It was a perfectly +natural one, as Betty and Anthony had always been extremely intimate in +the old days, ever since Anthony had lived for a year at Mrs. Ashton’s +house. Mollie appreciated the change in the atmosphere, the coldness and +restraint that had not been there before. Naturally she would have +preferred to change the subject before receiving a reply, but she had +not the quickness and adaptability of many girls, perhaps because she +was too simple and sincere herself. + +“Anthony Graham does not come to see me—us, Mollie,” Betty corrected +herself, “when he makes his visits to Boston these days. You see he is +now Meg’s friend more than mine. But you must remember, Mollie dear, +that Meg has always had more admirers than the rest of us and now she is +a full-fledged college girl, of course she is irresistible.” + +Betty Ashton spoke without the least suggestion of anger or envy and yet +Meg turned reproachfully toward her. Her usually gay and friendly +expression had certainly changed, she seemed embarrassed and annoyed. + +“You know that isn’t true, Princess, and never has been,” Meg returned, +rumpling her pretty yellow hair as she always did in any kind of +perplexity or distress. “I never have even dreamed of being so charming +as you are. You know that John has always said——” + +Alas, if only Polly O’Neill had been present Mollie might in some +fashion have been persuaded not to speak at this unlucky instant! But +Polly had always cruelly called her an “enfant terrible.” Now Mollie was +too puzzled to appreciate the situation and so determined to get at the +bottom of it. + +“But does Anthony come to see you and not Betty?” Mollie demanded +inexorably of the embarrassed girl. + +Meg nodded. “Yes, but it is only because Betty——” + +“Please don’t try to offer any explanation, Meg, I would rather you +would not. It is most unnecessary,” Betty now interrupted gently, in a +tone that few persons in her life had ever opposed. Then, reaching over, +she began pouring out fresh cups of tea for her friends. “You need not +worry, Mollie, Anthony and I are perfectly good friends. We have not +quarreled, only he has not so much time these days now he is getting to +be such a distinguished person. But do tell me whether you have the +faintest idea of what Polly O’Neill is doing, or where she is, or a +single solitary thing about her?” + +Always Mollie’s attention could be distracted by any mention of her +sister’s name and it may be that Betty was counting upon this. For Meg +had gotten up and strolled over toward the window, leaving the two other +girls comparatively alone. + +Bluer and more serious than ever grew Mollie’s big, innocent eyes. + +“Polly is well, or at least says she is. That much mother confides in +me,” Mollie replied soberly. “But where Polly is or what she is doing I +have no more idea than you have, not so much perhaps. You were always +better at understanding her than I have ever been. But then even Miss +Adams has never heard a line from Polly since she told her good-by in +New York several months ago. By the way, Betty, Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt +are going to be playing here in Boston during the holidays. Won’t you +and Esther ask them to your Christmas dinner party?” + +Betty at this moment got up from the floor. “Yes, I have seen the +notices of their coming and I am glad. We can have an almost home +Christmas, can’t we?” Then she walked over toward the window where Meg +had continued standing, gazing with no special interest out into the +street. The high wind was still blowing and with it occasional flurries +of wet snow. + +“Do let us draw down the blinds, Meg, it is getting late and is not very +cheerful outside.” With apparent unconsciousness Betty slipped an arm +about her friend’s waist and for another instant they both stared out +into the almost deserted street. + +Across on the farther sidewalk some one was standing, as though waiting +for a companion. Meg had seen the person before but with no special +attention. She was too deeply engaged with her own thoughts. Betty was +differently influenced, for the figure had an oddly pathetic and lonely +attitude. She could not see the face and the moment she began closing +the living-room curtain the figure walked away. + +Meg chose this same instant for giving her friend a sudden ardent +embrace and Betty’s attention would in any case have been distracted. + +With the lights under the rose-colored shades now glowing, and Mollie +asking no more embarrassing questions, the atmosphere of the living room +soon grew cheerful again. For Mollie had a great deal of Woodford news +to tell. Eleanor Meade was getting a beautiful trousseau for her +marriage with Frank Wharton in the spring and she and Mollie had been +sewing together almost every day. Eleanor had given up her old ambition +to become a celebrated artist and was using her taste for color and +design in the preparation of her clothes. Frank was in business with his +father and would have a good deal of money, and although Eleanor’s +family was poor she did not intend to have less in her trousseau than +other girls. Her own skill and work should make up for it. + +Billy Webster was succeeding better each month with the management of +his farm since his father’s death. Now and then Mollie went to call on +Mrs. Webster and not long ago she and Billy had walked out to Sunrise +cabin. The little house was in excellent condition, although no one had +lived in it for several years. + +“It is wonderfully kind,” Mollie explained, “but Billy has his own men +look after our cabin and make any repairs that are necessary. He even +keeps the grass cut and the weeds cleared from about the place, so any +one of us could go out there to live with only a few hours preparation,” +she ended with her usual happy smile. + +For Mollie O’Neill was not self-conscious and did not guess for a moment +that while she talked both Betty and Meg were engaged with the same +thought. Was there still nothing more between Mollie and Billy than +simple friendliness? Once they had believed that there might be +something, but now the time was passing and they were both free, Mollie +at home helping her mother with the house, Billy the head of his own +farm, and yet nothing had happened. Well, possibly nothing ever would +and they might always simply remain friends, until one or the other +married some one else. + +Suddenly Mollie started and her color faded. + +“I am awfully sorry, Betty, I know how silly and nervous you and Polly +used always to think me, but look, please!” She spoke under her breath +and pointed toward the closed blind. + +There, sharply defined, was the shadow of a head apparently straining to +see inside the room. It had the effect of a gray silhouette. + +The two other girls also changed color, for the effect was uncanny. Then +Betty laughed somewhat nervously. + +“It must be Dick, of course, trying to frighten us, but how silly and +unlike him!” She then walked as quickly and quietly toward the window as +possible and without a sign or word of warning drew up the curtain. Some +one must have instantly jumped backward, for by the time Mollie and Meg +had also reached the window they could only catch the outline of a +disappearing figure. It was not possible in the darkness to decide +whether it was a girl or a young boy. + +“Well, it wasn’t Dick anyhow,” said Betty finally; “probably some child. +However it might be just as well to go and tell Dick and Esther. They +would not enjoy a sneak thief carrying off their pretty wedding +presents. And besides it is time for us to get ready for dinner and I +haven’t yet had time to tell you about my new Camp Fire.” + + + + +CHAPTER IX—Preparations + + +A few mornings afterwards a letter was handed to Betty Ashton at the +breakfast table, bearing a type-written address. Carelessly opening it +under the impression that it must be a printed circular she found three +lines, also type-written, on a sheet of paper and with no signature. It +read: + +“Show whatever kindness is possible to the little French girl, +Angelique, at the hospital. Pardon her peculiarities and oblige a +friend.” + +Without a comment Betty immediately passed the letter to Mollie O’Neill, +who then gave it to Esther. Esther turned it over to Dr. Ashton, who +frowned and straightway ceased eating his breakfast. + +“I don’t like anonymous letters, Betty, even if they seem to be +perfectly harmless and have the best intentions. Besides, who knows of +your going to the hospital except our few intimate friends? I wonder if +this queer child you have spoken of could be responsible for this letter +herself. One never knows!” + +Rather irritably Betty shook her head. “What an absurd supposition, +Dick. In the first place the child dislikes me so that she will scarcely +speak to me while I am at the hospital. She seems to like Mollie a great +deal better. Moreover, she is the only one of the group of girls I made +friends with who still refuses to come into our Camp Fire. If she wished +my friendship she might at least begin by being civil.” + +Always as in former days Esther was quick to interpose between any +chance of a heated argument between Dick and his sister. Understanding +this they both usually laughed at her efforts. For as long as they lived +Dick would scold Betty when he believed her in the wrong, while she +would protest and then follow his advice or discard it as seemed wisest. + +“But, Betty dear, don’t you consider that there is a possibility that +this Angelique may have spoken to some relative or friend of your visits +to the hospital, who has written you this letter in consequence. You +see, they may think of you as very wealthy,” Esther now suggested. + +But before Betty could reply, Mollie O’Neill, who during the moment’s +discussion had been thinking the question over quietly, turned her eyes +on her friend. + +“Have you any idea who has written you, Betty?” she queried. + +For no explainable reason Betty flushed. Then with entire honesty she +answered, “Of course not.” Surely the idea that had come into her mind +was too absurd to give serious consideration. + +“By the way, I wonder what I could be expected to do for Angelique?” +Betty inquired the next instant, showing that her letter had not failed +to make an impression, no matter if it were anonymous. “She has the best +kind of care at the hospital; only she seems desperately unhappy over +something and won’t tell any one what it is. I know, of course, that she +is ill, but the matron tells me she is not suffering and the other girls +seem quite different. They are as brave and gay as if there were nothing +the matter. Cricket is the best sport I ever knew.” + +Dr. Ashton got up from the table, leaning over to kiss Esther good-by. + +“Well, don’t do anything rash, Lady Bountiful,” he protested to Betty. +“Who knows but you may decide to adopt the little French girl before the +day is over just because of a mysterious letter. I must confess I am +extremely glad Judge Maynard’s will only permits you to spend your +income or you would keep things lively for all of us. I’ve an idea that +it must have been Anthony Graham who put Judge Maynard up to making that +kind of will. He must have remembered how you insisted on thrusting your +money upon him at your first meeting and wished to save you from other +impostors.” + +Dick was laughing and it was perfectly self-evident that he was only +saying what he had to tease his sister. For surely the Princess’ +generosities had been a joke among her family and friends ever since she +was a little girl. And she was still in the habit of rescuing every +forlorn person she saw, often with somewhat disastrous results to +herself. + +Betty jumped up quickly from her place at the table, her face suddenly +grown white and her lips trembling. + +“I won’t have you say things like that to me, Dick,” she returned +angrily. “Anthony Graham had nothing in the world to do with the money +Judge Maynard gave me, he has told you a hundred times he had not. But +just the same I won’t have you call him an impostor. Just because you +don’t approve of me is no reason why you should——” But finding her voice +no longer steady Betty started hastily for the door, only to feel her +brother’s arms about her holding her so close she could not move while +he stared closely at her downcast face. + +“What is the matter, Betty?” he asked quite seriously now. “It isn’t in +the least like you to get into a temper over nothing. You know perfectly +well that while all of us may reproach you for being so generous we +would not have you different for anything in the world. As for my +thinking Anthony Graham an impostor, the thing is too absurd for any +comment. You know he is my friend and one of the cleverest fellows in +New Hampshire. Some day he will be a Senator at Washington, but I don’t +think he’ll mind even then remembering who gave him his start. When he +comes here at Christmas I mean to ask him and to tell him you thought it +necessary to defend him against me.” + +But by this time Betty had managed to pull herself away from Dick’s +clasp. “If you speak my name to him I shall never forgive you as long as +I live,” she announced and this time managed to escape from the room. + +Utterly mystified Dick Ashton gazed at his wife. + +“What on earth!” he began helplessly. And Esther nodded at Mollie. + +“Won’t you find Betty?” she asked. + +Mollie had already risen, but she did not go at once in search of her +friend, for although Mollie O’Neill may not have had as much imagination +as certain other girls she had a sympathy that perhaps served even +better. + +Out into the hall Esther followed her husband, and after helping him +into his overcoat she stood for an instant with her hand resting on his +shoulder. In spite of the change in her circumstances and in spite of +her own talent and Dick’s adoration there was never a day when Esther +was not in her heart of hearts both humble and deeply puzzled by her +husband’s ardent affection. Of course neither he nor Betty ever allowed +her to disparage herself these days, but that had not changed the +essential elements in Esther’s lovely nature. + +“Dick, don’t try to understand,” she now said. “I don’t think we have +exactly the right. Anthony and Betty were friends once, you know, and +you were desperately afraid they might be something more. Well, I don’t +think there is anything between them any longer; whether they have +quarreled or not is exactly what I don’t know. Only if Betty should want +to do any special thing for this little French girl, please don’t oppose +her. It would be an interest for her and you know we don’t want her to +spend her money on us. She will, you know, if she has any idea that +there is anything either of us wish that we cannot afford to get. +Already she says that she is determined to be an old maid so that her +money can go to——” + +Esther blushed but could not have finished her speech as her husband’s +kiss at this instant made it impossible. + +Dick turned to go, but came back almost immediately. + +“See here, Esther, I would not think of interfering with any sensible +thing the Princess may wish to do with her money. I only can’t let her +be reckless. But about Anthony Graham. If you think he has treated Betty +badly or hurt her feelings, or goodness knows what, well I won’t stand +it for a single little instant. He will have to hear what I think of +him——” + +Positively Esther could feel herself turning pale with horror at her +husband’s remark, but fortunately she had the good sense to laugh. + +“Richard Ashton,” she said, “I am not often firm with you, but if you +ever dare—Oh goodness, was there ever anything on earth quite so stupid +as a man can be! No matter what may or may not have happened between +Betty and Anthony there is nothing that you or I can do or say. You know +we interfered as hard as we possibly could with Betty’s German lover. We +must leave the poor child to manage some of her own affairs alone. +Anthony seems to be devoting himself to Meg these days. But he will be +in Boston at Christmas, so perhaps if it is only a quarrel that has come +between them they may make it up. But how do you suppose I am ever going +to be able to get through with all my Christmas church music and give a +dinner party with Miss Adams and Mr. Hunt present and perhaps have +Betty’s Camp Fire girls here for an afternoon? The child has some scheme +or other of taking them for a drive so that they may be able to see the +Christmas decorations and then bringing them home for a party.” + +“If it is going to tire you, Esther, we will cut it all out,” was Dr. +Ashton’s final protest as he disappeared to begin his morning’s work. +Dick had been taken into partnership with an older physician and his +office was several blocks away. + +At his departure Esther breathed a sigh of relief. At least by dwelling +on her own difficulties she had taken his mind away from Betty’s odd +mood. She did not understand her sister herself, but certainly she must +be left alone. + +Late that afternoon when Betty and Mollie had been doing some Christmas +shopping in Boston and were sitting side by side on the car, Betty +whispered unexpectedly: + +“See here, Mollie, do you think by any chance it is possible that Polly +O’Neill could have written me that letter about the little French girl? +Yes, I realize the question sounds as though I had lost my mind, as +Polly may be in South America for all I know. Besides, the child never +heard of Polly until I mentioned her in talking of our old club. But +somehow, for a reason I can’t even try to explain, I keep thinking of +Polly these days as if there was something she wanted me to do and yet +did not exactly know how to ask it of me. It used often to be like that, +you know, Mollie, when we were younger. Polly and I could guess what was +in the other’s mind. We often made a kind of game of it, just for fun. +Anyhow you will have to try and see what is making that poor child so +miserable, as she seems to like you better than she does me. Perhaps it +is because you are so like Polly.” + +Quietly Mollie nodded. Of course Betty was absurd in her supposition; +yet, as always, she was perfectly willing to help in any practical way +that either her erratic sister or Betty suggested. + + + + +CHAPTER X—More Puzzles + + +On Christmas eve Mollie and Betty each received notes written and signed +by Polly herself, postmarked New York City, accompanying small gifts. +Neither letter made any direct reference to what Polly herself was doing +nor showed that she had any knowledge of what was interesting her sister +or friend. Her information in regard to Mollie’s presence in Boston, she +explained, had been received from her mother. + +Well, of course, it was good news to hear that at least Polly was alive +and not altogether forgetful of her old affections, yet there was no +other satisfaction in the communications from her. Indeed the two +letters were much alike and on reading her own each girl felt much the +same emotion. They were loving enough and almost gay, yet the love did +not seem accompanied by any special faith to make it worth while, nor +did the gayety sound altogether sincere. + +Betty’s merely said: + + “My Christmas thought is with you now and always, dear Princess. + Trust me and love me if you can. You may not approve of what I am + doing, but some day I shall try to explain it to you. I can’t ask + you to write me unless you will send the letter to Mother and she + will forward it. Do nothing rash, dear Princess, Betty, friend, + while I am not near to look after you. Your always devoted Polly.” + +With a little laugh that was not altogether a cheerful one, Betty also +turned this letter over to Mollie. The two girls were in Betty’s bedroom +with no one else present. + +“Like Polly, wasn’t it, to tell me not to do anything rash when she was +not around to run things?” Betty said with a shrug of her shoulders and +a little arching of her delicate brows. + +Mollie looked at her admiringly. Betty had not seemed altogether as she +used to be in the first few days after her arrival, but recently, with +the coming of the holidays and the arrival of their old friends, she +certainly was as pretty as ever. Now she had on an ancient blue silk +dressing gown which was an especial favorite and her red-brown hair was +loose over her shoulders. The two friends were resting after a strenuous +day. In a few hours Esther was to give her first real dinner party and +they had all been working together toward the great event. + +“But why should Polly warn you against rashness under any +circumstances?” Mollie returned, after having glanced over the note. +“You are not given to doing foolish things as she is. I suppose because +Polly is so dreadfully rash herself she believes the same of other +people.” + +There was no answer at first except that the Princess settled herself +more deeply in her big Morris chair. Mollie was lying on the bed near +by. Then she laughed again. + +“Oh, you need not be so sure of my good sense, Mavourneen, as Polly used +to call you. I may not be rash in the same way that old Pollykins is, +perhaps because I have not the same courage, yet I may not be so far +away from it as you think. Only I wish Polly found my society as +necessary to her happiness as hers is to mine. I simply dread the +thought of a Christmas without her, and yet she is probably having a +perfectly blissful time somewhere with never a thought of us.” + +Hearing a sudden knock at their door at this instant Mollie tumbled off +the bed to answer it. Yet not before she had time to reply, “I am not so +sure Polly is as happy as you think.” Then the little maid standing +outside in the hall thrust into her arms four boxes of flowers. + +Nearly breathless with excitement Mollie immediately dropped them all +into her friend’s lap. + +“See what a belle you are, Betty Ashton!” she exclaimed. “Here you are +almost a stranger in Boston and yet being showered with attentions.” + +Gravely Betty read aloud the address on the first box. + +“Miss Mollie O’Neill, care of Dr. Richard Ashton,” she announced, +extending the package to the other girl with a mock solemnity and then +laughing to see Mollie’s sudden blush and change of expression. A moment +later the second box, also inscribed with Mollie’s name, was presented +her. But the final two were addressed to Betty, so that the division was +equal. + +It was Mollie, however, who first untied the silver cord that bound the +larger of her two boxes, and Betty was quite sure that the roses inside +were no pinker or prettier than her friend’s cheeks. + +“They are from Billy,” Mollie said without any hesitation or pretense of +anything but pleasure. “He says that he has sent a great many so that I +may wear them tonight and tomorrow and then again tomorrow night to the +dance, as I care for pink roses more than any flower. It was good of Meg +to ask Billy to come over for her College holiday dance. I should have +been dreadfully embarrassed with one of Meg’s strange Harvard friends +for my escort. And Billy says he would have been abominably lonely in +Woodford with all of us away.” + +Mollie’s second gift was a bunch of red and white carnations, bearing +Anthony Graham’s card. “How kind of Anthony to remember me,” she +protested, “when he was never a special friend of mine. But of course he +sent me the flowers because I happened to be yours and Esther’s guest +and he is coming here to dinner tonight with Meg. But do please be less +slow and let me see what you have received.” + +For almost reluctantly Betty Ashton seemed to be opening her gifts. +Nevertheless she could not conceal a quick cry of admiration at what she +saw first. The box was an oblong purple one tied with gold ribbon. But +here at Christmastide, in the midst of Boston’s cold and dampness, lay a +single great bunch of purple violets and another of lilies of the +valley. Hurriedly Betty picked up the card that lay concealed beneath +them. Just as Mollie’s had, it bore Anthony Graham’s name, and formal +good wishes, but something else as well which to any one else would have +appeared an absurdity. For it was a not very skilful drawing of a small +ladder with a boy at the foot of it. + +“Gracious, it must be true that John is making a fortune in his broker +shop in Wall Street, as Meg assures me!” Betty exclaimed gayly the next +moment, thrusting her smaller box of flowers away, to peep into the +largest of the four offerings. “I did not realize John had yet arrived +in Boston, Meg was not sure he would be able to be with her for the +holidays. It is kind of him, I am sure, to remember me, isn’t it Mollie? +And there is not much danger of my being unable to wear John’s flowers +with any frock I have, he has sent such a variety. I believe I’ll use +the mignonette tonight, it is so fragrant and unconventional.” + +Betty spoke almost sentimentally and this state of mind was so unusual +to her that for a moment Mollie only stared in silence. However, as her +friend disappeared into the bathroom to begin her toilet for the evening +Mollie remarked placidly, “The violets would look ever so much prettier +with your blue dress.” + +Esther’s round mahogany table seated exactly twelve guests. On her right +was Richard Hunt, the actor, with Anthony Graham on her left, next him +was Meg, then Billy Webster and Mollie O’Neill. To the right of Dr. +Ashton, Margaret Adams had the place of honor, then came a Harvard law +student who was a special admirer of Meg’s, then a new friend of +Esther’s and then John Everett and Betty Ashton. As the entire +arrangement of the company had been made through Betty’s suggestion, +doubtless she must have chosen the companions at dinner that she most +desired. Polly’s friend, Richard Hunt, sat on her other side with Meg +and Anthony nearly opposite. + +There had been no lack of cordiality on Betty’s part toward any one of +their visitors. On Anthony’s arrival with Meg Everett she had thanked +him for his gift in her most charming manner, but had made no reference +to the card which he had enclosed nor to the fact that she preferred +wearing other flowers than his. Meg was looking unusually pretty tonight +and very frankly Betty told her so. Her soft blond hair was parted on +the side with a big loose coil at the back and a black velvet ribbon +encircled her head. Professor Everett was not wealthy and Meg’s college +education was costing him a good deal, therefore she had ordinarily only +a moderate sum of money for buying her clothes and no special talent for +making the best of them. However, this evening her dress had been a +Christmas gift from her brother John and, as it was of soft white silk +and lace, particularly becoming to Meg’s pretty blondness. Her blue eyes +were shining with a kind of veiled light and her color came and went +swiftly. She seemed just as ingenuous and impulsive as she had ever +been, until it was difficult to know what must be the truth about her. +Several times during the evening Esther told herself sternly that of +course Meg had a perfect right to accept Anthony Graham’s attentions if +she liked, for there had never been any definite understanding between +him and her sister, and indeed that she had disapproved of him in the +past. Yet now Anthony Graham, in spite of his origin, might have been +considered a good match for almost any girl. He was a distinguished +looking fellow, with his brilliant foreign coloring, his dark hair and +high forehead. Esther recalled having once felt keenly sorry for him +because the other girls and young men in their group of friends had not +considered him their social or intellectual equal. Now he was entirely +self-possessed and sure of himself. Yet he did seem almost too grave for +their happy Betty; possibly it was just as well he had transferred his +interest to Meg. No one could ever succeed in making Meg Everett serious +for any great length of time. She was still the same happy-go-lucky girl +of their old Camp Fire days whom “a higher education” was not altering +in the least. Yet the “higher education” may have given her subjects of +conversation worthy of discussing with Anthony, for certainly they spent +a great part of the time talking in low tones to each other. + +Betty appeared in the gayest possible spirits and had never looked +prettier. Richard Hunt seemed delighted with her, and John Everett had +apparently returned to the state of admiration which he had always felt +when they had been boy and girl together in Woodford. Indeed Betty did +feel unusually animated and excited; she could hardly have known why +except that she had spent a rather dull winter and that she was +extremely excited at seeing her old friends again. And then she and Mr. +Hunt had so much to say to each other on a subject that never failed to +be interesting—Polly! + +Neither he nor Miss Adams had the faintest idea of what had become of +that erratic young person, although Margaret Adams had also received a +Christmas letter from her. But where she was or what she was doing, no +one had the faintest idea. It was evident that Mr. Hunt highly +disapproved of Polly’s proceedings, and although until the instant +before Betty had felt exactly as he did, now she rallied at once to her +friend’s defense. + +“Mr. Hunt, you must not think for an instant that Polly was ungrateful +either to Miss Adams or to you for your many kindnesses, only she had to +do things in her own Polly fashion, one that other people could not +exactly understand. But if one had ever been fond of Polly,” Betty +insisted, “you were apt to keep on caring for her for some reason or +other which you could not exactly explain. Not that Polly was as pretty +or perhaps as sweet as Mollie.” + +Several times during the evening Betty had noticed that every now and +then her companion had glanced with interest toward Mollie O’Neill. +However, when he now agreed with her last statement; she was not sure +whether his agreement emphasized the fact of Mollie’s superior +prettiness, or that Polly was an unforgettable character. + +Without a doubt Esther’s and Dick’s first formal dinner party was a +pronounced success. The food was excellent, the two maids, one of whom +was hired for the occasion, served without a flaw. There was only one +trifling occurrence that might have created a slight disturbance, and +this situation fortunately Betty Ashton saw in time to save. + +She happened to be sitting at the side of the table that faced the +windows. Earlier in the evening one of these windows had been opened in +order to cool the room and the curtain left partly up. The wind was not +particularly high and no one seemed to be inconvenienced. But most +unexpectedly toward the close of the dinner a gale must have sprung up. +Because there was a sudden, sharp noise at the window and without +warning the blind rolled itself to the topmost ledge with startling +abruptness, as if some one had pulled sharply at the cord and then let +go. + +Then another noise immediately followed, not so startling but far more +puzzling. The first racket had caused every member of the little company +to start instinctively. Then at the same instant, before Richard Ashton, +who chanced to be pouring a glass of water for Margaret Adams, could get +up from his place, Betty turned to Richard Hunt. John Everett happened +to be talking to his other neighbor at the moment. + +“Mr. Hunt,” Betty asked quickly, “won’t you please close that window for +us? It is too cold to have it open and besides one does not altogether +like the idea that outside persons might be able to look into the room.” + +Perhaps Richard Hunt was just a moment longer at the window in the +performance of so simple a task than one might have expected, but no one +observed it. + +As he took his place again and Betty thanked him she looked at him with +a slight frown. + +“Did you see a ghost, Mr. Hunt?” she queried. “It is not a comfortable +night even for a ghost to be prowling about. It is too lonely an +occupation for Christmas eve.” + +Richard Hunt smiled at his companion in return. “Oh, I am always seeing +ghosts, Miss Ashton,” he answered; “I suppose it is because I have an +actor’s vivid imagination.” + + + + +CHAPTER XI—A Christmas Song and Recognition + + +The entire number of guests who had been together at Esther’s and Dick +Ashton’s Christmas-eve dinner, agreed to be at church the following +morning in order to hear Esther sing. + +In spite of the fact that Boston is one of the most musical of American +cities and Esther the most modest of persons, even in so short a time +her beautiful voice had given her an enviable reputation. The papers in +giving notice of the morning service had mentioned the fact that the +solo would be given by Mrs. Richard Ashton. But church music must have +been Esther’s real vocation, for no matter how large the congregation +nor how difficult her song she never felt any of her old nervousness and +embarrassment. For one thing she was partly hidden behind the choir +screen, so she need not fear that critical eyes were upon her; she could +be alone with her music and something that was stronger and higher than +herself. + +On Christmas morning Betty entered their pew with her brother Dick, +Mollie O’Neill and Billy Webster. She was wearing a dark green +broadcloth with a small black velvet toque on her red-brown hair and a +new set of black fox furs that her brother and sister had given her that +morning for a Christmas present. She was pale and a little tired from +yesterday’s festivities, so that a single red rose which had come to her +from some unknown source that morning, was the only really bright color +about her except for the lights in her hair. Mollie was flushed and +smiling with the interest in the new place and people and the +companionship of tried friends. + +Betty thought that Margaret Adams also seemed weary when she came in +with Mr. Hunt a few moments later. She was glad that the great lady +happened to be placed next her so that she might feel the thrill of her +nearness. For genius is thrilling, no matter how simple and +unpretentious the man or woman who possesses it. Margaret Adams wore a +wonderful long Russian sable coat and a small velvet hat and, just as +naturally as if she had been another girl, slipped her hand into Betty’s +and held it during the service. + +So that in spite of her best efforts Betty could not keep her attention +from wandering now and then. She knew that Margaret Adams was almost +equally as devoted to Polly O’Neill as she herself and wondered what she +thought of their friend’s conduct. She wished that they might have the +opportunity to talk the matter over before Miss Adams finished her stay +in Boston. Then, though realizing her own bad manners, Betty could not +help being a little curious over the friendship between Miss Adams and +Mr. Hunt. They seemed to have known each other such a long, long time +and to have acted together so many times. Of course Margaret Adams was +several years older, but that scarcely mattered with so unusual a +person. + +Moreover, there were other influences at work to keep Betty Ashton’s +mind from being as firmly fixed upon the subject of the morning’s sermon +as it should have been. For was she not conscious of the presence of Meg +and John Everett and Anthony Graham in the pew just back of her? And +though it did seem vain and self-conscious of her, she had the sensation +that at least two pairs of eyes were frequently concentrated upon the +back of her head or upon her profile should she chance to turn her face +half way around. + +When the offertory was finally announced and Esther began the first +lines of her solo, not only was her sister Betty’s attention caught and +held, but that of almost every other human being in the church. It was +not a beautiful Christmas day, outside there were scurrying gray clouds +and a kind of bleak coldness. But the church was warmly and beautifully +lighted, the altar white with lilies and crimson with roses, speaking of +passion and peace. And Esther’s voice had in it something of almost +celestial sweetness. She was no longer a girl but a woman, for Dick’s +love and a promise of a fulfilment equally beautiful had added to her +natural gift a deeper emotional power. And she sang one of the simplest +and at the same time one of the most beautiful of Christmas hymns. + +Betty was perfectly willing to allow all the unhappiness and +disappointments of the past few months to relieve themselves in the +tears that came unchecked. Then she saw Margaret Adams bite her lips and +close her eyes as if she too were shutting out the world of ordinary +vision to live only in beautiful sound and a higher communion. + + “Hark! the herald angels sing + Glory to the new-born King; + Peace on earth, and mercy mild, + God and sinners reconciled! + Joyful, all ye nations, rise, + Join the triumph of the skies; + With the angelic host proclaim, + Christ is born in Bethlehem. + Hark! the herald angels sing + Glory to the new-born King. + + “Christ, by highest heaven adored; + Christ, the everlasting Lord; + Late in time behold Him come, + Offspring of a virgin’s womb. + Veil’d in flesh the Godhead see, + Hail, th’ Incarnate Deity! + Pleased as man with man to dwell, + Jesus, our Emmanuel! + Hark! the herald angels sing + Glory to the new-born King. + + “Hail, the heaven-born Prince of Peace! + Hail, the Sun of righteousness! + Light and life to all He brings, + Risen with healing in His wings. + Mild He lays His glory by, + Born that man no more may die; + Born to raise the sons of earth, + Born to give them second birth. + Hark! the herald angels sing + Glory to the new-born King.” + +At the close of the service, turning to leave the church, Betty Ashton +felt a hand laid on her arm, and glancing up in surprise found Anthony +Graham’s eyes gazing steadfastly into hers. + +“We are friends, are we not, Betty? You would not let any +misunderstanding or any change in your life alter that?” he asked +hurriedly. + +For just an instant the girl hesitated, then answered simply and +gracefully: + +“I don’t think any one could be unfaithful to an old friendship on +Christmas morning after hearing Esther sing. It was not in the least +necessary, Anthony, for you to ask me such a question. You know I shall +always wish you the best possible things.” + +Then, without allowing the young man to reply or to accompany her down +the aisle, she hurried away to her other friends, and, slipping her arm +firmly inside Mollie O’Neill’s, she never let go her clasp until they +were safely out of church. + +“It is no use, Meg, nothing matters,” Anthony Graham said a quarter of +an hour later, when he and Margaret Everett were on their way home +together, John having deserted them to join the other party. “The fact +is, Betty does not care in the least one way or the other what I say or +do.” + +“Then I wish you would let me tell her the truth,” Meg urged. “You see, +Anthony, the Princess and I have always been such intimate friends and I +have always admired her more than any of the other girls. I don’t wish +her to misunderstand us. She may not be so brilliant as Polly, nor so +clever as Sylvia or your sister Nan, but somehow Betty is—well, I +suppose she is what a real Princess ought to be. That is what Polly +always declared. It is not just because she is pretty and generous, but +she is so high-minded. Nothing would make her even appear to take +advantage of a friend.” And Meg sighed, her usually happy face clouding. + +In silence, then, the girl and young man walked on for a few moments +when Anthony replied: “You must do as you like, of course, Meg. I have +no right to ask you anything else. But this understanding between us +means everything in the world to me and it was your own offer in the +beginning.” + +Meg nodded. “Yes, I know; but truly I don’t think as much of my idea as +I did at first. Still I am willing to keep quiet for a while longer if +you wish it.” + +At this moment there was no further opportunity for intimate +conversation, for Meg’s Harvard friend, Ralph Brown, made his appearance +with a five-pound box of candy, elaborately tied with red ribbon, under +his arm, and an expression on his face that suggested politely but +firmly that Anthony Graham retire for the present, leaving the field to +him. + +Of their friends in Boston only Margaret Adams and Richard Hunt had been +invited by Esther and Dr. Ashton to have an informal Christmas dinner +with them. For the dinner party the evening before had been such a +domestic strain upon the little household that they wished to spend the +following day quietly. But it was impossible to think of Margaret Adams +dining alone in a great hotel, and she would certainly accept no +invitation from her wealthier and more fashionable acquaintances in +Boston. Moreover, Betty hoped that in the afternoon there might be a +chance to talk of Polly. At the beginning no one had dreamed of +including Richard Hunt in the invitation, as he was a comparative +stranger; but Dick, having taken a sudden fancy to him, had calmly +suggested his returning for Christmas day without due consultation with +his family. + +Five minutes after starting for home with Dick and Esther, Mollie, Betty +and Miss Adams, Mr. Hunt, with a murmured excuse which no one +understood, asked to be excused from going further. He would join the +party later if possible, but should he chance to be delayed dinner must +on no account be kept waiting for him. + +His conduct did seem rather extraordinary, and although Dick and Esther +betrayed no surprise, it was plain enough that Margaret Adams felt +annoyed. She had introduced Mr. Hunt to her friends and so naturally +felt responsible for his conduct. + +Though the man was aware of his apparent eccentricity and though his +manners were usually nearly perfect, he now deliberately turned away +from the little company. And in spite of his half-hearted suggestion of +re-joining them he had little idea at present of when he would return. +Deliberately he retraced his steps to the church which he had quitted +only a few moments before. + +Already the place was nearly deserted. On the sidewalk the clergyman was +saying farewell to a few final members of his congregation, while inside +the sexton was closing the doors of the two side aisles, although the +large door in the center still remained open. Hurriedly Mr. Hunt +entered. And there, just as he had hoped to find her, was the figure of +a girl sitting in a rather dejected attitude in one of the last pews. +She had on a dark dress and a heavy long coat and about her head a thick +veil was tied. + +Before he could reach her she had risen and was starting away. + +“Wait here for a moment, Miss O’Neill; we can find no other spot so +quiet in which to have a talk,” the man said sternly. + +Then as Polly flashed an indignant glance at him, attempting to pass as +though she had neither seen nor recognized him, he added: + +“I know I have no right to intrude upon you, but unless you are willing +to give me some explanation of why you are here and what you are doing, +I shall tell the friends who are nearer to you than I am of my having +seen you not only this morning, but last night as well.” + +“Oh, please don’t!” Polly’s voice was trembling. “Really, truly, I am +not doing anything wrong in staying here in Boston and not letting +people hear. My mother knows where I am and what I am doing and of +course I am not alone. Yes, it was utterly silly and reckless of me to +have peeped in at Esther’s dining-room window last night, but I was so +dreadfully lonely and wanted to see everybody so much. How could I have +dreamed that that wretched curtain would go banging away up in the air +as it did? But anyhow, Mr. Hunt, I shall always be everlastingly +grateful to you for not telling on me last night. I did not suppose you +saw me and certainly never imagined you could have recognized me when I +crouched down in the shadow.” + +Unexpectedly Polly O’Neill laughed. “What a perfect idiot I should have +looked if you had dragged me in before the dinner party like a spy or a +thief or a beggar! I can just imagine Esther’s and Mollie’s +expressions.” + +“Yes, but all this is not quite to the point, Miss Polly,” Richard Hunt +continued, speaking however in a more friendly tone. “Am I to tell +Margaret Adams and Betty Ashton that I have discovered you, or will you +take me into your secret and let me decide what is best to be done +afterwards?” + +“But you have not the right to do either the one thing nor the other,” +the girl argued, lifting her veil for an instant in order to see if +there was any sign of relenting in the face of her older friend. + +There was not the slightest. And Polly recognized that for once in her +life she was beaten. + +“Don’t say anything today then, please,” she urged, looking into her +pocketbook and finding there a card with a name and address written upon +it. “But come to see me tomorrow if you like. And don’t think that I am +ungrateful or—or horrid,” she ended abruptly, rushing away so swiftly +that it would have been impossible for any one to have followed her +without creating attention. + +Rather grimly Richard Hunt gazed at the card he held in his hand. It +bore a name that was not Polly O’Neill’s and the address of a quiet +street in Boston. What on the face of the earth could she be doing? It +was impossible to guess, and yet it was certainly nothing very unwise if +her mother knew and approved of it. + +Whether or not he had the right to find out, Richard Hunt had positively +decided to take advantage of his recognition of Polly O’Neill and insist +upon her confidence. He could not have explained even to himself why he +was so determined on this course of action. However, it was true, as her +friend Betty Ashton had insisted the night before, whether or not you +happened to feel a liking for Polly, you were not apt to forget her. + +In the past few months it was curious how often he had found himself +wondering what had become of the girl. He recalled her having run away +several years before to make her first stage appearance and then their +meeting in Margaret Adams’ drawing room in London later on. Well, +perhaps curiosity was not alone a feminine trait of character, for +Richard Hunt felt convinced he would be more at peace with himself and +the world when he had learned Polly’s story from her own lips. + + + + +CHAPTER XII—After Her Fashion Polly Explains + + +The next afternoon a dark-haired woman a little past thirty came into +the boarding house sitting room to see Richard Hunt before Polly made +her appearance. + +“I am Mrs. Martins, Miss O’Neill’s chaperon,” she explained. “Or if I am +not exactly her chaperon at least we are together and I am trying to see +that no harm befalls her. No, she is not calling herself by her own +name, but she will prefer to give you her own reason for that. I have +met her mother several times, so that of course I understand the +situation.” Mrs. Martins was a woman of refinement and of some education +and her pronunciation of her own name showed her to be of French origin. + +Already the situation was slightly less mystifying. Yet there was still +a great deal for Polly to make clear if she chose to do so. However, it +was curious that she was taking so long a time to join them. + +Mrs. Martins continued to talk about nothing in particular, so it was +evident that she intended making no betrayals. Now and then she even +glanced toward the door in some embarrassment, as though puzzled and +annoyed by her companion’s delay. And while Richard Hunt was answering +her politely if vaguely, actually he was on the point of deciding that +Polly did not intend coming down stairs at all. Well perhaps it would +serve him right, for what authority did he have for forcing the girl’s +confession? And she was certainly quite capable of punishing him by +placing him in an absurd situation. + +Nevertheless nothing was farther from Polly O’Neill’s intention at the +present moment. She was merely standing before her mirror in her tiny +upstairs bedroom trying to summon sufficient courage to meet her guest +and tell her story. + +Once or twice she had started for the door only to return and stare at +herself with intense disapproval. She had rubbed her cheeks with a crash +towel until at least they were crimson enough, although the color was +not very satisfying, and she had arranged her hair three times, only to +decide at the last that she had best have left it alone at first. + +Now she made a little grimace at her own image, smiling at almost the +same instant. + +“My beloved Princess or Mollie, I do wish you could lend me your good +looks for the next half hour,” she murmured half aloud. “It is so much +easier to be eloquent and convincing in this world when one happens to +be pretty. But I, well certainly I would serve as a perfect illustration +of ‘a rag and a bone and a hank of hair’ at this moment if at no other.” + +Polly glanced down at her costume with more satisfaction than she had +found in surveying her face. It was not in the least shabby, but a very +charming dress which her mother had sent as a part of her Christmas box. +The dress was of dark red crepe de Chine with a velvet girdle and collar +of the same shade. And although under ordinary circumstances it might +have been becoming, today Polly was not wrong in believing that she was +not looking even her poor best. She was tired and nervous. Of course it +did not matter so very much what Mr. Hunt might think of the story she +had to tell him, but later on there would be many other persons whom she +would have to persuade to accept her point of view. And somehow she felt +that if she failed to convince her first listener she must fail with the +others. + +Then unexpectedly, before hearing the sound of her approach, Richard +Hunt discovered a cold hand being extended to shake his, and in a voice +even more chilling Polly O’Neill was apologizing for having kept him +waiting. Yet on the way down the steps had she not positively made up +her mind to be so cordial and agreeable that her visitor should forget +her other deficiencies? + +With a feeling of amazement mixed with despair Polly seated herself in +the darkest corner of a small sofa next Mrs. Martins, deciding that it +was quite useless, that she should attempt no explanation. Mr. Hunt and +her companion could talk together about the weather if they chose, for +she could not think of a single word to say. Afterwards her visitor +could go away and give any account of her he wished, although naturally +this might frustrate all her hopes and ambitions and make her dearest +friends angry with her for life. Yet if one were always to suffer from +stage fright at all the critical moments of one’s career what else could +be expected? + +At this moment Mrs. Martins excused herself and left the room. Polly saw +her go with a characteristic shrug of her shoulders and an odd glance at +her visitor. The moment had come. Mr. Hunt would discover that she had +not even the grace to keep her promise, and heaven alone knew what he +would soon think of her. + +Yet after saying good-by to her companion he continued talking in the +kindest possible fashion, telling her news of Esther and Dick Ashton, +saying how much he admired Betty and Mollie. + +Indeed in less than five minutes Polly had actually managed to forget +the reason for her visitor’s call and was asking him questions about her +old friends, faster than they could be answered. + +“Was their play, A Woman’s Wit, still as great a success as it had been +at the start? Was Margaret Adams well or had the winter’s work used her +up? Did Betty Ashton seem to have any special admirer in Boston?” + +Actually in a brief quarter of an hour Polly’s eyes were shining and her +lips smiling. Curled up comfortably on her sofa she suddenly appreciated +that she was having the most agreeable time she had enjoyed in months. +Then again her expression changed and her brief radiance vanished. Yet +this time her companion understood. + +“Miss Polly,” he said quickly, “please don’t feel that after what +happened yesterday I still mean to force you to make a confidant of me. +The truth is I did want very much to hear that all was well with you and +that you were not making any kind of mistake. I am not going to be a +coward, so I confess that I came here today expecting to force your +secret from you simply because I had an advantage over you. But, of +course, now that we have been talking together I can see that you are +all right, even if you do look rather tired and none too cheerful. So I +want to apologize and then I shall go away and not worry you again. Also +you may feel entirely assured that I shall not mention having seen you +to any one.” + +The man had risen from his chair, but before he could move a step +forward, Polly had clasped her hands together and was gazing at him +imploringly. + +“Oh, please, Mr. Hunt, don’t go,” she begged. “All of a sudden I have +begun to feel that if I don’t tell some one my secret and ask you to +approve of me or at least to try to forgive me for what I am doing I +shall perish.” Actually Polly would now have pushed her visitor back +into his chair if he had not sat down again so promptly as to make it +unnecessary. + +“You are sure you wish to confide in me, Miss Polly? Of course you +understand that I will tell no one. But if your mother knows and +approves of you, why surely no other person is necessary,” he argued. + +In reply the girl laughed. “Mother is an angel and for that reason +perhaps she does not always approve or understand me exactly. In this +case she is just permitting me to have my own way because she promised +to let me try and do what I could to become a successful actress and she +never goes back on her word. Of course my method seems queer to her and +probably will to you. But after all it is the way I see things and one +can’t look out of any one’s eyes but one’s own. Surely you believe that, +Mr. Hunt?” + +Of course any one who really understood Polly O’Neill, Betty Ashton for +instance, would have understood at once that she was now beginning to +explain her own wilfulness. Yet her question did sound convincing, for +assuredly one can have no other vision than one’s own. + +Richard Hunt nodded sympathetically, although Polly was looking so +absurdly young and so desperately in earnest that he would have +preferred to smile. + +She was leaning forward with her chin resting on her hand and gazing +intently at him. What she saw was a man who seemed almost middle-aged to +her. And yet to the girl he seemed almost ideally handsome. His features +were strong and well-cut, the nose aquiline, the mouth large and firm. +And he was wearing the kindest possible expression. For half an instant +Polly’s thoughts flew away from herself. Surely if any one in the world +could be worthy of Margaret Adams it was Richard Hunt. Then she settled +down to the telling of her own story. + +“You know of course, Mr. Hunt, without my having to say anything more +about it, that ever since I was a little girl I have dreamed and hoped +and prayed of some day becoming a great actress. Mother says that there +was some one in my family once, one of my Irish aunts, I believe, who +ran away from home in order to go on the stage and was never recognized +again. I have thought sometimes that perhaps I inherited her ambition. +One never knows about things like that, life is so queer. Anyhow when a +dozen girls in Woodford formed a Camp Fire and we lived together in the +woods for over a year working and playing, mother and Betty and my +sister expected me to get over my foolish ideas and learn something +through our club that might make me adopt a more sensible career. I +don’t mean to be rude to you, Mr. Hunt,” Polly was profoundly serious, +there was now no hint of amusement in her dark blue eyes or in her +mobile face, “you understand I am only telling you what my family and +friends thought about people who were actors—not what I think. I don’t +see why acting isn’t just as great and useful as the other arts if one +is conscientious and has real talent. But the trouble with me has been +all along that I haven’t any real talent. I suppose if I had been a +genius from the first no one would have cared to oppose me. Well the +Camp Fire did not influence me against what I wanted to do; it only made +me feel more in earnest than I had ever been before. For we girls +learned such a lot about courage and perseverance and being happy even +if things were not going just the way one liked, that it has all been a +great help to me recently, more than at any time in my life.” + +Richard Hunt nodded gravely. “I see,” he said quietly, although in point +of fact he did not yet understand in the least what Polly was trying to +explain, nor why she should review so much of her past life before +coming to her point. He was curiously interested, although ordinarily he +might have been bored by such a disjointed story. + +Polly was too intense at the moment to have bored anyone. There she sat +in her red dress against the darker background of the sofa with her +figure almost in shadow and the light falling only upon her odd, eager +face. + +“I ran away from Miss Adams and from you, not because I was such a +coward that I meant to give up the thing I was trying for, but because I +knew that I must have a harder time if I was ever to amount to anything. +You see people were trying to make things so easy for me and in a way +they were making them more difficult. Margaret gave me that place in her +company when I did not deserve it; you tried to show me how to act when +I could not learn; my friends were complimenting me when all the time +they must have known I was a failure. I couldn’t bear it, Mr. Hunt; +really I could not. I am lots of horrid things, but I am not a fraud. +Then Margaret told me what a difficult time she had at the beginning of +her career and how no one had helped her. Of course she meant to make me +feel that I might be more successful because of my friends’ aid, but I +did not see things just that way. Oh, I do hope you had to work +dreadfully hard at the beginning of your profession and had lots of +failures,” Polly concluded so unexpectedly and so solemnly that this +time Richard Hunt could not refrain from laughing. + +“Oh no, it wasn’t all plain sailing for me either, Miss Polly, and it +isn’t now for that matter, if it is of any help to you to know it,” he +added, realizing that his companion was absolutely unconscious of having +said anything amusing. + +“Before I gave up trying to act Belinda I got a small position in a +cheap stock company.” Polly had at last reached the point of her story. +“The company has been traveling through New England all winter and is +still on the road. We only happened to be in Boston during the holidays. +I have been playing almost any kind of part, sometimes I am a maid, +sometimes a lady-in-waiting to the queen; once or twice, when the star +has been ill, I have had to take the character of the heroine. Of course +all this must sound very silly and commonplace to you, Mr. Hunt, but +honestly I am learning a few things: not to be so self-conscious for one +thing and to work very, very hard.” + +“Too hard, Miss Polly, I am afraid,” Richard Hunt replied, looking +closely at his companion and feeling oddly moved by her confession. +Perhaps the girl’s effort would amount to nothing and perhaps she was +unwise in having made it, nevertheless one could not but feel sorry that +her friends had suspected her of ingratitude and lack of affection and +that she was engaged in some kind of foolish escapade. Richard Hunt felt +extremely guilty himself at the moment. + +“Oh no, I am not working too hard or at least not too hard for my +health,” Polly argued. “You see both my mother and Sylvia are looking +after me. Sylvia made me promise her once, when I did not understand +what she meant, that I would let her know what I was doing all this +winter. So I have kept my promise and every once and a while good old +Sylvia travels to where I happen to be staying and looks me over and +gives me pills and things.” Polly smiled. “You don’t know who Sylvia is +and it is rather absurd of me to talk to you so intimately about my +family. Sylvia is my step-sister, but she used to be merely my friend +when we were girls. She is younger than I am but a thousand times +cleverer and is studying to be a physician. She has not much respect for +my judgment but she is rather fond of me.” + +“And your chaperon?” Perhaps Mr. Hunt realized that he was asking a good +many questions when he and Polly O’Neill were still comparative +strangers; yet he was too much concerned for her welfare at present to +care. + +Polly did not seem to be either surprised or offended by his +questioning, but pleased to have some one in whom she might confide. + +“Oh, just at first mother sent one of her old friends about everywhere +with me. But when she got tired we found this Mrs. Martins who was +having a hard time in New York and needed something to do. She is really +awfully nice and is teaching me French in our spare moments. She used to +be a dressmaker, I believe, but could not get enough work to do.” +Suddenly Polly straightened up and put out her hand this time in an +exceedingly friendly fashion. + +“Goodness, Mr. Hunt, what a dreadfully long time I have been keeping you +here and how good you have been to listen to me so patiently!” she +exclaimed. “You will keep my secret for me, won’t you? This winter I +don’t want my friends to know what I am trying to do or to come to see +me act. I have not improved enough so far.” + +Still holding Polly’s hand in a friendly clasp, her visitor rose. + +“But you will let me come, won’t you?” he urged. “You see I am in your +secret now and so I am different from other people. Besides I am very +grateful to you for your faith in me and I don’t like to remember now +that I first tried bullying you into confiding in me.” + +Polly’s answering sigh was one of relief. “I don’t seem to mind even +that, although I was angry and frightened at first,” she returned. “I +don’t usually enjoy doing what people make me do. But if you think you +really would like to come to see me play, perhaps I should be rather +glad. Only you must promise not to let me know when you are there, nor +what you think of my acting afterwards.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIII—A Place of Memories + + + +“I wonder, Angel, if you had ever heard of my friend, Polly O’Neill, +before I mentioned her name to you?” Betty Ashton asked after a few +moments of silence between the two girls, when evidently Betty had been +puzzling over this same question. + +Angel shook her head. “Never,” she returned quietly. + +Five months had passed since their first meeting and now the scene about +them was a very different one from the four bare walls of a hospital, +and the little French girl was almost as completely changed. + +It was early spring in the New Hampshire hills and the child and young +woman were seated outside a cabin of logs with their eyes resting +sometimes on a small lake before them, again on a dark group of pine +trees, but more often on a sun-tipped hill ahead where the meadows +seemed to lie down in green homage at her feet. + +Everywhere there were signs of the earth’s eternal re-birth and +re-building. The grain showed only a tiny hint of its autumn harvest of +gold, but the grass, the flowers, the new leaves on the bushes and trees +were at their gayest and loveliest. Notwithstanding there was a breeze +cool enough to make warm clothes a necessity, and Betty wore a long dark +blue cloth cloak, while her companion, who was lying at full length in a +steamer chair, was covered with a heavy rug. Yet the girl’s delicate +white hands were busily engaged in weaving long strands of +bright-colored straws together. + +“Why did you think I had ever heard of your friend, Princess?” she +queried after a short pause. + +[Illustration: “Why Did You Think I Had Ever Heard of Your Friend?”] + +Keeping her finger in a volume of Tennyson’s poems which she had been +supposed to be reading, the older girl gazed thoughtfully and yet almost +unseeingly into the dark eyes of her companion. “I don’t know exactly,” +she replied thoughtfully, “only for some strange reason since our +earliest acquaintance you have always made me think of Polly. You don’t +look like her, of course, though there is just a suggestion in your +expression now and then. Perhaps because you were so interested in her +when I began telling of our Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls. I don’t +believe you would ever have been able to endure me you know, Angel dear, +if you had not liked hearing me talk of Polly; then think of what good +times we should both have missed!” + +Across the little French girl’s face a warm flush spread. + +“It is like you to say ‘we’ should have missed,” she replied softly. +“But I never hated you, you were always mistaken in believing that. From +the morning you first came to the hospital and ever afterwards I thought +you the prettiest person I had ever seen in my life and one of the +sweetest. It was only that in those early days I was too miserable to +speak to any one. Always I was afraid I should break down if I tried to +talk, so when the other girls attempted being nice to me I pretended I +was sullen and hateful when in reality I was a coward. It was just the +same when you started the ‘Shut-In Camp Fire’ among the girls. I would +not join, I would not take the slightest interest in the beginning for +much the same reason. But you were always so patient and agreeable to me +and so was Miss Mollie. Then there was always Cricket!” Smiling, she +paused for a moment listening. + +Inside Sunrise cabin both girls could hear the noise of several persons +moving about as though deeply engaged in some important business. + +“I suppose I ought to go in and help,” Betty remarked in a slightly +conscience-smitten tone, “but Mollie does so enjoy fussing about getting +things ready. And in spite of all my efforts and stern Camp Fire +training I shall never be so good a cook as she is. Besides, both Mollie +and Cricket informed me politely, after I finished cleaning our rooms +and had set the luncheon table, that I was somewhat in the way. I +suppose I had best go in, though. Is there anything I can do for you +first, Angel? Cricket is beating that cake batter so hard it sounds like +a drum.” + +Betty had half risen from her chair when the expression in her +companion’s face made her sit down again. “What is it?” she asked. + +For a moment the other girl’s fingers ceased their busy weaving. “You +have never asked me anything about myself, Princess, in spite of all the +wonderful things you have done for me,” she began. “I don’t want to bore +you, but I should like——” + +With a low laugh Betty suddenly hunched her chair forward until it was +close up against the larger one. + +“And I, I am perfectly dying to hear, you must know, you dear little +goose, to talk about boring me! Don’t you know I am one of the most +curious members of my curious sex? I have not asked you questions +because I did not feel I had the right unless you wished to tell. But +possibly I asked that question about Polly O’Neill just to give you a +chance. Really I don’t know.” + +In spite of this small confession, not for worlds would Betty Ashton +have allowed the sensitive little French girl to have learned another +reason for her questioning. It was odd and certainly unreasonable, yet +in all her recent kindness and care of Angelique she had continued to +feel that in some mysterious fashion her friend, Polly O’Neill, was +encouraging and aiding her. There was some one at work, assuredly, +though she had no shadow of right in believing it to be Polly. For +though she had confided in no one, the first anonymous letter in regard +to the ill girl had not been the last one. In truth there must have been +half a dozen in all, postmarked at different places and all of them +unsigned and yet showing a remarkably intimate knowledge of the growing +friendship between the two girls. + +The first step had been natural and simple enough. For with her usual +enthusiasm after her visit to the hospital Betty had immediately set +about forming a Camp Fire. She had sent for all the literature she could +find on the subject, the club manual and songs. Then she and Mollie, +during her visit, and sometimes Meg, had taught the new club members as +much as possible of what they had themselves learned during the old days +at Sunrise Hill. + +For the first few meetings of the club in the great, sunny hospital room +there was one solitary girl who would not show the least interest in the +new and delightful proceedings. Indeed she kept on with her stupid +gazing up toward the ceiling as if she were both deaf and blind. + +However, one day when she believed no one looking and while the other +girls were talking of their future aims and ambitions and of the ways in +which their new club might help them, unexpectedly Betty Ashton had +caught sight of Angelique, with her dark eyes fixed almost despairingly +upon her. + +The other girls were all busy, some of them sewing on their new +ceremonial Camp Fire costumes of khaki, others making bead bands or +working at basket weaving. In the meanwhile they were talking of Camp +Fire honors to be won in the future and of the new names which they +might hope to attain. + +Therefore, almost unnoticed by any one else, Betty was able to cross +over to the side of the French girl’s bed. + +“I was wondering if I could not also do some of that pretty work with my +hands,” the girl began at once, speaking as composedly as if she had +been talking to Betty every day since their first meeting, although this +was only the second time that she had ever voluntarily addressed a word +to her. + +Without commenting or appearing surprised, Betty brought over to her +bedside a quantity of bright straw and straightaway commenced showing +the girl the first principles of the art of basket-weaving which she had +learned in the Sunrise Camp Fire. Very little instruction was necessary; +for, before the first lesson was over, the pupil had learned almost as +much as her teacher. Indeed the French girl’s skill with her hands was +an amazement to everybody. With her third effort and without assistance, +Angel manufactured so charming a basket that Betty bore it home in +triumph to show to her brother and sister. Then quite by accident the +basket was left in Esther’s sitting room, where a visitor, seeing it and +hearing the story of its weaving, asked permission to purchase it. + +After some discussion, and fearful of how the girl might receive the +offer, Betty finally summoned courage to tell Angelique. Thus +unexpectedly Betty came upon one of the secrets of her new friend’s +nature. Angel had an inordinate, a passionate desire for making money. +She was older than any one had imagined her, between fourteen and +fifteen. Now her hands were no longer clenched on her coverlid nor did +her eyes turn resolutely to gaze at nothingness. Propped up on her +pillows, her white fingers were ever busy at dozens of tasks. Betty had +found a place in Boston where her baskets were sold almost as fast as +she could make them. Then Angelique knew quite amazing things about +sewing, so that Esther sent her several tiny white frocks to be +delicately embroidered, and always the other girls at the hospital were +asking her aid and advice. + +Quite astonishing the doctors considered the girl’s rapid improvement. +Perhaps no one had told them the secret, for she now had an interest in +life and a chance not to be always useless. Was it curious that she no +longer disliked Betty Ashton and that she soon became the leading spirit +in the new Camp Fire? + +Afterwards the Wohelo candles were placed on a small table near Angel’s +bed while the girls formed their group about her. + +Then one day in early April the Princess had whispered something in +Angel’s ear. It was only a hope or at best a plan, yet, after all, Betty +Ashton was a kind of fairy godmother to whom all impossible things were +possible. + +For Sunrise cabin was undoubtedly open once again with four girls as its +occupants—Betty Ashton and Mollie O’Neill, Cricket and “The Angel.” + +“I am afraid you won’t find my story as interesting as you would like it +to be,” Angel said after a moment. “And perhaps it may prejudice you +against me. I don’t believe Americans think of these things as French +people do. But my father was a ballet master and ever since I was the +tiniest little girl I had been taught to dance and dance, almost to do +nothing else. You see I was to be a première danseuse some day,” Angel +continued quite simply and calmly, scarcely noticing that Betty’s face +had paled through sympathy and that she was biting her lips and +resolutely turning away her eyes from the fragile figure stretched out +in the long steamer chair. + +“I was born in Paris, but when I was only a few years old my father came +to New York and was one of the assistant ballet masters at your great +opera house. Ten years later, I think it must have been, I was trying a +very difficult dance and in some way I had a fall. I did not know it was +very bad, we paid no attention to it, then this came.” The little French +girl shrugged her shoulders. “My father died soon after and mother tried +taking care of us both. She did sewing at the theaters and anything else +she could. She wasn’t very successful. One day a chance came for me to +have special treatment in Boston. I was sent there and mother got some +other work to do. I have only seen her once in months and months. But +you can understand now why I am so anxious to make money. I was afraid +perhaps you would not. I don’t want to be a burden on mother always and +now I think perhaps I need not be.” + +Angel spoke with entire cheerfulness and decision. It did not seem even +to have occurred to her that she had been telling her friend an +amazingly tragic little history. Nor did Betty Ashton wish her to +realize how deeply affected she was by it. So, jumping up with rather an +affectation of hurry and surprise, she kissed her companion lightly on +the cheek. + +“Thank you a thousand times for confiding in me, dear, and please don’t +be hopeless about never getting well. See how much you have improved! +But there comes the first of our guests to lunch, a whole half hour too +soon. But as long as Billy Webster promised to bring us the mail from +Woodford I suppose I must forgive him. Anyhow I must try to keep him +from worrying Mollie. She would be dreadfully bored to have him see her +before she is dressed.” Betty walked away for a few steps and then came +back again. + +“You will never understand perhaps, Angel, how much my learning to know +you this winter has done for me. I was dreadfully unhappy over something +myself, and perhaps I am still, but coming to visit you in Boston and +then our being together down here has cheered me immensely. I know you +are a great deal younger than I am, but if Polly O’Neill never writes me +again or wishes to have anything more to do with me, perhaps some day +you may be willing to be my very, very intimate friend. You see I have +not had even a single line from Polly in months and months and I can’t +even guess what on earth has become of her.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV—A Sudden Summons + + +Though Billy Webster had brought with him from the village half a dozen +letters and as many papers, no one of the dwellers in Sunrise cabin was +able to read anything for three or four hours after his arrival. + +For Betty and Mollie were having an informal luncheon. But indeed, ever +since taking up their abode at the cabin several weeks before, they had +never passed a single day without guests. For it was too much like old +times for their Woodford friends to find the door of the little house +once more hospitably open, with a log fire burning in the big fire place +in the living room and the movement and laughter of girls inside the old +cabin and out. + +At present there were only the four of them living there together with +the Ashton’s old Irish cook, Ann, as their guardian, chaperon and first +aid in domestic difficulties. Later on, there would be other members of +the Sunrise Hill club, who were already looking forward to spending +their holidays at the cabin. + +As a matter of course, Billy Webster was at present their most frequent +visitor, although his calls were ordinarily short. Almost every morning +he used to ride up to the cabin on horseback to see if things had gone +well with his friends during the night, or to ask if there were any +errands in the village which he could do or have done for them. For you +may remember that the land on which the cabin stood had been bought from +Billy’s father and was not far from their farm. Billy now seemed to be +the only one of their former boy friends who was able to come often to +the old cabin. + +John Everett was at work in the broker’s office in New York City, Frank +Wharton had only just returned from his honeymoon journey with Eleanor +Meade, and Anthony Graham was attending a session of the New Hampshire +Legislature and probably spending his week ends in visits to Meg +Everett. There were other men friends, assuredly, who appeared at the +cabin now and then, but they had fewer associations with the past. + +Betty was looking forward to John Everett’s coming a little later; but +she had begged him to wait until they were more comfortably settled and +the two younger girls had grown accustomed to their new surroundings. + +Today Rose Barton and Faith had driven out to the cabin for luncheon and +Mrs. Crippen, Betty’s step-mother with the new small step-brother, who +was an adorable red-haired baby with the pinkest of cheeks and the +bluest eyes in the world. Then, soon after lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Frank +Wharton appeared in their up-to-date motor car, which had been Frank’s +wedding gift from his father. + +So it was a simple enough matter to understand why neither Betty nor +Mollie had the opportunity even to glance inside the envelopes of their +letters, though Mollie recognized that she had received one from her +mother and Betty saw that Mrs. Wharton had also written to her. There +was nothing unusual in this, for Betty and Mrs. Wharton had always +remained intimate and devoted friends, just as they had been since Betty +was a tiny girl and Mrs. Wharton, as Mrs. O’Neill, lived across the +street from the big Ashton house. + +Certainly for the time being the two hostesses had their attention fully +distracted by their social responsibilities. For Mollie had direct +charge of the luncheon party, while to Betty had fallen the duty of +seeing that their friends learned to understand one another and to have +a gay time. + +It was a pleasure for her to observe what an interest Faith Barton had +immediately seemed to feel in her little French girl. For one could only +think of Angelique as a child, she was so tiny and fragile with all her +delicate body hidden from view save her quaint, vivid face and slender +arms. + +Faith herself had been a curious child, and though now so nearly grown, +was not in the least like an every-day person. She was extremely pretty, +suggesting a fair young saint in an old Italian picture; and still she +loved dreams better than realities and books more than people. +Ordinarily she was very shy; yet here in Angelique, Faith believed that +she had probably found the friend of her heart. The French girl seemed +romance personified, and delicately and gently she set out to woo her. +But Angel was not easy to win, she was still cold and frightened with +all persons except her fairy princess. Nevertheless, Betty sincerely +hoped that the two girls might eventually learn to care truly for each +other. + +They were so different in appearance that it was an artistic pleasure to +see them together. Faith was so soft and fair; Angel so dark and with +such possibilities of restrained vivacity and passion. Then the older +girl knew so little of real life, while the younger one had already +touched its sorrows too deeply. + +After all, it was really Faith’s sudden attachment that kept the guests +at the cabin longer than they had intended to remain. + +At four o’clock, fearing the excitement too much for her protégé, Betty +had persuaded the girl to retire to bed. Faith had at once insisted on +having tea alone in the room with Angel so that they might have a chance +for a really intimate conversation. It was Faith, however, who did all +the talking, nor did she even have the satisfaction of knowing that her +new acquaintance had enjoyed her. Certainly the French girl was going to +be difficult; yet perhaps to a romantic nature mystery is the greatest +attraction. + +Actually it was almost six o’clock when the last visitor had finally +departed from Sunrise cabin and Mollie and Betty had a few quiet moments +together. It had been a beautiful day and now when the sun was sinking +behind the hill, spreading its radiance over the world, the two friends +stepped outside the cabin door for a short breathing spell. + +Betty had completely forgotten her unopened letters; she was thinking of +something entirely different, and her gray eyes were not free from a +certain wistfulness as she looked around the familiar landscape. All day +long, although she had done her best at concealment, she had felt +vaguely restless and unhappy. There had been no definite reason, except, +perhaps, the pathetic story confided to her earlier in the day. + +Suddenly Mollie O’Neill turned toward her friend, at the same instant +drawing two letters from her pocket. + +“I declare, Betty dear, I have not had a single moment of leisure all +day, not even time to read mother’s letter. Have you? I do hope she had +nothing of special importance to say. I thought she might possibly come +and see us for a while this afternoon.” + +Seeing Mollie open Mrs. Wharton’s note and beginning to read it, Betty +immediately followed her example. But the moment after both girls turned +their eyes from studying the sheets of paper before them to stare +curiously at each other. + +“How very extraordinary and how very unlike mother!” exclaimed Mollie +O’Neill in a puzzled fashion. + +“Surely she must know that it is quite out of the question for us to do +what she asks,” Betty went on, as if continuing her friend’s sentence. +“She understands that we have just come to the cabin and that we have +promised to take the best kind of care of Angel and Cricket with Dr. +Barton’s assistance. Of course, Mollie, you may have to do what your +mother says, but do please make her understand that it is impossible for +me. I wish she was not so insistent, though, it makes it dreadfully +difficult to refuse. Does your letter say that you must leave for New +York City as early as possible tomorrow and join your mother at the +Astor Hotel?” + +Mollie nodded, still frowning. “If mother wished us to go to New York +with her on business, or pleasure, or for whatever reason, I cannot see +why she did not wait and let us all go together tomorrow. I simply can’t +see why she should rush off this morning as her letter says and leave us +to follow the next day. But I suppose if you can get some one to stay on +here at the cabin with you, dear, that I must do as mother asks. You +see, she writes that it is a matter of great importance that has called +her away and that she is relying on my being with her.” + +Reading her own letter for the second time, Betty folded it thoughtfully +and replaced it inside the envelope. “Of course you must go, Mollie, +without a shadow of a doubt,” she answered positively. “Rose and Faith +will come out here and stay for a few days and Dr. Barton will be with +them at night. I shall be rather glad to have them know Angel better; it +might help her in a good many ways. The thing that troubles me is +whether I ought to go with you. You see your mother also writes that she +is relying on having me with her as well. Though she does not give me +her reason, still she is very positive. She says that my coming to New +York at the present time will mean a great deal to me personally, and +moreover she particularly desires me to be with you.” Betty slowly shook +her head. “I don’t see exactly how I can refuse; do you, Mollie? I don’t +believe your mother has ever been really angry with me in my life and I +should so hate her to be now. Besides I think it would be rather fun to +go, and of course Rose would look after things for a few days.” + +“Then it is decided?” and Mollie breathed a sigh of mingled relief and +pleasure. “Well, I must go in at once and telephone Billy and ask him to +look up time-tables and things. Mother has sent me a check big enough to +pay our expenses if you do not happen to have the money at the cabin +with you.” + +All the hours following that evening and in the early morning were too +busy with preparations and explanations to allow of much conjecture; yet +in the back of their minds both girls were trying to work out the same +problem. + +What conceivable thing could have happened to make Mrs. Wharton summon +them to New York in this odd fashion? Could it have anything to do with +Polly? But if Polly had been taken suddenly ill, would Mrs. Wharton not +have given them some slight warning, some preparation for the shock that +might lie ahead of them? Yet it was idle to make vain guesses or to +worry without cause. In a short while Mrs. Wharton would, of course, +explain the whole situation. + +As passengers on the earliest afternoon train that left Woodford for New +York City next day, Mollie and Betty had already forgotten their first +opposition to this journey to New York. All at once it appeared like a +very delightful and natural excursion. If Mrs. Wharton had occasion to +spend several days in New York what more agreeable than spending the +time with her? There would be the shops and theaters to visit and a +glimpse at the new spring fashions. Moreover, Betty did not altogether +object to the idea of possibly seeing John Everett. They were old +friends and his open admiration and attention meant a great deal to her. + + + + +CHAPTER XV—“Little Old New York” + + +Mrs. Wharton did not seem to consider that an explanation was imperative +immediately upon the arrival of the two girls in New York. At the +Forty-second street station she met them in a taxi, and certainly in +traveling to their hotel through the usual exciting crush of motors, +carriages and people there was no opportunity for serious questioning. + +They were to go to a musical as soon as dinner was over and there was +just sufficient time to dress. So Betty went almost at once to her own +room adjoining Mrs. Wharton’s, while Mollie occupied the room with her +mother. + +Once while Mrs. Wharton was adjusting the drapery on a new frock which +she had purchased for her daughter only that afternoon, Mollie turned +toward her mother with her blue eyes suddenly serious. Up to that +instant she had been too much absorbed in her frock to think of anything +else. + +“Why in the world, mother, did you send for us to join you in New York +so unexpectedly? If you were thinking of coming, why did you not motor +out and tell us? Or you might at least have telephoned,” she said. + +Mrs. Wharton’s face was not visible, as she was engaged for the moment +in the study of the new gown. “I made up my mind quite hurriedly, dear. +There was nothing I could explain over the telephone. Besides, I have +heard you and Betty say a dozen times that nothing gave you as much +pleasure as a trip taken without any special discussion or preparation. +Don’t you think we will have a charming time, just the three of us, +dining at the different hotels, going to the theaters? I believe one +calls it ‘doing New York.’ But hurry, now, and finish fixing your hair. +I must go and see if I can be of any assistance to the Princess.” And +Mrs. Wharton hurried off without even attempting to answer her +daughter’s question. + +Almost the same result followed a more deliberate attempt at +cross-examination which took place at breakfast the following morning. +This time both Mollie and Betty started forth as determined questioners. +Why had they been summoned so suddenly to New York? What was the very +important reason for their presence? It was all very charming, of +course, and frankly both girls were delighted with the opportunity that +had been given them. Still they both thought it only natural and fair +that they should be offered some solution to the puzzle of their +mysterious and hasty letters. + +Mrs. Wharton only laughed and shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly, +in a manner always suggestive of Polly. She did not see why she had to +be taken to task so seriously because of an agreeable invitation. Had +she said that there was some urgent reason for her request? Well, was it +not sufficient that she wished the society of the two girls? + +Then deliberately picking up the morning paper Mrs. Wharton refused to +listen to any further remarks addressed to her. A few moments +afterwards, observing that her companions had wandered from their +original topic and were criticizing the appearance of a young woman a +few tables away, a smile suddenly crumpled the corners of her mouth. + +“Mollie, Betty, there are the most wonderful advertisements in the +papers this morning of amazing bargains. Mollie, you and I both need new +opera cloaks dreadfully and Mr. Wharton has said we might both have +them. Of course we will shop all morning, but what shall we do tonight? +Go to the theater, I suppose. When country people are in town an evening +not spent at the theater is almost a wasted one.” + +Mollie laughed. “This from mother!” she exclaimed. “Think what you used +to tell poor Polly about the wickedness of things theatrical! But of +course I should rather go than do anything else.” + +Mrs. Wharton glanced toward Betty, who appeared to be blushing slightly +without apparent cause. + +“I am afraid I can’t go with you, if you don’t mind,” she explained. +“You see I promised John Everett that I would see him tonight. He wrote +asking me to give him my first evening, but I thought it better to make +it the second.” + +“Well, bring John along with us, Betty dear,” Mrs. Wharton returned. “I +should like very much to have him and besides I don’t believe I should +like you to go out with him alone in New York or to see him here at the +hotel unless I am with you. People are more conventional here, dear, +than in a small place.” + +Betty nodded. “Of course, we shall be delighted to be with you. What +play shall we see?” + +Thoughtfully Mrs. Wharton picked up for the second time the temporarily +discarded paper and commenced studying the list of theatrical +attractions. + +“There is a little Irish play that has been running here in New York for +about a month that is a great success,” she said. “I think I should very +much like to see it if you girls don’t mind. It is called Moira. I hope +we shall be able to get good seats.” + +The little party of three did not get back to the hotel until after tea +time that afternoon and were then compelled to lie down, as they were +completely worn out from shopping. But fatigue made no difference in the +interest of the toilets which the girls made for the evening. John +Everett had been invited to dinner as well, and most unexpectedly Mr. +Wharton had telegraphed that he was running down from Woodford for +twenty-four hours and was bringing Billy Webster along with him. They +would probably manage to arrive at about eight o’clock and would dress +as quickly as possible. Dinner was not to be delayed on their account. +They expected to dine on the train. + +Of course Betty had promptly yielded to temptation and bought herself a +new evening frock before the shopping expedition had been under way two +hours. Mrs. Wharton had bought Mollie a charming one only the day before +and was now buying her an opera coat to make the toilet complete. It was +extravagant; Betty fully appreciated her own weakness. Was she not at +great expense keeping Sunrise cabin open and looking after her two new +friends? However, she had not been to New York for months and would +probably not be there again in a longer time and the frock was a rare +bargain and should not be overlooked. But every woman and girl +thoroughly understands the arguments that must be gone through +conscientiously before yielding to the sure temptation of clothes. + +Assuredly Betty felt no pangs of conscience when she looked at herself +in the mirror a few moments before dinner time and just as she was about +to join her friends. The dress was simple and not expensive, white crepe +de Chine with a tunic of chiffon, adorned with a wide corn-colored +girdle and little chiffon roses of the same shade, bordering the neck +and elbow sleeves. Betty wore a bunch of violets at her waist. Mollie +was in pure white, which was particularly becoming to her because of her +dark hair and fair skin. + +But although the two girls had never looked prettier and although Mrs. +Wharton was now past forty, a number of persons, seeing the little +party, might have thought her the best-looking of the three. For even in +her early girlhood, when she had been the recognized belle of Woodford, +never had she seemed more radiant, more full of vitality and happiness. +She wore a curious blue and silver silk dress with a diamond ornament in +her beautiful gray hair. + +All during dinner both Mollie and Betty discovered themselves gazing at +Mrs. Wharton admiringly and with some wonder. For not only was she +looking handsomer than usual, but seemed to be in the gayest spirits. +Neither John Everett nor the girls had the opportunity for much +conversation, as Mrs. Wharton absorbed the greater part of it. + +However, after Billy and Mr. Wharton had joined them, the four young +people drove together to the theater, Mr. and Mrs. Wharton following in +a second cab. + +The theater party was by this time such a large one, that, although +there had been no mention made of it beforehand, no one was surprised at +being shown a box instead of orchestra seats. However, the fact that the +box was already occupied by two other figures was a tremendous surprise +to Mollie and Betty. + +One of them was a tall young man with black hair, a singularly well-cut +though rather pale face, and handsome hazel eyes. The other was a girl, +rather under medium height, with light hair and a figure as expressive +of strength and quiet determination as her face. + +“Why, Sylvia Wharton, what on earth has brought you to New York at such +a time?” Mollie O’Neill demanded, throwing her arm affectionately around +her step-sister’s waist and drawing her into the rear of the box. “I +didn’t think any power on earth could persuade you to leave those +dreadful studies of yours so near examination time!” + +“Oh, I am one of mother’s surprises for you in New York!” Sylvia replied +as calmly as though she had always known the whole story of the two +girls’ unexpected journey. Calmness was ever a trait of Sylvia’s +character. + +Mollie was so excited by this unlooked-for meeting with her younger +sister that she would give no one else a chance to speak to her. The +girls and their two escorts had arrived before Mr. and Mrs. Wharton, and +it was therefore Mollie’s place to have welcomed their second guest or +at least to have spoken to him. + +Under the circumstances Betty Ashton found herself compelled to offer +her hand to Anthony Graham before any one else seemed aware of his +presence. She was surprised to see him, she explained, yet very glad he +happened to be in town for the evening. Betty was polite, certainly; +still, no one could have exactly accused her of cordiality. Therefore +Anthony was not sorry that the arrival of his host and hostess at this +instant spared her from further effort. + +The evening was apparently to continue one of surprises. For no sooner +had Mrs. Wharton’s party seated themselves in their box than Mollie +touched Betty and Sylvia lightly with her fan. + +“See, dears,” she whispered, “look straight across the theater at the +box opposite us. There is Margaret Adams and that good-looking Mr. Hunt, +who used to be a friend of Polly’s.” Mollie turned to her mother. “Did +you know Miss Adams was in New York? I thought she and Mr. Hunt were +still acting.” + +Mrs. Wharton shook her head. “No, dear, their tour ended a week or more +ago. Miss Adams is here in New York resting. She will not play again +until next fall, I believe. Yes, I have seen her once since I came to +town. But don’t talk, I wish to study my program.” + +With this suggestion both Mollie and Betty glanced for an instant at the +list of characters in the center of their books of the play. Peggy Moore +was the star of the performance. She was a young actress who must have +earned her reputation quite recently, for no one had heard of her until +a short while before. + +The bell rang for the raising of the curtain and at the same time +Margaret Adams blew a kiss to the girls from behind her fan. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI—“Moira” + + +The first scene of the play opened upon a handsome New York drawing +room, where preparations were evidently being made for a ball, for the +room was filled with flowers, and servants were seen walking in and out, +completing the final arrangements. Within a few moments two girls +wearing dainty tea gowns, stole quietly down the stairway and stood in +the center of the stage, discussing their approaching entertainment. +They were both pretty and fashionable young women, evidently about +eighteen and twenty-one. From their conversation it soon became evident +that they were of plain origin and making a desperate effort to secure a +place for themselves among the “smart set” in New York City. Moreover, +they were spending more money than they should in the effort. The father +had been an Irish politician, but, as he had died several years before, +no outsiders knew the extent of the family fortune. Upon the horizon +there was a friend upon whom much depended. He was evidently a member of +an old New York family and of far better social standing than the rest +of their acquaintances; moreover, he was wealthy, handsome and agreeable +and had paid the older of the two sisters, Kate, somewhat marked +attention. + +When after a few moments’ delay the second scene was revealed the ball +had already begun. The stage setting was remarkably beautiful, the +costumes charming and the dialogue clever. Yet so far the play had no +poignant interest, so that now and then Betty found her attention +wandering. + +What could have made this little play such a pronounced success that the +dramatic critics had been almost universal in their praise of it? she +wondered. What special charm did it have which crowded the theater every +evening as it was crowded tonight? It was only a frivolous society drama +of a kind that must have been acted many times before. + +Behind her lace handkerchief Betty gracefully concealed a yawn. Then she +glanced across the theater toward Margaret Adams’ box, hoping she might +catch another smile or nod from the great lady. But Miss Adams was +leaning forward with her figure tense with interest and her eyes +fastened in eager expectancy upon a door at the rear of the stage. Back +of her, and it seemed to Betty even at this distance, that his face +looked unusually white and strained, stood Richard Hunt. Assuredly he +seemed as intent upon the play as Miss Adams. + +Betty stared at the stage again. A dance had just ended, the guests were +separating into groups and standing about talking. But a timid knock now +sounded on the door which apparently no one heard. A moment later this +door is slowly opened. There followed a murmur of excitement, a little +electric thrill passing through the audience so that unexpectedly Betty +found her own pulses tingling with interest and excitement. What a goose +she had been! Surely she had heard half a dozen times at least that the +success of this new play was entirely due to the charm and talent of the +young actress, Peggy Moore, who took the part of the heroine. + +At the open door the newcomer was seen hesitating. No one noticed her, +then she walked timidly forward and stood alone in the center of the +stage, one of the most appealing, delicious and picturesque of figures +in the world of fiction or reality. + +The girl was wearing an absurd costume, a bright red blouse, open at the +throat, a plaid skirt too short for the slender legs beneath it and a +big flapping straw hat decorated with a single rose. In one hand she +carried an old-fashioned carpet bag and in the other a tiny Maltese +kitten. The girl had two long braids of black hair that hung below her +waist, scarlet lips, a white imploring face and wistful, humorous, +tender blue eyes. + +Betty was growing cold to the tips of her fingers, although her face +flushed until it felt almost painful. Then she overheard a queer, +half-restrained sound near her and the next instant Mrs. Wharton leaned +forward from her place and placed a hand on her arm and on Mollie’s. + +“Yes, girls, it is Polly!” she whispered quietly, although with shining +eyes. “But please, please don’t stir or do anything in the world to +attract her attention. It was Polly’s own idea to surprise you like +this, and yet she is dreadfully afraid that the sight of you may make +her break down and forget her part. She is simply wonderful!” + +Naturally this was a mother’s opinion; however, nothing that Mrs. +Wharton was saying was making the slightest impression, for neither +Mollie nor Betty had heard a word. + +For Moira, the little Irish girl, had begun to speak and everybody on +the stage was looking toward her, smiling and shrugging their shoulders, +except the two daughters of the house and their fashionable mother. + +Moira had asked for her aunt, Mrs. Mulholland. She was not an emigrant +maid-of-all-work, as the guests presumed her to be, but a niece of the +wealthy household. She had crossed the ocean alone and was expecting a +welcome from her relatives. + +At this point in the drama the hero came forward to the little Irish +maid’s assistance. Then her aunt and cousins dared not display the anger +they felt for this undesired guest. Later it was explained that Moira +had been sent to New York by her old grandfather, who, fearing that he +was about to die, wished the girl looked after by her relatives. Moira’s +father had been the son that stayed behind in Ireland. He had been +desperately poor and the grandfather was supposed to be equally so. +Then, of course, followed the history of the child’s efforts to fit +herself into the insincere and unkind household. + +Nothing remarkable in the story of the little play, surely, but +everything in the art with which Polly O’Neill acted it! + +Tears and smiles, both in writing and acting: these are what the artist +desires as his true recognition. And Polly seldom spoke half a dozen +lines without receiving one or the other. Sometimes the smiles and tears +crowded so close together that the one had not sufficient time to thrust +the other away. + +“I didn’t dream the child had it in her: it is genius!” Margaret Adams +whispered to her companion, when the curtain had finally fallen on the +second act and she had leaned back in her chair with a sigh of mingled +pleasure and relief. + +“She had my promise to say nothing until tonight. Yes, I have been in +the secret since last winter.” Richard explained. “It was a blessed +accident Polly’s finding just this particular kind of play. She could +have played no other so well while still so young. You see, she was +acting in a cheap stock company when a manager happened quite by chance +to discover her. But she will want to tell you the story herself. I must +not anticipate.” + +For a moment, instead of replying, Margaret Adams looked slightly +amazed. “I did not know that you and Polly were such great friends, +Richard, that she has preferred confiding in you to any one else,” she +said at length. + +Richard Hunt had taken his seat and was now watching the unconcealed +triumph and delight among the group of Polly’s family and friends in the +box across the theater. + +“I wasn’t chosen; I was an accident,” the man smiled. “Last winter in +Boston I met Polly—Miss O’Neill,” he corrected himself, “and she told me +what she was trying to do, fight things out for herself without advice +or assistance from any one of us. But, of course, after I was taken into +her secret she allowed me to keep in touch with her now and then. The +child was lonely and dreadfully afraid you and her other friends would +not understand or forgive what she had tried to do.” + +“Polly is not exactly a child, Richard; she must be nearly twenty-two,” +Margaret Adams replied quietly. + +In the final act the little Irish heroine had her hour of triumph. The +hero had fallen in love with her instead of with the fashionable cousin. +Yet Moira was not the pauper her relatives had believed her, for the old +grandfather had recently died and his solicitor appeared with his will. +The Irish township had purchased his acres of supposedly worthless land +and Moira was proclaimed an heiress. + +At the end Polly was her gayest, most inimitable, laughing self. Half a +dozen times Betty, Mollie and Sylvia found themselves forgetting that +she was acting at all. How many times had they not known her just as +wilful and charming, their Polly of a hundred swift, succeeding moods. + +Moira was not angry with any one in the world, certainly not with the +cousins who had been almost cruel to her. During her stay among them she +had learned of their need of money and was now quick to offer all that +she had. She was so generous, so happy, and with it all so petulant and +charming, that at last even the stern aunt and the envious cousins +succumbed to her. + +Then the curtain descended on a very differently clad heroine, but one +who was essentially unchanged. Moira was dressed in a white satin made +in the latest and most exquisite fashion; and her black hair was +beautifully arranged on her small, graceful head. Only the people who +loved her could have dreamed that Polly O’Neill would ever look so +pretty. And in one hand the girl was holding a single red rose, though +under the other arm she was still clutching her beloved Maltese cat. + +“Polly will not answer any curtain calls tonight,” Mrs. Wharton +whispered hurriedly when the last scene was over. “If the others will +excuse us she has asked that only Sylvia, Betty and Mollie come to her +room. Margaret Adams will be there, but no one else. She is very tired +at the close of her performances, but she is afraid you girls may not +forgive her long silence and her deception. Will you come this way with +me?” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII—A Reunion + + +Next morning at half past ten o’clock Polly O’Neill was sitting upright +in bed in the room at her hotel with Betty on one side, Mollie on the +other and Sylvia at the foot, gazing rather searchingly upon the object +of their present devotion. + +Polly was wearing a pale pink dressing jacket trimmed with a great deal +of lace and evidently quite new. Indeed it had been purchased with the +idea of celebrating this great occasion. The girl’s cheeks were as +crimson as they had been on the stage the night before and her eyes were +as shining. She was talking with great rapidity and excitement. + +“Yes, it is perfectly thrilling and delightful, Mollie Mavourneen, and I +never was so happy in my life, now that you know all about me and are +not really angry,” Polly exclaimed gayly. “But I can tell you it wasn’t +all honey and roses last winter, working all alone and being lonely and +homesick and miserable most of the time. No one praised me or sent me +flowers then,” and the girl looked with perfectly natural vanity and +satisfaction at the big box of roses that had just been opened and was +still lying on her lap. On her bureau there were vases of fresh flowers +and several other boxes on a nearby table. + +“Well, it must be worth any amount of hard work and unhappiness to be so +popular and famous,” Mollie murmured, glancing with heartfelt admiration +and yet with a little wistfulness at her twin sister. “Just think, Polly +dear, we are exactly the same age and used to do almost the same things; +and now you are a celebrated actress and I’m just nobody at all. I am +sorry I used to be so opposed to your going on the stage. I think it +perfectly splendid now.” + +With a laugh that had a slight quaver in it Polly threw an arm about her +sister and hugged her close. “You silly darling, how you have always +flattered me and how dearly I do love it!” she returned, looking with +equal admiration at the soft roundness of Mollie’s girlish figure and +the pretty dimples in her delicately pink cheeks. “I am not a celebrated +actress in the least, sister of mine, just because I have succeeded in +doing one little character part so that a few people, just a few people, +like it. I do wonder what Margaret Adams thought of me. She did not say +much last night. She is coming to see me presently, so I am desperately +nervous over what she will say. One swallow does not make a career any +more than it makes a summer. And as for daring to say you are nobody, +Mollie O’Neill, I never heard such arrant nonsense in my life. For you +know perfectly well that you are a thousand times prettier, more +charming and more popular than I am, and everybody knows it except you. +But, of course, you never have believed it in your life, you blessed +little goose!” and Polly pinched her sister’s soft arm appreciatively. +“I wish there was as much of me as there is of you for one thing, Mollie +darling, your figure is a perfect dream and I’m nothing in the world but +skin and bones,” Polly finished at last, drawing her dressing jacket +more closely about her with a barely concealed shiver. + +From the foot of the bed Sylvia was eyeing her severely. “Yes, we had +already noticed that without your mentioning it, Polly,” she remarked +dryly. + +Her only answer was a careless shrugging of her thin shoulders, as Polly +turned this time toward Betty. + +“What makes you so silent, Princess? You are not vexed with me and only +said you were not angry last night to spare my feelings?” Polly asked +more seriously than she had yet spoken. Even though Polly might believe +that she loved her sister better, yet she realized that they could never +so completely understand each other and never have perhaps quite the +same degree of spiritual intimacy as she had with her friend. + +Betty took Polly’s outstretched hand and held it lightly. + +“I was only thinking of something; I beg your pardon, dear,” Betty +replied quietly. + +Polly frowned. “You are not to think of anything or anybody except me +today,” she demanded jealously. “You have had months and months to think +about other people. This is the best of what I have been working +for—just to have you girls with me like this, and have you praise me and +make love to me as Mollie did. Yes, I understand I am being desperately +vain and self-centered, Princess; so you may think it your duty to take +me to task for it. But it is only because I have always been such a +dreadful black sheep among all the other Camp Fire girls. Then I suppose +it is also because we have been separated so long. Pretty soon I’ll have +to go back to the work-a-day, critical old world where nobody really +cares a thing about me and where ‘my career,’ as Mollie calls it, has +scarcely begun. But please don’t make me do all the talking, Betty, it +is so unlike me and I can see that Sylvia thinks I am saying far too +much.” Here Polly’s apparently endless stream of conversation was +interrupted by a fit of coughing, which took all the color from her +cheeks, brought there by the morning’s excitement, and left her huddled +up among her pillows pale and breathless, with Sylvia’s light blue eyes +staring at her with a somewhat enigmatic expression. + +Betty smiled, however, pulling at one of the long braids of black hair +with some severity. Last night it had seemed to her that Polly O’Neill +was quite the most wonderful person in the world and that she could +never feel exactly the same toward her, but must surely treat her with +entirely new reverence and respect. Yet here she was, just as absurd and +childish as ever and pleading for compliments as a child for sweets. No +one could treat Polly O’Neill with great respect, though love her one +must to the end of the chapter. She had a thousand faults, yet Betty +knew that vanity was not one of them. It was simply because of her +affection for her friends that she wished to find them pleased with her. +In her heart of hearts no one was humbler than Polly. Betty at least +understood that her ambition would never leave her satisfied with one +success. + +“But I was thinking of you, my ridiculous Polly!” Betty answered +finally. “I regret to state, however, that I was not for the moment +dwelling on your great and glorious career. Naturally no other Sunrise +Hill Camp Fire girl may ever hope to aspire so high. I was wondering +whether your mother allowed you to wander around by yourself last +winter, and, if she did, how you ever managed to take proper care of +yourself.” + +“Dear me, hasn’t mother told you? Why of course I had a chaperon, child! +Mollie, please ring the bell for me. She is a dear and is dreadfully +anxious to meet all of you,” Polly explained. “But Sylvia took care of +me too—would you mind not staring at me quite so hard all the time, +Sylvia? I know I am better looking behind the footlights,” Polly now +urged almost plaintively, for her younger sister was making her +decidedly nervous by her continued scrutiny. “Betty, even you will +hardly place me at the head of the theatrical profession at present,” +she continued. “Though I am quite green with jealousy, I must tell you +that Sylvia Wharton has stood at the head of her class in medicine, male +and female, during this entire year and is confidently expected to come +out first in her final examinations. I am abominably afraid that Sylvia +may develop into a more distinguished Camp Fire girl in the end than I +ever shall.” + +There was no further opportunity at present for further personal +discussion, for at this instant a tall, dark-haired woman with somewhat +timid manners entered the room, where she stood hesitating, glancing +from one girl’s face to the other. + +“You know Sylvia, Mrs. Martins, so this is Mollie, whom you may +recognize as being a good-looking likeness of me,” Polly began. “Of +course this third person is necessarily Betty Ashton.” + +From her place on the bed Sylvia had smiled her greeting, but Mollie and +Betty of course got up at once and walked forward to shake hands with +the newcomer. + +Then unexpectedly and to Betty’s immense surprise, she found both of her +hands immediately clasped in an ardent embrace by the stranger, while +the woman gazed at her with her lips trembling and the tears streaming +unchecked down her face. + +“How shall I ever thank you or make you understand?” she said +passionately. “All my life long I can never repay what you have done for +me, but at least I shall never forget it.” + +Betty pressed the newcomer’s hand politely, turning from her to Polly, +hoping that she might in her friend’s expression find some clue to this +puzzling utterance. Polly appeared just as rapt and mysterious. + +“You are awfully kind and I am most happy to meet you,” Betty felt +called on to reply, “but I am afraid you must have mistaken me for some +one else. It is I who owe gratitude to you for having taken such good +care of Polly.” + +The Princess was gracious and sweet in her manner, but she could hardly +be expected not to have drawn back slightly from such an extraordinary +greeting from a stranger. + +“Oh, my dear, I ought to have explained to you. You must forgive me, it +is because I feel so deeply and that the people of my race cannot always +control their emotions so readily,” the older woman protested. “It is my +little girl, for whom you have done such wonderful things. She has +written me that she is almost happy now that you have become her fairy +princess. And in truth you are quite lovely enough,” the stranger +continued, believing that at last she was making herself clear. + +“I? Your little girl?” Betty repeated stupidly. “You don’t mean you are +Angelique’s mother? But of course you are. Now I can see that you look +like each other and your name is ‘Martins.’ It is curious, but I paid no +attention to your name at first and never associated you with my little +French girl.” Now it was Betty’s turn to find her voice shaking, partly +from pleasure and also from embarrassment. “It was a beautiful accident, +wasn’t it, for Angelique and I, and you and Polly to find each other? +But you have nothing to thank me for, Mrs. Martins. Angel has given me +more pleasure than I can ever give her. She has been so wonderful since +she found something in life to interest her. Won’t you come to the cabin +with me right away and see her? Mollie and Mrs. Wharton can surely look +after Polly for a few days; besides she never does what any one tells +her.” + +Suddenly Betty let go her companion’s hand, swinging around toward the +elfish figure in the bed. For Polly did look elfish at this moment, with +her knees huddled up almost to her chin and her head resting on her +hand. Her eyes were almost all one could see of her face at present, +they looked so absurdly large and so darkly blue. + +Betty seized the girl by both shoulders, giving her a tiny shake. + +“Polly O’Neill, did you write me those anonymous letters about Angel +last winter? Oh, of course you did! But what a queer muddle it all is! I +don’t understand, for Angel told me that she had never heard of Polly +O’Neill in her entire life until I spoke of you.” + +“And no more she has, Princess,” returned Polly smiling. “Everybody sit +down and be good, please, while I explain things as far as I understand +them. You see Mrs. Martins and I met each other at the theater one +evening where she had come to do some wonderful sewing for some one. +Well, of course my clothes were in rags, for with all our Camp Fire +training I never learned much about the gentle art of stitching. So Mrs. +Martins promised to do some work for me and by and by we got to knowing +each other pretty well. One day I found her crying, and then she told me +about her little girl. A friend had offered to send Angelique to this +hospital in Boston and Mrs. Martins felt she must let her go, as she +could not make enough money to keep them comfortable. Besides Angelique +needed special care and treatment. Of course she realized it was best +for her little girl, yet they were horribly grieved over being +separated. + +“Just at this time, Miss Brown, whom mother had persuaded to travel with +me all winter, got terribly tired of her job. So I asked Mrs. Martins if +she cared to come with me. When she and mother learned to know and like +each other things were arranged. + +“Afterwards the heavenly powers must have sent you to that hospital, +Betty dear, otherwise there is no accounting for it. Pretty soon after +your first visit Angel wrote her mother describing a lovely lady with +auburn hair, gray eyes and the most charming manner in the world, who +had been to the hospital to see them, but had only said a few words to +her. Yes, I know you think that is queer, Betty, but please remember +that though Angelique knew her mother was traveling with an eccentric +young female, she did not know my real name. I was Peggy Moore to her +always, just as I was to you until last night. Can’t you understand? Of +course I knew you were in Boston with Esther and Dick, and besides there +could be only one Betty Ashton in the world answering to your +description. Then, of course, Mrs. Martins and I both wanted to write +and explain things to you dreadfully, yet at the same time I did not +wish you to guess where I was or what I was doing. So I persuaded Mrs. +Martins to wait; at the same time I did write you these silly anonymous +letters, for I was so anxious for you to be particularly interested in +Angel. I might have known you would have been anyway, you dearest of +princesses and best,” whispered Polly so earnestly that Betty drew away +from her friend’s embrace, her cheeks scarlet. + +“I am going to another room with Mrs. Martins to have a long talk, +Polly, while you rest,” Betty answered the next moment. “Mrs. Wharton +said that we were not to stay with you but an hour and a half and it has +been two already. You will want to be at your best when Margaret Adams +comes to see you this afternoon.” + +“If you mean in the best of health, Betty,” Sylvia remarked at this +instant, as she got down somewhat awkwardly from her seat on the bed, +“then I might as well tell you that Polly O’Neill is far from being even +ordinarily well. She has not been well all winter; but now, with the +excitement and strain of her first success, she is utterly used up. All +I can say is that if she does not quit this acting business and go +somewhere and have a real rest, well, we shall all be sorry some day,” +and with this unexpected announcement Sylvia stalked calmly out of the +room, leaving three rather frightened women and one exceedingly angry +one behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII—Home Again + + +“But, my beloved mother, you really can’t expect such a sacrifice of me. +There isn’t anything else in the world you could ask that I would not +agree to, but even you must see that this is out of the question.” + +It was several days later and Polly was in her small sitting room with +her mother and Sylvia. + +“Besides it is absurd and wicked of Sylvia to have frightened you so and +I shan’t forgive her, even if she has been good as gold to me all her +life. How can I give up my part and go away from New York just when I am +beginning to be a tiny bit successful?” Then, overcome with sympathy for +herself, Polly cast herself down in a heap upon a small sofa and with +her face buried in the sofa cushions burst into tears. + +Mrs. Wharton walked nervously up and down the room. + +“I know it is dreadfully hard for you, dear, and I do realize how much I +am asking, even if you don’t think so, Polly,” she replied. “Besides you +must not be angry with Sylvia. Of course I have not taken the child’s +opinion alone, clever as she is. Two physicians have seen you in the +last few days, as you know, and they have both given me the same +opinion. You are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. If you will give +up now it may not be serious, but if you will insist upon going on with +your work no one will answer for the consequences. It is only a matter +of a few weeks, my dear. I have seen your manager and he is willing to +agree to your stopping as long as it is absolutely necessary. Perhaps +you may be well enough to start in again in the fall. Isn’t it wiser to +stop now for a short rest than to have to give up altogether later on?” +she urged consolingly. + +As there was no answer from Polly, Mrs. Wharton’s own eyes also filled +with tears. At the same moment Sylvia came up to her step-mother and +patted her comfortingly on the shoulder. It was odd, but Sylvia rarely +expressed affection by kissing or the embraces common among most girls. +Yet in her somewhat shy caresses there was fully as deep feeling. + +“Don’t worry, mother, things will turn out all right,” she now said +reassuringly. “Of course it is pretty hard on Polly. Even I appreciate +that. But it is silly of her to protest against the inevitable. She will +save herself a lot of strength if she only finds that out some day. But +I’ll leave you together, since my being here only makes her more +obstinate than ever.” + +As Sylvia was crossing the floor a sofa cushion was thrown violently at +her from the apparently grief-stricken figure on the sofa. But while +Mrs. Wharton looked both grieved and shocked Sylvia only laughed. Was +there ever such another girl as her step-sister? Here she was at one +instant weeping bitterly at the wrecking of her career, as she thought, +and the next shying sofa cushions like a naughty child. + +Once Sylvia was safely out of the way, Polly again sat upright on the +sofa, drawing her mother down beside her. It was just as well that +Sylvia had departed, for she was the one person in the world whom Polly +had never been able to influence, or turn from her own point of view, by +any amount of argument or persuasion. With her mother alone her task +would be easier. Nevertheless Mrs. Wharton appeared singularly +determined and Polly remembered that there had been occasions when her +mother’s decision must be obeyed. + +However, she was no longer a child, and although it would make her +extremely miserable to appear both obstinate and unloving, it might in +this single instance be absolutely necessary. How much had she not +already endured to gain this slight footing in her profession? Now to +turn her back on it in the midst of her first success, because a few +persons had made up their minds that she was ill,—well, any sensible or +reasonable human being must understand that it was quite out of the +question. + +So the discussion continued between the woman and girl, the same +arguments being repeated over and over, the same pleading, and yet +without arriving at any sort of conclusion. There is no knowing how long +this might have kept up if there had not come a sudden knocking at the +door. + +Opening it the boy outside handed Mrs. Wharton a card. + +“It is Mr. Hunt who has come to see you, Polly; shall I say you are not +well? Or what shall I say? Of course it is out of the question for you +to see any stranger, child. You have been crying until your face is +swollen and your hair is in dreadful confusion,” Mrs. Wharton protested +anxiously. + +Polly unexpectedly scrambled to her feet. “Ask Mr. Hunt to wait a few +minutes, please, mother, and then we will telephone down and tell him to +come up. You see I had an engagement with him this afternoon and don’t +like to refuse to see him. For once it is a good thing I have no +pretensions to beauty like Betty and Mollie. Moreover, mother, I am +obliged to confess to you that Mr. Hunt has seen me before, not only +after I had been weeping, but while I was engaged in the act. You know +he was about the only friend I saw all last winter, when I was so blue +and discouraged with life. Besides, I am sure he will understand my +point of view in this dreadful discussion we have just been having and +will help me to convince you.” + +Five minutes afterwards the celebrated Miss Polly O’Neill had restored +her hair and costume to some semblance of order, although her eyes were +still somewhat red and heavy, as well as her nose. Nevertheless she +greeted her visitor without particular embarrassment. Mrs. Wharton, +however, could not pull herself together so readily; so after a few +moments of conventional conversation she asked to be excused and went +away, leaving her daughter and guest alone. + +Fifteen minutes passed, half an hour, finally an entire hour. All this +while Mrs. Wharton, remaining in her daughter’s bedroom which adjoined +the sitting room, could hear the sound of two voices. + +Of course Polly did the greater share of the talking, but now and then +Richard Hunt would speak for several moments at a time and afterwards +there would be odd intervals of silence. + +Mrs. Wharton could not hear what was being said, and she scarcely wished +to return to the sitting room. She was still far too worried and +nervous, although, having an engagement that must be kept, she wished to +say good-by to Polly before leaving the hotel. + +Richard Hunt rose immediately upon Mrs. Wharton’s entrance. + +“I am ever so sorry to have made such a long visit,” he apologized at +once, “and I hope I have not interfered with you. Only Miss O’Neill and +I have been having a pretty serious and important talk and I did not +realize how much time had passed.” + +Polly’s eyes had been fastened upon something in the far distance. Now +she glanced toward her guest. + +“Oh, you need not apologize to mother for the length of your stay. When +she hears what we have been discussing she will be more than grateful to +you,” Polly interrupted. + +“You see, mother, Mr. Hunt does not agree with me, as I thought he +would. Who ever has agreed with me in this tiresome world? He also +thinks that I must stop acting at once and go away with you, if my +family and the doctors think it necessary. And he has frightened me +terribly with stories of people who have nervous breakdowns and never +recover. People who never remember the lines in their plays again or +what part they are expected to act. So I surrender, dear. I’ll go away +with you as soon as things can be arranged wherever you wish to take +me.” And Polly held up both her hands with an intended expression of +saintliness, which was not altogether successful. + +“Bravo!” Richard Hunt exclaimed quietly. + +Mrs. Wharton extended her hand. + +“I am more grateful to you than I can express. You have saved us all +from a great deal of unhappiness and I believe you have saved Polly from +more than she understands,” she added. + +The girl took her mother’s hand, touching it lightly with her lips. +“Please don’t tell Mr. Hunt what my family think of my obstinacy,” she +pleaded. “Because if you do, he will either have no respect for me or +else will have too much for himself because I gave in to him,” she said +saucily. + +Yet it was probably ten minutes after Mr. Hunt’s departure before it +occurred to Mrs. Wharton to be surprised over Polly’s unexpected +surrender to a comparative stranger, when she had refused to be +influenced by any member of her own family. + +But now the question of chief importance was where should Polly go for +her much needed rest? It was her own decision finally that rather than +any other place in the world she preferred to return to Woodford to +spend the summer months in the old cabin near Sunrise Hill. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX—Illusions Swept Away + + +It was a golden July afternoon two months later when all nature was a +splendid riot of color and perfume. In a hammock under a group of pine +trees a girl lay half asleep. Now and then she would open her eyes to +glance at the lazy white clouds overhead. Then she would look with +perhaps closer attention at the figure of another girl who was seated a +few yards away. + +If the girl in the hammock was dreaming, her companion fitted oddly into +her dream. She was dressed in a simple white muslin frock and her hair +had a band of soft blue ribbon tied about it. In her lap lay an open +book, but no page had been turned in the last fifteen minutes and indeed +she was quieter than her friend who was supposed to be asleep. + +“Betty,” a voice called softly, “bring your chair nearer to me. I have +done my duty nobly for the past two hours and have not spoken a single, +solitary word. So even the sternest of doctors and nurses can’t say I am +unfaithful to my rest cure. Besides it is absurd, now when I am as well +as any one else. Yes, that is much better, Betty, and you are, please, +to gaze directly into my face while I am talking to you. I haven’t liked +your fashion lately of staring off into space, as you were doing just +recently and indeed on all occasions when you believe no one is paying +any special attention to you.” + +With a low curtsey Betty did as she was commanded. She even knelt down +on the ground beside the hammock to look the more directly into the eyes +of her friend. But as she continued, unexpectedly a slow color crept +into her cheeks from her throat upwards until it had flushed her entire +face. + +“I declare, Polly,” she exclaimed jumping to her feet abruptly and +sitting down in her chair again, “you make me feel as though I had +committed some offence, though I do assure you I have been as good as +gold, so far as I know, for a long, long time.” + +Polly was silent a moment. “You know perfectly well, Betty, that I don’t +think you have done anything wrong. You need not use that excuse to try +and deceive me, dear, because it does not make the slightest impression. +The truth is, Betty, that you have a secret that you are keeping from me +and from every one else so far as I know. Of course there isn’t any +reason why you should confide in me if you don’t wish. You may be +punishing me for my lack of confidence in you last winter.” + +This last statement was possibly made with a double intention. Betty +responded to it instantly. + +“Surely, Polly, you must know that would not make the slightest +difference,” she returned earnestly. And then the next instant, as if +fearing that she might have betrayed herself: “But what in the world +makes you think I am cherishing a secret, you absurd Polly? I suppose +you have had to have something to think about these past two months, +when you have spent so much time lying down. Well, when I see how you +have improved I am quite willing to have been your victim.” + +With a quick motion the other girl now managed to sit upright, piling +her sofa cushions behind her. Her color was certainly sufficiently vivid +at this instant. But indeed she was so improved in every way that one +would hardly have known her for the Polly O’Neill of the past year’s +trials and successes. Her figure was almost rounded, her chin far less +pointed and all the lines of fatigue and nervous strain had vanished +from her face. But Polly’s temper had not so materially changed! + +“It isn’t worth while to accuse me of having tried to spy into your +private affairs, Princess,” she replied haughtily. “But if you do feel +that I have, then I ask your pardon for now and all times. I shall never +be so offensive again.” + +There followed a vast and complete human silence. Then Polly got up from +her resting place and went and put her arm quietly about her friend. + +“Princess, I would rather that the stars should fall or the world come +to an end, than have you really angry with me,” she murmured. “But you +know I did not mean to offend you by asking you to confide in me, don’t +you? Anyway I promise never, never to ask you again. Here, let me have +the Woodford paper, please. I believe Billy brought us the afternoon +edition. I wonder if he and Mollie will be gone on their boating +expedition for long? They must have been around the lake half a dozen +times already.” + +As though dismissing the subject of their past conversation entirely +from her mind, Polly, resuming her hammock, now buried herself in the +columns of the Woodford Gazette. Apparently she had not observed that no +reply had been made either to her accusation or apology. She could see +that Betty was not seriously angry, which was the main thing. + +“Get out your embroidery, Princess, and let me read the news aloud to +you;” she demanded next. “I love to watch you sew. It is not because you +do it so particularly well, but because you always manage to look like a +picture in a book. Funny thing, dear, why you have such a different +appearance from the rest of us. Oh, I am not saying that probably other +girls are not as pretty as you are, Mollie and Meg for instance. But you +have a different look somehow. No wonder Angel thinks you are a fairy +princess.” + +But at this moment an unexpected choking sound, that seemed in some +fashion to have come forth from Betty, interrupted the flow of her +friend’s compliments. + +“Please don’t, Polly,” she pleaded. “You know I love your Irish blarney +most of the time beyond anything in this world. But now I want to tell +you something. I have had a kind of a secret for over a year, but it is +past now and I’m dreadfully sorry if you believe you find a change in me +that you don’t like. I suppose sometimes I do feel rather blue simply +because I am of so little account in the world. Please don’t think I am +jealous, but you and Sylvia and Nan and Meg are all doing things and +Esther and Edith and Eleanor are married and Mollie helps her mother +with your big house. I believe Beatrice and Judith are both at college, +though we have been separated from them for such a long time. So you see +I am the only good-for-nothing in the old Sunrise Hill Camp Fire +circle.” + +“Yes, I see,” was the somewhat curt reply from behind the outspread +paper. + +“Mrs. Martins told me yesterday that the surgeons Dr. Barton brought to +see Angelique think she may be able to walk in another year or so and I +believe Cricket is to give up her crutches altogether in a few months,” +Polly presently remarked. + +In the sunshine Betty Ashton’s face shone with happiness. “Yes, isn’t it +wonderful?” she remarked innocently. + +“Of course, doing beautiful things for other people isn’t being of the +slightest use in the world,” the other girl continued, as though talking +to herself. “Yet Mrs. Martins also said yesterday, that she and +Angelique believed they had strayed into Paradise they were so happy +here at the cabin with the prospect of Angel’s growing better ahead of +them. And I believe Cricket dances and sings with every step she takes +nowadays.” + +“But I?” interrupted Betty. + +“No, of course you have had nothing in the world to do with it and I +never accused you for a single instant,” her friend argued, and then +Polly fell to reading the paper aloud. + +“‘The friends of Doctor and Mrs. Richard Ashton, now of Boston, +Massachusetts, but formerly of Woodford, New Hampshire, will be +delighted to hear of the birth of their son, Richard Jr., on July the +fourteenth.’ How does it feel to be an aunt?” the reader demanded. + +“Delicious,” Betty sighed, and then began dreaming of her new nephew, +wondering when she was to be allowed to see him, until Polly again +interfered with her train of thought. + +“‘Mr. and Mrs. Frank Wharton entertained at dinner last night in their +new home in honor of Mr. Anthony Graham, our brilliant young congressman +who has returned to Woodford for a few days.’ Well, I like that!” Polly +protested. “Think of Frank and Eleanor daring to give a dinner party and +asking none of their other old friends or relatives. They must feel set +up at being married before the rest of us.” + +For the first time Betty now actually took a few industrious stitches in +her embroidery. “Oh, they probably did not have but two or three guests. +You know how papers exaggerate things, Pollykins, I would not be so +easily offended with my relations,” she protested. + +“No, but you used to be such an intimate friend of Anthony Graham’s. Do +you know I look upon him as one of your good works, Betty? I wonder if +he will condescend to come to the cabin to see us, now he is such a busy +and distinguished person. Is he as much a friend of yours now as he used +to be?” + +Unexpectedly Betty’s thread broke, so that she was forced to make +another knot before replying. + +“Friend of mine? No, yes; well, that is we are friendly, of course, only +Anthony has grown so fond of Meg Everett lately that he has not much +time for any one else. But please don’t speak of anything I ever did for +him, Polly. I beg it of you as a special favor. In the first place it +was so ridiculously little and in the second I think it pretty hard on +Anthony to have an unfortunate accident like that raked up against him +now that he has accomplished so much.” + +“Oh, all right,” Polly returned, thoughtfully digging into the earth +with the toe of her pretty kid slipper. + +“Good heavens, speaking of angels or the other thing!” she exclaimed, a +moment later, “I do declare if that does not look like Anthony Graham +coming directly toward us this instant. Do go and speak to him first, +dear, while I manage to scramble out of this hammock.” + +Ten minutes later Anthony was occupying the chair lately vacated by +Betty, while Polly was once more in a reclining position. Knowing that +she was still regarded as a semi-invalid, Anthony had insisted that she +must not disturb herself on his account. He had explained that the +reason for his call was to find out how she was feeling. So, soon after +this statement, Betty had left the two of them together, giving as an +excuse the fact that as she had invited Anthony to stay with them to tea +she must go to the cabin to help get things ready. + +After Betty’s disappearance Polly did not find her companion +particularly interesting. He scarcely said half a dozen words but sat +staring moodily up toward the dark branches of the enshadowing pine +trees. This at least afforded Polly a fine opportunity for studying the +young man’s face. + +“You have improved a lot, Anthony,” she said finally. “Oh, I beg your +pardon, I am afraid I was thinking out loud.” + +Her visitor smiled. “Well, so long as your thoughts are complimentary I +am sure I don’t mind,” he returned. “Keep it up, will you?” + +The girl nodded. “There is nothing I should like better. You know it is +odd, but the Princess and I were talking about you just when you +appeared. I must say I am amazed at your prominence, Anthony. I never +dreamed you would ever amount to so much. It was funny, but Betty used +always to have faith in you. I often wondered why.” + +This time her companion did not smile. “I wish to heaven then that she +had faith in me now, or if not faith at least a little of her old +liking,” he answered almost bitterly. “For the last year, for some +reason or other, Miss Betty has seemed to dislike me. She has avoided me +at every possible opportunity. And I have never been able to find out +whether I had offended her or if she had merely grown weary of my +friendship. I have been so troubled by it that I have made a confidant +of Miss Everett and asked her to help me if she could. I thought perhaps +if Betty—Miss Betty, I mean—could see that Meg Everett liked me and was +willing to be my intimate friend, that possibly she might forgive me in +time. But it has all been of no use, she has simply grown colder and +colder. And I fear I only weary Miss Everett in talking of Miss Betty so +much of the time. She recently told me that I did.” + +Polly’s lips trembled and her shoulders shook. What a perfectly absurd +creature a male person was at all times and particularly when under the +influence of love! + +The next moment the girl’s face had strangely sobered. + +“You are not worthy to tie her shoe-string, you know, Anthony; but then +I never have seen any one whom I have thought worthy of her. Most +certainly neither Esther nor I approved of the nobility as represented +by young Count Von Reuter.” + +Aloud Polly continued this interesting debate with herself, apparently +not concerned with whether or not her companion understood her. + +“Certainly I am unworthy to tie any one’s shoe-string,” the young man +murmured finally, “but would you mind confiding in me just whose +shoe-string you mean?” + +From under her dark lashes half resentfully and half sympathetically the +girl surveyed the speaker. “You have a sense of humor, Anthony, and that +is something to your credit,” she remarked judicially. “Well, much as I +really hate to say it, I might as well tell you that I don’t think the +Princess dislikes you intensely, provided you tell her just why you have +been so intimate with Meg for these past months. No, I have nothing more +to say. Only I am going down to the lake for half an hour to join Mollie +and Billy Webster and if you wait here you may have a chance of speaking +to Betty alone when she comes to invite us in to tea.” + +Then quietly Polly O’Neill strolled away with every appearance of +calmness, although she was really feeling greatly perturbed and +distressed. Certainly something must have worked a reformation in her +character, for although she positively hated the idea of Betty Ashton’s +marrying, had she not just thrust her deliberately into the arms of her +fate. Yet, of course, her feeling was a purely selfish one, since she +had no real fault to find with Anthony. So if Betty loved him, he must +have his chance. + +Then with a smile and a sigh Polly once more shrugged her shoulders, +which is the Irish method of acknowledging that fate is too strong for +the strongest of us. She reached the edge of the lake and madly signaled +to Mollie and Billy to allow her to enter their boat. They were at no +great distance off and yet were extremely slow in approaching the shore. +Evidently they seemed to feel no enthusiasm for the newcomer’s society +at the present moment. + +“I thought you were asleep, Polly,” Mollie finally murmured in a +reproachful tone, while Billy Webster eyed his small canoe rather +doubtfully. + +“She won’t carry a very heavy load, Miss Polly,” he remarked, drawing +alongside. Polly calmly climbed into the skiff, taking her seat in the +stern. + +“I can’t sleep all the time, sister of mine,” she protested, once she +was comfortably established, “much as I should like to accommodate my +family and friends by the relief from my society. And as for my being +too heavy for your canoe, Billy Webster, I don’t weigh nearly so much as +Mollie. So if you think both of us too heavy, she might as well get out +and give me a chance. You have been around this lake with her at least a +dozen times already this afternoon. Besides, I really have to be allowed +to remain somewhere.” + +Plainly Mollie’s withdrawal from the scene had no place in Billy’s +calculations, for without further argument he moved out toward the +middle of the pond. + + + + +CHAPTER XX—Two Engagements + + +Ten minutes more must have passed before Betty decided to return to her +friends. Yet during her short walk to the pine grove she was still oddly +shy and nervous and in a mood wholly dissatisfied with herself. Why in +the world did she so often behave coldly to Anthony Graham and with such +an appearance of complete unfriendliness? There was nothing further from +her own desire, for certainly he had an entire right to have transferred +his affection to Meg! To show either anger or pique was small and +unwomanly! + +Never had there been definite understanding between Anthony and herself. +Indeed she had always refused even to listen to any serious expression +of his affection for her. Long ago there had been a single evening after +her return from Germany, when together they had watched the moon go down +behind Sunrise Hill, an evening which she had not been able to forget. +Yet she had only herself to blame for the weakness, since if Anthony had +forgotten, no girl should cherish such a memory alone. + +Now here was an opportunity for proving both her courage and pride. With +the thought of her old title of Princess, Betty’s cheeks had flamed. How +very far she had always been from living up to its real meaning. Yet she +must hurry on and cease this absurd and selfish fashion of thinking of +herself. A cloud had come swiftly up out of the east and in a few +moments there would be a sudden July downpour. Often a brief storm of +wind and rain closed an unusually warm day in the New Hampshire hills. + +Under no circumstances must Polly suffer. Only a week before had Mrs. +Wharton been persuaded to leave Polly in their charge when she and +Mollie had both promised to take every possible care of her. + +Suddenly Betty began running so that she arrived quite breathless at her +destination. Her face was flushed, and from under the blue ribbon her +hair had escaped and was curling in red-brown tendrils over her white +forehead. Then at the entrance to the group of pines, before she has +even become aware of Polly’s disappearance, Anthony Graham had +unexpectedly caught hold of both her hands. + +“Betty, you must listen to me,” he demanded. “No, I can’t let you go +until I have spoken, for if I do you will find some reason for escaping +me altogether as you have been doing these many months. You must know I +love you and that I have cared for no one else since the hour of our +first meeting. Always I have thought of you, always worked to be in some +small way worthy even of daring to say I love you. Yet something has +come between us during this past year and it is only fair that you +should tell me what it is. I do not expect you to love me, Betty, but +once you were my friend and I could at least tell you my hopes and +fears. Is it that you are engaged to some one else and take this way of +letting me know?” + +Still Anthony kept close hold of the girl’s hands, and now after her +first effort she made no further attempt to draw herself away. His eyes +were fixed upon hers with an expression that there was no mistaking, yet +something in the firm and resolute lines about his mouth revealed the +will responsible for Anthony Graham’s success and power. Quietly he now +drew his companion closer beneath the shelter of the trees, for the +first drops of rain were beginning to fall. + +“But I am still your friend, Anthony. You are mistaken in thinking that +anything has come between us. As for my being engaged to some one else +that is quite untrue. I only thought that you and Meg were so intimate +that you no longer needed me.” For the first time Betty’s voice +faltered. + +Anthony was saying in a tone she should never forget even among the +thousands of incidents in their crowded lives, “I shall always need and +want you, Betty, to the last instant of created time.” Then he brought +both her hands up to his lips and kissed them. “Meg was only enduring my +friendship so that I might have some one with whom I could talk about +you.” + +Suddenly Anthony let go Betty’s hands and stepped back a few paces away +from her. His face had lost the radiant look of a brief moment before. + +“Betty, a little while ago you told me that you were still my friend and +that no one had come between us, and it made me very happy. But I tell +you honestly that I do not think I can be happy with such an answer for +long. Two years ago, when you and I together watched the moon over +Sunrise Hill, I dared not then say more than I did, I had not enough to +offer you. But now things are different and it isn’t your friendship I +want! Ten thousand times, no! It is your love! Do you think, Betty, that +you can ever learn to love me?” + +Now Betty’s face was white and her gray eyes were like deep wells of +light. + +“Learn to love you, Anthony? Why I am not a school girl any longer and I +learned that lesson years and years ago.” + +When the storm finally broke and the thunder crashed between the heavy +deluges of rain neither Anthony nor Betty cared to make for the nearby +shelter of Sunrise cabin. Instead they stood close together laughing up +at the sky and at the lovely rain-swept world. Once Betty did remember +to inquire for the vanished Polly, but Anthony assured her that Polly +had joined Mollie and Billy half an hour before and that they would of +course take the best possible care of her. + +Nevertheless at this instant Polly O’Neill was actually floundering +desperately about in the waters of Sunrise Lake while trying to make her +way to the side of their overturned skiff. Billy Webster, with his arm +about Mollie, was swimming with her safely toward shore. + +“Don’t be frightened, it is all right, dear. I’ll look after Polly in a +moment,” he whispered encouragingly. + +Returning a few moments later Billy discovered his other companion, a +very damp and discomfited mermaid, seated somewhat perilously upon the +bottom of their wrecked craft. + +“I never knew such behavior in my life, Billy Webster,” she began +angrily, as soon as she was able to get her wet hair out of her mouth. +“The idea of your going all the way into shore with Mollie and leaving +me to drown. You might at least have seen that I got safe hold of your +old boat first.” + +“Yes, I know; I am sorry,” Billy replied, resting one hand on the side +of his skiff and so bringing his head up out of the water in order to +speak more distinctly. “But you see, Polly, I knew you could swim and +Mollie is so easily frightened and it all came so suddenly, the boat’s +overturning with that heavy gust of wind. To tell you the truth, I +didn’t even remember you were aboard until Mollie began asking for you. +I wonder if you would mind helping me get this skiff right side up. It +would be easier for us to paddle in than for me to have to swim with +you.” + +Gasping, Polly slid off her perch. + +“After that extra avalanche of cold water nothing matters,” she remarked +icily. However, her companion did not even hear her. + +Safe on land again, Polly waited under a tree while the young man pulled +his boat ashore. Her sister had gone ahead to send some one down with +blankets and umbrellas. In spite of the rain, damp clothes and the shock +of her recent experience, Polly O’Neill was not conscious of feeling +particularly cold. + +“I hope you are not very uncomfortable, and that our accident won’t make +you ill again,” Billy Webster said a few moments later as he joined her. +“I suppose I do owe you a little more explanation for having ignored you +so completely. But you see, just about five minutes before you insisted +on getting into our boat Mollie had promised to be my wife. We did not +dare talk very much after you came on board, but you can understand that +I simply wasn’t able to think of any one else. You see I have loved +Mollie ever since that day when we were children and she bound up the +wound you had made in my head.” + +Once more Polly gasped slightly, and of course she was beginning to feel +somewhat chilled. + +Billy Webster looked at her severely. “Oh, of course I did think I was +in love with you, Polly, for a year or so, I remember. But that was +simply because I had not then learned to understand Mollie’s true +character. I used to believe it would be a fine thing to have a strong +influence over you and try to show you the way you should go.” Here +Billy laughed, and he was very handsome with his damp hair pushed back +over his bronzed face and his wet clothes showing the outline of his +splendid boyish figure, matured and strengthened by his outdoor life. + +“But you see, Polly, I believe nobody is ever going to be able to +influence you to any great extent,” he continued teasingly, “and at any +rate you and I will never have half the chances to quarrel that we would +have had if we had ever learned to like each other. I forgive you +everything now for Mollie’s sake.” + +For half a moment Polly hesitated, then, holding out her hand, her blue +eyes grew gay and tender. + +“Thank you, Billy,” she said, “for Mollie’s sake. If you make her as +happy as I think you will, why, I’ll also forget and forgive you +everything.” + +Fortunately by the time Mrs. Martins and Ann had arrived with every +possible comfort for the invalid. And so Polly was borne to the cabin in +the midst of their anxious inquiries and put to bed, where neither her +sister nor Betty were allowed to see her during the evening. + +If either of the girls suffered from the deprivation of her society +there was nothing that gave any indication of unhappiness in either of +the two faces. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI—At the Turn of the Road + + + “By day, upon my golden hill + Between the harbor and the sea, + I feel as if I well could fill + The world with golden melody. + There is no limit to my view, + No limit to my soft content, + Where sky and water’s fairy blue + Merge to the eye’s bewilderment.” + +Polly read from the pages of a magazine, and then pausing for a moment +she again repeated the verse aloud, giving each line all the beauty and +significance of which it was capable. + +She was walking alone along a path beyond the grove of pine trees one +Sunday morning about ten days later. She wore no hat and her dress was +of plain white muslin without even a ribbon belt for decoration. She had +a bunch of blue corn flowers, which she had lately gathered, pinned to +her waist and was looking particularly young and well. + +Yet for the first time since her home coming Polly had recently been +feeling somewhat lonely and neglected. There was at present absolutely +no counting on Mollie for anything. Billy had always made demands upon +her time when they were simply friends, but since their engagement had +been announced there was never an entire afternoon or even morning when +Mollie was free. In answer to Polly’s protests that she was only to be +at home during the summer and so would like to see her only sister alone +now and then, Billy had explained that early August was the only month +in which he had any real leisure and that he and Mollie must therefore +make plans for their future at once. Moreover, as it was self-evident +that her sister preferred her fiancé’s society to her own, Polly had +been forced to let the matter drop. + +Then a week before, Betty had gone to Boston to see Esther and her new +nephew, which was discouraging for her friend. For as Anthony had been +too busy to come to the cabin except in the evenings, Polly had the +Princess to herself during the day time. + +She had promised Betty to stay on at the cabin until her return, as the +simple, outdoor life seemed to be doing her so much good; nevertheless, +Polly had determined to go into Woodford in the next few days and +persuade her mother to take her away unless things at the cabin became +more interesting. She was now rested and entirely well and more than +anxious to get back to her work again, since the friends on whom she had +depended were at present too absorbed to give her much of their time or +thought. + +“Well, Margaret Adams always told me that ‘a career’ was a lonely kind +of life,” Polly thought to herself. “But oh, what wouldn’t I give if +Margaret should appear at this moment at the turn of that road. She must +have had my letter on Friday begging her to come and perhaps she had no +other engagement. It will be delightful, too, if she brings Mr. Hunt +along with her. I told her to ask him, as Billy can make him comfortable +at the farm. I should like him to see Sunrise cabin and the beautiful +country about here.” + +Polly had finally come to the end of her lane and beyond could see the +road leading out from the village. She was a little weary, as she had +not walked any distance in several months until this morning. There was +a convenient seat under the shade of a great elm tree that commanded a +view of the country and she had her magazine with her and could hear the +noise of an approaching motor car or carriage, should Margaret have +decided to come. + +Again Polly fell to memorizing the poem she had been trying to learn +during her stroll. It was good practice to get back into the habit of +training her memory, and the poem seemed oddly descriptive of her +present world. + + “Tonight, upon my somber gaze + With gleam of silvered waters lit, + I feel as if I well could praise + The moon——” + +Here Polly was interrupted by the sound of a voice saying: + +“My dear Miss Polly, I never dreamed of finding you so well. Why, if you +only had the famous torn hat and rake you would pass for Maud Muller any +day!” + +With a cry of welcome Polly jumped to her feet. + +“Mr. Hunt, I am so glad to see you and so surprised!” she exclaimed. +“Please explain how you managed, when I have been watching for you and +Margaret all morning, to arrive without my knowing?” + +“But we have not arrived, and I hope you won’t be too greatly +disappointed at my coming alone. You see it is like this. I happened to +be calling on Miss Adams when your note came and she told me that I had +been included in your invitation. Well, it was impossible for Miss Adams +to spend this week end with you as she was going off on a yachting party +with some of her rich admirers, so I decided to run down and see you +alone. It was not so remarkable my coming upon you unawares, since I +walked out from the village. Please do sit down again and tell me you +are glad to see me.” + +Polly sat down as she was bid, and Richard Hunt, dropping on the ground +near her, took off his hat, leaning his head on his hand like a tired +boy. + +“Come, hurry, you haven’t said you were glad yet, Miss Polly,” he +protested. + +Polly’s eyes searched the dark ones turned half-teasingly and +half-admiringly toward her. + +“Do you mean, Mr. Hunt, that you came all the way from New York to +Woodford just to see me?” she asked wonderingly. “And that you came +alone, without Margaret or any one else?” + +Her companion laughed, pushing back the iron gray hair from his +forehead, for his long walk had been a warm one. + +“I do assure you I haven’t a single acquaintance concealed anywhere +about me,” he declared. “But just the same I don’t see why you should +feel so surprised. Don’t you know that I would travel a good many miles +to spend an hour alone with you, instead of a long and blissful day. Of +course I am almost old enough to be your father——” + +“You’re not,” Polly interrupted rather irritably. Yet in spite of her +protest she was feeling curiously shy and self-conscious and Polly was +unaccustomed to either of these two emotions. Then, just in order to +have something to do, she carelessly drew the bunch of corn flowers from +her belt and held them close against her hot cheeks. + +“Mr. Hunt,” she began after a moment of awkward silence, “don’t think I +am rude, but please do not say things to me like—” the girl +hesitated—“like that last thing; I mean your being willing to travel +many miles to spend an hour alone with me. You have always been so kind +that I have thought of you as my real friend, but of course if you begin +to be insincere and flatter me as you would some one whom you did not +honestly like, I——” + +Polly ceased talking at this instant because Richard Hunt had risen +quickly to his feet and put forth his hand to assist her. + +“Let us go on to your cabin,” he replied gravely. “You are right. I +should not have said a thing like that to you. But you are wrong, Polly, +in believing I was insincere. You see, I grew to be pretty fond of you +last winter and very proud, seeing with what courage you fought your +battles alone.” Richard Hunt paused, walking on a few paces in silence. +“I shall not worry you with the affection of a man so much older than +you are,” he continued as though having at last made up his mind to say +all that was in his heart and be through. “Only at all times and under +all circumstances, no matter what happens, you are to remember, Polly, +that you are and always shall be first with me.” + +“I—you,” the girl faltered. “Why I thought you cared for Margaret. I +never dreamed—” then somehow Polly, who had always so much to say, could +not even finish her sentence. + +“No, of course you never did,” the man replied gravely. “Still, I want +you to know that Margaret and I have never thought of being anything but +the best of friends. Now let us talk of something else, only tell me +first that you are not angry and we will never speak of this again.” + +“No, I am not displeased,” Polly faltered, looking and feeling absurdly +young and inadequate to the importance of the situation. + +Then, walking on and keeping step with her companion, suddenly a new +world seemed to have spread itself before her eyes. Shyly she stole a +glance at her tall companion, and then laid her hand coaxingly on his +coat sleeve. + +“Will you please stop a minute. I want to explain something to you,” she +asked. Polly’s expression was intensely serious; she had never been more +in earnest; all the color seemed to have gone from her face so as to +leave her eyes the more deeply blue. + +“You see, Mr. Hunt, I never, never intend marrying any one. I mean to +devote all my life to my profession and I have never thought of anything +else since I was a little girl.” + +Gravely Richard Hunt nodded. Not for an instant did his face betray any +doubt of Polly’s decision in regard to her future. Then Polly laughed +and her eyes changed from their former seriousness to a look of the +gayest and most charming camaraderie. “Still, Mr. Hunt, if you really +did mean what you said just now, why I don’t believe I shall mind if we +do speak of it some day again. Of course I am not in love with you, +but——” + +Richard Hunt slipped the girl’s arm inside his. There was something in +his face that gave Polly a sense of strength and quiet such as she had +never felt in all her restless, ambitious girlhood. + +“Yes, I understand,” he answered. “But look there, Polly, isn’t that +Sunrise Hill over there and your beloved little cabin in the distance? +And aren’t we glad to be alive in this wonderful world?” + +The girl’s voice was like a song. “I never knew what it meant to be +really alive until this minute,” she whispered. + +The sixth volume of the Camp Fire Girls Series will be known as “The +Camp Fire Girls in After Years.” In this story the girls will appear as +wives and mothers. Also it will reveal the fact that romance does not +end with marriage, and that in many cases a woman’s life story is only +beginning upon her wedding day. There will be new characters, a new plot +and new love interests as well, but in the main the theme will follow +the fortunes of the same group of girls who years ago formed a Camp Fire +club and lived, worked and loved under the shadow of Sunrise Hill. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Camp Fire Girls' Careers, by +Margaret Vandercook + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' CAREERS *** + +***** This file should be named 36229-0.txt or 36229-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/2/2/36229/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Larry B. 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