The Camp Fire Girls' Careers Part 4

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 m.u.f.f 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 t.i.tle 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 d.i.c.k'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 att.i.tude 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 pa.s.sing 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 a.s.sume 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 embarra.s.sed 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 embarra.s.sed girl.