Whether consciously or unconsciously, the thing we most desire in this world will come to us in the end.
Rather precipitately Sally and Gerry climbed down the side of the cliff to the beach. The way was steep and now and then Sally had to be encouraged and assisted until both girls finally arrived on the sands a little out of breath.
The beach stretched on further than one could see, a pale golden carpet now that the mists were clearing. It was divided at this point by a narrow gully. On one side of the gully were uneven platforms of rocks and between these rocks ran little streams of salt water from the ocean, creating tiny tidal lakes and rivulets.
Up and down these rocks, sometimes disappearing inside the water, at others clinging perilously above its edge, or hiding behind sprays of sea lichen or fern, were innumerable small sea monsters. At times the sides of the rocks were alive with hundreds, even thousands, of tiny crabs; then one single unexpected noise and off they scuttled like an army, not in dignified retreat but in utter rout.
The girls having descended the cliff, rested for a few moments and then wandered along these ledges. They were not of a dangerous character, for most of the stones were flat and not too far apart to be safely crossed.
Yet they walked slowly. Occasionally they stopped to watch two fishermen at work. The men were Japanese divers, and it was fascinating to see them swim with quiet, even strokes out into the deep water and then dive down heads first to remain under a terrifying length of time. Yet as each man rose again usually he had secured one or more of the large abalone shells.
In spite of their interest, Sally Ashton pleaded that they remain at a safe distance from the two men. As a matter of fact, Sally frequently suffered from the small timidities which belonged to her particular type of intensely feminine character. Although not in the least timid herself, Gerry agreed, it being a wise custom of hers to give way to her companion in unimportant matters. Moreover, she really intended working seriously for a few hours. Now that she and Sally were both weary, this sheltered place along the beach would be as suitable as any other to begin her painting.
Finding a comfortable surface of clean sand on a broad ledge of rock, with other rocks in the background, Gerry sat down. Here there was less wind than in other places and sufficient room for Sally to lie close beside her.
At about the correct distance away, a small boat moored to some hidden anchor moved back and forth with the movement of the waves.
This boat appeared a suitable subject to Gerry for her sketch. She had no idea of making a success of so ambitious a subject, but since all that Mrs. Burton asked of her was industry and not high artistry, Gerry was willing to work now and then. She really did wish to please her Camp Fire guardian, and if her motives were a little mixed and not all of them of the noblest character, well, there are others of us in this world who have mixed motives beside Gerry Williams!
After the first few moments of settling down to her task, Gerry began to feel mildly interested in her effort.
Her surroundings were in themselves an inspiration.
Nearby, and using her friend's crimson sweater as a pillow, Sally Ashton had curled herself up in the sunshine. She was wearing her own blue one for warmth. There was but little breeze stirring and the sun had grown suddenly hot, but Sally had a passionate affection for warmth. She had also an endless capacity for sleeping when there was nothing of interest in life to make wakefulness worth while.
For a few moments she watched Gerry at work, thinking she had never seen her look so pretty or labor so industriously. Then Sally viewed the small boat whose continuous movement impressed her like the sleepy swaying of a cradle. Afterwards she fell into a state of semi-conscious dreaming.
But Gerry kept on with her sketching certainly for more than an hour. By the end of that time she was surprised to find what a lovely sketch she had made. In spite of the fact that her boat was out of drawing, the color in her sky line was beautiful and the waves of the sea suggested real water and a real ocean.
After gazing at her painting with wholly unexpected admiration, Gerry put it carefully away in her sketch book. She was feeling a little tired, but her act was inspired more by discretion than weariness. To work upon her sketch any longer would probably destroy the value it at present possessed and Mrs. Burton would be pleased by her success.
Believing Sally to be fast asleep and not wishing to disturb her for a time, Gerry, leaning forward and resting her chin on her two folded hands, fell to dreaming.
For the past ten days or more, ever since her arrival in southern California, it seemed to Gerry Williams that never had her dreams and her desires been so insistent. She did not know that this was the influence of the semi-tropical climate upon her physical and spiritual development.
In truth, Gerry's past life had been a trying one and there was no reason why she should have been content with it, or why she should not hope for a happier future.
These summers in Arcady with Mrs. Burton—for they had been as summers in Arcady to the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls—had been the fairest experiences in Gerry's history. Yet she professed no ardent love for the outdoors as the other girls did. Neither was she so young as some of them, since within a few weeks she would be eighteen.
There would be other summers to come, Gerry realized, when she would not be Mrs. Burton's guest. Indeed, the Camp Fire guardian had frankly stated that if the war continued they would not be able to have their holidays together. In the future she must devote her money, her time and her energy to war service.
So today, looking out over the water, but now that her sketching was over, no longer interested in the view, Gerry faced what seemed to her an interminable number of lonely summers and winters and springs and autumns. In her earlier acquaintance with Mrs. Burton, when the great lady had revealed an unexpected interest in her, Gerry, as she had lately confessed to Sally Ashton, had dreamed impossible dreams. In those days she had imagined herself as Mrs. Burton's ward, living in her home, or traveling about with her over the world meeting rich and famous people.
Then at the last Gerry's vision had always been a wealthy marriage. A foolish dream perhaps, and yet not original or uncommon!
She did not think of her marriage as bringing her love or spiritual happiness, only wealth and social prominence. But at this time in her life Gerry of course believed that the last two possessions represented the character of happiness she sought.
Having awakened to reality with regard to Mrs. Burton's attitude, appreciating that she felt for her only a kindly interest and a moderate affection, Gerry was the more intent upon discovering some immediate solution for her own future.
From this summer in California she had hoped a great deal. She had thought through Mrs. Burton's prominence that it might be possible to make wealthy and worth-while friends. Now it appeared that the Camp Fire guardian intended to have her group of girls spend a secluded summer, deriving their entertainment from their life together outdoors in this beautiful place.
In consequence Gerry was deeply disappointed. Today she felt that the prospect ahead was dreary and dissatisfying. Mrs. Burton expected her to work and had no notion of assisting her toward any other fate. She had made her own way in the world and believed that work brought one the finest satisfaction. But Gerry recognized her own commonplaceness and understood that unconsciously Mrs. Burton was not altogether fair. Of course, if one possessed great talent, then work lifted you above dullness and routine, brought you beauty and joy. Yet she could only picture herself pursuing some stupid task, since she had neither education nor especial ability in any direction. Her only gifts, prettiness and her desire for the refinements of life which always had been denied her, little in truth to offer when there was no one to help!
Then, intending to banish her attack of blues, Gerry jumped up hurriedly. As she did so she noticed the two Japanese divers. They had left their work and had come softly over the sands until at the present moment they were only a few feet off. They were talking in excited voices, holding up the deep-bowled abalone shells, now polished and shining, and evidently trying to attract attention.
For an instant Gerry was puzzled. Then, before she could speak or even stir again, Sally, startled from sleep, also leaped to her feet. She may have been frightened by Gerry's sudden movement and now, catching sight of the Japanese fishermen, may have been under the impression that they had frightened Gerry. Whatever the cause, with an exclamation of terror, she started running, uttering funny little cries of alarm.
First Gerry merely called out reassuringly, then, perceiving that Sally would not stop, she ran after her.
Sally was awkward; she kept stumbling and sliding over the ledges of rock, making no effort to be sure of her foothold or to choose the easiest way. In the beginning Gerry was amused, then she grew a little nervous. Sally was always the least athletic of the Camp Fire girls.
"Do be careful; the men are only trying to sell us their shells. They have no idea of frightening you," Gerry expostulated.
She expected to reach Sally in time to keep her from injuring herself. But suddenly Sally gave an exclamation both of fright and pain; having made a false estimate of the space between two ledges of rock, she found herself falling into a small ravine.
The ravine was not deep; nevertheless Sally's rescue was not simple, since she would not help herself. Finally Gerry had to summon to her assistance the two Japanese, who had innocently caused the catastrophe. At last a bruised and tearful Sally was deposited upon a comfortable resting place. But here Sally declared she must remain indefinitely, as she was "far too seriously hurt ever to walk again."
The situation was trying, and Gerry was at her wits' end till one small inspiration came to her. Since food had ever a reviving effect upon Sally, they could have their luncheon and perhaps afterwards she would feel stronger.
But although her appetite remained unaffected by her accident, the afternoon wore on with Sally still insisting that she could not stir one step. Moreover, any suggestion of Gerry's leaving to find help always reduced her to tears.
Yet something must be done!
Long ago the little Japanese fishermen had returned to their tasks. Sitting cross-legged on the sand at some distance off, Gerry could see them patiently at work cleaning and polishing their shells. She remembered that they had seemed to understand what she had said, although speaking only a few English words.
Walking over to them Gerry as simply as possible presented their predicament.
When she had finished speaking the small bright-eyed men glanced at each other and nodded.
"Alle-ight," one of them answered for both.
Then off they trotted, this time disappearing inside their small hut. Next moment they returned carrying on their shoulders a flat straw basket set upon two long poles. It was scarcely a basket, so much as a woven straw mat, which the divers probably used at odd times for transporting their sea merchandise.
Ultimately Sally was persuaded to allow herself to be hoisted upon this mat, which was fairly strong since it suffered her weight. Then the two little men bore her off, swinging easily between them. They ran lightly from rock to rock until climbing up the cliff they reached the road at the summit, with Gerry following as swiftly as possible.
They had arranged not to attempt to carry Sally to camp but to some place nearer at hand, where she could receive aid.
Originally when they had made this plan it appeared to Gerry as a reasonable one and not one to cause anxiety. Now as she pursued the two strange little men, who were carrying Sally with such ease and quickness to a perfectly unknown destination she had a curious sensation more of bewilderment than fear.
However, one had to keep moving so rapidly that there was small opportunity for clear thinking.
Leaving the main road, the little men struck into another, which went first up a bare brown hill and then down again. The second hill was green with a crop of the ever-present beans.
Finally they climbed to the top of a mesa and brought Sally to a resting place before a clump of dusty, gray-green pepper trees.
On their left was a hedge of untrimmed shrubs and in front an open court. Beyond stood an old Spanish ranch house.
After whispering together, one of the little men rang a bell, which hung on a stand outside this court.
A few moments later a Japanese servant appeared and the three men spoke to one another in Japanese. Then the servant turned away.
It was all very unusual and puzzling. Before Sally and Gerry could be overwhelmed by uneasiness, to their relief they observed an older man and two young men approaching. They were obviously gentlemen, and one of them Gerry thought the most attractive fellow she had ever seen in her life. Yet he did not look like an American, but what her imagination had pictured as a Spaniard. He must have been about twenty-two or three and possessed unusually dark hair and eyes and skin.
When Gerry had explained their difficulty and apologized for their intrusion, their host led the way through the outer court into the enclosed one.
Sally continued to be borne aloft like a foreign princess upon the shoulders of her faithful Caryatids.
The inside court was a miniature fairyland.
Like all really old Spanish ranch houses, this house was built in the form of a square with the garden in the center. It was of one story with the veranda also on the inside and running the entire length of the house.
In days long past this veranda would have been filled with people, for when the Spanish ranch houses were the center of California's social life all the play and work of the Spanish families, their friends and servants took place outdoors.
Now the two Camp Fire girls saw no one save their hosts and the one man servant; there was no faintest suggestion of the presence of a woman.
The place looked old and ramshackle, as if its owners had preferred to enjoy life rather than to improve their estate. Even the enclosed garden, notwithstanding it was a sheer glory of flowers, showed neglect. A bougainvillea vine had been allowed to grow so large that it covered one-third of the veranda, hanging like a flowery canopy above one portion of the garden. Along the paths oleanders were set out in unpainted wooden tubs and the rose bushes had gone so long untrimmed that they were now of great size and covered with tiny white and yellow flowers.
Once this garden had been carefully planned and cared for, yet, perhaps, at present it held an even deeper charm.
Naturally, soon after their arrival their host, Mr. Philip Morris, had introduced himself and his younger companions, and Gerry Williams had given her own and Sally's name. Gerry also had explained the circumstances of Sally's accident and the fact that they were members of a camping party who were spending the summer on the California coast.
The young man who had originally attracted her attention proved to be the son of Mr. Morris. In introducing him the father accorded the Spanish pronunciation to his name, "Felipe," which he had not used with his own.
Later it developed that Felipe's mother had been Spanish and the old ranch the property of her family from the days when California was a province of Spain. But as she was dead it was true that at present no woman was a member of their household.
The other young fellow, Merton Anderson, was the son of a neighbor and a guest. As he had ridden over to the Morris ranch on horseback he offered to take back any message Sally and Gerry might care to send their friends, for Mr. Morris insisted that Sally must not be moved again until she had seen a physician.
At last Gerry wrote a note to Mrs. Burton explaining what had occurred and asking advice. If it were possible would she not drive over to the ranch in her automobile and bear Sally safely back to camp?
About ten o'clock on the evening of the same day Mrs. Burton and Mr. Morris were sitting before the open door of the old Spanish house looking out over the countryside.
In the neighborhood of the California coast the moonlight has a rare brilliancy. The mists of the early morning and late afternoons usually disappear and seem to float overhead in white and silver clouds.
"You are very kind to allow us to impose upon your hospitality in this fashion, Mr. Morris," Mrs. Burton declared, in the voice whose rare quality gave even to her ordinary statements a charm beyond other persons. "I don't believe I have ever seen so beautiful a view in California as I am having from your house tonight, and yet a few hours ago I would not have believed this possible."
Immediately upon receipt of Gerry Williams' note Mrs. Burton had motored over to the Morris ranch, using Merton Anderson as her guide. She was anxious, of course, in regard to Sally's injuries, but anxious also to learn the character of her rescuers. Naturally the girls could not be allowed to remain alone over night with strangers. Unless Sally were in a really critical condition, she could certainly be moved without danger.
Within a few minutes after Mrs. Burton's arrival at the ranch, the physician who had been telephoned for some time before, appeared in answer to the summons.
After seeing Sally he announced that she was not seriously hurt, only bruised and shaken, and could be moved without difficulty. Despite this assurance, the two girls and Mrs. Burton were spending the night at the ranch.
"I don't believe you appreciate, Mrs. Burton, how great a pleasure and an honor your presence in our home is both to my son and me. We are so far out of the world and with no women in our family are often extremely lonely. However, we are not so remote that we have not heard of Mrs. Burton's distinguished reputation."
Mr. Morris spoke with an old-fashioned courtesy and admiration which no one could fail to appreciate.
His guest preferred not to talk of her professional life during her summer holidays with the Camp Fire girls.
"At least I am sure we shall never forget our own pleasure," Mrs. Burton returned. "The fact of the matter was I discovered at once that Sally and Gerry were determined upon remaining as soon as you and your son were kind enough to invite us. It is my private belief that Sally even pretended to be more seriously hurt in order to influence my decision. She appears to be enjoying the rôle of injured heroine, and yet I can scarcely criticise the girls, as I did not require a great deal of persuasion."
As a matter of fact, soon after her arrival she also had fallen a victim to the beauty and romantic aspect of the old Spanish estate and to the charm and hospitality of its owners. Moreover, Mrs. Burton realized that Mr. Morris and his son were sincerely desirous of having them as guests. Their invitation had not been merely a conventional one and the old house seemed to possess an almost indefinite number of shabby bedrooms.
With an expressive gesture of her hands Mrs. Burton suddenly arose and walked with her host to the edge of the hill which sloped down from the front of his house.
"You are not very far out of the world when, as you tell me, the new National Guard camp is being built on the broad mesa below you. Is it where I see the little row of lights? Wherever our soldiers are is the only world that is of much importance these days! I am to drive over soon and see the new cantonment. My Camp Fire girls and I are anxious to find out if we can be of the least possible service. Recently, for the first time in my life, there have been moments when I was sorry to be a woman."
"And yet it is a sadder thing to be an old man, Mrs. Burton. I offered my services at the beginning, but I am past sixty and—well—well, they were right, of course; I am not a trained soldier and not even a competent business man and I should only have been a nuisance."
In the impetuous fashion which had always been characteristic of her girlhood as Polly O'Neill and which she had never lost, Mrs. Burton turned around.
"Yes, it is hard. Women are not soldiers at heart, in spite of those thrilling Russian women and their great 'Battalion of Death.' We are not intended for the actual fighting and can only do our work behind the lines until the world is purified forever from the scourge of war. But you have your son to take your place."
For a few moments Mr. Morris made no reply. Then he replied slowly in a tone of hesitation and of embarrassment:
"I wonder if you will allow me to make a confidant of you? I am in great trouble, Mrs. Burton, and although we were strangers before this evening I know your life must have taught you to understand human nature. My son does not wish to enter the war. I tried to persuade him to volunteer. He refused. Now the draft has come and his number has been called, he is still making every effort to escape military service, pleading exemption upon entirely unnecessary grounds. The fact is inexplicable to me. When my son was born my wife and I were no longer young and she died a short time after. Felipe has grown up here with me, with his friends and his flowers and his music, to which he is sincerely devoted, and nothing has ever been required of him. I knew he was indolent and selfish perhaps, but until the United States entered the war I failed to appreciate that Felipe was not a man. Another circumstance which has added to our difficulty, instead of clearing it away, is that Felipe and I have recently inherited a large sum of money. Until recently, as our home must have revealed to you, we have been poor and not very industrious. Now our inheritance has made my son more than ever eager for a life of ease and pleasure. He has been planning to fix up the old place until it looks as it did many years ago. He wishes also to study singing, as he has a really beautiful voice, and has been talking of going to Spain, now that the other European countries are at present out of the question. You can see I scarcely know what to do. Felipe's exemption claim is almost sure to be denied, and yet I cannot discuss the matter with our friends and neighbors. I do not wish to prejudice them against my boy. What is it I can do, Mrs. Burton, when I confess to you that I appear to have no influence with my son upon the subject of his responsibility to his country?"
Mrs. Burton continued looking down upon the extraordinary view.
The hills toward the east were black and eerie, the sea to the west a shining mirror, with the valleys like shadows in between.
"Mr. Morris, I wish you and your son would come over to our camp some day soon," she remarked later with apparent irrelevance. "Of course I wish you to know my sister, but I should also like you to meet her sons. One of them, Dan Webster, is one of the finest type of American boys. He is strong and clean and good looking and has no dearer wish in life than to be allowed to volunteer. In another year I presume my sister will be forced to give her consent—Dan is only seventeen at present. My other nephew, Billy—well, I hardly know how to describe Billy, because he is like no other human being I have ever known. He is one of the most impossible and obstinate boys in the world, and one never knows from one moment to the next what he is going to do or say. At present he is the trial of all our lives at Sunrise camp; he has proclaimed himself a pacifist, and feels called upon to convert everybody he meets. He is filled with Tolstoi's beautiful theories of universal peace. As he is still too young for the draft his ideas so far have not proved a serious menace, and yet I worry over him a good deal. Nevertheless, do you know I am not sure Billy would not be as heroic as Dan if the test ever comes and he is once convinced peace can only follow the tragic sacrifice of war.
"I am not saying all this to you, Mr. Morris, because I am unsympathetic about your son. It is perhaps because I believe I may understand his attitude. Forgive me if you do not agree with me, but I wonder if we older people are fully appreciating what tremendous sacrifices this war is demanding of youth. We have no right to expect all of them to give up their individual hopes and dreams for the future without hesitating and without flinching. They cannot all be made of the blood of heroes. The amazing fact is that so many of them have been. Personally I cannot help being a little sorry for your son. He will do the right thing in time, I am sure, but it cannot be easy to surrender this exquisite home and his ambition for a musical life. Felipe is probably afflicted with the artistic temperament, or else inspired by it, and the ways of the artistic temperament are past finding out," Mrs. Burton concluded, endeavoring to add a somewhat lighter tone to the conversation.
Her host shook his head gravely.
"You are very kind, Madame, and yet I am afraid I cannot accept your defense of my son. His ancestors were Spanish adventurers and soldiers and my own fought with Washington. However, I shall be delighted to visit your camp. One of the many reasons I wished to persuade you to remain over night with us was in order that Felipe might learn to know the girls who are with you. I fancied that he was immediately interested in one of them. Perhaps later she may prove an inspiration, a spur to him. American girls must have no patience with slackers these days. But suppose we cease talking about the war which haunts us all so everlastingly. Won't you walk with me and look at some of the other views about the old place by moonlight?"
Mrs. Burton and her host entered the front door of the house, crossed the large sitting room and came out upon one of the paths of the enclosed garden.
Now the air was almost suffocatingly sweet with the night fragrances of the semi-tropical flowers.
Under the deep magenta canopy of the bougainvillea vine the older woman discovered Gerry and her younger host.
Felipe Morris was holding a guitar, but for the moment he and Gerry were quietly talking. Feeling too shaken and uncomfortable to remain out of bed, and realizing by feminine intuition that Felipe would prefer to be alone with Gerry, Sally Ashton had retired some time before.
Now, although Mrs. Burton made no effort to interrupt Gerry's whispered conversation with Felipe Morris, she did wonder a little curiously what her influence upon the young man would be, if by chance he had been attracted by her.
There was no denying Gerry's exquisite prettiness; tonight with her pale gold hair, her fairness and grace she seemed in tune with the beauty of this old-world garden. Yet Mrs. Burton believed that Gerry was shallow and vain and that her ideas of life included less of devotion to duty and self-sacrifice than Felipe's. It was difficult to conceive of her acting as a motive force to high endeavor, Gerry, who dreamed only of money and pretty clothes and what she was pleased to consider "society."
Then Mrs. Burton sighed as she followed her host into the land which lay on the other side of the hedge. Had one the right to demand that Gerry and Felipe think of war tonight in a shrine, dedicated like this enclosed garden, to the service of youth and romance?
As soon as Mrs. Burton and his father were out of sight Felipe began singing:
"I will make you brooches and toys for your delightOf bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.I will make a palace fit for you and me,Of green days in forests and blue days at sea."I will make my kitchen and you shall keep your roomWhere white flows the river and bright blows the broomAnd you shall wash your linen and keep your body whiteIn rainfall at morning and dewfall at night."And this shall be for music when no one else is near,The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!That only I remember, that only you admire,On the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire."
"I will make you brooches and toys for your delightOf bird-song at morning and star-shine at night.I will make a palace fit for you and me,Of green days in forests and blue days at sea.
"I will make my kitchen and you shall keep your roomWhere white flows the river and bright blows the broomAnd you shall wash your linen and keep your body whiteIn rainfall at morning and dewfall at night.
"And this shall be for music when no one else is near,The fine song for singing, the rare song to hear!That only I remember, that only you admire,On the broad road that stretches and the roadside fire."
Then Felipe's song ended, and yet it seemed to Gerry that she could still hear the inflections of his voice.
"Thank you; that was lovely. I did not know I cared so much for music before," the girl answered simply and without the least touch of coquetry which one might have expected of a girl like Gerry in such surroundings. "But what an exquisite voice you have and what a beautiful night it is! I am sure I do not remember another half so lovely."
Then Gerry leaned forward a little so that she could see more clearly out into the garden.
"I don't wonder you feel that you cannot give all this up," she continued, with a graceful movement of her hand. "It seems to me wicked that you should be forced into the war, hating it as you do and perhaps spoiling your future as a singer. I agree with you, one ought to live his own life. All men are not equally fitted to be soldiers."
Gerry spoke with an unexpected vehemence which rather surprised her. For the past hour Felipe Morris had been pouring forth his side of the war problem to her, but as he was an entire stranger there was no especial reason why she should be so disturbed over the thought of his being forced to enter the army.
"I suppose I understand why you so hate giving up your home and your life here on the ranch and your music and all the rest, because I have never had a home of my own, or any possessions of much value," Gerry ended in a quieter voice and manner.
"You possess nothing of value!" Felipe Morris repeated, and although he said nothing more Gerry felt oddly flattered and happy.
Then Felipe laughed unexpectedly.
"I wonder if you realize, Miss Williams, that we have seen each other before tonight, probably about ten days or more ago? My friend Merton Anderson and I chanced to be spending the night at San Juan Capistrano when you and your friends rode into the old mission town. You don't know how much curiosity your appearance excited. You gave the old town the greatest thrill it has had in a long time. You see the little town is more than half foreign; there are Spaniards and Mexicans and half-breed Indians. You were dressed in a kind of compromise Indian costume, and down there we had never seen or heard of the Camp Fire. Merton and I hid ourselves on one of the verandas and sang a duet for your benefit. Then later, when it was too dark for us to see one another distinctly, we followed your party about the mission grounds."
Gerry frowned and then blushed a little from embarrassment.
"Were you wearing Mexican costumes? I confess Sally and I did become interested in you, but we supposed of course that you were either Mexicans or Spaniards. Your song was in Spanish so that we could not understand it."
"Shall I sing to you in Spanish now?" Felipe returned. "I speak the language as readily as I do English. You see my mother was of Spanish origin and she and an old nurse who lives near here always spoke in Spanish to me when I was a kid. You were right about the Mexican costumes. Anderson and I had been over into Mexico for a few days and were on our way home. I like to escape over there now and then when life at the ranch becomes too slow. I can be mistaken for a Mexican when I wish and it is sometimes amusing."
Gerry nodded, preferring to have Felipe talk to her rather than to offer him confidences. Oddly she was wishing tonight that she had read as many books as the other Camp Fire girls and had enjoyed the same advantages.
"Then you saw all seven of us at Capistrano?" she asked at length; adding, "There are five other girls in our Camp Fire group."
Felipe laughed. "Yes, I saw all of you, yet it was you alone I remembered," he murmured with true Spanish gallantry.
"Thank you for that compliment, although obviously I fished for it," Gerry returned, smiling. "But won't you tell me, now that the draft has been ordered and your number called, how are you going to manage to escape? Of course I shall not speak to any one else of what you tell me."
"I am glad enough to tell you," Felipe Morris continued boyishly. "You can't imagine how hard it has been to have no one to sympathize with me. I have wished many times since war was declared that my mother was alive and I could have talked the situation over with her. My father, as I told you, is dead against me. He thinks I am a renegade and a disgrace to him and to his name, and a lot of stuff like that. It seems his brothers all fought in the Civil War and were officers and it has been the regret of his life he was too young. I wish he had the chance offered him now instead of me," he concluded like a surly boy, with all his gallantry departed.
"But what are you going to do?" Gerry insisted, her interest in him remaining so far unaffected by his attitude.
"Oh, I am too plagued healthy, so the doctor won't help me out. I hoped to be released on the score of ill health at first. But later I sent in a claim saying I could not be released for war service because I was the sole support of my parent and had to be left here to look after the ranch. I don't see why raising beans cannot be considered war work? Father insists he can run the place himself and I am afraid he won't stand by me when the exemption board asks him concerning the truth of my claim. Pretty tough when a fellow's own father is anxious to get him off his hands to the extent of possibly being killed."
Felipe laid his guitar down on the piazza and in spite of the fact that he must have been at least twenty-two or twenty-three years old, Gerry found herself with a ridiculous desire to comfort him.
"It is just a difference of opinion," she said softly. "I don't believe if I were you I would blame my father, and he should have the same respect for you. I never thought of the question before, but I have decided tonight I do not believe in the draft. Isn't there anything else you can do, if this one exemption claim fails?"
Felipe Morris rose up, shrugging his shoulders impatiently. He was so foreign in his appearance that the movement seemed natural.
"Oh, yes, I can slip away into Mexico and remain until the war is over. I have been thinking of it as a possibility. But of course if I am caught I shall be put into prison as a deserter."
Then he stood gazing down upon Gerry with a bewildered expression.
"I wonder why I have entrusted my fate to you in this fashion? You understand that if you should ever tell what I have confided to you, things would be all over with me."
Gerry also rose. "Shall we walk about your garden for a little?" she said. "I am tired of sitting still so long. I expect Mrs. Burton will be here in a little time and think we should go to bed. But you need not worry with regard to my ever mentioning a word of what you have said to me—not under any possible circumstances."
Then as they wandered about the tiny garden Felipe gathered a bunch of the small white and yellow roses.
"Keep these in your room tonight."
Afterwards discovering that Mrs. Burton and his father had returned to the garden and were coming toward them, he added hurriedly:
"Tell me, please, when and where I can see you again, alone? It has meant so much to me to be able to talk to you so freely and I have an idea we are going to be friends."
"But you have agreed to come over to our camp," Gerry answered, feeling at the same time that she would like selfishly to preserve Felipe's interest entirely for herself. Of course when he was introduced to the other Camp Fire girls he would naturally take less pleasure in her society.
"Oh, yes, indeed, I am coming to your camp. Anderson and I would not miss the opportunity for a good deal. But I want to see you by yourself, not with a dozen other people chattering around. Surely you can manage to make an engagement to see me alone. You would if you liked me half as much as I do you."
Again Felipe spoke like a spoiled boy, but Gerry had no time to reply, for at this instant Mrs. Burton and Mr. Morris reached them.
Truth to tell, she had a distinct sense of relief as, slipping her arm inside her Camp Fire guardian's, together they said their formal good-nights.
Already Felipe Morris was demanding more of Gerry than either of them realized.
A few days after their visit at the ranch, arrangements were made for Mrs. Burton and members of her party to drive over to the new cantonment which was situated on a broad mesa not many miles away.
Gerry Williams announced that because of the dust and discomfort she preferred being left behind.
Sally Ashton also declined, stating that she was not well enough to consider undertaking the long drive and then being forced to walk about over whatever portion of the camp they were permitted to inspect. After her mishap, which Sally considered no one had regarded with sufficient seriousness, she had acquired a prejudice against excursions of any character.
Sally's attitude the Camp Fire guardian understood, although she was somewhat puzzled by Gerry Williams, as always before Gerry had been enthusiastic over change and excitement. One would have supposed that among all the girls she would have been most interested in the new war camp and the possibility of seeing and meeting the young American soldiers.
Mrs. Webster would not consider the trip, feeling that her heart would only be torn by the sight of so many war preparations, and more if she should chance to come in contact with an unusually homesick boy. Her sister could bring back word of whatever she could actuallydoto be of service, since often enough she was the pioneer who went forth in search of new ideas which Mrs. Webster put into execution.
Dan Webster was of course essential to the expedition, as he was chauffeur. Billy was not only invited, but Mrs. Burton insisted upon his accompanying them after he had very generously demurred, saying there was no reason why he should crowd the others when he really was not interested in war camps. She hoped, however, that the sight of the cantonment might exert either a mental or a spiritual influence upon him.
It was possible to manage eight in the car, although ordinarily it held but seven, yet one was willing to be a little inconvenienced under the circumstances, so the five girls, Vera Lagerloff, Bettina Graham, Alice Ashton, Marta Clark and Peggy Webster also accompanied Mrs. Burton.
The first part of the drive followed the now familiar line of the shore. Yet the outlook was never the same! Now and then one would see a heron or sand crane standing upon one leg near the water, apparently lost in immortal thought; sea gulls were dipping in and out, or else riding serenely on the waves; occasionally a buzzard, grim as Odin, soared overhead.
Once Marta Clark, who was on the front seat with Dan, gave a cry of surprise. She had discovered that what she supposed a great bird winging its flight over their car, was in reality an aeroplane on a long practice flight from North Island.
Finally leaving the coast, the automobile began a long climb over an undulating line of hills. The hills were bare except for occasional bunches of cacti and bushes of bright yellow tar weed. There were acres and acres of sage brush, sometimes a field of wild buckwheat and once in a while a small grove of live oak shrubs or of red and blue gum trees.
The mesa upon which the new cantonment was springing up like a magic city was a great desert of sand and sage. For years the thousands of acres had been of no use because of the lack of water. Now great irrigating ditches had been laid and the camp was being plentifully supplied with water by the city of San Diego.
The surroundings of the camp were cheerless enough, it is true, yet there was nothing cheerless in the atmosphere of the place itself. Even as the Camp Fire party approached they felt the undercurrent of the fine new force, the splendid vitality which the war has awakened in the world.
A sentry ordered Dan to stop his car within a few yards of the officers' quarters and Mrs. Burton was told that she must receive an official permit for their inspection of certain features of the camp.
From inside the little house, which looked like a miniature bungalow of unpainted pine, one heard the noise, not of the rattle of musketry, but the endless tip, tap, tap of many typewriters.
Captain Mason, who had been told of Mrs. Burton's intended visit, came out to greet her and her party.
He explained that just at present there were only a few hundred soldiers within the cantonment, although they were expecting many thousands within the next few weeks.
An army of workmen were at present engaged in preparing the way for the coming of the soldiers and the big artillery.
Strolling apart from the other laborers and still carrying a large hammer, Mr. Jefferson Simpson, the late Camp Fire guide, philosopher and friend, walked over to speak to Mrs. Burton and her companions. He offered no explanation for his presence at the camp, but it was obvious he had concluded that his efforts here were of more importance than his previous occupation. The Sunrise Camp Fire had always considered his remaining with them for so long a time an obvious absurdity and presumed that it was because of Mr. Simpson's continuing interest in Marie, although he had paid no attention to her since the breaking of their engagement.
But apparently his leading motive in life was to discover the number and variety of vocations in which he could engage.
After receiving a written order from the commanding officer for the day, Captain Mason led the way with Mrs. Burton walking beside him.
They were to be allowed to see only places of minor importance, the temporary tents and mess room, the Y. M. C. A. quarters. Mrs. Burton had explained that one of the chief reasons for their visit was a desire to find out how they might be of service in even the smallest possible way.
"You see, Captain Mason," she suggested, "we are living for the present not far behind the lines of this American war camp. In a different sense every woman and girl in our country should be a reserve soldier behind the lines until the war is over. One need not wear a uniform, or carry a gun to serve! Our American Camp Fire girls feel that they ought to be able to give as valuable service to the country as the Boy Scouts. I confess we have not yet altogether found our way."
By this time Mrs. Burton and Captain Mason had reached the Red Cross tent and now had paused for a moment outside to wait for the five girls and Dan and Billy Webster to join them.
Captain Mason nodded, waving his hand toward the open flap of the tent.
"You can help us keep our boys amused. I tell you that is the greatest problem we older officers have to meet with young, untrained soldiers. Discipline is comparatively easy, for few of the boys resent it; but look in there!"
Mrs. Burton did look, while Bettina and Marta and Peggy, who were nearest, also gazed in over her shoulders.
Several soldiers were sitting by a long board table looking at a pile of magazines, not because they were interested, but plainly because they had nothing else on earth they could think of to do.
On a raised platform a phonograph was playing an Italian love song. Some one must have started it, although at present no one apparently was listening to the music.
Several of the soldiers were writing letters, others were yawning and half lying down on the hard wooden benches, bored and listless and homesick.
Hearing voices outside the Y.M.C.A. tent, one young officer, who also had been writing, lifted his eyes.
The same instant Bettina Graham walked quickly inside the tent, holding out her hand.
"Why, here is my lieutenant!" she exclaimed. "May I call you my lieutenant, although Marta Clark will dispute the title? For I did reach you first after your accident and it is my first-aid treatment you seem to have survived. I did not know you had arrived at this cantonment, Lieutenant Carson. I do hope you have entirely recovered."
One afternoon, after resting for an hour or more, Mrs. Burton appeared at her little front door, wondering why she was encompassed by so unusual a silence.
The fact that at present the Sunrise camp was situated several miles from any other human habitation, with the sea stretching before it and a great ranch as its background, did not ordinarily insure it an essential silence. As a matter of fact, there were generally nine youthful persons, engaged in strenuous occupations of one kind or another, in its immediate vicinity.
This afternoon Mrs. Burton discovered that they had withdrawn to some distance from the camping grounds.
A camp fire was burning and the girls were seated about it in ceremonial fashion, with Mrs. Webster also forming one of the group. A little further off her two sons were characteristically engaged, Dan in bringing small pieces of driftwood up from the shore and Billy in lying upon his back, gazing toward the sky.
In truth only their Camp Fire guardian appeared deliberately to have been left out of the gathering.
Mrs. Burton suffered a distinct sensation of aggrievement.
Evidently the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls were deep in a consultation of some important character, so that it seemed scarcely fair that they should have ignored her completely.
Not wishing to go back into her room, which had grown a little close, and yet not desiring to interrupt the proceedings, from which her presence had been so carefully excluded, Mrs. Burton hesitated a moment just outside her house. If she were seen wandering about nearby, as a matter of good manners she would have to be invited to the camp fire. With Mrs. Webster already there, she had not the excuse that her presence might be necessary. Often the girls seemed to prefer giving her sister their confidence.
At this instant one of the Camp Fire group observed her and gave the information to the others. Peggy began beckoning violently, while Bettina Graham and Marta Clark both jumped up and were coming toward her.
"You are lazy, Tante, we have been waiting for you to wake up for ages!" Bettina remarked, slipping her arm through the older woman's. She was several inches taller than her Camp Fire guardian, and oftentimes at a distance Mrs. Burton was mistaken for another girl, she was so slender and so youthfully and ardently alive both in body and spirit.
"Yes, you seem to have been tremendously anxious for my society," she returned in the voice and manner both Bettina and Peggy understood. If the other Camp Fire girls were at times a little in awe of their famous guardian, Peggy and Bettina appreciated that she was much like other persons and now and then behaved like a somewhat spoiled young girl. Certainly she never regarded her own achievements as placing her upon a pedestal.
From her present speech and manner Bettina realized that she was both jealous and hurt over their apparent disregard of her, for she had an almost ridiculous craving for affection as an ordinary human being, caring but little for the admiration which was a tribute to her as an artist rather than a woman.
Nevertheless Bettina laughed in an entirely unsympathetic fashion.
"Well, we did wish to discuss something before you put in an appearance, but now the discussion has been over for some time, we very much desire your society. Yet only if you are amiable, because just at this time it is enormously important that you should be."
Mrs. Burton frowned and then laughed, a little teased by Bettina's too evident understanding of her state of mind.
Marta Clark said nothing. She had not yet acquired the habit of regarding her Camp Fire guardian in any spirit save one of devoted admiration. But Marta was the latest of the group of Sunrise Camp Fire girls and of necessity knew her less well than the others. Moreover, Marta also dreamed of a future dramatic career and it was not so easy to take simply the one woman who personified her own ideals.
In the circle on the ground Peggy Webster had arranged a leather cushion ornamented with Camp Fire designs as a seat of honor for their guardian when she finally arrived.
Sitting down, Mrs. Burton clasped her hands over her knees, gazing curiously around.
"Is this a conspiracy or rebellion, or a plot?" she demanded. "It seems to me, Mollie Webster, not only because you are my sister, but because we alone belong to the same generation, that you at least should not have been one of the conspirators."
Like the proverbial Charlotte in "Wilhelm Meister," who went on cutting bread and butter, Mrs. Webster, without replying, continued knitting.
"Oh, our plot is not dangerous, or at least we do not think it is, although you may feel differently," Peggy Webster announced, to whom the task of imparting the information evidently had been awarded. "We have merely been discussing the idea of forming a Camp Fire branch to the War Camp Recreation League. You remember this League is to do whatever is possible for the entertainment of the soldiers and we talked of our share in it after our visit to the war camp the other day."
Mrs. Burton appeared slightly suspicious.
"I also remember, Peggy, that it was agreed I was to be allowed to choose what form our activities should take. Moreover, whatever plan presented itself to us was first to be submitted to an officer at camp to find out if the plan met with military approval. Camp Fire girls, however clever, are scarcely the proper persons to decide upon the ways and means for providing entertainment for our American soldiers, valuable as their aid may be in the entertainment itself. But there, forgive me, I do not intend being disagreeable, and I have no doubt you have thought up some thrilling scheme! Only why not wait until our little dinner party and dance for the soldiers tomorrow evening is over before we precipitate ourselves into a fresh undertaking?"
"Oh, our party is just asmallmatter compared to the plan we have been working out this afternoon," Peggy continued, refusing to be snubbed or argued into silence. "Our idea is that if we are to become a branch of the War Recreation Fund Committee we must raise money for the organization. We wish to give a play and present to the fund whatever money we make."
Mrs. Burton shook her head. "Give a play out here in this semi-wilderness? Well, the idea is agreeable enough if you wish to amuse yourselves, but how you expect to make money or secure an audience is beyond my imagination! However, if you have set your hearts upon the scheme and think it would amuse you, do as you like. I only ask to be left out altogether. Remember, I am resting from a histrionic career."
Mrs. Burton made a movement as if she contemplated leaving, but Peggy resolutely held her in her place.
"Wedoexpect you to help; more, we expect you to be almost the entire thing!" Bettina interrupted with more vigor than clearness. "We are not contemplating a silly little amateur performance here at camp; we have more important things to interest us. We wish to give a real play at that exquisite open-air theater near the seaside resort that we saw the other day on our drive. Ever since then Marta and Peggy and I have been dreaming of little else and talking of little else to the other girls until now they are as enthusiastic as we are. It was Marta Clark who actually put our present scheme into our minds, and she merely spoke of how much she would enjoy seeing you act outdoors in so lovely a place."
"I am sure Marta is very kind," Mrs. Burton answered, but without revealing a profound appreciation of the compliment. "But don't be foolish, please. You know I try to do whatever is possible toward making our summers together happy and satisfying. Yet one of my chief reasons for living outdoors is to have a complete rest from my work and to get away from the whole thought of it as much as possible. I have given all the money to war causes I can afford at present. Later I shall do more, of course——"
"That is just the point," Peggy interrupted. "If people out here in California learn you are to appear in an outdoor performance, they will positively flock to see you. You know you could earn a lot of money for the Recreation Fund, besides we all think it would be great fun to act with you and have already selected the play that would be the most interesting to produce."
"Really, Peggy, I think you have gone somewhat too far," Mrs. Burton answered, although with a slightly dazed expression. "I don't believe I have ever had a theatrical manager who made every arrangement, even to selecting the play in which I was to appear, without consulting me. The whole thing is preposterous. Mollie, I really cannot understand your allowing the girls to become so absorbed in such a nonsensical project! I think you might have spared me the difficulty of refusing."
"But you don't appear to be having any difficulty in refusing, Polly," Mrs. Webster answered with her usual placidity. Nevertheless, she realized how greatly this same placidity annoyed her beloved twin sister in moments of agitation. "Yet I am sorry that I agreed to permit the girls to broach the subject to you, since the idea seems to trouble you so much. Personally I am afraid I also found the idea charming. You have not acted for a long time and many of your friends are giving theatrical benefits for the Red Cross or some war need. The girls thought they would like to present 'As You Like It,' with you asRosalind; you know you have playedRosalinddozens of times before. The open-air theater would make an exquisite Forest of Arden. Besides, I am sure our present group of Camp Fire girls could not act, so poorly as you used to, now and then, in private theatricals in the old days. You know, my dear, none of us imagined then that you were to turn out a genius."
Mrs. Burton flushed. "No one imagines it now, Mollie." She answered with obvious irritability. Then her manner became more apologetic:
"You girls are not angry with me for refusing?"
Wisely Peggy shook her head, "No, we are only disappointed."
Then everybody in the little company remained silent for several moments, which was a most unusual state of affairs among the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls.
Plainly Mrs. Burton suffered from the depressing influence, for suddenly she got up.
"Please leave me alone for a little while. I must think the question over?" she announced, as if she had not already issued her ultimatum. The next moment she turned away and walked down toward the beach.
"What do you think Tante will decide, Mother?" Peggy anxiously inquired.
Mrs. Webster shook her head. "My dear, Polly and I are twins, and I have known her ever since I have known anything. But to tell beforehand how she will make up her mind upon any subject is beyond me. I am a little sorry we have made this request of her. She takes her work so seriously, and after all she is doing so much for us without the addition of this."
At this instant a cool voice was heard speaking in the background.
The voice was Billy Webster's.
"I believe Tante will have the time of her life acting with you girls, of course she will consent, although probably no one else on earth with her reputation would take such a risk."
The next day Mrs. Burton announced that having written her husband she would await his reply before reaching an absolutely definite decision in regard to their presentation of "As You Like It." In the meantime she insisted that the whole question of the performance be neither thought of nor discussed.
Appreciating that he had grown too old to make a valuable soldier and yet unwilling to be left out of war service, Mrs. Burton's husband, Richard Burton, had taken the necessary examinations and had received a commission in the Ordnance Department. He was now stationed at a southern camp.
Despite the Camp Fire guardian's request, there was a good deal of speculation among the girls concerning the possible outcome of their hopes. During the following day they were too much absorbed by the prospect immediately before them to give much time to the consideration of the future.
Having arranged a small dance and invited a number of soldiers from the nearby camp to be their guests, the girls had promised to do whatever work was necessary for their entertainment. This included the cooking of the party food as well as the other arrangements. But by this time, after several summers of camping life, each girl considered that she had become an artist in the preparation of one or more superior dishes.
Ordinarily the most indolent of the girls, on occasions of especial festivity Sally Ashton always assumed supreme command of the cooking. It was Sally who, with Gerry and Vera as her assistants, made both the bread and cake, articles of food of particular importance.
In the present ménu she was especially interested, as recently she had been experimenting with a number of new war recipes, finding them extremely successful. Now Sally wished to repeat the recipes for a larger company than their Camp Fire group.
Having by this time recovered from her accident, secretly Sally Ashton felt that she was being repaid for what she had suffered. She had secured a very agreeable new acquaintance, who showed the symptoms Sally so well understood of becoming one of her many admirers. The young man was Merton Anderson, who had been a guest at the Morris ranch and had ridden over to camp with the news of the accident.
Since then, with Mr. Morris and Felipe Morris, he had made several calls upon Mrs. Burton and ostensibly upon her group of Camp Fire girls. However, after Merton Anderson's first visit, Sally appreciated that the rest of his calls were due to her presence. No one could have explained how she managed, not even Sally herself, yet she had a fashion of seeing and conquering almost immediately both young men and old. No one ever observed her making an effort to attract attention. She was even unusually demure; nevertheless the attraction was going on in a subtle and scientific fashion.
Of Felipe Morris' attitude toward her, Gerry Williams was by no means so assured. Not since their original meeting at his home had she an opportunity of speaking to him alone, nor had she made the effort to secure such an opportunity. For some reason Gerry felt a certain shyness toward her new acquaintance, almost as if she were afraid of the influence he might be able to exert upon her.
Certainly she had no idea of making an appointment to meet him anywhere alone. Apart from the fact that Mrs. Burton would not approve, Gerry had been trained in a sufficiently hard school of experience to recognize the lack of wisdom in such a proceeding. If she wished Felipe to like her especially, and she was by no means sure at this time that she did wish it, then she must not allow herself to become cheapened in his eyes. Social conventions Gerry understood were of value and more especially to a girl in her position. However, Felipe had appeared to be courteous, although extraordinarily determined upon securing his own way.
In return for their kindness and also because she liked both young men, Mrs. Burton had invited Felipe Morris and Merton Anderson to their Camp Fire entertainment. The entertainment was to be more than an ordinary dance, since the guests had been invited to a swimming party in the afternoon, then dinner and the dance later.
Since the girls were to spend a portion of the afternoon in swimming, most of the preparations for their party necessarily had to be made beforehand. Mrs. Webster had promised to look after final details, and also there was Marie, who was temperamental, but who could be relied upon to accomplish marvels when she was in the proper mood. Since the entry of the United States into the war, Marie, who was an ardent French woman, had adopted the American soldier as her especial protégé.
Moreover, on the morning before their dance Alice Ashton and Peggy Webster had motored into town, purchasing the provisions they considered too troublesome to prepare. They bought two roast hams and a roast of beef and half a dozen varieties of fruit. Their ménu was to consist of cold meats, baked beans, which were a Camp Fire speciality, roast potatoes and corn, which could be cooked over the outdoor fire, cornbread, fruit salad, coffee and cake.
In the afternoon the girls were to wear their Camp Fire bathing suits, but at night they had concluded to appear in white dresses, with their honor beads, almost as beautiful and as effective as jewels.
The ceremonial Camp Fire costumes were somewhat too heavy and too warm for dancing on a midsummer night in a semi-tropical land.
The girls were naturally a trifle shy over the prospect of guests, nearly all of whom were complete strangers. Among them were only two with whom they had any previous acquaintance. They were Lieutenant Geoffrey Carson and Private George Ferguson, the soldiers who were aided after an accident in their motor car, by the Camp Fire girls during their riding trip down the coast.
Two of the soldiers were members of one of the regimental bands and had promised to play for the dancers, since the girls possessed only a much-used victrola and were too far off in the country to be able to engage the services of professional musicians.
No dance could have been less conventional, when for one thing the white, smooth sands of the beach below the camp were to serve as the ballroom floor.
Truly here indeed were the colors of romance, the moon and the sea, youth and a wind-swept shore!
That night, dancing with Felipe Morris, Gerry believed that she had never been so happy.
With his Southern ancestry and musical gifts, naturally Felipe was a wonderful dancer, possessing an almost perfect sense of rhythm and time.
On one occasion Gerry and Felipe discovered that they were actually dancing alone, their companions having stopped for a moment to watch them. Then they were only brought to a realization of what had taken place by hearing Mrs. Burton cry: "Bravo!" and afterwards the applause of a dozen pairs of hands.