"It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o'er the green corn-field did passIn the spring time, the only pretty ring time,When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;Sweet lovers love the spring."
"It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,That o'er the green corn-field did passIn the spring time, the only pretty ring time,When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;Sweet lovers love the spring."
The play was finally over, and if the curtain could not be rung down, at least the players bowed their thanks and farewells, standing together in a long line with Mrs. Burton in the center.
In order that they might avoid the confusion and fatigue of meeting so many strangers and receiving their congratulations after the play had ended, Mrs. Burton previously had invited her company of actors to motor over to Sunrise camp to a supper party as soon as they could slip away.
Gerry was returning in the motor with Mrs. Burton.
She chanced to be standing alone for a moment waiting for the others who were shaking hands with some new acquaintances, when Felipe Morris touched her upon the arm.
"Gerry, I must speak to you by yourself tonight after we reach the Sunrise camp. Please, no matter what happens, let nothing interfere with my seeing you. I have something to tell you and something to ask you which will affect all our future."
To Gerry Williams it seemed as if their long supper party would never end.
The supper was served outdoors on a number of small tables. Through an accident Gerry was seated at so great a distance from Felipe that it was not possible to see his face and so guess from his expression something of what he desired to tell her.
Gerry was puzzled. If what he wished to say had to do with their future happiness, why had he looked so disturbed? And why should it be imperative that he make his confession tonight?
Already it was late, past midnight, and they were both weary. There would be tomorrow and other days.
Really she would have preferred not to talk with Felipe alone tonight. To slip away from the others would be difficult, and without Mrs. Burton's consent Gerry did not like the idea. Yet she did not dare ask for permission, being convinced that because of the lateness of the hour her request would be refused.
She felt that she must do what Felipe had begged of her. There had been something in his manner at once imperative and beseeching.
An unaccustomed shyness, almost a sense of fear, had seized upon Gerry; nevertheless she was prepared to follow Felipe's bidding, no matter how difficult.
To eat or talk gaily to the others was hard. In a half-hearted fashion, Gerry accomplished both results.
Immediately after the supper was finished the guests began saying their farewells.
The hour was long past the one when the young officers and soldiers were required to return to the cantonment. But owing to the play and Mrs. Burton's efforts in their behalf, they had received a special permit from the officer in command of their camp to remain away several hours later than their regulations demanded.
In the midst of the good-bys Gerry and Felipe moved swiftly toward each other.
"We must get awaynow, Felipe, while no one is thinking of us. I can only talk to you for a moment."
Even as she spoke Gerry was walking toward the beach with the young man following. In this way at least what they had to say to each other would not be overheard. There was no nearby place where they could actually escape observation.
In front of Sunrise camp the beach stretched long and level, broken only by small rocks, which afforded a shadow, not a shelter. Behind the little group of tents and Mrs. Burton's house were the level fields of a great ranch. There were no trees worthy of the name in sight.
"But I can't say what I must to you inoneminute, Gerry. I must have time to explain many things. Surely you will go somewhere else with me. Here on the open beach we may be interrupted at any moment."
Gerry only moved on more rapidly. "I don't know where else to go, Felipe. We can walk along the beach until perhaps we are out of sight of the others. Then afterwards I can tell Mrs. Burton that we only intended taking a short walk."
"Very well," Felipe murmured, but Gerry could guess that he was annoyed.
"I suppose to a girl, Gerry, conventions are dearer than anything else in life. So since what I intend is to ask you to break one of them, perhaps I might as well not speak to you," he began, when they had nearly reached the water.
The ocean was not so calm as usual tonight on this particular line of coast. Great waves were rolling in, breaking and curling in white spirals of foam. If there had been a storm, it was somewhere out in the ocean, for although there was no moon the stars were everywhere a shining glory.
"I don't know what you mean, Felipe," Gerry answered quietly.
She was still wearing her lovely shepherdess costume of pale blue and white, the pointed bodice and panniers of blue satin, the skirt and sleeves of muslin and lace. Mrs. Burton had insisted on Gerry's using a long white coat which was her property, so coming back in the motor she had slipped this on over her dress. Now the wind was blowing the coat open, revealing the soft comeliness of the satin and lace costume beneath.
Her shepherdess hat she had discarded and instead had tied a blue chiffon scarf around her hair.
Nevertheless, in spite of her frivolous and charming costume, Gerry Williams' expression was entirely serious.
"No, of course you do not understand. I am sorry," Felipe apologized. "You see, it has been such a horrible evening for me with all the foolishness of the play and my acting a clown's part, when I have been wishing every minute to get you away and tell you what has happened."
"But whathashappened?" Gerry inquired anxiously and yet with patience.
"The exemption board has refused my claim. I only heard the pleasant news late this afternoon," Felipe answered.
Gerry's first sensation was one of intense personal sympathy.
Simply and naturally she slipped her hand inside Felipe's.
"I don't know what to say to you. I am so grieved for you. It is too dreadful, your being forced to join the army when you so hate the whole idea. Can't something more be done? Surely you and your father must have influence out here!"
Felipe shook his head. "Influence does not count; besides, if father has any influence he would not use it in my behalf, not in this connection. When I told him this afternoon what had occurred he merely said: 'I wish you had done your duty in the beginning, my son, without bringing the stigma of disgrace upon our name by trying to escape your responsibility. I did not suppose your claim for exemption would be considered, as your excuse was too flimsy.'"
For an instant Gerry hesitated, then she said, her voice shaking. "I do not mean to be rude, but I can not understand your father. You are his only son and are no relation to me, and yet it does not seem to me I can bear your going over to France, where you will be so unhappy, where you may be wounded. But I must not talk of these things. How soon must you begin your training, Felipe, and do you think you will be in a camp near your home?"
Until this instant Gerry had not considered herself, had not realized the failure of her dream. Now she had a little sinking sense of loneliness and disappointment. Nevertheless Felipe was still first in her thoughts.
"I wish I could do something to help you."
"You can, Gerry," Felipe returned, strengthening his hold on her hand. "I am not going to be drafted, Gerry. I am going over the border into Mexico tomorrow to remain until the war is over. I told you that I had no difficulty in being taken for a Mexican. I can speak the language and I don't look unlike one. This isn't an entirely new idea on my part, for I have been thinking and planning what I should do if my exemption claim were refused. I tell you I can not endure a soldier's existence, the dirt and the hard work and the discipline and then worse, blood and suffering and death. For even if all this does not come to me, I must see it. Oh, I know I am not aman, Gerry, and you probably despise me for feeling like this. But I can not help it. I was born for beauty and happiness, for music and—well, we are not all made alike."
"No, Felipe, I don't despise you; I think I understand," Gerry replied instantly. But there was no question with her of understanding. She was thinking of Felipe's happiness, of his safety. "Isn't it pretty dangerous what you are planning to do? If you are caught won't you be imprisoned?" she asked.
Felipe nodded. "Yes, but I am going to take the chance. It is worth the danger to me."
"You are intending to say good-by to me tonight then?" Gerry questioned. "I am glad you told me. No one in the world will ever be able to force your secret from me."
"Then you could be brave for my sake?" Felipe demanded.
But when Gerry did not answer, he began walking impatiently up and down within a few feet of her.
"I don't know what to say or do, Gerry," he continued after a moment. "I am not a rogue and I do not want to do you an injustice. But you told me once that you had no people of your own, that your father is dead and that your mother always has left you in common boarding houses, with no one to look after you, since you were a tiny girl. You told me that you had no real friend until Mrs. Burton took a fancy to you and has tried to give you some happiness. Now I can't bear the thought of your going so far away to live by yourself when I care for you so much. After tonight we may never even be able to see each other again in many years. Still I realize that you are very young, Gerry, and the fact that I am four or five years older makes the whole thing much more my responsibility than yours. Besides there is the danger of your crossing into Mexico with me and being forced to live there, one cannot say how long."
Gerry appeared utterly bewildered and unhappy. "But what do you mean, Felipe? I don't think I understand you."
"I mean I am asking you to marry me, Gerry." Felipe answered with an entire softening of his manner and expression. "But I realize I am asking you more than that, because I want you to marry me without telling any one and then slip over the border into Mexico with me to live until the war is past. If anything happens and I am caught, why, at least you will be safe, for my father will look after you. I did not want to ask you to marry me in this way, Gerry, I do not like the idea any more than you do. I had planned to tell you I cared for you and to tell Mrs. Burton also. I was even willing to wait for a year or more if you both thought it necessary. But now this difficulty of mine alters everything, and these are war times, when one is not expected to behave in an ordinary fashion."
In order to insure his own way, Felipe was in truth a good pleader. Besides, Gerry was already deeply under his influence.
Now Felipe's unexpected request made her both happy and unhappy, for she could not fail to be glad that he cared for her, although she knew she had no right to agree to his request.
The ethical side of the question of Felipe's intention to escape military service apparently made no impression upon Gerry one way or the other; the question seemed so entirely his to decide. Her feeling was merely that she could not bear to marry him and not tell even Mrs. Burton until afterwards.
If she were a little older she believed the situation would have appeared less formidable, then she would have had a clearer right to decide for herself. Under the circumstances she must not consider Felipe's suggestion even for a moment.
Yet she had only to answer, "No," and things would be as before.
For Felipe himself was uncertain and frightened of what he was asking. If he did not appreciate the full selfishness and wrong of it, nevertheless he did realize it in part. Gerry faced the alternative before replying. If she refused Felipe's offer, in a little while she must return to Chicago to take up her old existence in a common boarding house with nothing in her future except to learn to make her own living. But these things were no longer so important, the one important fact was that she might be losing Felipe forever.
Gerry cherished few illusions. If Felipe were successful in escaping military service they could not meet again until the war was over and in that time many changes would have occurred. Would Felipe remember her, or would he be less lonely in his self-imposed exile if she were to spend it with him? Whatever trouble she and Felipe might have to face, would she not prefer to face it with him rather than have him leave her alone?
"I cannot bear to deceive Mrs. Burton, Felipe. I owe her so much; she has been kinder than I have ever told you, kinder than perhaps you imagine. Besides, I care for her a great deal and I don't see how such a difficult idea as you have suggested can ever be arranged."
In Gerry's last words lay her confession. Felipe had triumphed. Had she tried she might have persuaded him to face his obligation, to make the sacrifice of himself which his country demanded. She was not equal to the test.
"But I do know how to manage," Felipe answered. "And I shall be very careful. I understand certain things better than you do. I have an old nurse who is married and lives not far away. She will come with us and stay with you until the ceremony is over. Afterwards she will return and explain what we have done to Mrs. Burton and my father. You can write and beg Mrs. Burton to forgive you; she will after a time, I am sure. We will be so happy, Gerry dear. I have plenty of money, as I drew all I possessed out of the bank this afternoon. I am sure it will last us for a time and then I can get hold of more."
The thing which Gerry and Felipe were planning to do was not only a foolish thing; it held dishonor and sorrow, and yet neither of them at the time seemed to appreciate this.
"Be ready the day after tomorrow, please, Gerry. I'll ask Mrs. Burton to allow you to go for a walk or a drive with me. I promise you there shall be no difficulties. But, quick, good-night; some one is coming."
Mrs. Burton herself was walking down the beach toward them. "Come, Gerry, please, it is time you were in bed. I was frightened when I found you were not with the other girls. Felipe, I don't think it quite fair of you to have kept Gerry away from us so long. Will you thank your father for the roses he sent me tonight?"
Felipe held out his hand.
"You are awfully kind, Mrs. Burton, and I do deserve a scolding. Gerry and I had not realized how long we had been talking, as there are so many things we like saying to each other. Will you forgive me and let me come back soon again?"
Mrs. Burton put her arm about Gerry.
"Not too soon, please, Felipe. Goodnight."
The next day, weary from the long strain of the rehearsals and the final production of their play, and feeling a comfortable sense of relaxation following a labor well accomplished, the Sunrise Camp Fire members spent an unusually quiet day.
Mrs. Burton remained in her little house resting and reading.
After accomplishing the necessary domestic tasks, Mrs. Webster and the girls sat about in little groups, knitting and talking over the unexpectedly brilliant success of their play.
Of the Camp Fire girls, Gerry Williams alone kept apart from the others for the greater part of the day. Now and then she would appear with her knitting and dropping down beside some one would remain for perhaps half an hour, but seldom longer. By the end of that time she seemed to grow restless and would start off on walks by herself, but never a great distance from camp. Once disappearing inside her sleeping tent, which was unoccupied, she stayed there alone for several hours.
No one paid any particular attention to Gerry or realized that she was in an unusual frame of mind. The Camp Fire girls had spent so many months together that they did not take one another's moods seriously; besides, Gerry was not an especial favorite or intimate with any one of the girls except Sally Ashton. And Sally frequently considered Gerry far too addicted to moods, which were disturbing to her own comfortable placidity.
Indeed, Gerry's only real friend in the Sunrise Camp Fire, the only person who in any way understood her temperament and the circumstances of her past sufficiently well to offer her real sympathy and affection, was Mrs. Burton.
On this same day it chanced that Dan Webster was away looking after a small business matter.
Billy was engaged with his labors at the war camp. But now that the play was over Mrs. Webster was beginning to concern herself more seriously with the behavior of her erratic son. Billy had taken advantage of the absorption of his family and friends to continue to pursue his own way in an even more determined and secretive fashion.
If Mrs. Burton had not spent the day inside her house, whether or not she would have observed Gerry's restlessness, her troubled expression, her moments of pallor and the swift flush succeeding them, no one can say.
Certainly all that day never for long did Gerry have Mrs. Burton out of her mind. First she would think of Felipe and what he had asked of her and then immediately after of Mrs. Burton's friendship and kindness.
The facts of Gerry's life were commonplace enough, but for that reason they seemed to Gerry the harder to endure.
Her mother and father had married when they were young and clerking together in a small village store. After Gerry's birth they conceived the idea of becoming traveling sales people.
When Gerry was a tiny child they tried taking her about with them, often leaving her alone for long, lonely hours in strange hotel rooms. After she grew older, arrangements were made for her to board in Chicago, the city her parents visited oftener than any other. But when Gerry was fourteen her father died and a year later her mother married a little town store keeper.
It was at this time Gerry Williams realized she would be forced to face the future for herself. It is true her mother and stepfather offered her a home with them and the opportunity to work in their shop. But Gerry had never cared for her mother and now hated her stepfather, while the thought of the little town store was abhorrent. Yet there was no particular reason for this attitude save that Gerry had always been antagonistic to her environment for as long as she could remember.
She was so utterly unlike her own people both in appearance, manner and nature that she was a puzzle to all of them. No one of them could have told from whom she inherited her delicate prettiness, her love of luxury and refinement.
One day, learning of Mrs. Burton's presence in Chicago, suddenly Gerry conceived the idea of going to her and applying for the position of maid. If she must work she thought that she would like better than most things to live with a famous woman and perhaps travel with her and see something of the world.
At the moment of Gerry's arrival it chanced that by accident Mrs. Burton was at home and free from other engagements, so she decided to see and talk to her. Naturally Gerry was too young and untrained for the position she desired; moreover, Mrs. Burton had no need for the services of a maid, since Marie had been living with her a number of years. But she grew interested in her pretty guest, and feeling the need of sympathy, Gerry was glad to pour forth her story.
Ever after this visit, although no member of her family aside from her husband had been informed of the fact, Mrs. Burton had been paying Gerry's board in Chicago during the winters, only urging her to try to educate herself for some work in the future. For several summers, as we know, Gerry had been invited to be a member of the Sunrise Camp Fire group.
Therefore in a measure Gerry realized how poor a return she would be offering should she slip away with Felipe without confessing her intention to Mrs. Burton.
Not once, but perhaps a dozen times, her mind was almost made up to find Mrs. Burton and tell her everything. For Gerry believed that by some method she could induce her friend to understand how deeply she cared for Felipe. There would be the argument of youth against their immediate marriage; but youth is not alwaysonlya question of the number of years one has lived, and Gerry felt convinced that she suddenly had grown old.
Nevertheless there was always this stumbling block. How could she acknowledge her own intention and Felipe's without betraying Felipe's secret? To divulge the fact that he was planning to escape military service by crossing over the border into Mexico and hiding there was out of the question.
Undoubtedly Gerry should have more fully appreciated the enormity of Felipe's purpose, his selfishness and disloyalty. Strange that she should expect to find happiness with a man who wished to begin their life together by an act of deception and cowardice! Nevertheless, by this time one must have learned to understand Gerry's disposition sufficiently well to accept the fact that she did notfullyunderstand, so completely was she under Felipe's influence. Yet Felipe must not be allowed to bear the entire burden of their wrong doing. Certainly Gerry was not marrying Felipe for his sake only, but also for the happiness and the ease which she believed the future would insure her.
Notwithstanding this, since life is seldom guided by one clear motive, but by many mixed ones, Gerry was also ardently and sincerely in love.
Her failure to grasp the extent of the danger she and Felipe were facing and the possible injury to her own reputation was due to three causes. The first of these was sheer stupidity, the second an actual lack of education and the third Gerry's conviction that this was her solitary chance for saving Felipe from the difficulties and dangers of a soldier's life and at the same time securing him for herself.
In the end, as one might have guessed, Gerry Williams made no confession.
Instead, in the hours when she had remained alone in her sleeping tent, she had packed a few possessions in her satchel, hiding the bag under her bed and wondering at the same time how she would ever manage to get it away the next day without exciting comment.
The next day Fortune appeared to favor Gerry, as the fickle Dame does now and then, when one had best be thwarted.
Immediately after their luncheon the Camp Fire girls decided to go upon a long walk. So much time had been given to the rehearsals of "As You Like It" that they had been exercising far less than usual in the past weeks.
The wool for knitting and materials for making bandages having recently given out, Mrs. Webster offered to go into town with Dan to buy whatever was required.
So, through a combination of quite ordinary circumstances, Sunrise camp was deserted except by Mrs. Burton, Marie and Gerry.
Mrs. Burton did not feel equal to the long hike and Gerry simply declined without giving a reason.
Since her farewell to Felipe about thirty hours before, she had received no word from him and yet this afternoon Gerry knew he would appear. Now and then she even hoped he would not come, at least not until the next day, or even the one after that.
Soon after the other girls departed, Mrs. Burton asked Gerry to sit beside her and talk while she rested in the sunshine.
A small fire was always kept burning at Sunrise camp, no matter how warm the day, for the small amount of heat made no appreciable difference and the fire was always being needed for cooking.
So Marie arranged an Indian blanket upon the ground away from the windward side of the fire and then went into her tent to write letters.
Afterwards Mrs. Burton lay down in such a position that she could look closely at Gerry.
In the few minutes they had been together without the others, she had noticed that Gerry looked pale and depressed.
"You are not worrying over anything, Gerry?" Mrs. Burton asked.
Gerry shook her head. "Certainly not. What have I to worry about—except everything?"
Perhaps it was unfortunate that Mrs. Burton chose this time to talk to Gerry about her future, although, since her mind really was made up, probably nothing would have altered her decision.
"I don't want to worry you, or to have you worry, dear," Mrs. Burton began, "but I do wish it were possible for you to find some occupation that would interest you. It would make you ever so much happier! Forgive me if I have seen that you are more restless, less content than the other Camp Fire girls. And whatever work you wish to do, I do not wish you to go into it unprepared, a woman needs more training these days to make a success than a man. It has meant so much to me to give my time and energy to the art I love. I want you to have the same luck, Gerry."
Then Mrs. Burton reached out her hand, but her companion did not seem to observe it.
"I am sorry, I know I am a disappointment," she answered. "But the trouble with me is that I am stupid and no work of any character interests me. I might as well tell you the truth."
For a moment Mrs. Burton did not reply. Gerry's answer had made her impatient, and for this reason she felt it best not to argue.
"Very well, perhaps the interest will come later. You are young enough to wait, Gerry, and please do not think I am not more than anxious to help you. You know it is only on your account I worry. I so wish the circumstances of your life were happier, my dear. I hate your being lonely."
Then as Gerry's eyes were filling with tears and when she was having a struggle not to break down entirely and make her confession, she and Mrs. Burton both heard at the same instant a gay voice singing as it approached nearer to them:
"It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino."
"It was a lover and his lass,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino."
"Here comesTouchstone, Gerry! What a charming voice Felipe has! I know you must feel relieved to be released from such a prosy talk as we were having."
If Felipe had not been a particularly successful actor at the production of their play, Gerry was amazed by his present acting.
He had suggested that they were either to motor or to drive away from Sunrise camp. Now he appeared on foot in the most casual fashion with his guitar swung over his shoulder.
After bowing politely to Gerry, he immediately dropped down upon the ground beside Mrs. Burton and finished his song:
"And therefore take the present time,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;For love is crowned with the primeIn springtime...."
"And therefore take the present time,With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;For love is crowned with the primeIn springtime...."
Nor did Felipe rise, or ask that Gerry be allowed to walk with him after his song was concluded. He merely continued talking in a casual fashion with Mrs. Burton.
In half an hour, having finished their errands unexpectedly early, Mrs. Webster and Dan returned to camp. Dan went away immediately to put up the car and Mrs. Burton arose to go indoors with her sister.
Not until then did Felipe ask that Gerry be allowed to walk with him. He made the request with apparent indifference.
Mrs. Burton hesitated.
"Gerry thought she was too tired to walk with the girls! But never mind. If you won't go very far or stay too long, I suppose I must pay my actors in some fashion for their services, and I have had no opportunity to thank you."
Then, as she moved away, she called back:
"Don't forget to take your coat or a sweater with you, Gerry; it may turn unexpectedly cool."
So Gerry, feeling that her face was flushing crimson and her hands becoming like ice, was able to disappear inside her tent at the moment she desired.
When she came out with her satchel the coat was hanging over it; besides, there was no one in sight to observe her own and Felipe's departure.
But the moment they started Felipe said quickly:
"Don't be worried, Gerry darling. I have a motor waiting for us about a mile away and my old nurse is there to take care of you. Her husband is with her and they are perfectly respectable and devoted to me. They will come back as soon as we are safely married and let Mrs. Burton and father know. They can't tell themwherewe have gone, of course. They can simply say we have gone on a honeymoon. It will be all right. Lots of people run away and are married; it saves such a lot of fuss for one thing. Later on, if you like, we can write where we are, because neither Mrs. Burton nor father would betray us. I want, if possible, to cross over the border into Mexico tonight at dusk."
The rest of the afternoon passed like a strange and not a happy dream to Gerry.
But whatever arrangements were necessary, whatever the law required of them, Felipe seemed to have managed all the formalities. As they drove from one place to another Gerry sat in the back of the automobile next to Felipe's old nurse, not even making an effort to talk to her and saying nothing to Felipe. Now and then Felipe made little anxious inquiries to find out if she were all right and Gerry only nodded her head in reply.
In the house of a clergyman in a small town not many miles away the ceremony was finally performed. Gerry declared that her parents had given their consent, knowing well enough they would be delighted to hear of her marriage. Felipe Morris was of course several years more than the legal age. Besides Felipe's nurse and her husband the wife and daughter of the clergyman also appeared as witnesses.
But when the moment came for parting with their companions, Gerry begged that she be allowed to write a note to Mrs. Burton. The note was very short; Gerry scarcely understood what she was writing, nevertheless it said a great deal:
"Dear Mrs. Burton:"You will never be able to forgive me and I know I do not deserve that you should. Only pray I may be happy, because now the wedding ceremony is over and Felipe Morris and I are married, I am dreadfully frightened."Yours with all love,"Gerry."
"Dear Mrs. Burton:
"You will never be able to forgive me and I know I do not deserve that you should. Only pray I may be happy, because now the wedding ceremony is over and Felipe Morris and I are married, I am dreadfully frightened.
"Yours with all love,
"Gerry."
The rest of the late afternoon was even more like a strange dream.
At the border between Mexico and the United States Felipe managed successfully to deceive the guard. He had changed his costume and wore a Mexican one, he spoke Spanish and gave a name which was not his own. Gerry, who was wearing a veil tied closely about her head, the guard scarcely noticed.
Felipe explained that he and his wife had driven over into California earlier in the day and were now on their way back to their home in Mexico. By a stroke of good fortune the guard had only been on duty a few hours, having changed places with another soldier. Therefore he had no way of disproving Felipe's story; moreover, he happened to be new to his work.
Never so long as she lived was Gerry to forget her first sight of the strange desert land of Mexico, which she saw when dusk was falling.
The earth was a sea of sand with funny little hut-like houses sprinkled here and there, hung with gay signs written in a language Gerry did not comprehend. Beyond them was a fringe of high bare hills, now purple in the evening shadows.
Suddenly she realized her own and Felipe's exile. They were without home or country; worse, they were deserters.
For fear he was suffering an even deeper regret and remorse than had laid hold upon her, Gerry dared not look or speak to Felipe as their car carried them further and further away from their friends.
Before information of any kind concerning her mysterious disappearance was received from Gerry Williams, every member of the Sunrise Camp Fire had become alarmed. But it must be confessed that the girls were more annoyed than they were agitated.
Mrs. Burton and Mrs. Webster were necessarily anxious, yet as Mrs. Webster had never felt an especial interest or affection for Gerry, she was less so than her sister.
The Camp Fire girls had returned from their walk in time for a late afternoon tea. They were just finishing when Marta Clark inquired what had become of Gerry, and why she was not having tea with them?
Then for the first time Mrs. Burton mentioned that Gerry had gone away from camp with Felipe Morris several hours before. But as she had promised to return in a short time, already she was beginning to feel worried for fear something had happened.
Then another hour went by and the dusk began to descend. But since it was late summer and the days were long, some time would still elapse before actual darkness.
Nevertheless Mrs. Burton at first betrayed her nervousness by walking alone up and down the little traveled road beyond the camp. Finally she came back to the group of girls, who were still loitering about their camp fire before clearing away the tea things.
"Do be good to me, Peggy. I know you are already tired from your long walk and I won't go far," she promised. "But somehow I am so uncomfortable about Gerry I cannot keep still. I know I am absurd, but I have one of those ridiculous premonitions which never amount to anything. If she does not come back in another hour, I shall motor over to the ranch to inquire if Mr. Morris has received any word from Felipe."
In spite of the fact that Peggy was tired and also annoyed at what she presumed to be Gerry's selfish unconcern, she got up instantly at Mrs. Burton's request, and as they started off on their walk placed her arm affectionately inside her aunt's.
"I don't see why you allow yourself to become so worked up over Gerry's staying away from camp with Felipe longer than you approve," said Peggy with her usual directness. "If you do not realize how much she is interested in him, you are the only one of us who is blind. Gerry has not cared for anything except her friendship with Felipe all this summer. She has an affection for you, but except for you everything in our Camp Fire life has bored her."
Knowing by her aunt's expression that she was annoyed by her critical attitude, nevertheless Peggy, who was not in a good humor, went on with her plain speaking.
"Sometimes I have thought Gerry was really in love with Felipe; at other times I have simply thought she liked him just because he was a man and showed her some attention. Gerry is the type of girl who has not the faintest interest in other girls."
"Is this your opinion alone, or the opinion of all the Camp Fire girls?" Mrs. Burton inquired in a tone it was difficult to translate.
Peggy flushed. "Perhaps it is my opinion alone, since it sounds rather hateful. In any case, I have no right to speak except for myself. But if you wish to know the truth, the opinion is pretty general."
"Have the girls the same attitude toward you, Peggy, because of your interest in Ralph Marshall?" Mrs. Burton demanded. "You know how much of your time and thought you give to him these days, even though you rarely mention his name, and you have many more people to care for than Gerry, who is rather singularly alone. If you girls are not fond of her I am not surprised that she prefers Felipe Morris, who, after all, is exceptionally attractive."
Peggy was suddenly upon the defensive.
"I don't think I have allowed my interest in Ralph to interfere with my friendships with the Camp Fire girls," she argued defensively. "But I did not intend being disagreeable about Gerry. She is always amiable and sweet, only it is difficult not to resent her indifference and her absorption in herself."
After this speech Mrs. Burton and Peggy continued their walk in silence for a few moments. Then Mrs. Burton said in a different tone:
"When Gerry comes back this evening, Peggy, I wish you would try to be particularly nice to her. If she has become too much interested in Felipe I cannot help being sorry for her. I have never told you girls much of Gerry's history because she preferred my not telling. But she has had a hard time and no one has ever really cared for her. Her father is dead and her mother an impossibly common person without any good traits of character, so far as I have been able to discover, which would redeem her commonness. So things will be all the more difficult for Gerry if she is under the impression she cares for Felipe. In a little time our Camp Fire summer will be over and they will be separated."
Peggy nodded. "I will do my best. I am sorry to have been so critical. At least Gerry does not make disagreeable speeches about other people! But you are mistaken if you think any of us has ever been unkind to her; it is only that we have found it impossible to become intimate. Of course she and Sally like each other. But if there are facts in Gerry's life she does not wish to discuss, I can understand why she prefers not to develop too close an intimacy with the rest of us, who know almost everything about one another. But don't worry, I presume some accident has delayed Gerry and Felipe. Suppose we return to camp? They may have taken some other route and arrived by this time."
But of course Gerry was not at the Sunrise camp. Within five minutes after Mrs. Burton's and Peggy's return, an automobile appeared containing an unknown man and woman.
The woman asked to be permitted to speak to Mrs. Burton alone.
Then, as she stood hesitating, trying to make up her mind what to say first, suddenly she remembered Gerry's crumpled little note.
For Gerry's sake it was as well that the news of her runaway marriage was imparted to her Camp Fire guardian and friend in this fashion, for the note revealed infinitely more than Gerry realized. With Mrs. Burton's understanding of human nature she understood something of the struggle, something of the temptation to which Gerry had yielded. Therefore in the midst of her surprise and anger she could not forget the note's final pathetic appeal.
Neither the woman nor man would tell much more than the bare facts of Gerry's and Felipe's marriage. They insisted that the ceremony was entirely legal and that immediately afterwards the young couple had gone away. In truth, they could not tell more, since as a matter of precaution Felipe had not informed either his nurse or her husband of his plans.
After appreciating that the marriage had become a reality and that there was nothing she could do or say which would make any difference, Mrs. Burton asked but few questions. She knew that Felipe's father would come to her as soon as he learned what had taken place and she preferred to discuss the situation with him and not with strangers.
Of necessity it was Mrs. Burton who imparted the information to the Camp Fire girls, but she merely told what she knew as briefly as possible, adding no comment. Then she went away to be alone. She was not thinking of Gerry's ingratitude, of the poor return she had made for her interest and assistance, but she was thinking of Gerry herself. Gerry was so young and she and Felipe knew each other so slightly. Then, as Mrs. Burton knew nothing at present of Felipe's attempt to hide in Mexico, it also occurred to her that he might soon be forced to join the army.
Left to themselves, the Camp Fire girls were not so lenient in their condemnation. It was Alice Ashton who chanced to voice the general sentiment.
"I cannot understand how any human being could behave as Gerry has done! Certainly she has proved how little the Camp Fire influence has meant to her! But there is no point in our criticising her, because some day Gerry will have to pay dearly enough."
Later in the same night, being unable to sleep, Mrs. Burton was aroused by hearing the approach of another motor car. It must have been between two and three o'clock in the dark hours before dawn when the earth is so strangely quiet. Moreover, cars were not in the habit of passing Sunrise camp at any hour, as it was too far from the main road to allure travelers.
Mrs. Burton quietly slipped on her dressing gown and slippers in order not to disturb her sister, who slept in the room with her. As she walked to the front door she was under the impression that Gerry must have returned home to camp and would wish to see her.
But outside it was so dark that for a moment she could see nothing. Then at a little distance off she discovered two figures standing close together. As Mrs. Burton drew nearer she recognized one of them as Dan Webster, and as Dan was fully dressed he could not have been in bed during the night. The other man was Lieutenant Carson.
"Yes, I have been worried all night," she overheard Dan say. "I persuaded mother to go to bed fairly early by telling her I would wait for Billy. But after midnight when he did not come I have not known what to do. I had no idea where to go to look for him. I was afraid something had happened. Is the accident serious?"
"If it were not I would never have wakened you at such an hour," Lieutenant Carson answered. "Please break the news to your mother and sister as quickly as you can and ask them to hurry. I brought over one of our army cars, so there need be no delay. On the way to camp I will tell you as much as I know."
Then Mrs. Burton stepped out of the shadow.
"Billy is hurt," she began, not asking a question, but stating a conviction. "What has he done?" she hesitated, her voice breaking.
"He has done something so wonderful there is not a soldier in camp who would not be proud to accomplish one-half so much. But he has been injured and——" Lieutenant Carson tried to keep his own tones from becoming husky.
"I'll see your mother, Dan," said Mrs. Burton. "Will you please waken Vera and Peggy? If Billy is conscious when we arrive he will wish to have Vera near him."
Within ten minutes the four women and Dan were on their way with Lieutenant Carson to the army cantonment.
The lieutenant had asked Dan to drive the car during the first part of the journey so that he might explain what had occurred.
"Yes, Mrs. Webster, your son is in our Red Cross hospital and everything possible is being done for him. A doctor reached him almost at once. But I wish I could tell you exactly what happened. As it is I can only repeat the story the little chap told himself. No one knows anything else, but he has been perfectly conscious all along and I am told is not suffering a great deal," Lieutenant Carson faltered, wishing that the task in which he was engaged had fallen to some one else.
"Please tell us everything you can," Peggy urged. "I feel my mother had best know the truth before we reach Billy."
"As far as I could find out there have been two laborers employed at our camp who are traitors. In spite of all the official red tape and investigations, your son Billy seems to have been the only person who discovered the fact. The little fellow apparently called himself a pacifist and made friends with the men. Anyhow they must have believed he sympathized with them, for he has been watching them for some time. I don't know how long, I am having to guess a part of this. But they must have finally decided he was one of them, as they allowed him to find out their secrets. It is amazing. I don't see how he managed!"
"But you have not yet told us how Billy chanced to be at your camp tonight and how he came to be hurt, Lieutenant Carson," Peggy pleaded, knowing that the same thought was in all their minds.
"Billy knew there was mischief brewing without knowing exactly what the ruffians were planning to do, at least, that is the way I understand the facts," the young officer continued. "But it seems that when he had followed them to their meeting place earlier in the evening, he found out they had placed a bomb in one of our big buildings at camp which was set to go off at a certain hour tonight. Billy says he made the men believe he considered this a great idea, otherwise they would never have allowed him to escape. He seems to have had the nerve to get up and spout a little speech on pacifism before about half a dozen of them. I believe he said that if only the men managed to destroy our war camps, the United States would never be able to enter the war in Europe and so peace would soon have to be declared as the Allies couldn't go on without America's aid. Anyhow, after a while they let the little fellow go and he pretended to be starting for home. But instead he made for our camp.
"Perhaps he could have managed better. What I should have done in his place I don't know; but he was a little chap up against a pretty big proposition. He did not know how to get the news to camp unless he told some one out here what was about to take place. He was trying to slip into camp with his news when one of our sentries shot him. He was just able to tell the soldier who picked him up what his business was and—well, we found the infernal machine where he told us to look for it. And God only knows how many lives Billy has saved!"
"But my son will live?" Mrs. Webster inquired, with the quiet fortitude which comes now and then to some of us in the really great moments of our lives.
"I don't know, Mrs. Webster," Lieutenant Carson answered honestly. "I was only ordered to bring you to camp as quickly as possible."
Then the young officer took charge of the car, as he was more familiar with the road than Dan.
The southern dawn which Billy had learned to love in these past weeks was breaking into pale lavender and rose when the army automobile arrived at camp.
A good many of the soldiers were walking about, not caring to go back to sleep after what had occurred. More of them than one would imagine remembered seeing Billy about camp in the past few weeks, the delicate young fellow with the extraordinary blue eyes. Lucky thing for them that he had been around, but hard on him!
Captain Mason and Major Anderson, two of the officers who were friends of Mrs. Burton's, came forward to meet her and Mrs. Webster.
They led the way to the hospital, with the girls and Dan and Lieutenant Carson following.
"Your son has been asking for you, Mrs. Webster, only he said you were not to be frightened about him and we were not to let you know what had happened until breakfast time," Major Anderson remarked with that same huskiness in his voice which Lieutenant Carson had been unable to conceal. "This war has made many heroes and will make many more, but I don't know of a finer thing than your son has done. He must have known the risk he ran when he came out here alone tonight on such an errand."
At the door of the hospital, which was only a wooden house with a Red Cross flag outside, the doctor met the little company.
"You will be as quiet as you can and try not to excite him," he said, and there was something in his voice which made all questioning impossible.
Then Mrs. Webster and Dan and Peggy went inside the little hospital. Within a few moments Dan came out again with his head bowed and went away by himself without speaking.
"Will it be many hours, Doctor?" Mrs. Burton inquired.
The doctor shook his head.
"Not many."
Mrs. Burton was standing with her arm about Vera Lagerloff, feeling Vera's grief almost as deeply as her own. Without a tie of blood, without the right to be near him which his family had, Vera was yet closer to Billy in many ways than any other human being in the world.
"You shall see him soon, dear," Mrs. Burton murmured.
Vera nodded.
"Billy will send for me; there will be so many things he will wish to say," she replied and her tone was one of love and understanding.
"I don't think I can get on without Billy afterwards, Mrs. Burton. No one else has realized how wonderful he was, what beautiful things he was planning to do with his life." Vera was shivering so Mrs. Burton could only hold her more closely.
"I know, dear, and yet how could one do more than Billy has done? Greater love hath no man than this that he lay down his life for his friend. Billy's friends, remember, were never merely the few people he knew; his idea of friendship was a bigger thing than ours."
"Billy wishes to speak to you, Tante, and to Vera," Peggy said at this instant appearing at the open door. "Don't be unhappy at seeing him. He is not frightened and yet he understands perfectly he has only a little while."
Billy was lying on a cot with a nurse on one side of him and his mother on the other, but, except for this, looking much as he usually did.
His face was paler and the blue eyes even wider open, yet for once in his life they seemed to have lost their questioning look.
"I promised you not to get into mischief, Tante. Well, this is the last time; at least, I suppose it is my last. But after all one does not know; there may be other chances over there."
Billy was trying to smile and Mrs. Burton leaned over and kissed him.
"I know there will be, Billy, and you will take them as gallantly as you have done this one. Don't worry, old chap, I'll look after your mother and Peggy."
Then she turned away.
Vera had kneeled down and was hiding her face in the bed clothes.
It was to her Billy turned like a little boy.
"Please look at me, Vera, and tell me you are sorry. It was like me to do the right thing in the wrong way, wasn't it? Yet there are so many things I want to say, want to explain to people. You see it is all a question of our learning to understand each other better to end fighting and all the rest of it. You believed in me, didn't you, Vera? Yet you understand that I could not let the soldiers out here be killed when they are getting ready to give their lives for ours. What is that we read about Christ the other day, Vera?"
Vera held Billy's two hands folded closely in her own.
"Listen, dear, and remember this:
"'Christ is courage, Christ is adventure, he fights for us and with us against death.'"
In a large hotel sitting-room a number of girls were grouped in various attitudes, discussing a question which evidently interested them.
"Does any one knowwhywe arenotto start east tomorrow as we planned?" Marta Clark inquired, glancing up from a city map which she had been studying.
"Why, no, not exactly," Bettina Graham answered her. "Tante did not tell us definitely. She merely said that something had occurred which made her feel it would be wiser for her to remain in California a few days longer, unless we were compelled to leave for home at once. Personally I cannot imagine what is keeping her here, as I know she is anxious to go home, now that our Camp Fire summer is over and Peggy and Aunt Mollie and Dan Webster have gone. I think it was wonderfully good of her to continue with our camping party after Billy's death, when she must have wished to leave with the others."
"I thinkIknow why she seemed to change her mind so unexpectedly yesterday and canceled all our reservations for berths," Sally Ashton announced in the mysterious manner which Sally often assumed to the annoyance of the other girls. Since her arrival in the city, Sally temporarily had forsworn her war and Camp Fire abstinence and was at this moment engaged in eating chocolates which had just arrived by parcel post from Merton Anderson.
"How absurd you are, Sally! You know no more than the rest of us!" Alice Ashton argued with sisterly frankness.
Instead of replying, sanctimoniously tightening her lips, Sally added nothing to her original statement.
"Nevertheless, won't youpleasetell us what you think, Sally?" Vera Lagerloff requested, and because it was Vera who made the request Sally agreed.
Since Billy's death the Camp Fire girls had been as unobtrusively kind to Vera as they knew how to be. In a measure they appreciated what his loss must mean to her, although it was out of the question that they could fully understand the extent of Vera's loneliness, the feeling of emptiness which the future now seemed to offer her.
Vera's long and devoted friendship with Billy had separated her from the usual intimacy with other girls, nevertheless she was a general favorite. For a good many years Billy had required whatever time and thought she could spare from her ordinary duties and affections.
"I think, Vera, that Tante recently has heard some unexpected news of Gerry," Sally finally announced with the proper degree of solemnity and with a due sense of dramatic values.
At least she was a dramatic success to the extent of surprising her audience.
"What authority have you for such a statement, Sally?" Alice Ashton demanded in the superior voice and manner which Alice now and then affected.
Sally shrugged her shoulders. "I haven't any authority, I have a 'hunch'," she returned, appreciating how painfully her slang would annoy her intellectual sister.
"But how is it possible that Gerry could have written? Don't you think she and Felipe are still hiding in Mexico? We know that much from what Mr. Morris has told us! If Gerry should write to Mrs. Burton she might betray her own and Felipe's secret and she would not do that," Marta Clark protested.
"I did not say Gerry had written, I only said that I believed Tante had received some information concerning her," Sally answered, undisturbed by criticism.
In response to this speech the expressions on the faces of the four other girls became curiously alike.
"I don't believe if I were Mrs. Burton I should ever take an interest in Gerry again," Marta Clark announced. "Perhaps I am more in a position to say this than any of the rest of you, because all of you have some past association with Mrs. Burton; she was an intimate friend of your mothers. She simply chose to be kind to me and to invite me to spend this summer with her Camp Fire group without any especial reason, just as she has been good to Gerry. If I should repay her kindness as Gerry has done, I should never dare make the effort to see her again, or to ask her forgiveness, no matter how greatly I might desire it."
"I feel just as you do, Marta," Bettina Graham agreed.
But Sally gave a little protesting cough, holding a chocolate drop suspended in the air for an instant.
"Judge not, lest ye be judged," she declared sententiously, and then with a somewhat less self-righteous expression, "Was that quotation from the Bible or Shakespeare and did I quote correctly? The truth is I wish that all of you would not be so hard upon Gerry. I know you think it silly and impossible for a girl not yet eighteen to bereallyin love, but just the same Gerry is in love with Felipe. As she is in love with him and he has been a coward and is now a fugitive from his own country, I don't suppose Gerry is so happy that all of you need be disagreeable about her. Personally I am perfectly sure that if Gerry wishes Tante's sympathy and help again, Tante would be sure to do whatever she could to help her."
"Hats off to Sally!" Bettina Graham remarked and no one disputed the suggestion. "Still of course, Sally dear, it is impossible that any news could have been received from Gerry, since she and Felipe must remain out of the country until the war is over and the whole circumstance of Felipe is forgotten," Bettina continued. "But suppose when Tante returns we inquire why we are to wait over in Los Angeles a few days more? I presume she would not object to explaining. I believe no one asked her the direct question."
"Yes, but she would have volunteered to tell had she wished us to know," Alice Ashton argued.
Vera Lagerloff, who had been sitting by an open window looking out toward a circle of hills which were like giant amethysts in the afternoon light, turned toward the other girls.
"Suppose if we have no other plans we spend tomorrow on Mount Lowe and give Mrs. Burton the opportunity to be alone," she suggested. "We have been at the seashore so long I am anxious for a day among the hills."
Then she addressed Marta Clark.
"You are mistaken, Marta, if you think all of us here, aside from you, have some past association with Mrs. Burton. I have none except that Billy and I always have been friends and he asked his aunt to take an interest in me. Now Mrs. Burton is going to do something for me which seems more wonderful than anything she has ever done for any one else, although I know she has been a fairy godmother to a good many people. But she is to pay my expenses and allow me to go to France to work in the devastated country which has lately been cleared of the Germans. 'The Field of Honor' is the name for this part of France which I like best. I hope to work among the homeless children. But in any case I have been brought up on a farm and can do farming work, which I have heard is especially needed. I am to study in New York City before I sail. Courses of study are being given there under the auspices of the French Huguenot societies."
An unusual silence followed Vera's long speech and then it was Sally Ashton who spoke first.
"For your sake, Vera, I am so glad, for I know the new life and the new work will mean a great deal to you just now. I only wish I were going with you."
"But you, Sally, what on earth could you do that would be useful in France?" Alice remonstrated, not because she wished to be disagreeable but to relieve the little tension which Vera's confidence had wrought.
"At least I can cook, which is a more useful accomplishment than any you can offer, Alice," Sally returned with such ridiculous spitefulness that the other girls laughed.
"I believe I am also envious of you, Vera," Bettina remarked. "All summer I have been feeling that we were not doing enough to help with the war merely by economizing and sewing and knitting, all the hundred and one small things we have tried to do. If we were boys we would be going through at least a little military training and in a few years would be able to volunteer. It is simply amazing what the girls and women are doing in England. So far we have not nearly approached their efforts. Do you know there is a 'Woman's Army Auxiliary Corps' already in France working directly behind the lines. I believe the Tommies call them 'The Tommy-waacs.' We have been talking about being behind the lines this summer, but I wish we could be more directly there."
"But what is the exact work the English girls are doing?" Alice demanded, as if she were seriously weighing a problem in her mind. "I am sure we can do the same things if they become necessary."
"I don't know all the varieties of war work of course, Alice," Bettina returned. "In Great Britain women and girls have taken the places of the men in more departments of labor than we can imagine. Of course we know they are working in munition shops and aeroplane factories and in ship building, and are telephone and telegraph operators. Now they are also working among the blind, being specially trained for the work, of course, and are actually driving ambulances and motor trucks near the fighting line. But I will bore you if I go on enumerating even the little I know. Personally I agree with, Vera, I should prefer to work among the children. Madame Montessori, the great Italian teacher, has been in the United States this summer trying to establish what she calls the order of the 'White Cross.' The members of the White Cross are to devote themselves to the care of the children who have suffered from the war. She says there is no hope of their growing into healthy and normal men and women unless they receive special care."
"Is there an organization anything like our own Camp Fire girls in France?" Sally Ashton demanded unexpectedly. "I know there is in England where they call themselves the 'Girl Scouts.' But I should think that young girls living and working together in France as we have been trying to do, might help each other and be useful to other people as well."
"I quite agree with you, Sally," Bettina returned. "Odd, that no one of us can answer your question! But as soon as we return East I mean to make it my business to find out if there is a French Camp Fire. At least we could write to the French Camp Fire girls if they exist."
At this instant the girls' conversation was interrupted by the sudden opening of a door and Mrs. Burton's entrance.
She was not in mourning but was wearing a black dress and hat which were unbecoming and made her look older.
"Why is everybody so serious?" she instantly demanded.
Before any one else could reply Sally Ashton answered:
"We are serious because we are thinking that some day we may ask you to take us to France to form Camp Fire clubs over there and to do whatever we can to help. Oh, of course I know we must learn more of what will be required of us and be prepared to make all kinds of sacrifices."
Flinging her hat on the bed with as great carelessness as if she were a girl and also as if she were pleased to be rid of it, Mrs. Burton replied:
"You are an amazing child, Sally. Even if I had the courage for such an undertaking, which I have not, do you suppose I would have sufficient influence with the parents of any one of you to persuade them to allow you to stir one foot away from your own land at a time like this? But I understand you have been hearing Vera's news. The circumstances with Vera are exceptional. Wait here another moment, there is something I have to tell you."
Then Mrs. Burton disappeared into her bedroom which adjoined their hotel sitting-room. Their hotel was not in the center of the city but in a suburb a few miles out.
A few moments later she returned wearing a lavender crepe dressing gown and looking younger and more attractive.
For some reason she sat down next to Sally and put her arm about Sally's shoulders.
"I hope my information may interest you," she began with a slight suggestion of appeal in her voice, glancing from one of the girls to the other.
"Two days ago I received a letter from Mr. Morris telling me that Felipe had been arrested by the United States authorities. He had crossed over into California for the day in order to attend to some private business. I believe he wished to get some money from his father. He trusted, of course, in not being discovered, but was arrested within an hour."
"I suppose I ought to say I am sorry, if that is what you wish, Tante? But really I cannot. It seems to me exactly the fate that Felipe Morris deserves," Bettina Graham answered coldly.
"What will be done to Felipe as a punishment for having tried to escape the draft?" asked Alice Ashton. "I believe the punishment is very severe, is it not?"
"His father is afraid he will receive three years' imprisonment," Mrs. Burton replied without comment.
Then she heard a little horrified exclamation from the girl nearest her and Sally's face had whitened and her expression changed.
"But Gerry! What is to become of Gerry?" she demanded. "I know that she behaved very badly and that she ought to have persuaded Felipe to do his duty, instead of helping him to run away from it. But Gerry was dreadfully under Felipe's influence, and, anyhow, I don't care, Iamterribly sorry for her," Sally ended incoherently, hiding her brown eyes behind her hand.
"I also am very sorry, Sally," Mrs. Burton added. "The fact of having done a wrong has never yet made any human being's punishment easier to bear. But I can tell you one thing about Gerry, Sally dear, since you alone seem interested. She is in California and is coming to see me tomorrow. She returned to California as soon as she received word of Felipe's arrest. She has been with Mr. Morris, and they of course will do whatever is in their power to have Felipe's sentence made as light as possible. I am afraid they cannot do very much. In all probability an example will be made of him."