Mrs. Burton had another reason which she did not choose to make public. She dreaded the added strain upon Miss Patricia, who in spite of her wonderful vigor and energy would doubtless wear herself to the breaking point and be extremely difficult in consequence. At the close of her reconstruction work in France to which she had devoted herself she had reached England in a state of nervous and physical exhaustion. However, after a few weeks of travel and rest she had entirely recovered. Notwithstanding, Mrs. Burton could not refrain from worrying over Miss Patricia’s unfailing care of her, in which she seemed unwilling to allow any one else to share. Any human being with less tact than Mrs. Graham would long since have met with Miss Patricia’s disapproval. She did manage, however, to spend several hours each day with her friend without incurring Miss Patricia’s anger, and in small ways, never in more important ones, to relieve the older woman’s constant vigilance. As a matter of fact, Betty Graham was a decided favorite with Aunt Patricia and had been for a number of years. Many times she was heard to announce that she wished Polly Burton were possessed of an equal amount of sweetness and good judgment. Moreover, Miss Patricia really recognized the claim of the friendship older than her own, and although now and then suffering twinges of jealousy, usually kept them to herself.
Yet even Aunt Patricia had not protested against the instalment of some one to help with the Christmas festivities, provided a suitable person could be discovered. And the good fortune in the situation was that Miss Patricia made the discovery herself.
David Murray, who helped with the outside work and cared for the furnace, was an old bachelor living in a small cabin a mile or more away and yet the closest neighbor to the Camp Fire girls.
Old David was as much of a character in his way as Miss Patricia in hers, disliking the feminine sex with greater intensity than Miss Patricia bestowed upon his, as Miss Patricia’s dislike of men never had been satisfactorily proven save by her spinsterhood.
Some time before David had confided to Miss Patricia that a letter from his half sister, Elspeth, had informed him of the fact that she was tired of “working out” and was coming to live with him. He did not wish her society and had stated the fact plainly.
“Yet knowin’ the ways of women, Miss Patricia, if she has made up her mind to it, she’ll come. She knows a man can’t set a woman outside his door to freeze weather like this even if he has a mind to.”
A few weeks later with all her possessions Elspeth arrived and finding her brother away, had pushed open the door. There she was upon his return making herself thoroughly at home.
However, the cottage was small and David was “dour”, so Elspeth was soon willing to make friends with the Camp Fire girls and to agree to come and live with them at Christmas time. She and Miss Patricia were even a little alike, since one was of Scotch descent and the other Irish. Miss Patricia promised to leave the cooking and housekeeping to Elspeth and the Camp Fire girls, so long as nothing interfered with her care of Mrs. Burton, which, after all, consisted largely in seeing that she ate and slept more than she wished and was in the fresh air whenever it was possible.
Mrs. Burton had pleaded for a little more freedom during the holidays and had her request denied with the threat that the house party itself should be abandoned unless she agreed to follow her usual régime.
So the big cabin before the arrival of the Christmas guests was filled with the odors of cooking and cleaning and the smell of evergreens.
The arrangement was that the married people and Camp Fire girls should live in the big house and the smallest of the cabins and the other be devoted to Dan Webster, David Hale, and Philip Stead, the unknown cousin of Alice and Sally Ashton.
Mrs. Graham had suggested that Allan Drain be invited to spend a few days at the cabin rather than be forced to return to his own home when he was sharing their amusements. But as no one had met the proposal with any enthusiasm she had said nothing more. Her own desire was to make up to the young fellow in any possible way for the loss for which she felt increasingly responsible.
Captain Burton was to arrive before any other member of the house party. Instead of trusting to an automobile or a sleigh that might be had at Saranac, the nearest village, old David drove over to meet his train, due at about five o’clock in the afternoon.
At six o’clock every light in Tahawus cabin was burning brightly, a fire in the living-room roared and crackled like imprisoned music, dinner was in fullest preparation.
In the drawing-room Mrs. Burton, Mrs. Graham and Miss Patricia were dressed and waiting with every now and then one of the Camp Fire girls flitting in and out with a question or a piece of information. A few days later and the cabin would be overflowing with guests. For this reason the Camp Fire guardian had wished her husband to appear before any one else.
Between half-past six and seven he could be looked for at the cabin, as the drive from Saranac occupied something more than an hour.
But at seven o’clock Captain Burton had not come; at half-past seven Miss Patricia insisted that dinner be served and Captain Burton’s set aside. At eight o’clock she demanded that Mrs. Burton go to her room and lie down. Undoubtedly Captain Burton’s train had been delayed. Evidently David was still awaiting him.
After half an hour of protest, as Miss Patricia remained firm and Mrs. Graham added her persuasions to Aunt Patricia’s commands, the Camp Fire guardian finally did retire, appreciating that she would be in a better state to receive her husband and wishing him to see at once how much she had improved.
A little after nine it chanced that the half dozen Camp Fire girls were in the living-room alone, Bettina playing softly on the piano and Chitty imitating the notes with her flute-like voice, when they heard the noise of David and the sleigh approaching.
Fearing that their Camp Fire guardian might be disappointed in case something had prevented Captain Burton’s arrival, Bettina and Alice Ashton ran into the hall opening the door before there was an outside noise.
The next moment Captain Burton strode in. He was not alone; accompanying him was a girl wrapped in a shabby gray cloak and with a warm scarf tied about her head partly concealing her face.
“Where is Polly? I must see her at once. We had a wreck on the road and a storm also delayed us. Bettina, will you and Alice please look after Miss Temple, Juliet Temple, and persuade her to eat dinner and go to bed. I’ll introduce you to each other more satisfactorily in the morning.”
If Bettina and Alice were startled and none too pleased by an unexpected guest under the present conditions, they were too kind to show their attitude, observing that the strange girl looked completely exhausted.
“But, my dear, do you think this the proper time to introduce a stranger into our household?”
Mrs. Burton and Captain Burton were walking up and down outside Tahawus cabin the following morning. Wearing a sealskin coat and a small fur hat and muff, little was visible except Mrs. Burton’s eyes and the brilliant color in her cheeks wrought by the still, clear cold.
Captain Burton, who was a good deal older, was a middle-aged man with iron-gray hair and dark eyes; a handsome, erect figure, considerably taller than his companion.
“Why, no, I suppose not, Polly,” he returned, “but I explained to you the circumstances were exceptional. Here was a girl who had been living in the same boarding place with me, to whom I had been saying good-morning and good-evening for a number of weeks and now and then stopping to talk for a few moments, suddenly turned out into the world with no money and apparently no friends whom she could ask to aid her. I believe she has friends, but preferred being independent. Had I not assured her you were greatly in need of some one, she would not have come to you. She was careful to tell me that although she had studied nursing a short time, she was not a professional nurse, having given up her studies in order to take a position in Washington during the war, being in need of funds and unable to wait for her graduation.
“I convinced her that you were not so ill as to require professional care, but required some one to wait upon you, prepare special dishes and write letters. In fact, I even told her that a part of her work would be that of a maid, but that I was sure you would be extremely kind and that living with you was a pleasure, Polly, under almost any conditions.”
Mrs. Burton laughed.
“That was very kind of you, dear, but scarcely true. I have an idea that Miss Temple will form a different impression of my character as an invalid if she overhears Aunt Patricia’s report of me. Besides, Richard, don’t you realize that Aunt Patricia will never permit Miss Temple to usurp her duties, which seem to consist in forcing me to eat more food and sleep a greater number of hours than any human being reasonably can manage. As for the other tasks, which I am perfectly well able to accomplish for myself, there are half a dozen of the Camp Fire girls more than willing to do whatever I ask. Then there is my beloved Betty Graham whom I have not seen intimately in a number of years. We have made a secret arrangement by which she pretends to be acting as my secretary in order that we may have a few quiet hours together. As I do not write a dozen letters a week and ordinarily write them myself, Betty does not find her duties arduous. Really I do not see what Miss Temple is to do for me or for any one else. I am sorry for her of course, but just at present the cabin is to be unusually crowded. If the girl has no money I suppose we must see that she is able to board somewhere for a time, although we haven’t a great deal of money ourselves these days, have we?
“I do wish Aunt Patricia were not so generous. It is ridiculous for me to be living in this state! Please don’t let her find out we must help Miss Temple until she is able to secure work. She would then insist upon undertaking the responsibility, besides being immensely aggrieved at our having thought of it. Her one idea is that I shall have no reason to say I must go back to work in order to help restore our fortunes. Aunt Patricia seems to object to everything in connection with the stage these days, when once upon a time she loved it dearly.”
“But, Polly, Miss Temple will not accept money. I offered to lend her a small amount which she could repay when she chose, but she declared that I was a comparative stranger, and if she were forced to borrow money had best apply to some one who had known her longer and more intimately.
“What I don’t understand is why you wrote me that you and Aunt Patricia were greatly in need of some one and that you were much worried over Aunt Patricia’s breaking down. I have had this in mind some time and been worried. Women are so extraordinarily inconsistent!”
“Yes, and men so extraordinarily dull sometimes, my dear. I plead guilty; I did write you what you accuse me of, but that wasmonthsago when Aunt Patricia and I were living here alone. Since then, as you know, our household has changed completely. Betty is here and all the Camp Fire girls, and we even have a jewel of a cook, Elspeth. You must talk to her. Her people have lived in the Adirondacks for years and yet she still has a trace of a Scotch accent and uses Scotch words now and then.”
“Very well, as I know Miss Temple and you do not, I presume I had best try to explain the situation. But I must say I am disappointed. I thought you were particularly sympathetic with young girls, Polly, after your experience as a Camp Fire guardian. As far as I know Juliet Temple is a charming girl and I see no reason why she cannot be made a member of your Sunrise Camp Fire club.”
Long ago Polly O’Neill had been fairly well known among her family and friends for her quick temper, but the years and life’s discipline had taught her a measure of self-control.
She flushed now and bit her lips.
“Richard, you are not fair,” she said finally. “Idocare for girls and Iamsorry for this Miss Temple. But I cannot undertake to rescue every girl who is in a difficulty. And as for making her a member of our Camp Fire, I do wish you would try to understand something of the Camp Fire organization. The guardian does not select the members of a Camp Fire club. She may suggest a girl, but the choice really rests with the other girls. I should never think of asking my group of girls to include any one who is a stranger and might be wholly uncongenial. Besides, there are certain tests before any girl can join the Camp Fire. How old is this Juliet Temple?”
“Only eighteen, I believe. She wishes to be thought older; has been forced to give the impression because of being obliged to earn her living.”
Not liking the suggestion of deceit and not having been attracted toward the newcomer at their single brief meeting earlier in the day, Mrs. Burton continued her walk, saying nothing more.
Finally she laid her hand on her husband’s coat sleeve.
“Let’s not quarrel, dear, when we have not been together in so long a time. I shall never be able to like your Miss Temple if she has made you angry with me.”
“Nonsense, but here comes Aunt Patricia and I will ask her advice, Polly. She is the greatest trump in the world and I owe her more than I shall ever owe anyone for her devotion to you.”
As Miss Patricia approached she was seen to be wearing a heavy, long black coat and a soft gray felt hat belonging to one of the Camp Fire girls which, perched on top of her head, gave her a rakish appearance.
Expecting to be ordered indoors, Mrs. Burton observed that Miss Patricia was in a particularly softened mood, due probably to the arrival of Captain Burton, to whom she was devoted.
“Polly is looking better, don’t you think, Richard? Yet it has been very difficult to persuade her to do the things she should.”
Mrs. Burton slipped an arm through Miss Patricia’s. Captain Burton took her other arm and the three continued to promenade.
“Absurd, Aunt Patricia, I have been a perfect invalid! Some day you are going to be sorry for all the unkind things you say about me! I wish you would not just at present, because Richard probably will agree with you.”
Miss Patricia studied her two friends closely.
“Polly is not to be worried, Richard,” she said finally.
The younger woman laughed.
“See, one can make anything useful, even ill health! Aunt Patricia, we have not quarreled seriously. Our difficulty concerns the girl, Juliet Temple, whom Richard brought to us last evening. I don’t see just how she is to fit into our household under the present circumstances, while Richard has a different point of view.”
“Yes,” said Richard, “and I appeal to you, Aunt Patricia. After all, Tahawus cabin belongs to you and not to Polly. Here I have been attempting to play knight-errant and my wife declines to uphold me. A sorry knight-errant indeed!”
Five minutes later Miss Patricia was saying conclusively:
“The girl shall stay here through the Christmas holidays. No one shall be without a home and friends at such a season. It will be difficult I know, Polly dear, but if you will talk to the Camp Fire girls they will be kinder to Miss Temple than any request from me could make them. Strange as it may seem to you, Richard, the Camp Fire girls are devoted to Polly and she has an extraordinary influence over them all. But Polly is quite right, we cannot consider asking the girl to become a member of our Camp Fire until we discover whether or not the other girls like and approve of her. You seem to know singularly little concerning your own protégée, sir.”
Mrs. Burton’s laughter held a note of teasing, as Aunt Patricia’s directness was always amusing unless one chanced to be the victim.
“Yes, well, perhaps that is true, but she comes of excellent family, I believe.”
“I care little about family, the question is of the girl herself. Remember, I was a poor Irish girl until my brother left me his fortune, and have no aristocratic leanings. Polly and I will leave you and talk to the girl herself. I have little opinion of a man’s judgment in such a case.”
“What is the matter with Richard, Polly, he looks worried?” Miss Patricia demanded as they moved away. “Is it a question of money?”
Mrs. Burton shook her head.
“I don’t think so, Aunt Patricia, at least he said nothing to me.”
Inside the cabin the Camp Fire girls were not visible at the present time. Several of them were engaged with final Christmas preparations, the others had gone for a walk with Betty Graham.
Inside the living-room, sitting alone by the fire, was the solitary girl who had appeared so unceremoniously the evening before.
She was crouched on the floor upon a low stool looking in the flames when Mrs. Burton and Miss Lord entered, but rose up hastily.
Unusually tall, although not so tall as Miss Patricia, Juliet Temple had ash-colored brown hair and gray eyes and a shy, almost colorless manner.
“I am sorry to have intruded upon you in this fashion, Mrs. Burton,” she began. “I suddenly lost my position in Washington and Captain Burton was so kind, I did not altogether realize what I was doing in coming to you like this. Now I can see that you can have no possible use for me with so many girls about you. If you will be kind enough to have some one drive me back to the village I shall not trouble you further.”
Mrs. Burton put out her hand toward the unknown visitor in a friendly fashion.
“You will stay with us a few days in any case, won’t you, Miss Temple? Perhaps after all you may be able to do something for me, or for all of us. Who knows? But in any event you must not think of leaving us until we know that you go to friends, where you will be happy. Was there, by chance, anything beside the loss of your position that made you wish to leave Washington at once?”
The girl hesitated and then spoke quickly:
“Yes, there was a reason. May I tell you what it was before you decide to allow me to stay with you even a short time?”
The girl’s colorless face flushed warmly and her listless manner so altered that Miss Patricia stared at her in surprise. In another moment she became convinced that the newcomer had taken a sudden intense fancy to Mrs. Burton. She had seen this same thing occur before. Moreover, she doubtless had some romantic story that it pleased her to think of confiding to so famous a woman as Mrs. Burton.
Miss Patricia straightway left the room.
The instant after Juliet Temple stood facing her companion.
“Mrs. Burton, allow me to tell you at once, while I have the courage. I could not explain to Captain Burton, I did not feel I could to any human being until I met you. I was accused of having stolen a small sum of money from the department at which I was at work in Washington. It was not true and yet I have only my word to give you. My father was an army man and a distinguished officer during the Spanish war, so for his sake and because the sum was small I was dismissed from my position instead of being prosecuted. You can see now why I did not wish to appeal to friends to whom I would have felt I must make this same confession.”
The girl’s expression scarcely altered save that she became a shade paler and the lines about her mouth deepened.
“Why would it not have been wiser to have remained in Washington and proved your innocence?” Mrs. Burton inquired, frowning a trifle and wondering why her antagonism toward the girl had lessened rather than been increased by her story.
Juliet Temple gave a despairing shrug to her shoulders.
“It would have been useless, I would not have been permitted to continue at my work. I could not have lived on in Washington without money. I have but little hope that I shall ever be cleared, yet if you think I am guilty, and you have no reason to believe otherwise, you must let me go away at once, this afternoon.”
Mrs. Burton shook her head.
“No, I really wish you to stay, and I did not until this moment. At least you must remain for a time until we learn to know whether we like and trust each other.”
Mrs. Burton held out her hand a second time and Juliet Temple touched her lips to it without replying.
Toward noon the next day the half dozen other guests arrived, leaving only Ralph Merritt to follow later. He was not expected until Christmas eve, so affording Peggy Webster a few days with her family and friends.
Immediately upon her arrival the Camp Fire girls formed a circle about her and as soon as possible bore her off to a room in one of the smaller cabins devoted exclusively to their use.
This room was known as “The Study”. Formerly it had been the living-room in the smaller house, but at present was lined with books and filled with Camp Fire trophies, baskets, embroidery, sofa cushions, odd pieces of weaving, and the Camp Fire photographs depicting their various experiences, which the girls always carried with them.
After the midday dinner the older guests continued to sit about the big fire in the living-room. David Hale, Dan Webster and Philip Stead were invited to entertain themselves for a short time without their hostesses.
It was a little past two o’clock when Sally Ashton, who had been sitting curled up on a corner of a sofa, not talking so much as her companions, suddenly remarked:
“Don’t you think we might spare Peggy any more questions for this one afternoon? Whether she will confess to it or not, she is looking tired. Besides, I feel that we should pay more attention to our other visitors. I do not mean mother and father, I am thinking of——”
Greeted by an outburst of laughter, Sally appeared mystified.
“No, Sally dear, think not that we expect you to be interested in the entertainment of mere parents! The other visitors you refer to are masculine. Well, as they usually are attentive to you, after all there is no reason why you should not return the compliment.”
“Neither is there any reason why you should be so tiresome, Alice. I was only going to propose that we go for a walk before tea-time. The afternoon is clear and there always is the possibility of a snow storm by to-morrow. Perhaps in spite of Alice’s sarcasm, father and Captain Burton may be induced to join us; the others won’t, I know.”
Peggy Webster, who had been sitting on a pile of Camp Fire sofa cushions, got up immediately.
“Sally, you always were the most sensible one of us and I should enjoy a walk. There were so many hours of sitting still on the train. Besides, I agree with you that we should no longer neglect Dan or Philip Stead or Mr. Hale. Ralph is not here, but I intend to help defend his sex.”
Peggy Webster, who was about nineteen years old, was dark and vivid with a brilliant color, full crimson lips, black hair and eyes which of late had grown gentler in their expression. Perhaps the most popular of the younger group of Sunrise Camp Fire girls, Peggy always had been singularly sincere and courageous, besides possessing the vitality which in itself is so magnetic.
To-day, studying Peggy Webster closely, Mary Gilchrist felt a mingled sensation of admiration and envy. There were certain traits of character which she and Peggy held in common, and in a way Gill cherished the hope that she might fill Peggy’s place in their Camp Fire now that Peggy was so soon to marry and leave them. Yet there was also a fundamental difference between them that Gill knew ever must stand in her way, unless she were able to conquer it.
“I see no reason for wasting time in teasing Sally. I consider that she has made an extremely agreeable suggestion,” Gill protested.
Half an hour later, Peggy Webster, Bettina Graham, Mary Gilchrist, Marguerite Arnot, Sally and Alice Ashton and the small English girl, Chitty, who rarely left Bettina Graham’s side when it was possible to be with her, set out, leaving Vera Lagerloff to entertain Juliet Temple, the girl who had come to the cabin so unexpectedly, but concerning whose history and character they had no knowledge.
To Mary Gilchrist’s annoyance Allan Drain had joined their three young men guests, but she need not have troubled. He attached himself to Bettina and Chitty after a polite greeting to her, as soon as they set out on their expedition.
In a walk composed of a large group of people, the arrangement in the beginning is apt to be haphazard, controlled more by chance than choice.
Personally Bettina was glad that Allan Drain seemed interested to walk beside her, since this left David Hale free to be with Marguerite Arnot. Otherwise his sense of duty might have impelled him to be attentive to her. He had come to the cabin at her mother’s invitation. Bettina was convinced that he would find more pleasure in Marguerite’s company and that they would be glad to talk over the past year in France.
The walk was not to be of great length, Mary Gilchrist having proposed that they go to a low, cleared hill about a mile away on the far side of Half Moon Lake for their first toboggan ride.
One of Miss Patricia’s gifts, sent down from Canada, had been a toboggan capable of carrying eight persons. But to the Camp Fire girls’ chagrin Mrs. Burton had been unwilling to have them make use of it until they had a masculine escort. Absurd as her point of view appeared to several of the more independent members of her group of Camp Fire girls, no one had appealed from her decision.
This afternoon, moving swiftly ahead on snow shoes, Mary Gilchrist and Dan Webster dragged the great sleigh, leaving the others to follow as swiftly as possible. No one of the others had acquired Gill’s skill in the management of snow shoes save Dan Webster who had been brought up on a New Hampshire farm and was a trained athlete.
“Gill and Dan look very handsome together, don’t they?” Alice Ashton remarked. Tall and intellectual and not especially good looking, Alice Ashton was far from possessing her younger sister Sally’s popularity with men of all ages. But at present she and Sally were walking with their distant cousin, Philip Stead, between them and, as Sally was not making the faintest effort to entertain him, Alice felt compelled to assume the responsibility.
What was the difficulty with Sally? The suggestion that they go for a walk had been her own, and yet at present she looked as uncomfortable and annoyed as Sally ever permitted herself to appear. Undoubtedly she must be angry or troubled by some recent occurrence. Alice did not consider that this offered a sufficient excuse for Sally’s entire lack of interest.
The new cousin, Philip Stead, might have been an inanimate object walking between them.
Sally looked extremely pretty, with more color than usual, due to the sharp cold. She was wearing Mrs. Burton’s old seal-skin coat and cap, Aunt Patricia having presented the Camp Fire guardian with handsomer ones at the beginning of the winter in the Adirondacks. And Sally’s eyes and hair were nearly of the same shade and softness as the brown furs. Notwithstanding, she was frowning and her lips had a pouting, sullen look like a disappointed child’s.
Not appreciating the reason Alice was puzzled and at the same time grateful that the new cousin did not appear disturbed by Sally’s indifference, but sufficiently interested in her to make the task of amusing him simpler than she had imagined possible.
Alice was right. Sally was annoyed, she was even unhappy, although she would scarcely have agreed to this.
During the entire winter at Half Moon Lake had she not been looking forward almost daily to Dan Webster’s visit at Christmas time? Since their parting in France she and Dan had written each other occasionally, but neither of them wrote especially well, so that the letters were not very satisfactory.
Well, Dan had arrived and so far they had exchanged exactly eight words, the self-same words, save for the interchange of names: “Hello, Sally, I am glad to see you,” and her own reply with no more warmth or originality.
To herself at any rate she could confess that she had proposed a walk in order that she and Dan might have a brief time together without half a dozen or more persons surrounding them. If Dan only had made an effort to walk beside her they might easily have arranged to drop a few paces behind the others.
But Dan had made no such effort and apparently had no such thought. Already he and Mary Gilchrist were speeding on an eighth of a mile ahead, Mary’s golden scarf and Dan’s blue one, whipped by the wind, were like gay pennants urging the stragglers to follow.
But Sally could not walk rapidly on the icy ground and already was out of breath. Neither had she any interest in the arrival at the summit of the hill, since the thought of the tobogganing terrified her and she had no wish to confess the fact.
Reaching the top of the hill, Sally allowed Bettina Graham, her sister Alice, and Peggy Webster to reveal their Camp Fire prowess by starting a fire from the oily bark of a white birch tree, while Dan Webster, Philip Stead and Mary Gilchrist made the original test of the toboggan slide.
Three-quarters of an hour later, still standing beside the now huge bonfire, Sally never had moved a dozen paces away, and this in spite of repeated invitation from nearly every one of her companions to make the journey down the long, smooth path of ice to the edge of Half Moon Lake.
“Thanks, I don’t believe I would care for it. Yes, I am a little afraid, besides I should not like the long walk up the hill when the ride is over,” she had protested politely but with the firmness the other girls recognized as characteristic.
Dan Webster appeared either to be oblivious to, or else to have forgotten Sally’s accustomed obstinacy. Not once but half a dozen times he urged her to take part, insisting that he would take care of her and even bring her back up the hill. Sally continued to shake her head: “Thanks very much, you are awfully kind, but I had rather not,” until finally even Dan himself desisted.
Besides Sally Ashton there was one other member of the party who would not be persuaded to attempt the tobogganing—Allan Drain.
Sally had once overheard a conversation between him and Mary Gilchrist, and afterwards the young man had wandered off leaving her to guard the fire alone.
“I suppose you are afraid as Sally is,” Gill had said, and Sally, not annoyed in the least by a reference to her cowardice, had thought Gill never looked handsomer or more vigorous, with her auburn hair blowing from beneath her gray squirrel cap, her cheeks glowing with health and her full lips parted.
In contrast her companion had appeared white and frozen, half lifeless, with all the color gone from his face and his lips blue. Really Gill was not kind, Sally concluded, observing that Allan Drain had to hold himself together to keep from shivering.
“I don’t like a man who is a coward. Life must be a great bore to anyone who hates the outdoor world as you do and yet is compelled to be a part of it. I know you prefer a stuffy little room high up over a city with your books and your poetry and your dream of yourself,” she protested.
With a little light laughter, Gill disappeared and a short time after Sally observed the young poet start down the hill on the way either to their cabin or his own.
When he had gone too far to hear her call, Sally regretted that she had not accompanied him. In spite of the fire she was growing stiff with the cold. Already the afternoon shadows were turning the white world about her into softer tones of lilac and gold.
Sorry for her own suggestion, she now longed to be back at Tahawus and with her mother and father, who surely belonged to her after their long talk with the others. Nor did she wish any one to accompany her, which was a part of her mood since ordinarily nothing would have induced her to walk any distance in the winter woods alone.
Fortunately to-day one had not to be so careful of the trail. Here it was straight down the hill they had just climbed together.
There was no one near. Allan Drain was almost out of sight, yet his course would serve as a guide.
The others, crowding the toboggan, were midway down the steep incline.
Placing a fresh pile of wood on the fire and warming herself as thoroughly as possible, a moment later, without confiding her intention, Sally set off alone down the snow-covered mountain, carefully keeping in the tracks made by herself and her friends a short time before.
The first few yards of her trip downhill Sally managed with comparative comfort, but soon after the ice path grew steeper and her footing less secure. Then she would slide for a few feet, catching at any tree or frozen shrub along her route. A quarter of a mile away already she was sorry she had attempted the descent alone.
“Alice! Alice! Dan! Dan!” she called, hoping that some one of her friends had discovered her absence and would come searching for her. But no one answered and no one came. Should she return up the slope, or wait where she was until the others returned? The time could not be long; already they had been away from Tahawus cabin two hours and had promised to return before twilight.
Five minutes of waiting and Sally found herself growing numb from the cold. She had not been exercising, and toasting herself in front of the open fire evidently had made her more susceptible to the cold. Unquestionably she must move on in one direction or the other, and yet to go back would mean that the return journey would be doubly long. Besides, she wanted to be home. A vision of her mother and father, of the Camp Fire guardian, of their older guests seated about the great fire in the living-room of the cabin assailed her. Anxious they probably were already at the failure of the younger members of the house party to return.
Moving cautiously a few feet further along, Sally’s foot struck against a stone concealed by the ice, yet her fall did not appear to have injured her; as she lay quiet she felt more dazed than hurt.
Soon after she was up and on her way again.
But now the snow trail was no longer so plain as it had been and she was therefore obliged to study the route more carefully. However, she concluded that if one kept steadily down the hill toward the valley one could not go far astray and once on level ground walking would be less difficult.
Yet if only she had not suggested this outdoor excursion, which had proved such a disappointment to her!
From cold, from fatigue and disappointment the slow tears coursing down her cheeks seemed to freeze into tiny crystals. By and by she was so cold that she could not move rapidly, although aware that in action lay her only safeguard.
Another false step and Sally was glad to awaken to the realization that her second fall had brought her further down the hill. In a quarter of a mile more doubtless she would reach the frozen bank of Half Moon Lake and be able to see the lights of their camp on the farther side, for although the lake was of considerable length it was not more than fifty yards wide.
At the foot of the hill Sally found herself in a small ravine, where the ice had formed only a thin layer above the drifting snow. Attempting to cross the ravine she sank to her knees, but managed to flounder out again.
In order to console herself she attempted to recall various Camp Fire maxims which might afford her courage or inspiration, but concluded that concentration upon her task left no opportunity for other ideas.
On the farther side of the ravine which she did not remember to have crossed earlier in the afternoon there was no gleaming surface of water frozen into the winter landscape.
Instantly Sally appreciated that she had lost the trail and had come down the hill at some distant point from Tahawus cabin. Across the lake at any hour of the day or night one could see blue curls of smoke rising from the cabin, or at dusk the lights gleaming from the windows, but now no human habitation was visible.
Sally was in a world of complete loneliness. There is no loneliness, no silence so absolute as the forest in winter. Except for the snow birds, all the other birds have departed. Save when they must seek food, the animals keep their own cloisters; there are no leaves to rustle on the trees, only the little crackling noises due to intense cold.
How far was she at present from Tahawus cabin or any shelter? An instant Sally stood still. Curiously in the face of actual danger she lost her sense of discomfort and disenchantment and with a serious situation possessed an extraordinary capacity for calm judgment.
In an hour the woods would be in darkness. There was no point in evading the issue; she appreciated what was inevitable.
Yet she had no thought of surrender, not for the present.
With the realization of the situation Sally seemed to feel added strength and faith.
When the others arrived at Tahawus cabin, finding that she was not there, a search party would start out at once. If only she had not broken her compass a few days before, as she rarely left home without it, at least she might have managed to walk in the direction of Tahawus cabin and not face the risk of going the opposite way.
Notwithstanding the barricade of hills, she could see toward the west that the sun had descended, leaving a faint afterglow of purple and yellow and rose on the dim white peaks.
Sally moved westward, believing Tahawus cabin lay toward the west. But darkness came at length and she grew more bewildered. Moreover, she was nearly frozen. Now and then she would pause to wave her arms and stamp her feet, smiling at herself meanwhile, a half frozen, childish smile. In her fur coat with her waving arms, so stiff they moved with difficulty, she must have looked like an animated bear had anyone seen her in the dusk.
Several times Sally stumbled and fell forward, only to pick herself up and go steadfastly on.
She had no fear of wild animals, most of them were vanished from the Adirondack forest; nor of the darkness was she afraid; she was fearful of but two things, the cold and the silence.
Moreover, always before her appeared the picture of the gleaming fireplace at the cabin. Once she put out her hands as if she would warm them before it. Again she felt her father’s arms about her and her head dropping half asleep against his shoulder. Then Sally aroused herself more completely, appreciating that drowsiness must be fought above all other sensations, if one would conquer the peril of freezing.
Twice Sally was under the impression that she saw a tall figure approaching and called Dan Webster’s name, only to find later that the figure she had hoped might be human was a low tree with a pair of forked arms.
Sally’s Hands Beat Against the Closed Door
Sally’s Hands Beat Against the Closed Door
Toward the latter part of her journeying she had no impressions, almost no consciousness, yet something must have guided her—instinct, sub-conscious mind, call it what you will.
A light drew her, as a light has drawn all wanderers on the face of the earth.
Rising on the peak of a low hill appeared a fairy palace with only the towers visible as if built upon air, but nearer, almost beside her, a small, uncertain light.
Sally’s hands beat against the closed door of a small, one-room house.
The face of the man who opened the door she had a faint impression of having seen before, but afterwards she remembered nothing but her own effort to reach the fire and the man restraining her.