"You are perfectly absurd and I haven't the faintest intention of confiding in any one of you." And Polly O'Neill, with her cheeks flaming, rushed away from a group of girls and into her own bedroom, closing the door and locking it behind her.
This winter at boarding school in New York City had not been in the least what she had anticipated. Perhaps the character of the school she and her mother had chosen had been unfortunate. Yet they had selected it with the greatest care and it was expensive beyond Polly's wildest dreams. For, apart from her own small inheritance, her stepfather, Mr. Wharton, had insisted on being allowed to contribute to her support, and not to appear too ungracious both to her mother and to him, his offer had been accepted. Yet Polly did not consider herself any greater success in thus masquerading as a rich girl than she had been as a poor one. Was she never to be satisfied? Her school companions were all wealthy and few of them had any ideas beyond clothes and society. To them Polly had seemed a kind of curiosity. She was so impetuous, so brilliant, so full of a thousand moods. Betty Ashton had once said that to know Polly O'Neill was a liberal education, and yet in order to know her one ought to have had a liberal education beforehand.
Today during the recreation hour at "Miss Elkins' Finishing School," which was Polly's present abode, there had been a sudden discussion of plans for the future. And Polly, partly because she was in a contradictory mood and partly because she really wished it to be known, had boldly announced herself as poor as a church mouse with no chance of not starving to death in the future unless she could learn to make her own living.
And this had started the onslaught of questions from which she had just torn herself away.
For Polly had absolutely determined not to confide in any one of her new companions her ambition to go upon the stage. They would not understand and would only be stupid and inquisitive. Why, had they not worried her nearly to death simply because of her acquaintance with Miss Margaret Adams? For one day the great actress had driven up to the school and taken Polly for a drive. And ever afterwards the other girls were determined to find out how and when she had met her and what she was like in every smallest particular, until Polly was nearly frantic.
Now in her own room, which was a small one, but belonged to her alone, the girl dashed cold water on her face until she began to feel her temper cooling down. Then with a book in her lap she planted herself in a low chair. The book was a collection of Camp Fire songs which Sylvia Wharton had given her. And although Polly could not sing, the poetry and inspiration of them was so lovely that she felt they might be a consoling influence.
Nevertheless Polly did not commence reading at once. Instead, her thin shoulders drooped forward pathetically, and putting one elbow on her knee she rested her pointed chin in her hand.
For she was unhappy without any real reason in the world. Polly O'Neill was one of the sensitive and emotional persons who must always be more or less miserable in the wrong environment. She did not like being at boarding school and yet she did not wish to return to Woodford to live in her stepfather's house in circumstances so different from those of her old life. Besides, had not Miss Adams advised that she spend several years away from Woodford in order to see more of the outside world and its myriad types of men and women? She could not ask to be allowed to come back home now, after the fight she had made to leave. Moreover, she was learning many things that might be useful to her as an actress. Miss Adams herself had said so. There was no fault with the opportunities for study at Miss Elkins', only with the interest of the girls. She herself was working hard at French and German and physical culture and was having some special private teaching in elocution by a master recommended by Miss Adams.
No, Polly did not intend to give up. Only she was trying to decide whether or not to return to Woodford for the Christmas holidays. She was longing to see her mother and Mollie and Betty Ashton. Yet Frank Wharton would be at home and she and Frank had quarreled all the time that they had been in the house together during the past summer. And her mother and Mollie were so wrapped up in one another and in the splendid new home and in Mr. Wharton! Polly felt herself almost an outsider when she thought of the days when they had lived in their own little cottage just opposite the Princess.
Then, at the thought of Betty Ashton, the slightly hard look in Polly's Irish blue eyes faded. Of the Princess' understanding and affection she could always feel sure. And what a brave fight she was making! Every letter from her mother or Mollie or from any one of their old Camp Fire circle had something admiring to say of her. And yet she and Mollie had always thought of their Princess as only a spoiled darling, beautiful and meant only for cherishing. Ah well, the Princess was really an aristocrat in the old meaning of the word. She had never been in the least like these New York girls, caring for money for its own sake and feeling superior to other people just because of her money. Betty had birth and beauty and brains.
Suddenly Polly dashed the tears from her eyes and with a smile jumped to her feet, dropping her Camp Fire book. There was no use sitting there and thinking of all the virtues that her Princess possessed that began with "b." This was Friday afternoon and she was free to do what she liked. Esther was living in a boarding house not far away, and she had not seen her in two weeks. And in all the world there was nothing Esther liked to talk about so much as Betty. Besides, if Esther were going home for the holidays, why, Polly felt that she would rather like to have some one persuade her into making her own decision.
Is it good or evil fortune that makes one so readily influenced by outside conditions? The December afternoon was cold and brilliant; and in few places is the climate of early winter so stimulating as in New York City. Esther was not at home, and for a few minutes her visitor felt disappointed. But the streets were so beautiful and alluring and there were so many people out! It was true that Polly had received permission only to call upon her friend, but what wrong could there be in her taking a walk? She had only to keep straight along Broadway and there could be no possible chance of getting lost. Polly was not in the least timid or unable to take care of herself. She was a girl from a small town, and yet no one could have imagined that she had not been a New Yorker all her life, except for her quick and eager interest in the sights about her.
No one noticed or molested Polly in the least. It was only that in her usual unthinking fashion she flung herself into the way of temptation. Farther down Broadway than she had ever been before, Polly stopped for a moment to look more closely at a group of girls. Most of them were several years older than herself. They were standing close together near a closed door, and yet only occasionally did one of them make a remark to the other; for apparently they were strangers to one another.
At first the girls themselves attracted Polly's attention because the larger number appeared so nervous and anxious. More than half of them had their faces rouged and powdered and were fashionably dressed, yet even when they smiled their expressions were uneasy.
They interested the country girl immensely. In order not to seem rude or inquisitive she pretended to wish to gaze into a shop window near them. Then, as they continued waiting and showed no sign of what they were waiting for, Polly O'Neill's curiosity overcame her good manners. Another girl had separated herself from the group and was standing within two feet of Polly, also pretending to stare into the same window.
Polly edged closer to her. The young woman must have been nearly twenty-five. She had been pretty once, yet already her face was haggard and she had circles under her big brown eyes. Unexpectedly Polly smiled at her, and there was always something almost irresistible in Polly's smile.
"Could you, would you mind telling me why so many girls are standing here in this one particular spot?" she inquired. "It is a cold day when one is still. And yet I have been here almost ten minutes and no one has even started to move away."
"We are waiting to try to get jobs," the older girl answered listlessly. "And we have come sooner than we were told because each one of us hoped to get ahead of the other."
"Jobs?" Polly repeated stupidly. "What kind of work is it that you are looking for?"
"Oh, theatrical jobs," the young woman explained. "It's coming on to be Christmas time and the managers are putting on extras for the holidays."
She turned away from her questioner, believing that she had heard a faint noise at the door near which they were lingering. A quick tug at her coat attracted her attention again.
"Can any one apply for a position who wants it?" Polly queried. Her eyes were shining, her cheeks were crimson and her breath coming in kind of broken gasps as though she were frightened.
But the magic door had opened at last and the older woman had no time to waste. "Oh, yes, any one can apply," she returned with a kind of hardness. And then she failed to observe that the girl she had been talking with was following close behind her.
Polly herself hardly realized what she was doing. Once more she had yielded to that old wretched habit of hers, of acting first and then thinking afterwards. Like a flash of lightning it had but this instant occurred to her that more than anything she would like to see inside a theatrical manager's office. It would be like placing the tips of one's toes on the promised land. Of course, Polly knew perfectly well that she was being reckless, only she would not allow herself time to consider this point of view. She would simply slip in with these other girls and pretend that she would like a position should she be forced into it. As she had had no experience, there could be no possibility of her getting an engagement. Ten minutes afterwards she would slip out again and return to school.
With a dozen or more other girls, Polly was the next moment ushered into a room that was quite dark and had only a few chairs in it. There they were told to wait until the manager could be free to speak to them. So Polly crowded herself into the farthest, darkest corner and immediately her heart began to thump and her knees to shake, while she wished herself a thousand miles away.
What would her mother say to this latest of her escapades; and Mollie and Betty? What would Miss Adams, for that matter, think of her? She was an actress herself; but of course Polly never imagined that she had started her career in any such humble fashion.
Coming partially to her senses, Polly started hurriedly toward the closed door. There was no reason in the world for her remaining in this room unless she wished it. But just as she turned the knob the manager entered from the hall. And Polly's curiosity got the better of her again. She would stay just half a minute longer and see what happened.
When Polly O'Neill came out into the street again, she did not know whether she was walking on the sidewalk, in the air, or at the bottom of the sea. But because of a certain thrilling excitement she felt that she must have wings and because of a heavy weight inside her that she must be in the depth of the sea.
For Polly had just signed an engagement to act for two weeks in a Christmas pantomime.
It sounds incredible. And it was possibly as unwise and headstrong a thing as a girl could well do. And yet Polly had originally no actual intention or desire to do wrong. Simply she had yielded to a sudden impulse, to an intense curiosity. But now things were different; for Polly was realizing her wilfulness completely, and instead of repenting and turning back to confess her folly, was every moment trying to plan by what method her purpose could be accomplished.
Not for anything in the world would her mother give her consent to her experiment. And that in itself should have been a sufficient argument against it. Yet Polly explained to herself that, after all, there could not be any great harm in doing what she so much wished, provided that she made confession afterwards. She was almost eighteen, and thousands of girls in New York City were earning their living, who were years younger than she. Perhaps it might even do her good to find out what this stage life really was like—whether it was as fascinating as she dreamed, or all tinsel as most grown people were so fond of telling her.
No, the question that was uppermost with Polly O'Neill was not in connection with her decision. It was how her decision might best be carried out.
Fortunately she had been writing that she did not believe that she would come home for the Christmas holidays. She did wish to see her mother and Mollie and Betty, of course, and had almost given way to this longing only an hour before. But now, had not fate itself intervened, flinging her into the path of her desire? And Polly was Irish and had always declared that she believed in the leadings of fate, even when her mother and sister had insisted that fate and her own wish were too often confused in her mind.
Had she not hidden herself in the corner when the theatrical manager entered the room, with every intention of running away as soon as she could escape unobserved? And then had he not suddenly swooped down upon her, selecting her from the dozens of other applicants? Polly was not exactly sure of what had happened, except that the man had said that she looked the part of the character he was after. The fact that she had confessed having had no stage experience had not even deterred him. The new play was to be chiefly for young people and the manager particularly required youthful actors and actresses.
The play to be produced was the dramatization of a wonderful old Bohemian fairy story, which Polly remembered to have read years before, called "The Castle of Life." The story is that of a little boy, Grazioso, brought up by his grandmother, whom he loves better than all else in the world. Then one day he sees that the grandmother is growing old and fears that she must soon leave him. And so he sets out to find "The Castle of Life" in order once more to bring back youth to the old woman. The play follows his adventures on the road to the castle, and includes his meeting with two fairies—the Fairy of the Woods and the Fairy of the Water. Polly was to impersonate the wood spirit.
Her appearance did suggest the character, though naturally she could not appreciate this fact. But there was always something a bit eerie and fantastic about her, something not exactly of the everyday world—her high cheekbones and thin, emotional face with its scarlet lips and intense expression faintly foreshadowing an unusual future.
But Polly at the present moment was not feeling in the least unusual, only rather more self-willed and more calculating. Never could she recall having deliberately deceived any one before in her entire life. And yet to accomplish her present purpose there was no other way than the way of deception. No one in Woodford must guess at her reason for remaining in New York during the holidays, nor must Miss Elkins have any possible cause for suspicion. Of course she could not stay on at boarding school. That idea was utterly ridiculous. She would never be allowed to go out for a single evening alone. Already her right to liberty had been considerably overreached by this walk of hers down town. And what she had done during the walk! The offender smiled rather wickedly at the thought of the consternation and excitement that the discovery of her act would create. Home she would go to Woodford then to stay indefinitely!
But Polly did not mean to be found out, She meant to have her little taste of emancipation and then go back into routine again, until she was old enough for a larger freedom. So for this reason, although she should have returned to school an hour before, she continued walking slowly, devising and rejecting a dozen plans. It was going to be tremendously difficult to accomplish her purpose. But this she had foreseen five minutes after she had promised to accept the theatrical manager's offer. However she would "find a way." She remembered how often the Princess had said that she had more talent than "Sentimental Tommy" in this particular direction.
She reached Miss Elkins' school and received five minutes' scolding from that lady, in the meekest spirit, still without having any idea of what she could possibly do to accomplish her design.
All evening she talked so little and her attention was so concentrated upon the lesson which she appeared to be studying, that her school companions left her entirely alone. Polly's passion for studying had always been regarded as an eccentricity. But now since she had announced on that afternoon that she had her own living to make there was possibly some excuse for her industry. Nevertheless the girls felt more convinced than ever that she was not in the least like any of the rest of them and, although rather fascinating and unusual, not a person whom one would care to know intimately.
The difference in her manner and expression that night attracted the attention of one of the teachers—the girl's face was so tense and white, her blue eyes showed such dark shadows beneath them. It was owing to this teacher's advice that Polly was allowed to leave the study hall an hour earlier than usual and go to her own room and to bed.
She was not feeling particularly well. Her head did ache and her conscience troubled her the least little bit, notwithstanding she had not the faintest intention of surrender. With hot cheeks and cold hands she lay still for a long time until the noises of the other girls retiring had quieted down and the big house was silent. Then Polly suddenly sat up in bed. A moment later she had crawled out on the floor and lighted a candle by her writing desk. The electric lights had been turned off for the night. But even in the pitch darkness Polly would still have composed her letter. For an idea had at last come to her. And if only she could get just one person to accede to it her way would be plain. The one person might be difficult. Polly was perfectly aware of this, but then she had great faith in her own powers of persuasion.
Just above the small alcohol lamp the teakettle was beginning to sing. On a table near-by were teacups and saucers, with one plate of sandwiches covered over with a small napkin, and another of cookies.
Several times a tall girl glanced at the clock and then walked across the room to take the kettle off the stove, only to place it back again the next instant.
Then at last she seated herself by an open piano. There was very little furniture in the room except the piano, a small cot and the table. Yet it had an atmosphere of home and comfort, such as some persons are able to give to a tent in a desert. And standing in a row at the back of the same tea table were three candles in ten-cent-store glass candlesticks, waiting to be lighted. The afternoon was a dismal one, with occasional flurries of snow; so that when the proper time came for the candle-lighting, the flames would not be ungrateful.
But in order to make the waiting seem less long the girl was evidently trying to distract her attention by practicing her music. Several times she sang over the scales. And then, dissatisfied with her own work, repeated them until finally her voice rose with unusual resonance and power. Then, after another slight pause, she drifted almost unconsciously into the words of a song:
"Burn, fire, burn!Flicker, flicker, flame!Whose hand above this blaze is liftedShall be with magic touch engifted,To warm the hearts of lonely mortalsWho stand without their open portals.The torch shall draw them to the fireHigher, higherBy desire.Whoso shall stand by this hearthstone,Flame-fanned,Shall never, never stand alone;Whose house is dark and bare and cold,Whose house is cold,This is his own.Flicker, flicker, flicker, flame;Burn, fire burn!"
She had not heard the door open softly nor even noticed the figure that crept softly into the small room.
But now a pair of gloved hands were clasped eagerly together and an enthusiastic voice said:
"Esther Crippen, that is the loveliest song in all the world and you are the loveliest singer of it! How glad I am to have arrived at just this moment! Why, your little room makes me feel that it is arealrefuge from all that is dark and bare and cold. And you surely are with the 'magic touch engifted to warm the hearts of lonely mortals' with that beautiful voice of yours."
And Polly O'Neill, putting one hand on each of Esther's cheeks, kissed her with unexpected ardor.
It made Esther flush and tremble slightly as she rose to greet her long-desired guest. Any compliment made Esther shy and one from Polly more than from another person. For although each girl admired the other's talents and character, they had never understood each other especially well. Esther always seemed to Polly far too sober and almost too unselfish and self-effacing, while Polly to the quieter girl had all the brilliance and unreliability of a will-o'-the-wisp. Before coming to New York for the winter their intimacy had been due largely to their mutual devotion to Betty; but now, both lonely and both in a new environment, they had been greatly drawn together. Polly's occasional visits had been one of Esther's few sources of pleasure outside her work.
"How charming you are looking, Polly," Esther began, taking off her guest's dark coat and hat, and seeing her emerge in a crimson woolen dress, which made a bright spot of color in the shabby room. Polly, you must remember, was only pretty on occasions; but this afternoon was certainly one of her good-looking days. The cold had made her pale cheeks flame and given a softer glow to her eyes.
"I am simply ravenous, Esther, and dying for your delicious tea," Polly next remarked, following her hostess to the tea table and taking her seat, while Esther poured out the boiling water. "It is a kind of a homesick day and I have been wishing that we were going to have a meeting of our old Sunrise Hill Camp Fire circle. What wouldn't you give for a glimpse of the Princess this afternoon?"
Esther's lips twitched as she lighted her three candles.
"Almost anything I possess," she returned.
"But you are going to see her pretty soon? You are going back to Woodford for Christmas?" Polly tried to hide her own nervousness in putting this simple question. With her eyes shining over the edge of her cup she continued slowly drinking her tea, so that the rest of her face could not be seen.
But Esther was not paying her any special attention. Quietly she shook her head. "No, Polly, I am not going home. I am so sorry, for I wanted to dreadfully. But my music lessons are so expensive that father does not feel he can afford to let me come. I haven't yet had the courage to write and break the news to the Princess. She is fond of me, don't you think so, Polly? She will be sorry that I can't be with her for the holidays? Of course I know she does not care for me as she does for you. I shall never expect that. But it does mean so much to me to feel sure of her affection."
Polly frowned in a slightly puzzled fashion. Esther's adoration even of her beloved Betty seemed a little unnatural. Why should one girl care so much about the attitude of another one? She loved Betty herself, of course, and Betty loved her. Yet she doubted very much if either one worried over the emotions of the other.
"Oh, yes, Esther," Polly returned a trifle impatiently. "Of course Betty is devoted to you. Why shouldn't she be? Really, I do think you would let her almost trample upon you if she liked. Only Betty never would like to hurt any one, thank heaven! But I am glad to hear you are not going home for the Christmas holidays, because I am not going either."
There was nothing so remarkable in this statement that it should make Polly turn white and then red again. But fortunately the three Camp Fire candles, "Work, Health and Love," were now flickering so that the elder girl could not get a clear vision of the other's face.
But instead of appearing pleased over this news Esther seemed disappointed. "I am so sorry, for Betty's sake," she returned. "She wouldn't mind my not being with her so much if she only might have you."
Polly shrugged her thin shoulders in a fashion she had when vexed.
"O Esther, I think you might have been polite enough to say that you would be glad to have me in town if you were to be here—particularly when I came to ask you if I might spend the holidays with you."
"Spend the holidays with me?" Esther repeated in rather a stupid fashion. Naturally she was puzzled as to just why a girl in Polly's position should elect to spend her Christmas vacation in a cheap New York boarding house with another girl for whom she had no special sentiment.
"Why in the world do you want to remain in the city with me?" she asked again, too honest to pretend that pleasure was her first sentiment until she got a more definite understanding of the situation.
But Polly was now making no effort to devote her attention either to eating or drinking. Instead she had rested both elbows on the table and was looking at her companion with the half-pleading, half-commanding expression that both Mollie and Betty knew so well.
"Promise not to say anything until I have finished?" she began coaxingly. "For you see it is to explain why I want to stay with you that made me write to ask you to make this engagement with me for this afternoon."
"Then you refuse to help me or to keep my secret?" Polly O'Neill protested indignantly. "Really, Esther, I never knew any one with such a gift for considering herself her sister's keeper. We belong to the same Camp Fire Club. And if that means anything I thought it was loyalty and service toward one another.
"'As fagots are brought from the forestFirmly held by the sinews which bind them,So cleave to these others, your sisters,Wherever, whenever you find them.'"
Esther had walked across the room and had her back turned during this recitation. But now she moved around, facing her visitor until it was Polly's eyes that dropped before her own. The older girl had always the dignity that comes from truth and sincerity.
"Don't be absurd, Polly," she said, speaking quietly, but with no lack of decision. "You know as well as I do that loyalty has nothing to do with aiding one another to do what one does not believe to be right. I don't want to preach. Yet don't you think perhapsyouare breaking a part of our Camp Fire law? 'Be Trustworthy. This law teaches us not to undertake enterprises rashly.'"
"Oh, please hush, Esther," Polly insisted. "There is no use in our quarreling, and we are sure to if you go on preaching like that. I told you what I have made up my mind to do. If you don't wish to help me, that of course is your affair. All I have the right to demand is, that what I told you in the strictest confidence you repeat to no one else."
She picked up her coat and began slowly buttoning it, waiting for Esther's reply, which did not come at once.
"I don't know whether I can promise you even that," the older girl answered finally. Her face was white and she moved her hands in the old nervous fashion that Betty had almost broken her of. "I don't suppose you can understand, Polly, what an almost dangerous thing you are about to undertake. And without your mother knowing it! O Polly, please don't! Why, if anything should happen to you what would she say to me or Molly and Betty, if knowing your intention I did not warn them?"
Polly was like a hot flame in her anger. In her life Esther scarcely remembered ever having seen any one in such intense yet quiet passion. All the blue seemed to have gone out of her visitor's eyes until they were almost black. Her lips were drawn and although she tried to control her voice, it quivered like a too-tightly-drawn violin string.
"Esther," she said, "I shall not leave this room until I have your solemn promise. Perhaps you don't know anything about the standards of conduct between people of birth and breeding. You were brought up in an orphan asylum and had no mother. Whether you disapprove of me or not makes no difference. I am not objecting to your disapproval. I can perfectly understand that. But what I absolutely will not endure is for you to tell my secret because it happens to strike your conscience that that is the right thing to do. My secret belongs to me as absolutely as my clothes or any of my other possessions do. And because you chance not to approve of it or of them is no reason why you should steal them from me and give them away to other people."
Again Esther was silent and her eyes filled with tears. What was the use of arguing with Polly when she was in this mood? Yet there were so many things that she could honestly say. And one of them, that if she had had the good fortune to have a mother, she at least would not have tried to deceive her as Polly was doing.
However Esther was not sure that the latter part of her companion's argument was not true. Had she the right to betray Polly's confidence, even though she might consider it for her good? For Polly had begun her revelation by insisting that what she told be kept in the strictest secrecy, and she had listened with that understanding.
Unfortunately Esther's failure to reply did not strike her visitor as indicating a change in her point of view. Polly flung herself angrily down into a chair, as though intent upon beginning a siege. She was trying in a measure to control her temper, realizing how ashamed she usually felt after the flare of it was past. Still she did honorably consider that Esther's attitude in the present situation was the wrong one. Perhaps she was being disobedient, wilful, wicked even. Yet she had made up her mind to take the consequences (at least the consequences that she was now able to foresee). And she had no idea of being frustrated in her purpose by an outside person, whose assistance she had been foolish enough to ask. No, some way must be devised that would force Esther into silence.
Polly glanced desperately about the small room. There was a big photograph of the Princess, smiling at her from the wall, the Princess at her loveliest, with her exquisitely refined features, her delicate, high-bred air. She turned away from it rather quickly to look again at her companion. Goodness, what a contrast there still was between the two girls! They had believed that Esther was improving a little in her appearance. Yet just now worry and uncertainty made her seem plainer even than usual. And she had on an ugly but thoroughly useful chocolate-colored dress that Betty would have made her throw into the fire at once.
"Betty, it was always Betty with Esther Crippen!" If only she could reach Esther in some way through their friend. This was an ugly thought of Polly's. She was ashamed of it and yet felt herself driven to using almost any means toward attaining her end.
"Look here, Esther Crippen," she began, breaking the silence first. "I wonder if it has ever occurred to you that you may some day have a secret in your life (or you may have one already for all that I know), which you want more than anything to keep hidden from people. Say you particularly wished Betty never to find it out. Well, suppose I discovered your secret, suppose I knew about it right now, would you want me to tell Betty everything that I had found out just because I decided that it would be the right thing to do?"
Polly happened to be staring into her own lap as she delivered this speech, feeling none too proud of it and having to trust to her imagination as she went along. Now, however, she glanced up into the face of the other girl, who was standing near her.
Then with an exclamation of regret, almost of fear, Polly jumped to her feet.
"Good heavens! Esther, what is the matter with you? Are you ill, do you feel like you were going to faint? If you are sick why on earth haven't you told me before? We could talk over this business of mine any time."
And Polly, forgetting her anger, put her arm reassuringly about her former friend, fairly leading her to a chair. Esther continued staring at her, with a deathly white face, evidently trying to speak, but not able. Then suddenly the girl collapsed and dropping her head on her arm began to cry. She was ordinarily self-restrained; and being brought up in an orphan asylum among people who took no interest in her emotions she had learned unusual self-control. Probably only three or four persons had ever seen her give way like this before in her life. So she did not cry easily, but in a kind of shaken, broken fashion that brought a remorseful Polly on the floor at her feet.
"What on earth have I said that has hurt you so, Esther?" she begged. "I know I am a wretched little beast who does or say 'most anything sometimes in order to get my own way. But of course I don't know any secret of yours and if I did I should never tell. I only like to threaten things because I'm cross. You see I don't believe in telling secrets."
This was a Polly-like way of apologizing and yet driving in her own claim at the same time. If only at this moment Esther had had the Princess' understanding of Polly O'Neill's character, most certainly she would have laughed. But Esther could not pull herself together so quickly. A few moments later, however, she put her hands on Polly's shoulders and in the face of all that had just happened, kissed her.
"No, Polly," she said, "I know that if ever you should make up your mind that there was something, which I thought best should never be known, you would never tell it, even if I betray your secret now. Perhaps we don't agree about some things. But you could never be revengeful. I am sure I don't know what I ought to do. Of course you have the right to choose for yourself. I—I wish you wouldn't do what you have decided upon. But if I don't tell and yet don't let you stay here with me, what on earth would you do about this theatrical scheme?"
"Why, go to some other boarding house for two weeks," Polly replied calmly. "I am sure that is exactly what you are doing, boarding in New York and going on with your work. Of course your work happens to be studying music at present, but you have already sung at two church concerts and——"
This time Esther did laugh. "Well, church concerts are hardly to be compared with the stage, Polly. And please look in your mirror and remember that I am I and you are you. But of course you realize that if you will go on with this whim of yours, I am not going to let you live in any place by yourself. You would be sure to get ill or something dreadful might happen. No, I shall beg you every minute till the time comes, not to do what you must know would worry your mother. But if you still persist, why, you are coming right here to stay with me and I shall be your shadow every moment until you go back to school."
Polly jumped up hastily. "What an impolite suggestion for a hostess!" she murmured, pretending that the seriousness of the situation was now entirely past. "Go back to school? Dear me, that is what I must do this very minute! Good-bye." And kissing Esther hastily on the hair, Polly seized her hat and fled out the door.
Yet halfway down the long stairs the girl hesitated and stopped for an instant as if intending to return.
"Perhaps I ought to give up and be good for once," she whispered to herself. "It won't be fair, and mother and Mollie and Betty may be angry with Esther for not telling. Even if I have the right to get into trouble myself, I haven't the right to drag in other people. But, oh dear! what fun it will be! And with Esther for my duenna, things are sure to turn out all right."
On the lowest steps Polly passed a small boy hobbling up toward Esther's room. He was evidently a boy from the streets, as he was shabbily dressed and carried half a dozen papers under his arm. But there was a hungry, eager look in his face that Polly remembered having seen sometimes in Esther's in those early days of her first coming to Mrs. Ashton's home. So straightway she guessed that the boy was some child, whom Esther had discovered, with a talent and love for music and that she was giving him lessons in her leisure moments.
"But if you won't come, Betty dear, I shan't wish to give the party," Meg Everett announced in a disappointed fashion. "With Polly and Esther not to be here, there are so few of our old Camp Fire circle anyhow. And you see I only wanted to have our club and a few of John's young men friends. The idea is that we girls are to cook the entire dinner and then just talk or dance or play games afterwards. It is not to be anything like arealparty."
Betty smiled. She and Meg and Mollie O'Neill were taking a winter tramp through the woods in the direction of the Sunrise Cabin, which had been closed for the past six months.
"I should dearly love to come, Meg," Betty confessed. "There is no use in my pretending that I shouldn't feel desperately lonely with the thought of your having such a good time without me. But mother——"
Mollie gave her arm an affectionate squeeze. "There, Betty Ashton, that is just exactly what I knew you would say. So I talked the whole matter over with your mother myself first. And she declares that there isn't any reason why you should not accept Meg's invitation. She is quite sure that your father would never have wished you not to be as happy as possible. You have had trouble enough, goodness knows! And then the extra disappointment of Polly's and Esther's remaining in New York! I am glad enough Meg is going to give a party, and I hope there will be dozens of delightful things that Polly O'Neill will miss. What on earth do you suppose has possessed her to want to stay on with Esther?"
And Mollie sighed. The three months without her sister may have passed by in greater peacefulness than with her, but then Polly always added a zest and flavor to existence. And this was the longest time that the two girls had ever been separated.
"Oh, I don't know. She must have had some very good reason," Betty returned. "Polly wrote me that she had, and now we must not believe that she did not love us as much as ever. She wasn't able to explain the particulars just at present; but if we only trust her and forgive her some day we will understand."
Mollie frowned. With a much quieter and more amiable temperament than her twin, yet nearly eighteen years of intimate living with her had given her a pretty clear comprehension of her sister's character. Privately Mollie was puzzled over Polly's behavior and a good deal worried. It was not like Polly to have conceived so sudden a devotion to Esther as to be unwilling to leave her for two weeks. And her claim that she might not be particularly happy at home because of her stepbrother's presence was not convincing. For Betty Ashton had invited Polly to be her guest. No, Polly certainly had some special design in staying on in New York. Of this Mollie was completely convinced. But what the purpose was, neither from her own imaginings nor from any hint dropped by her sister's letters, could she get the slightest clue.
The three girls had come to a narrow path through the woods, and for a little while were compelled to walk in single file. For a few moments they were silent, each one busy with her own thoughts, Mollie happening to be in the middle.
"I believe I'll ask Billy what he thinks," she remarked suddenly aloud. And then she bit her lips, blushing until the very tips of her ears grew warm. For Meg and Betty were both laughing in the most ridiculous way.
"Is it as bad as that, Mollie?" Meg teased.
"Ask Billy what he thinks on one or all subjects, dear?" Betty queried.
To both of which questions Mollie naturally deigned no reply.
She and Billy Webster were extremely good friends. Indeed, they seemed always to have been since the day of their first meeting, when she had bound up his injured head. And this winter, with Polly away and Betty so busy and Meg wrapped up in keeping house and Sylvia spending all her spare hours in studying with Dr. Barton when not at school, she had enjoyed the walks and talks with the young man perhaps more than usual. But it was not because of their intimacy that she had considered putting this problem of Polly's failure to return home before him. Her reason was that in their long conversations about her sister, Billy had always seemed not only to be interested in Polly but able to understand her disposition peculiarly well. So it was stupid for her two friends to have taken her foolish exclamation as meaning anything personal.
The next ten minutes Betty and Meg had rather a difficult time in making peace; for Mollie had not a strong sense of humor—a fact which both girls should have remembered. But because she was always so gentle and kind herself, no one of her friends could bear the idea of hurting her feelings under any circumstances.
However while Betty was in the midst of apologizing, Billy Webster himself came swinging along the same path from the opposite direction. He had his gun over his shoulder and half a dozen birds in his hand.
"Who is it taking my name in vain?" he demanded of Betty.
And Mollie had a dreadful moment of fearing that Betty might betray what they had been talking about. However, as nothing of the kind happened, ten minutes later Meg and Betty were walking ahead deep in conversation about the party, while Mollie and Billy strolled after them only a few feet behind.
The young man had been on his way into Woodford to divide the product of his day's hunting between Mrs. Ashton and Mrs. O'Neill. Now, hearing that the girls were on a pilgrimage to Sunrise Cabin, he had been invited to accompany them.
"No, it won't be like a meeting of our Camp Fire Club, Meg," Betty argued thoughtfully, after having satisfied herself by a glance over her shoulder that Mollie and Billy were too absorbed in each other to take any notice of them. "I have been coming to our Camp Fire Club meetings all winter and because I am in mourning made no difference. But with John inviting his friends to your entertainment, why, I can't make up my mind yet, dear, whether I have the courage to come."
Betty spoke bravely, but Meg slipped her arm across her friend's shoulder, holding her fast. The two girls were closer friends now that Polly and Esther were both away and Meg understood that sometimes Betty did not feel so cheerful as she pretended.
"John won't ask more than just one other fellow to keep him company, if we can have you with us in no other way," Meg conceded. "You see, Betty, John is only to be at home for a few days. As this is his senior year at college he wants to so some special work during the holidays. But he likes you so much better than any of the other girls in Woodford, that I am quite sure——"
But Betty had stuffed her fingers in her ears and was refusing to listen. "It is bad enough to have you girls spoil me because I am in trouble, but when it comes to telling fibs I won't hear you. Of course you know, Meg Everett, that I am not going to let you spoil everybody's pleasure on my account," she answered.
Feeling the victory already won, Meg laughed. "John is only to invite Billy Webster and Frank Wharton and Ralph Bowles and three or four of his Boy Scout camp. By the way, Betty, one of the things I particularly wished to talk to you about is this: Shall we ask Anthony Graham? He seems rather uncouth and the other fellows won't have anything to do with him. But he is Nan's brother and she is so splendid I should hate to hurt her feelings."
Betty shook her head. "Anthony isn't the kind of person to invite though, Meg," she replied without a moment's hesitation. "Of course he is trying to pull up and keep straight and I feel that we should do all we can to help him. But inviting him to our parties and treating him as if he were exactly our equal!" Betty's chin went up in the air and her face betrayed such a delicate, high-bred disdain that apparently Anthony's fate was immediately settled.
The little party had now reached the familiar pine woods and there, only a few yards ahead, stood their deserted cabin. The totem pole raised its gaunt head to greet them, still decorated with the history of their year in the woods together. But the doors and windows of the cabin were barred with heavy planks. Nowhere was there a sign of life.
"Let's go back home at once, please, now that we have seen that everything is all right," Mollie begged a moment later. "It always gives me the blues dreadfully to see Sunrise Cabin closed up and to know that perhaps no one of us shall ever live there again. I never dreamed when we said good-bye to it last spring that we would not come out here often for club meetings and parties."
"Parties?" Meg repeated. Then she continued standing perfectly still and silent for several moments, although the others were moving about laughing and talking.
"Parties!" she exclaimed again, speaking in such a loud tone that her companions turned to stare at her in surprise.
"Betty Ashton, Mollie O'Neill and Billy Webster, if you and some of the others will help us, why can't we have our dinner party here at the cabin? We are not planning to have it until New Year, so there will be plenty of time to make arrangements."
However, Meg could get no further with her suggestion, for Betty and Mollie had both flung their arms about her and Betty exclaimed:
"It will almost make me have a happy holiday time, Meg dearest, and I can never bear to refuse your invitation if we are to be together at Sunrise Cabin once again."