A WARNING
But the girl did not have to decide the problem, for the young man
solved it for her.
They were in the midst of luncheon, which was spread out on a vast
table-cloth covering ten or fifteen square feet of ground, when he arose
solemnly and bearing his plate in his hand came over and sat down on the
grass alongside of Polly. In his khaki uniform, with his hair, skin and
clothes so much the same color, he was far less countrified, indeed,
almost good looking the girl conceded to herself, while waiting for him
to speak first, giving her the clue to his attitude toward her.
"You were awfully kind the other day and, I am much obliged to you," he
said a trifle awkwardly, but with gracious intention. "I am afraid I
should have had rather an uncomfortable time of it but for you."
Polly cast her eyes demurely toward her lap, turning her head slightly
to one side, "I am afraid you did have an uncomfortable time anyhow. I
was very sorry." She had flushed the least little bit, but her lips
were twitching with amusement.
The young fellow smiled. "Oh, don't you be sorry," he protested, "leave
that to the guilty person, or I am afraid she may keep you being sorry
for her sins all the days of your life."
"I will not!" Polly snapped, in such evident irritation that the young
man leaned deliberately over her shoulder staring into her face. Then
he actually laughed. "I am sorry myself now," he apologized, "but I
thought you were the pretty one."
"Well I am not and that is a horrid way to get even!"
Again the young man laughed. "I beg your pardon, I mean I thought you
were the nice one!" And this time Polly happening to catch his eye,
which had some of her own sense of humor in it, laughed to herself and
then swung round to talk to him more directly.
"No, I am neither the pretty one nor the nice one," she avowed. "There
is Mollie sitting between Ralph Bowles and Frank Wharton and you can go
talk to her in a moment. But just the same I am sorry that I happened
to hit you the other day and I was just as much surprised at its having
happened as you could possibly have been."
Her companion nodded as though to dismiss the subject. "If Mollie is
the nice one and the pretty one, would you mind telling me your name,
then perhaps next time I may be able to tell you apart without your
giving me such strenuous examples of your differences in character."
The girl shrugged her shoulders pretending to be entirely indifferent
and yet a little piqued at the suggestion in the last sentence. The
difference between herself and Mollie, all in her opinion in her
sister's favor, was a sensitive subject.
"I was christened Pauline in baptism but I am usually known as Polly.
However, my sister and I both recognize ourselves when called Miss
O'Neill." This was such an evident attempt on Polly's part to put her
questioner in his proper place that he could not rise entirely superior
to it, even though her intention to hit back was so transparent.
"May I tell you my name now?" he asked in a more humble tone, as though
wishful to make peace.
"You don't have to tell me your name for I am very sure I know it
already," the girl answered in a provoking manner, for which she had a
peculiar talent. "You see our guardian told us that you were the son of
the Mr. Webster who owns the land on which we are camping, and I am
convinced that there is no young man in New Hampshire boasting the last
name, Webster, whose first name isn't Daniel! Do you think we would so
fail to commemorate our greatest statesman? It must be rather dreary to
be named for so great a person that you know whatever you may achieve
yourself you must always sound like an anti-climax."
This time it was surely Polly who had struck home, for the young man
colored and applied himself to the food on his plate for at least a
moment before he replied: "You are right, my name is Daniel and I have
felt about it a little as you say, but then I am also called William,
which is a better name for a farmer."
"Farmer?" Polly forgot that she and her companion had been sparring and
let a genuine interest creep into her tone. "Do you really mean that
you are going to be content to be a farmer all the days of your life, to
stay right on here and never see anything or be anything else? It
sounds so strange to me--for a man to have no ambition!" Almost she
forgot her companion and sat frowning with her eyes more serious than
usual and her thin face with its sensitive features and high cheek bones
turned upward toward the peak of Sunrise Hill. "I am a girl, but I am
going all over the world and I am going to be an actress and do ten
thousand delightful things just as fast as I can before I have a chance
to get old."
Gazing at her more intently than ever before in their conversation, the
young fellow shook his head. "No you won't,"' he said bluntly, "you
will never be strong enough and you had better stay here in the hills
and let some one look after you, your sister or--some one. Yet you need
not talk as though being a farmer was a thing to look down upon. I am
sure our great men all used to be farmers, George Washington and the
rest of 'em. You must know their names better than I do. So please
bear in mind that I intend to do my best to make things grow--hayseed!"
he laughed good humouredly, guessing Polly's secret scorn of him, "but
at the same time I expect to see something and if I'm lucky to be
something, though if I'm a first-class farmer it isn't so worse. Do
give me your plate, you have eaten very little and the rest of the crowd
is getting dreadfully ahead of us."
But Polly, jumping up hastily and the young man following her, led him
over and introduced him to Mollie, with whom he spent the greater part
of the afternoon.
From two o'clock till sundown the hours at Sunrise, Camp were fairly
strenuous ones since the Camp Fire girls insisted on comparative tests
of skill with their Boy Scout guests. Of course the young men agreed,
although they were pleasantly scornful, until possibly owing to their
morning's contest the girls actually won out in the knot-tying contest,
which was supposed to be a peculiarly masculine accomplishment. In
running, jumping and feats of marksmanship the girls of course were
easily outclassed by their opponents; however, Beatrice Field, who was
so light and so small that no one considered her in the race, did come
in second in a short thirty-yard dash. Then Miss McMurtry held a kind
of impromptu examination in questions of patriotism and nature lore, the
girls and men managing to about equally divide the honors. But the
really extraordinary feature of the afternoon was that dull little
Sylvia Wharton, the youngest member of the company, was easily first in
half a dozen observation games most important in the training of Camp
Fire girls and Boy Scouts. For instance, in a Quick-sight experiment,
the girls and boys walking rapidly from the camping ground to the shores
of the lake, Sylvia had seen eight small objects more than any one else
and she was so quiet and looked so stolid while doing it that Polly
wanted to laugh, and began to doubt her stupidity.
At six o'clock it still appeared as though the Boy Scouts intended
remaining for the evening meal and camp fire; however, Miss McMurtry
kindly but firmly bade them farewell. The girls were tired and it was a
long tramp back to the Scout camp. There had been no suggestion from
any one that the surprise visit had been made in any spirit of criticism
and yet John Everett made a half-hearted apology to Betty and his
sister.
When the farewells were being said all round, he called the two girls
aside:
"I say," he murmured boyishly, in spite of his years and six feet, "I
have got to confess that I never saw you girls looking so well, so kind
of up to the limit before, and I thought by this time you would surely
be fagged out, or bored, or sick of trying things out together. Now I
don't say I approve of this Camp Fire business, I won't go so far as
that, but it does not seem to have done either of you any harm yet."
And then laughing at his grudging attitude the three of them rejoined
their friends, who were waiting to end their day together by singing "My
Country, 'Tis of Thee." And they were waiting because Esther Clark was
needed for leading the song and in the last few moments she had
disappeared with Richard Ashton, who had been watching the proceedings
all day with an expression that was sometimes amused but the greater
part of the time grave. He had no opportunity for speaking to Betty or
to any one else alone and only to Esther because he had just made a
deliberate effort. As they came slowly back from the pine grove
together, Betty felt cross at Dick's choice of a companion when any one
of her other friends would have been pleased by his attention.
Then, too, Esther looked as serious as her brother and Betty hated
unnecessary seriousness, besides Dick needed some one to make him gay,
not an awkward, uninteresting acquaintance like Esther. But there was
no use in arguing with Dick, for he would always be kind to the people
who were left out of things and seemed most to require kindness. Sorry
to have seen so little of her brother during his short visit, Betty now
slipped her hand into his and held it tight while Esther, standing some
distance apart from them, started the air for their parting hymn. The
girl was not thinking of herself and so was unconscious that the others,
even while singing, were also listening with surprise and pleasure to
the clear, rounded tones of her beautiful mezzo-soprano voice. In
reality Esther Clark was thinking only of Betty and the news that Dick
Ashton had just told her. Mr. Ashton, his father, had been taken ill in
Italy and, though there was no immediate danger, might never be well
again. For the present it was thought best that he remain indefinitely
in Europe, so the family had not decided whether or not to tell the
facts to Betty. She could do no good; even Dick was not going to him,
and it was always best to keep every possible sorrow from Betty. But
really, because Dick Ashton could not make up his mind just what was the
wisest course, he confided his secret to Esther, asking her to think
matters over and write him her judgment. You see there was no question
of Esther's unusual devotion to Betty and readiness to sacrifice
everything for her, though there seemed to be no reason, and surely
Betty was entirely careless of it.
Before the twilight of the long afternoon had entirely faded into night,
every Camp Fire girl, including Nan Graham, who was not a member, had
vanished into bed. The child was too tired to be sent home to-night and
word would be taken to her parents by one of the boys. Miss McMurtry
herself was asleep as soon as her girls. And indeed Polly entirely
forgot that Betty had suggested she put the question of Nan's remaining
in camp with them to her again during the evening.
How many hours Polly had been asleep outside her tent with the newcomer
by her side she did not know, but suddenly she was awakened by a sound
that was like a sob. Sitting up quickly she saw Nan kneeling on the
ground and looking up at the sky.
Polly waited in silence until the girl, feeling her wakefulness, came
slowly back to her own bed and somehow Polly could see that her face had
lost its sharp, old look and was like a child's.
"I was praying you'd keep me in camp with you long enough to give me a
try," she explained.
Like a flash Betty's suggestion that she might change her opinion after
thinking things over came back to Polly's mind. Of course the day had
not been conducive to reflection, but perhaps it might be just as well
not to give Betty too much time to think.
Half an hour afterwards Polly crawled under the blue blankets and
putting her arms about her friend whispered her request. And just at
first Betty was too sleepy to know what was being asked of her and later
on was possibly too tired to resist, for she yawned an agreement.
"Oh yes, I will do my best to persuade the girls to let her stay on if
you want her and Miss Martha consents. But if there is trouble, Polly--"
and she was almost asleep again.
Polly gave her another gentle shake. "Promise to keep your money hidden
and not put temptation in her way. Esther says she found your
pocketbook stuffed with money in the middle of the tent floor."
"I promise," Betty ended hardly knowing what she said.