"POLLY"
But Polly did not come back within the hour or indeed all night.
Naturally there was little sleep among the Camp Fire girls or their
guardian who imagined all possible tragedies. Miss McMurtry wondered if
Polly could have gone down to the lake and in the darkness fallen into
the water, but then the moon was shining brilliantly and she could swim
with perfect ease. This idea was only brought on by fear. What had
probably happened was that she had wandered off for a walk, lost her way
and decided that it was far wiser to spend the night quietly in the
woods rather than wear herself out with tramping. When the sunrise came
she would return.
With this idea Miss McMurtry comforted and encouraged the girls, for it
was impossible that they should do more than search for their companion
in the near-by woods and fields. It is true that Betty wanted to
attempt to climb Sunrise Hill, taking lanterns with her, fearing that
Polly had attempted a short walk and managed to sprain her ankle, and
that Esther and Sylvia Wharton were more than anxious to go with her,
but Miss McMurtry would not hear of it, having a vision of four lost
girls instead of one. There was nothing to do but wait the few hours
now until daybreak and then if Polly did not return, properly organize
searching parties to seek for her. If the Camp Fire girls had learned
anything of scouting methods, this would be their opportunity.
Mollie O'Neill was of course the person who required the tenderest care
during the night. She and Polly were closer than other sisters, so
unlike in temperament and yet one another's shadows. If only she could
have imagined some explanation for her sister's disappearance, for of
course everybody knew of Polly's sudden vagaries and yet it was unlike
her to be so inconsiderate without cause.
Although Betty Ashton probably understood her friend even better than
her sister did, as she sat quietly by Mollie's side for several hours
insisting that there was really nothing alarming in Polly's flight and
that she would doubtless be both vexed and ashamed of herself in the
morning, she too was equally puzzled. For naturally she was not so
confident as she pretended, although not until her hour came for rest
and after she had actually tumbled into bed did she break down. Then
Esther and Sylvia Wharton, who in some strange, quiet fashion seemed a
comfort to everyone to-night, had insisted that they relieve Betty's
watch with Mollie.
Dropping on her couch, not to sleep but to gain strength for the next
day's quest, quite by accident Betty's hand slipped under her pillow.
With a low exclamation, overheard by the other three girls in the tent,
she drew out folded square of paper. Her name was on the outside,
apparently hurriedly addressed in Polly's handwriting. It read:
DEAR BETTY:
Your money was stolen, at least not in the way you think it was, but
perhaps in another almost as bad. For I found it in the woods on the
day when I went into the village alone and I made no effort to find out
to whom it belonged. You must have dropped it out of your letter on
your way back to camp, for there was no mark on the envelope in which I
found it. But I do not mean this as an excuse, I do not think it one.
If I had not felt like a thief perhaps I would not have been ashamed to
confess my fault before the other girls as I should have done before our
altar fire to-night. I tried but I did not have the courage, so I am
going away from camp. Please tell Miss McMurtry, Mollie and the other
girls and do not ask me to come back, for it is impossible. If I could
return your money, Betty, I should not feel so bitterly humiliated, but
as I cannot at present I would rather not see you until I can. Of
course we are no longer friends, for you cannot wish it, and always it
has seemed to me that your wealth and my poverty makes the gulf between
us. I can only say that I am truly sorry.
Yours sincerely,
POLLY
Having finished this ungracious note of apology Betty handed it without
comment to Esther and then buried her own head in the pillow. If Polly
could feel toward her in this manner because of a mistake which they had
both made, then nothing she could do or say would make any difference.
For to insist to Polly that she had a perfect right to use the money
found by accident would not be altogether true and would not change her
point of view, while to declare that the return of the money to its
rightful owner was a matter of indifference would only deepen the
misunderstanding.
Less accustomed to Polly's writing Esther read the note aloud slowly and
then it was that Mollie's and Betty's positions were changed, and Mollie
became instead of the comforted--the comforter.
"That is exactly like Polly O'Neill," she announced indignantly, "here
she has done something she ought not to do without thinking, like
spending that money without trying to find its owner, and now because
she is so sorry she goes ahead and makes things worse for everybody
instead of better." Mollie slid off her own hemlock bed and crossing
the tent sat down by Betty. "Don't you worry, dear, or feel in the least
responsible," she whispered, "you know Polly is hateful sometimes just
because she is so ashamed and miserable she does not know how to be
anything else. She does care for you more than anyone and you know that
she will do almost anything to make peace with you as soon as she comes
to her senses. Of course, Betty, I understand you don't care for the
money part, why you would give either of us ten times that amount if you
could and we would accept it, but you won't mind my writing mother to
make things all right."
Then after a few words of explanation to their guardian the Camp Fire
girls slept quietly until daylight, but even after they had eaten a
hurried breakfast together the wanderer had not returned.
So immediately afterwards three parties set out, leaving Edith Norton
and Juliet Field behind to protect the camp and to announce by the
ringing of a bell if Polly should return or if they were in any need.
Betty, Sylvia and Esther went off in one direction, Miss McMurtry and
the two younger girls, Nan and Beatrice, in another, while Mollie, Meg
and Eleanor took the interior of the Webster farm. The chief obstacle
in their search being that it was apparently impossible to discover the
direction of Polly's footprints on first leaving camp, the grass in the
neighborhood being so constantly trodden down by the feet of so many
girls.
Billy Webster, as he preferred to be called, was in a wheat field with
his reaper just about to start to work, when a Camp Fire girl, whether
Mollie or Polly he could not tell at first, came running toward him in
apparent distress. So as not to make another mistake he let the girl
speak first, only smiling at her in a sufficiently friendly fashion to
make it very simple.
Mollie's first words were luminous. "Have you seen anything of Polly?
She is lost or gone away or at least we can't find her!"
Therefore until lunch time Billy kept up the search over the farm with
the three girls. And though they were not successful in making any
discovery it was surprising what a comfort the girls found him,
particularly Mollie, who seemed to depend on him as though he had been
an old friend.
"I am sure there isn't the least reason to be seriously alarmed," he
assured her half a dozen times with a curious understanding of Polly's
character; "you see your sister has got a funny streak in her that makes
her mighty interesting and mighty uncertain." (How angry Polly would
have been could she have heard him!) "She has got a lot to learn before
she settles down."
By noon, finding his three companions nearly exhausted, the young man
persuaded them to go up to the big, comfortable farmhouse, see his
mother, have their luncheon and rest. And straightway on meeting her,
Mrs. Webster took a liking to Mollie that was to last all the rest of
her life.
During this time Betty, Esther and Sylvia were going slowly along the
main path that led through the fields and finally on to the high road
into the village. Miss McMurtry and her assistants were climbing
Sunrise Hill.
But Sylvia Wharton was so tediously slow. About every five minutes she
would stop and kneel down in the dirt, attempting to fit an old shoe of
Polly's into any fresh track she happened to observe. The other two
girls wandered off into bits of woods or meadows near by, calling and
hunting, but Sylvia never went with them.
"There is no use," she explained, "Polly has gone straight into Woodford
and because it was night had to take the regular path instead of going
through the fields as she usually does."
Claiming to have exactly traced her footsteps Esther and Betty were
still not convinced. "It is such a stupid idea, Sylvia," Betty argued,
"for there isn't anybody in town now to whom Polly would go in the
middle of the night, and besides she would be ashamed to let people know
she had run away from camp."
Nevertheless Sylvia kept stolidly on and because her companions had
nothing better to suggest they followed after her.
On the high road Sylvia, who would still creep like a tortoise, suddenly
stooped down. The August dust was very thick along the way and wagons
had already been traveling into town, and yet she picked up a string of
red, white and blue beads, which surely were Polly's, since patriotism
had been one of her chief studies during the summer.
It was also Sylvia's suggestion that led the little party of friends
straight to Mrs. O'Neill's closed cottage. The doors and windows in
front of the house were sealed, but Betty found the door of the old
kitchen halfway open. And there inside on her mother's lounge lay
Polly! She seemed to be almost asleep when the girls entered, but
awakened immediately and in a wholly different frame of mind.
Realizing in the last few hours, when it was too late, how great an
anxiety her disappearance must have caused, she wanted to go back to
camp, to confess her fault and at least to persuade Betty to forgive
her. Yet she dared not trust herself to go alone, for Polly's head was
aching furiously, her face was hot and flushed and any attempt to walk
made her sick and dizzy.
While Betty and Esther were discussing what had best be done, Polly
having trusted herself wholly to their hands, neither of them noticed
Sylvia Wharton's withdrawal.
When they did there was hardly time to comment upon it before she
reappeared at the back door with her round face covered with dust and
looking more freckled and homelier than ever.
"A carriage will be here in five minutes to take us to camp; I have
ordered it," she announced.