A Conversation and a Loss
"I have not spoken to any human being in more than a month," the
stranger said in dull, even tones as if he were deaf.
"Why?" Sally Ashton inquired in her usual matter-of-fact fashion. "There
are many people who come to the Adirondack forests and there are towns
and villages and cities not many miles away. You must choose not to
speak to anyone. Are you a hermit?"
The man answered slowly:
"I call myself a hunter and a woodsman. My cabin is a good many miles
from any road and in the summer when the mountains are filled with
tourists I remain near my own place. But now that the winter is
approaching and the woods beginning to be deserted save by those of us
who live here I roam about in search of food and change of scene."
"Have you always lived here?" Sally demanded with her accustomed
bluntness. "Otherwise you must be in hiding because of some trouble or
secret you wish to conceal."
For a moment the man stared in silence, either angry or amazed.
"I have not lived here always," he replied evasively, "but there are men
in these woods who have been here since boyhood. One day you may meet a
backwoodsman who is a great preacher here in God's tabernacle of the
outdoors. You have not told me why I find you in the forest when the
autumn days are passing?"
Sally shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, I am afraid you will not find this portion of your woods deserted
for many months. With a number of other girls and some older friends we
intend spending the winter in these hills. But good-day."
Stretching forth her hand, Sally took hold of the younger girl's,
intending to walk back to their own cabin. If their new acquaintance did
not alarm her, there was something in his manner which rendered her
uncomfortable.
[Illustration: For a Moment the Man Stared In Silence]
He was not glancing toward her at the present instant, but toward the
little English girl.
"Who taught you to sing in that fashion?" he inquired. "But there, that
was a stupid question! No one could have taught a child like you. You
have a great gift and for a little while were able to make me forget
what I have not forgotten in many years. Some day I may again be your
uninvited audience. Good-by."
Then the two girls stood watching the figure disappear into a denser
portion of the woods, and Sally said with a little frown:
"Odd! At first I was under the impression that our new acquaintance was
a backwoodsman, I mean a man without an education except a knowledge of
the outdoors, but now I am uncertain. In fact, I am sure he was once a
different character of person and came to the forest to escape some
sorrow or wrong doing. However, as I hate mysteries I trust we shall not
meet him again; probably we never shall."
Since the encounter had really been of no importance and there were many
other things on her mind, an hour later Sally had forgotten the
occurrence. In truth, at the time it did not appear to her or to Chitty
as of sufficient interest to mention to any member of the Camp Fire.
During the afternoon for several hours Sally remained in the study in
the smaller cabin working at her French and writing a letter in French
to a member of the first Camp Fire club established in the city of
Paris. Then, at a quarter before four, she disappeared to her own room,
where she made a quick toilet and came down to the big living-room in
the main cabin.
From four to five o'clock was the pleasantest hour of the day. The habit
of afternoon tea so firmly established during the summer in "Merrie
England" was now continued under different conditions in the heart of
the North woods.
Nearly all the members of the Sunrise Camp Fire who were together for
the winter season, Sally found seated in a wide circle before the open
fire.
Standing beside the tea wagon, which she had just rolled into the room,
was her own sister, Alice Ashton, who had remained in France with Miss
Patricia Lord and Vera Lagerloff to continue the reconstruction work
after the other Camp Fire girls had crossed to England with their Camp
Fire guardian.
Alice Ashton was a tall, serious girl with reddish hair and blue eyes,
entirely unlike Sally in appearance and disposition.
Kneeling before the fire at this moment and toasting thin slices of
bread to a beautiful brownness was Vera Lagerloff, who was an American
girl notwithstanding her foreign name. This was due to the fact that her
parents were Russians. Vera was born in the United States and was an
American enthusiast.
Not far away seated in a low chair, a pile of lavender silk in her lap,
was Marguerite Arnot, her dark head bent over her work. Older than the
other Camp Fire girls by a year or more, Marguerite Arnot was actually a
French girl who had been received as a member of the Sunrise Camp Fire
under exceptional conditions. Brought into their household in "Glorious
France" as Miss Patricia Lord's protégée, later she had become one of
their number. Her presence in the United States was due to the fact that
she had yielded to Mrs. Burton's and to Bettina Graham's persuasion and
had decided to make her home in America and to go on with her work. Of
gentle breeding and education, Marguerite Arnot and her mother were
dressmakers in Paris, until her mother's death during the war had left
the girl ill and alone. Not long after she had the good fortune to make
the acquaintance of Miss Patricia Lord.
At present Miss Patricia Lord was seated behind the rest of the group,
reading a lengthy report she recently had received from France,
concerning a home for war orphans that she was building in the
neighborhood of one of the great French battlegrounds. Every now and
then, however, her glance wandered from the paper in her hand to the
figure of a younger woman, half seated and half reclining in a great
chair near the tea table.
Mrs. Burton, the Camp Fire guardian, whose figure was more slender than
a young girl's, was wearing a heavy, red-corded silk tea gown; the
firelight playing on her dusky hair, on her white face with the long
delicate chin and high cheek bones.
Seated on a stool beside her, with her head resting in the palms of her
hands, was the youngest member of the household, the small daughter of
an English miner. Chitty's hair was even blacker than Mrs. Burton's, her
skin darker and more sallow, and her eyes large, black and wistful. A
peculiarity of the little girl was that she rarely ever talked unless a
question were addressed to her directly, expressing herself chiefly
through her music.
At a table with her back to the others, Mary Gilchrist, who recently had
requested the Camp Fire girls to use her father's name for her, Gill,
rather than Mary, apparently was deeply engaged with a history of the
North woods which she seemed to be reading. Ordinarily one of the gayest
and most animated of the group of Camp Fire girls, since her reckless
action the day before she had been uncommonly silent and subdued.
Bettina Graham and her mother had not yet entered the room and tea had
not been served.
"Is that you, Sally dear? I have scarcely seen you all day. Tell me what
you are thinking of while you stand there studying our Camp Fire
circle."
The other girls, attracted by Mrs. Burton's speech, looked over toward
Sally, who often was unexpectedly amusing.
Coming further into the room, Sally stood close beside the Camp Fire
guardian's chair.
"Do you want really to hear what I was thinking, Tante? I was
considering the fact that our Sunrise Camp Fire at present was smaller
in number than I ever have known it to be and that I am sorry. Yvonne
Fleury has returned to live with her brother at the Château Yvonne,
Gerry is married and she and Felix in California, and now Peggy is no
longer with us. Naturally, as she is planning to marry after Christmas,
she wishes to be with her mother and father. Well, thank goodness we
shall have her for a visit at Christmas time!"
Sally's reply was so unexpected that there was a short silence in the
big room, broken only by the crackling of the wood fire.
The loss of Peggy Webster as a member of the Sunrise Camp Fire group was
perhaps more keenly felt than that of any other girl.
The daughter of Mrs. Burton's twin sister, Mollie O'Neill, who
afterwards became Mrs. Daniel Webster, Peggy had been particularly
devoted to her aunt and, as Mrs. Burton had no children of her own, was
more like her own daughter. Moreover, Peggy and Bettina Graham, Sally
and Alice Ashton had been intimate friends since they were tiny
children, long before they had any acquaintance with the later members
of their Camp Fire group. Peggy possessed a singularly vital personality
and was generous, ardent and sweet.
"Sally, if you love me do not speak of Peggy's absence or of her
approaching marriage. She is too absurdly young! And yet I presume I
must have given my consent as Peggy declared she would not marry without
it, although she and Ralph Merritt already feel they have waited a long
time. Sally, I feel as you do that our Camp Fire circle is becoming too
small. Perhaps we shall grow too centered in one another and not so
helpful as we wish to be. What would you suggest as a remedy?"
There was no immediate reply, the other girls as well as Sally Ashton
pondering the question.
"Why, I presume we ought to invite other girls to join our Sunrise
club," Sally answered a moment later. And although her reply was neither
original nor startling, it was received with unsympathetic silence.
"You have the most unfortunate fashion, Sally, of saying things other
people would prefer _not_ to hear," Alice Ashton remarked with sisterly
severeness. Then, before any one else had an opportunity to speak, the
living-room door opened and Mrs. Graham and Bettina entered.
"Glad you have arrived at last, Betty, we have been waiting tea for you
and Bettina. I was just about to send one of the girls to find out what
had become of you. Vera has made a wonderful lot of toast and we don't
wish it to grow cold."
"Sorry to have delayed you," Mrs. Graham replied, "but the most
extraordinary thing has occurred. I am glad to find all of you gathered
together here at the same time. This morning the young fellow, Allen
Drain, who had dinner with us, brought me a collection of his
unpublished poems which he wished to have me read. They were in a black
leather portfolio about a foot square. When I drove to Saranac this
morning I left the portfolio on a small table in Bettina's and my
bedroom. Since my return Bettina and I have searched for more than an
hour and can find no sign of it. Did you, Polly, or any of the girls
take possession of it? I cannot believe Aunt Patricia would be
interested. Some one of course must have moved it. I don't mean to be
cross, but I think I should have been told. Bettina and I have had an
uncomfortable hour of searching. Yet, whoever loved the poems better
than I shall be forgiven as soon as they are restored to me."
There was no immediate reply, Mrs. Burton, Aunt Patricia and the girls
glancing at one another, each expecting the other to plead guilty.
"Well, confess, please, won't some one? I am sure the poet would be
flattered if he learned what has occurred," Mrs. Burton added. "I am
sorry, Betty. You should have come at once and asked, rather than tired
yourself by searching."
"Never a sign of the poet's manuscript have I beheld!" Alice Ashton
returned.
"I am guiltless, Mrs. Graham, but why did you not let me know so that I
might have helped you look?" Marguerite Arnot answered.
One by one each separate member of the little circle announced an utter
lack of information with regard to the lost portfolio, save Mary
Gilchrist, who had gone on with her reading after Bettina and her
mother's entrance into the living-room.
"Mary, I wonder if by any chance you noticed the manuscript of the poems
in Mrs. Graham's room when I asked you to find a magazine for me this
morning?" Mrs. Burton inquired.
Mary Gilchrist glanced up from the pages of her book, flushing slightly.
"No, I don't recall seeing the manuscript, but really I cannot
appreciate why Mrs. Graham should be so concerned. I have an idea the
poems were of no value; probably some one thought they were waste paper
and they were thrown into the fire."
"But, Gill, I don't believe you understand the situation," Bettina
Graham remonstrated. "Whether or not the poems were of value they must
represent years of work and thought to Mr. Drain. I have no doubt they
mean more to him than we can well imagine. Besides, the poems were
entrusted to mother's keeping and it would be simply too dreadful if
they could not be found!"
Shrugging her shoulders slightly, Mary Gilchrist resumed her reading,
while Mrs. Graham sat down beside the Camp Fire guardian.
"Don't trouble, Betty dear, I am distressed that you have been uneasy,
but let's have tea and then begin a more thorough search of the entire
house. The manuscript of course is only tucked away somewhere out of
sight and will soon be found. Poor young poet, nothing so tragic could
have happened as that his verse should be lost!"
"You don't suppose, Polly, that by any unlucky chance, if the portfolio
is not discovered the boy has no copies of his verses? I scarcely dare
face him unless the original manuscript which he gave to me this morning
with such pride and pleasure, is restored. I cannot even face the idea
that the effort of the boy's lifetime may be destroyed."
"Nonsense, mother, drink your tea and afterwards we will return to the
search! Nothing else has disappeared save the manuscript, which would
scarcely attract an ordinary thief."
"Perhaps the poet himself returned mysteriously and bore off his own
handiwork, unable to be so long without it," Mary Gilchrist suggested.
No one made a reply.