Christmas Eve
"Then you really did care, Dan, when you feared I was lost and that
something tragic may have happened?"
"I always intended to find you, Sally."
Yet Dan Webster looked troubled.
He was standing staring down at the girl who was sitting wrapped in a
white woolen cape before the log fire at Tahawus cabin.
Somehow Sally Ashton appeared several years younger than before her
adventure. She was paler, the lines of her face thinner and there was a
little downward droop to the corners of her full lips.
"And yet in a way I did not find you after all! I was merely tramping
through the woods calling your name when by accident I saw a figure
moving toward me, the man whose little cabin you had stumbled into. Fate
was kinder to you than you dream, Sally. Mr. Holden was on his way to
your friends."
Sally slipped further down into the large semi-invalid chair, ordinarily
occupied by Mrs. Burton.
"Yes, and I implored him not to leave me alone, Dan. I know it was
selfish of me and yet I wanted to wait till morning before sending any
word. I don't remember that I was so frightened when I was wandering
around alone. I have not as much imagination as the other girls, besides
at first I knew I must not allow myself to be terrified and afterwards,
well, afterwards I suppose I really was too cold, Dan, to think or care
for anything in the world save getting warm again. Yet I did think of
mother and father and you. I don't believe I thought of Alice."
Sally's face wore an odd, childish expression.
"Alice is so critical of me and of course getting lost and nearly
freezing was partly my own fault and partly yours, Dan. But what I
intended to tell you was that as soon as I recovered a little and had
something warm to drink, hot coffee, or tea, and had rested, Mr.
Holden--was that his name?--insisted that he must leave me and tramp to
Tahawus cabin. It was miles away and I knew no one could get back before
midnight. So suddenly it seemed to me I could not stay alone. Before it
had been so silent and now I could hear strange sounds, the barking of
little foxes, the calls of animals. I feared no one would return and I
would be forever lost in the tiny hut."
Sally shivered.
"Nevertheless Mr. Holden would go. He told me I would be entirely safe
and could doubtless sleep until his return. Strange that I should have
seen him before! It was one afternoon when Chitty and I were in the
woods not far away and he sat listening to Chitty's singing. I was
puzzled by him then and am still puzzled. Did you ask him, Dan, why he
lived like a hermit? I will some day, and I think he may tell me. Anyhow
I am very grateful to him. And I was just falling asleep, Dan, when you
came and found me. Then together you dragged me back on a sled. Do you
know I have scarcely been wide awake since mother and father lifted me
and brought me into the cabin. And yet I am still tired."
Back among a pile of cushions Sally dropped her head as if she were not
altogether displeased by her present condition.
Nevertheless, her companion watched her anxiously.
Dan Webster was a tall, splendid looking fellow, six feet in height,
with blue eyes, coal-black hair and extraordinary physical vigor. He had
been two years with the American army in France, but at present was only
twenty-two.
"It is perfectly natural that you should be tired, Sally. I am only
worried for fear we are doing too much talking. Your mother told me to
keep you amused and away from all the excitement. One question I must
ask. What did you mean by saying a few moments ago that I was in part
responsible for your attempt to return to the cabin alone and being lost
in consequence? Had I dreamed what you intended, I should never have
allowed it. It really was nonsensical of you, Sally, to attempt to come
home alone; you know you have less skill in outdoor things than the
other Camp Fire girls and less courage."
Sally frowned.
"Then all the more reason why you should not have left me alone, first
to walk up the hill without even speaking to me and afterwards to stand
and freeze while you continued to amuse yourself with Mary Gilchrist. Of
course Gill is athletic and has lots of courage and is all the things I
am not, but you have always pretended to be my friend, Dan, and I have
not seen you since we parted in France. You told me then that I ought to
return home because I had less ability to help with reconstruction work
than the other Camp Fire girls. It is always the things I lack that you
notice, isn't it? But you are right, I am tired and would prefer not to
talk any more. To think that to-morrow is not only Christmas but Peggy's
wedding day! Little did any of us dream that a white Christmas at Half
Moon Lake would see the first wedding among our group of Sunrise Hill
Camp Fire girls! If you don't mind, will you leave me alone for a little
while now, Dan? No, I don't wish to sleep; there are several things I
want to think about. I'll see you to-night at supper."
"I won't go, Sally, until you explain what you meant."
Lowering her eyelids as if intending to rest, Sally glanced at the tall
figure towering above her, through half open eyes which afforded her a
plain view of her companion, but concealed her expression from him.
There was something in Dan's manner which pleased Sally.
He looked so strong and masterful and yet at the same time so hurt and
puzzled. It always had been a comfort and an amusement that she
understood him better than he would ever understand her.
"Why, I meant nothing except what I said, Dan."
"But to talk of pretense in my friendship for you, Sally, is so
nonsensical. I have cared for you ever since you were a little girl more
than I have cared for any one save my own family. Of late, well, I might
as well be honest, after I saw you in France I knew I cared more. I did
not want to speak of this to you, Sally, not for a time. I feel as if
somehow you were too young. I know of course that in France Lieutenant
Fleury,[4] the young officer you nursed, liked you pretty well and then
there was some Englishman, but they were foreigners and I suppose afraid
to take a chance. I can't say I blame them, although I did want you back
in your own country for selfish reasons as well as for your own good."
The girl's brown eyes with their curiously golden depth were wide open
at this moment.
"I really never could like any one except an American, Dan. I did not
dream until I was in Europe how much I cared for my own country."
Dan did not appear as pleased by this speech as might have been
expected.
"There are more than a hundred million Americans, Sally, and I presume
about ten million young men. Is it your idea that you care for them all
alike because they are Americans?"
"Not alike," Sally returned. "But about Mary Gilchrist?"
Dan flushed and looked as if he wished to make an angry retort. Then the
sight of Sally sitting warm and safe and sweet before the open fire and
the memory of the hours he had tramped the frozen earth hoping and yet
dreading to discover her, softened him.
"About Mary Gilchrist you know there is nothing to say, Sally, know it
fully as well as I. The other afternoon she needed some one to help with
the toboggan. I was accustomed to the sport and fond of it and knew how
to run things when the other fellows did not. To have remained with you,
which I would prefer to have done, was to have affected everybody's
pleasure. If that is the reason why you started home alone, I think you
were pretty hard on us all."
To make a confession of a mistake was more difficult for Sally than for
a more impetuous temperament, yet she answered with an air of unexpected
penitence.
"I _am_ sorry, Dan. I was angry and piqued and jealous perhaps. So I
suppose I deserved what happened to me, yet it was not fair to make
mother and father and Tante and the others and you, Dan, uneasy."
"Uneasy, well that is scarcely the proper word, Sally. I have never been
more wretched in my life. I knew if I did not find you and if all was
not well with you I should never have another happy moment."
Dan spoke simply but with such complete sincerity that Sally made a
little movement and saw his hand reach out as if he wished to touch her
soft hair. Then the door opened and Mrs. Burton, the Camp Fire guardian,
with her sister, Mrs. Webster, came into the living-room.
They were twin sisters, at one time Polly and Mollie O'Neill, and among
the original group of Camp Fire girls.
They had resembled each other in the past, but the years and difference
in temperament and experience at present made the likeness less
apparent. Mrs. Webster had grown plump, there were lines of gray in her
dark hair, her checks were bright and freshly colored. She had a look of
gentle and dignified maturity. Save for the death of her son, Billy
Webster,[5] her life had been one of happiness and fulfilment, devoted
to her husband and her two children, Dan Webster and Peggy, and to her
gifted sister, Polly O'Neill Burton, in the brief periods when they were
able to be together. In fact, she looked ten years the elder; the other
woman's slender figure, her dark hair and brilliant eyes, her vividness
held no suggestion of age.
"Sally, dear, your mother is asking for you and wants you to lie down
for a little while. The truth is I believe she is afraid to have you out
of her sight after your behavior the other evening. Dan, will you escort
Sally? She seems to require some one to look after her at present,
although she was once the Camp Fire heroine. Mollie and I wish to decide
upon the arrangements of this room to-morrow. Peggy has left all details
to the other Camp Fire girls and Bettina has asked our advice. I suppose
the ceremony ought to be performed there between the two big windows
with the white world of beauty outside as the background. But really,
Mollie, how you can be willing to permit our only and beloved Peggy to
be married in this abrupt fashion is beyond my comprehension.
"She came to us here at Tahawus cabin that we might have a brief visit
together free from the thought of her marriage to Ralph Merritt in the
spring and lo, Ralph, descends upon us and demands Peggy in thirty-six
hours! It is too impossible; you and William should not have agreed."
Mrs. Webster placed her arm about her sister.
"But, Polly, Peggy told you she would not dream of marrying Ralph in
this abrupt fashion unless you consented and believed it the thing she
should do. Not only are you her adored aunt, but you have been her Camp
Fire guardian all these years and I am accustomed to the idea that she
loves you, if not better, at least as well as she loves me. Now if you
are to make yourself ill over this when you were getting stronger, why
Ralph can go to China alone and Peggy wait until he is able to return
for her. I shall tell her you have changed your mind and consented only
because you did not wish her to be unhappy."
"Well, suppose I did consent for that reason, Mollie, all the more
reason why I must _not_ change my mind. We can have this room filled
with Christmas evergreens and Ralph tells me he has ordered roses and
lilies to be sent up from town. Our Peggy shall be 'a white bride of
winter' and I promise to pretend that I do not hate all weddings save my
own, and above all others the marriage of my Sunrise Camp Fire girls!"