The Winnebagos looked at each other speechlessly. Belle Mortimer, the
famous motion picture actress, whom they had seen on the screen dozens
of times, and for whom Migwan had long entertained a secret and
devouring adoration! Not Bella Venoti at all! “Did you ever?” gasped
Sahwah.
“No, I never,” answered the Winnebagos, in chorus.
Miss Mortimer recognized her hostesses of the day before and greeted
them warmly. “My kind friends from Onoway House,” she called them. The
Winnebagos were embarrassed to death to have to explain how they had
spied on the vacant house and thought the famous Venoti gang was at
work, and were themselves responsible for the presence of the policemen.
“I never _heard_ of anything so funny,” she said, laughing until the
tears came. “I _never_ heard of anything so funny!” The plain clothes
men departed in their automobile, disappointed at not having made the
grand capture they had expected to. “Would you like to stay with us for
the day and watch us work?” asked Miss Mortimer.
“Oh, could we?” breathed Migwan. She was in the seventh heaven at the
thought of being with Belle Mortimer so long. Then followed a day of
delirious delight. To begin with, the Winnebagos were introduced to the
whole company, many of whose names were familiar to them. Felix Larue,
having gotten over the fright he had received when he thought the piece
was going to be suppressed by the police for some unaccountable reason,
was all smiles and amiability, and explained anything the girls wanted
to know about. The piece was a very exciting one, full of thrilling
incidents and danger, and the girls were held spellbound at the physical
feats which some of those actors performed. The house on the raft was
explained as the play progressed. It was filled with soldiers and towed
up the river, to all appearances merely a garage being moved by its
owner. But when a dispatch bearer of the enemy, whose family lived in
the house, stopped to see them while he was carrying an important
message, the soldiers rushed out from the garage, sprang ashore, seized
the man along with the message and carried him away in the launch, which
had been cut away from the raft while the capture was being made. Migwan
thought of the tame little plots she had written the winter before and
was filled with envy at the creator of this stirring play.
It took a whole week to make the film of “The Honor of a Soldier” and in
that time the girls saw a great deal of Miss Mortimer. And one blessed
night she stayed at Onoway House with them, instead of motoring back to
the city with the rest of the company. Just as Migwan was dying of
admiration for her, so she was attracted by this dreamy-eyed girl with
the lofty brow. In a confidential moment Migwan confessed that she had
written several motion picture plays the winter before, all of which had
been rejected. “Do you mind if I see them?” asked Miss Mortimer. Much
embarrassed, Migwan produced the manuscripts, written in the form
outlined in the book she had bought. Miss Mortimer read them over
carefully, while Migwan awaited her verdict with a beating heart.
“Well?” she asked, when Miss Mortimer had finished reading them.
“Who told you to put them in this form?” asked Miss Mortimer.
“I learned it from a book,” answered Migwan. “What do you think of
them?” she asked, impatient for Miss Mortimer’s opinion.
“The idea in one of them is good, very good,” said Miss Mortimer. “This
one called ‘Jerry’s Sister.’ But you have really spoiled it in the
development. It takes a person familiar with the production of a film to
direct the movements of the actors intelligently. If Mr. Larue, for
example, had developed that piece it would be a very good one. Would you
be willing to sell just the idea, if Mr. Larue thinks he can use it?”
Migwan had never thought of this before. “Why, yes,” she said, “I
suppose I would. It’s certainly no good to me as it is.”
“Let me take it to Mr. Larue,” said Miss Mortimer. “I’m sure he will see
the possibilities in it just as I have.” Migwan was in a transport of
delight to think that her idea at least had found favor with Miss
Mortimer. Miss Mortimer was as good as her word and showed the play to
Mr. Larue and he agreed with her that it could be developed into a
side-splitting farce comedy. Migwan was more intoxicated with that first
sale of the labors of her pen than she was at any future successes,
however great. Deeply inspired by this recognition of her talent, she
evolved an exciting plot from the incidents which had just occurred,
namely, the mistaking of the moving picture company for the Venoti gang.
She kept it merely in plot form, not trying to develop it, and Mr. Larue
accepted this one also. After this second success, even though the price
she received for the two plots was not large, the future stretched out
before Migwan like a brilliant rainbow, with a pot of gold under each
end.
Miss Mortimer soon discovered that the Winnebagos were a group of Camp
Fire Girls, and she immediately had an idea. When “The Honor of a
Soldier” was finished Mr. Larue was going to produce a piece which
called for a larger number of people than the company contained, among
them a group of Camp Fire Girls. He intended hiring a number of “supers”
for this play. “Why not hire the Winnebagos?” said Miss Mortimer. And so
it was arranged. Medmangi and Nakwisi and Chapa, the other three
Winnebagos, were notified to join the ranks, and excitement ran high. To
be in a real moving picture! It is true that they had nothing special to
do, just walk through the scene in one place and sit on the ground in a
circle in another, but there was not a single girl who did not hope that
her conduct on that occasion would lead Mr. Larue into hiring her as a
permanent member of the company.
Especially Sahwah. The active, strenuous life of a motion picture
actress attracted her more than anything just now. She longed to be in
the public eye and achieve fame by performing thrilling feats. She saw
herself in a thousand different positions of danger, always the heroine.
Now she was diving for a ring dropped into the water from the hand of a
princess; now she was trapped in a burning building; now she was riding
a wild horse. But always she was the idol of the company, and the idol
of the moving picture audiences, and the envy of all other actresses.
She would receive letters from people all over the country and her
picture would be in the papers and in the magazines, and her name would
be featured on the colored posters in front of the theatres. Managers
would quarrel over her and she would be offered a fabulous salary. All
this Sahwah saw in her mind’s eye as the future which was waiting for
her, for since meeting Miss Mortimer she really meant to be a motion
picture actress when she was through school. She felt in her heart that
she could show people a few things when it came to feats of action. She
simply could not wait for the day when the Winnebagos were to be in the
picture. When the play was produced in the city theatres her friends
would recognize her, and Oh joy!—here her thoughts became too gay to
think.
The play in question was staged, not on the Centerville road, but in one
of the city parks, where there were hills and formal gardens and an
artificial lake, which were necessary settings. The day arrived at last.
News had gone abroad that a motion picture play was to be staged in that
particular park and a curious crowd gathered to watch the proceedings.
Sahwah felt very splendid and important as she stood in the company of
the actors. She knew that the crowd did not know that she was just in
that one play as a filler-in; to them she was really and truly a member
of this wonderful company—a real moving picture actress. Gazing over the
crowd with an air of indifference, she suddenly saw one face that sent
the blood racing to her head. That was Marie Lanning, the girl whom
Sahwah had defeated so utterly in the basketball game the winter before,
and who had tried such underhand means to put her out of the game.
Sahwah felt that her triumph was complete. Marie was just the kind of
girl who would nearly die of envy to see her rival connected with
anything so conspicuous.
The picture began; progressed; the time came for the march of the Camp
Fire Girls down the steep hill. Sahwah stood straight as a soldier; the
supreme moment had come. Now Mr. Larue would see that she stood out from
all the other girls in ability to act; that moment was to be the making
of her fortune. She glanced covertly at Marie Lanning. Marie had
recognized her and was staring at her with unbelieving, jealous eyes.
The march began. Sahwah held herself straighter still, if that were
possible, and began the descent. It was hard going because it was so
steep, but she did not let that spoil her upright carriage. She was just
in the middle of the line, which was being led by Nyoda, and could see
that the girls in front of her were getting out of step and breaking the
unity of the line in their efforts to preserve their balance. Not so
Sahwah. She saw Mr. Larue watching her and she knew he was comparing her
with the rest. Her fancy broke loose again and she had a premonition of
her future triumphs. The sight of the camera turned full on her gave her
a sense of elation beyond words. It almost intoxicated her. Halfway down
the hill Sahwah, with her head full of day-dreams, stepped on a loose
stone which turned under her foot, throwing her violently forward. She
fell against Hinpoha, who was in front of her. Hinpoha, utterly
unprepared for this impetus from the rear, lost her balance completely
and crashed into Gladys. Gladys was thrown against Nyoda, and the whole
four of them went down the hill head over heels for all the world like a
row of dominoes.
Down at the bottom of the hill stood the hero and heroine of the piece,
namely, Miss Mortimer and Chambers, the leading man, and as the
landslide descended it engulfed them and the next moment there was a
heap of players on the ground in a tangled mass. It took some minutes to
extricate them, so mixed up were they. Mr. Larue hastened to the spot
with an exclamation of very excusable impatience. Several dozen feet of
perfectly good film had been spoiled and valuable time wasted. The
players got to their feet again unhurt, and the watching crowd shouted
with laughter. Sahwah was ready to die of chagrin and mortification. She
had spoiled any chances she had ever had of making a favorable
impression on Mr. Larue; but this was the least part of it. There in the
crowd was Marie Lanning laughing herself sick at this fiasco of Sahwah’s
playing. Good-natured Mr. Chambers was trying to soothe the
embarrassment of the Winnebagos and make them laugh by declaring he had
lost his breath when he was knocked over and when he got it back he
found it wasn’t his, but Sahwah refused to be comforted. She had
disgraced herself in the public eye. Breaking away from the group she
ran through the crowd with averted face, in spite of calls to come back,
and kept on running until she had reached the edge of the park and the
street car line. Boarding a car, she went back to Onoway House, wishing
miserably that she had never been born, or had died the winter before in
the coasting accident. Her ambition to be a motion picture actress died
a violent death right then and there. So the march of the Camp Fire
Girls had to be done over again without Sahwah, and was consummated this
time without accident.
When Sahwah reached Onoway House she wished with all her heart that she
hadn’t come back there. She had done it mechanically, not knowing where
else to go. At the time her only thought had been to get away from the
crowd and from Mr. Larue; now she hated to face the Winnebagos. She was
glad that no one was at home, for Mrs. Gardiner had taken Betty and Tom
and Ophelia to see the play acted. As she went around the back of the
house she came face to face with Mr. Smalley, who was just going up on
the back porch. He seemed just as surprised to see her as she was to see
him, so Sahwah thought, but he was friendly enough and asked if the
Gardiners were at home. When Sahwah said no, he said, “Then possibly
they wouldn’t mind if you gave me what I wanted. I came over to see if
they would lend me their wheel hoe, as mine is broken and will have to
be sent away to be fixed, and I have a big job of hoeing that ought to
be done to-day.” Sahwah knew that Migwan would not refuse to do a
neighborly kindness like that as long as they were not using the tool
themselves, and willingly lent it to him.
She was still in great distress of mind over the ridiculous incident of
the morning and did not want to see the other girls when they came home.
So taking a pillow and a book, she wandered down the river path to a
quiet shady spot among the willows and spent the afternoon in solitude.
When the other girls returned home Sahwah was nowhere to be found. This
did not greatly surprise them, however, for they were used to her
impetuous nature and knew she was hiding somewhere. Hinpoha and Gladys
were up-stairs removing the dust of the road from their faces and hands
when they heard a stealthy footstep overhead. “She’s hiding in the
attic!” said Hinpoha.
“She’ll melt up there,” said Gladys, “it must be like an oven. Let’s
coax her down and don’t any of us say a word about the play. She must
feel terrible about it.”
So it was agreed among the girls that no mention of Sahwah’s mishap
should be made, and Hinpoha went to the foot of the attic stairs and
called up: “Come on down, Sahwah, we’re all going out on the river.”
There was no answer. Hinpoha called again: “Please come, Sahwah, we need
you to steer the raft.” Still no answer. Hinpoha went up softly. She
thought she could persuade Sahwah to come down if none of the others
were around. But when she reached the top of the stairs there was no
sign of Sahwah anywhere. The place was stifling, and Hinpoha gasped for
breath. Sahwah must be hiding among the old furniture. Hinpoha moved
things about, raising clouds of dust that nearly choked her, and calling
to Sahwah. No answer came, and she did not find Sahwah hidden among any
of the things. Gladys came up to see what was going on, followed by
Migwan.
“She doesn’t seem to be up here after all,” said Hinpoha, pausing to
take breath. “It’s funny; I certainly thought I heard someone up here.”
“Don’t you remember the time I thought I heard someone up here in the
night and you said it was the noise made by rats or mice?” asked Migwan.
“It was probably that same thing again.”
“It must have been,” said Hinpoha.
“Maybe it was the ghost of that Mrs. Waterhouse, who died before she had
her attic cleaned, and comes back to move the furniture,” said Gladys.
In spite of its being daylight an unearthly thrill went through the
veins of the girls. The whole thing was so mysterious and uncanny.
Migwan was looking around the attic. “Who broke that window?” she asked,
suddenly. The side window, the one near the Balm of Gilead tree, was
shattered and lay in pieces on the floor.
“It wasn’t broken the day we brought Miss Mortimer up,” said Gladys. “It
must have happened since then.”
“There must have been someone up here to-day,” said Migwan. “Do you
suppose—” here she stopped.
“Suppose what?” asked Hinpoha.
“Do you suppose,” continued Migwan, “that Sahwah was up here and broke
it accidentally and is afraid to show herself on account of it?”
“Maybe,” said Hinpoha, “but Sahwah’s not the one to try to cover up
anything like that. She’d offer to pay for the damage and it wouldn’t
worry her five minutes.”
“It may have been broken the night of the storm,” said Nyoda, who had
arrived on the scene. “If I remember rightly, we opened it when Miss
Mortimer was up here, and as it is only held up by a nail and a rope
hanging down from the ceiling, it could easily have been torn loose in
such a wind as that and slammed down against the casement and broken. We
were so excited trying to cover up the plants that we did not hear the
crash, if indeed, we could have heard it in that thunder at all.”
This seemed such a plausible explanation that the girls accepted it
without question and dismissed the matter from their minds. Descending
from the hot attic they went out on the river on the raft. As it drew
near supper time they feared that Sahwah would stay away and miss her
supper, and they knew that she would have to show herself sometime, so
they determined to have it over with so Sahwah could eat her supper in
peace. On the path along the river they found her handkerchief and knew
that she was somewhere near the water. They called and called, but she
did not answer. “I know what will bring her from her hiding-place,” said
Nyoda. She unfolded her plan and the girls agreed. They poled the raft
back to the landing-place and got on shore. Then they set Ophelia on the
raft all alone and sent it down-stream, telling her to scream at the top
of her voice as if she were frightened. Ophelia obeyed and set up such a
series of ear-splitting shrieks as she floated down the river that it
was hard to believe that she was not in mortal terror. The scheme worked
admirably. Sahwah heard the screams and peered through the bushes to see
what was happening. She saw Ophelia alone on the raft and no one else in
sight, and thought, of course, that she was afraid and ran out to
reassure her. She took hold of the tow line and pulled the raft back to
the landing-place.
“Whatever made you so scared?” she asked, as Ophelia stepped on terra
firma.
“Pooh, I wasn’t scared at all,” said Ophelia, grandly. “They told me to
scream so you’d come out.” So Sahwah knew the trick that had been
practised on her, but instead of being pleased to think that the girls
wanted her with them so badly she was more irritated than before. There
was no further use of hiding; she had to go into the house now and eat
her supper with the rest. The meal was not such a trial for her as she
had anticipated, because no one mentioned the subject of moving
pictures, or acted as if anything had happened at all. After supper
Nyoda brought out a magazine showing pictures of the Rocky Mountains and
the girls gave this their strict attention. Nyoda read aloud the
descriptions that went with the pictures. In one place she read: “The
barren aspect of the hillside is due to a landslide which swept
everything before it.”
At this Migwan’s thoughts went back to the scene on the hillside that
day, when the human landslide was in progress. Now Migwan, in spite of
her serious appearance, had a sense of humor which at times got the
upper hand of her altogether. The memory of those figures rolling down
the hill was too much for her and she dissolved abruptly into hysterical
laughter. She vainly tried to control it and buried her face in her
handkerchief, but it was no use. The harder she tried to stop laughing
the harder she laughed. “Oh,” she gasped, “I never saw anything so funny
as when you rolled against Miss Mortimer and Mr. Chambers and knocked
them off their feet.”
After Migwan’s hysterical outburst the rest could not restrain their
laughter either, and Sahwah became the butt of all the humorous remarks
that had been accumulating in the minds of the rest. If it had been
anyone else but Migwan who had started them off, Sahwah would possibly
have forgiven that one, but since selling her two plots to Mr. Larue
Migwan had been holding her head pretty high. That Migwan had succeeded
in her end of the motion picture business when she had failed in hers
galled Sahwah to death and she fancied that Migwan was trying to “rub it
in.”
“I hope everything I do will cause you as much pleasure,” she said
stiffly. “I suppose nothing could make you happier than to see me do
something ridiculous every day.” Sahwah had slipped off her balance
wheel altogether.
Migwan sobered up when she heard Sahwah’s injured tone. She never
dreamed Sahwah had taken the occurrence so much to heart. It was not her
usual way. “Please don’t be angry, Sahwah,” she said, contritely. “I
just couldn’t help laughing. You know how light headed I am.”
But Sahwah would have none of her apology. “I’ll leave you folks to have
as much fun over it as you please,” she said coldly, rising and going
up-stairs.
Migwan was near to tears and would have gone after her, but Nyoda
restrained her. “Let her alone,” she advised, “and she’ll come out of it
all the sooner.”
Sahwah was herself again in the morning as far as the others were
concerned, but she still treated Migwan somewhat coldly and it was
evident that she had not forgiven her.