KINDLING THE TORCH
Hinpoha and Sahwah were patiently teaching Katherine hand signs one
Saturday afternoon when Gladys burst in with a tragic face.
"Girls," she cried, with extravagant emphasis, "have you heard the
_news_?" Then, without waiting for reply, she continued: "Nyoda's going
to be _married_!"
"We know she is," answered Hinpoha, "a year from this summer."
"No, not a year from this summer," said Gladys, swelling with the
importance of the announcement she was about to make, "_this_ summer.
This very month!"
An incredulous exclamation burst from the three.
"It's true," continued Gladys. "Sherry's going to be sent away on a long
trip and he wants to take her with him, so they're going to be married
right away."
All four sat stricken, trying to realize that the evil day which they had
dreaded so and which they had thought far in the future was actually upon
them. Only two more weeks and their idolized Guardian, who for three
years had been a part of nearly everything they did, would be gone from
them. It seemed that the world was coming to an end.
In the days that followed gloom hung thick over the House of the Open
Door. Now that Nyoda was to be in it no longer the Winnebagos lost all
joy in its possession. Each article of furniture that she had helped to
make, each sketch of hers on the wall telling in clever little
pictographs the tale of some adventure or frolic, gripped them with a
fresh pang. Plans for summer excursions and activities were dropped.
"And we were all going ca-camping togu-gether!" wailed Hinpoha, and damp
weather prevailed for many minutes.
But this was the end of their Senior year in high school, crowded to the
limit with all the bustle and excitement and festivity of Commencement
time, and the Winnebagos were so busy with examinations and essays and
clothes and songs and parties that there was no time to fold their hands
and grieve. Katherine, as editor of the class paper, was the star
performer on Class Night, although Miss Snively, who trained the
speakers, had tried to sandpaper her speech of everything clever.
Katherine agreed to every change she suggested with suspicious readiness,
and then when the night arrived calmly read her original paper, while the
chandeliers dripped giggles and Miss Snively made sarcastic remarks about
the cracked-voice orator. Somehow the story of Miss Snively's attempt to
make a hero out of her fiancé had gotten out, although Katherine always
looked preoccupied whenever the subject was mentioned, and of late Miss
Snively had found the seats in her recitation room occupied by rows of
wise grins, which somewhat disturbed her lofty dignity. It was well that
this was to be her last year of teaching.
One of the big events of the last week was the interscholastic track meet
and athletic contest, to be held on the Washington High athletic field,
in which ten big schools took part. The field was thronged with
spectators, the grand stand was crowded, school colors floated from tree
and pole, cheers burst from groups of students every few minutes and the
air was electric with suppressed excitement.
First came the track events, and in these Washington High was tied with
Carnegie Mechanic for second place. The Winnebagos were glad it was so,
because now the Sandwiches could not crow over them. The Captain finished
first in one of the hundred-yard dashes right in front of Hinpoha, where
she sat in the grandstand, and he looked over the heads of the cheering
boys straight at her. Hinpoha dared not applaud him, because he belonged
to Washington's bitterest rival, but she smiled brightly, and he dropped
his eyes, flushing suddenly.
The girls' events opened with a game of volley ball between Washington
High and Carnegie Mechanic. Much to the surprise of the Winnebagos, they
saw Katherine come in with the Washington players. Katherine was not on
the team. But just before the game opened the girl's gymnasium director
had spied Katherine sitting at one side of the field, unconcernedly
shaking a pebble out of her shoe in full view of the grandstand, and
hurried over to her. "Will you fill in this game?" she asked
breathlessly. "One of our team can't come and we're short a girl."
"But I've never played volley ball," protested Katherine.
"Oh," said the gymnasium teacher disappointedly. Then she added in a kind
of desperation, "Well, I don't know as it makes any difference. I don't
seem to be able to find a girl who has played. Just stay in the
background and strike at the ball with the palms of your hands every time
it comes near you. Let the girls in front get it over the net."
Katherine uncurled her length from the ground and followed the gymnasium
teacher obligingly. She was not in the least sensitive about being asked
at the eleventh hour to "fill in," when she had not been asked to be on
the team before. Washington's volley ball team was not a very strong one,
and went all to pieces against the concentrated team work of the Carnegie
Mechanicals. The score rolled up against Washington steadily. The
deafening yells from the grandstand bewildered them, and they could
neither volley the ball over the net nor return the Mechanicals' volleys.
They were helpless from stage fright.
Katherine dutifully stayed in the background, sending the ball to the
girls at the net, her brow drawing into anxious puckers, as they fumbled
it time after time. She began to comprehend the rules of the game and was
"getting the hang of it." The Mechanicals, with fifteen points to their
credit, had just lost the ball by sending it out of bounds. It was time
to do something. Katherine had noticed that most of the Washington girls
had been trying to volley the ball across the net from the back line,
instead of passing it on, as she had been doing, and had been falling
short nearly every time. With a commanding gesture, she claimed the
attention of her team.
"Get back on the volley line in a row," she ordered. They obeyed her like
sheep. Then she took her place half-way between the volley line and the
net, facing the girls. "Now," she said crisply, "whosoever's turn it is
to volley, shoot the ball to me and not an inch farther. I'll get it over
the net. The first one that shoots it over my head is going to get ducked
in the swimming pool!"
In their surprise at this sudden rising up of a leader, they forgot the
racket around them, and the triumphantly clamoring team on the other side
of the net, and calmed down. The girl with the ball sent it straight
toward Katherine, and with a windmill motion of her powerful arms, she
hit it a sounding whack and sent it over the net like a meteor. There was
no returning such a volley.
"One!" cried the scorekeeper, and the Washington corner of the grandstand
gave its first yell of triumph.
"Now, everyone of you do just the same thing, one after another,"
commanded Katherine to the volley line. Her utter lack of excitement was
bringing them out of their confusion. The next girl made an equally good
throw and another loud whack announced that Katherine was volleying.
Backing the net, she could not see where it was going, but a squeal told
her that the girl who should be returning the ball was fleeing it. Then
the machine started to work. As long as one side scored it was privileged
to keep the volley.
When in operation the machine sounded like this: "Next!" Whack! Bump!
That was all. Katherine's command to the server; the impact of her palms
on the ball; and the thump of the ball on the ground on the Mechanical
side of the net. Up went the Washington score.
Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten! Eleven! Twelve!
"Washington Rah!
Washington Rah!
Katherine Adams,
Rah! Rah! Rah!"
The atmosphere was rent with the yell.
Thirteen! Fourteen! Fifteen!
"Next!" Whack! Bump!
SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN! EIGHTEEN! NINETEEN! TWENTY!
"WASHINGTON RAH!
KATHERINE RAH!
KATHERINE AD----"
TWENTY-ONE!
The umpire ran along the net, holding up her hands, and the teams broke
ranks.
"Washington High winner in the volley ball game!" shouted the scorekeeper
through her megaphone. "Score, twenty-one to fifteen!"
And the grandstand thundered at Katherine, who suddenly got stage fright
when it was all over and stood pigeon-toed with her head hanging down.
Then she noticed for the first time that her middy was on hind side
before and the long collar was down in front. Her horrified expression
threw the spectators into convulsions. They had been laughing at it all
through the game, but her amazing performance had made it a secondary
consideration.
A few moments later she strolled nonchalantly into the grandstand and sat
down among the Winnebagos. "That certainly is a strenuous game for a
person with a dellyket constitooshun like mine," she remarked ruefully,
rubbing her swollen knuckles. Three fingers were sprained as a result of
doing all the volleying for twelve girls, but she didn't think it worth
while to mention the matter.
Thus passed the days, filled to overflowing with fun and excitement.
Katherine, thoroughly uncomfortable in a crisp new white dress and blue
sash, tripped blithely along the elm-shaded avenue in the glow of the
late June sunset. It was the night of the class banquet, and her mind was
intent on the speech she was to make. Thus absorbed, she did not watch
where she was going, and a sprawling root from a big tree tripped her
unexpectedly and brought her to her knees on the soft lawn. Brought into
such close contact with the ground, she spied something lying at the foot
of the giant oak beside which she had fallen. It was a black leather bill
fold, with a heavy elastic band around it.
"Daggers and dirks!" said Katherine, borrowing the Captain's favorite
expression. "What's this?" She slipped off the elastic band and opened
the bill fold. Across the inner flap there was a name printed in gold
letters. Katherine squinted at the name and explored the inner recesses
of the wallet. She took one look and hastily bound the wallet together
again with its elastic and dropped it gingerly into her hand bag, as if
it were red hot. Then she proceeded on her way, more absorbed than ever,
but the thing her brain was intent on now was not her banquet speech.
Crossing the little park-like square, which lay on the way to school, she
came upon Veronica walking slowly up and down the sidewalk, intently
searching for something on the ground. She was very pale and showed signs
of great agitation. It was the first time Katherine had met her face to
face since she had left the group.
"Have you lost something?" asked Katherine abruptly.
"No," said Veronica, straightening up and flushing deeply, "that is,
nothing much, I--I just dropped a--something out of my purse along here
somewhere."
"What was it?" asked Katherine.
Veronica gave a last frantic look along the walk.
"It was a--" She hesitated, and then burst out:
"Oh, Katherine, it was my bill fold, and it had five hundred dollars in
it!"
"Five hundred dollars!" echoed Katherine faintly.
Veronica ran back and forth along the walk, looking desperately into
every crack and crevice. Every few minutes she held up her hand and
looked at her wrist watch; then she would return to the search with more
energy than before. Katherine also looked at her watch.
"I'll help you hunt," she said, taking the other side of the walk. "Are
you sure you lost it along here?" she asked.
"Pretty sure," answered Veronica. "I know I had it when I was back on Elm
Street, because I looked to make sure."
"The last time you saw it was back on Elm Street," mused Katherine.
"That's two blocks behind us. We'll have to go all the way back."
"By the way," said Katherine, a few minutes later, "it's none of my
business, I suppose, but what on earth were you doing with five hundred
dollars in your bag?"
Veronica started and looked confused for a minute. But she answered
naturally enough. "I drew it from the bank this afternoon to give my
uncle to pay for some investment he is making for me, and I was to take
it over to his studio, but I was detained and he had gone when I got
there, so I was just bringing it home when I lost it." She stared up the
road with widening eyes, not toward Elm Street, where the purse might
lie, but toward the big avenue in the other direction, where the
streetcars clanged townward. Katherine stared thoughtfully at the
suitcase Veronica had with her.
"Have you been away?" she asked casually.
"No," said Veronica, with a start. Then, as her eyes followed
Katherine's, she added: "I've just been carrying some--things in there."
Katherine looked at her watch again. "What did your bill fold look like?"
she asked.
"It was a small black one," answered Veronica, "with an elastic band
around it. It had my name in gold letters across the inner flap."
"Hadn't we better go home and tell your uncle," suggested Katherine, "and
get him to help us find it?"
"No, no!" cried Veronica, shrinking back in alarm. "Don't tell him! I
wouldn't have him know for worlds that I've lost it."
"But if you don't find it he'll know about it, anyway," said Katherine
practically.
Veronica's face went white again and she returned to the search with
desperate haste. "I must find it! I must find it!" she was saying over
and over again under her breath.
Katherine was just as diligent in her search. She pawed through the
bushes with her white gloves and sank on her knees in the soft grass,
accumulating more and more grass stains all the while. The last streak of
daylight faded and the big arc lights began to blaze among the tall
trees, and still they searched--Katherine in a patient, systematic way,
Veronica hysterically. The few people who crossed the square were closely
questioned as to whether or not they had found anything, but the same
disappointing answer came from all of them. Veronica looked at her watch
with ever-increasing anxiety; Katherine looked at her furtively almost as
often.
After two hours of nerve-wracking search a steeple clock nearby boomed
out nine strokes; slowly, deliberately, its clamor shattered the summer
night's stillness. Veronica sank down on a stone which bordered the walk
and covered her face with her hands. Katherine straightened up and stood
for a moment looking thoughtfully at Veronica; then she went on searching
methodically. Veronica sat huddled on the stone for fully five minutes;
then, with an expression which was strangely like relief, she rose up and
followed Katherine's example. Fifteen minutes more went by with scarcely
a word from either girl. Then the steeple clock chimed the quarter hour.
A moment later came the sound of a train whistle, far off, but borne
clearly on the still air, followed by the faint rumble of distant cars
going over a culvert.
Katherine stood still until the sound had died away, then she went up to
Veronica, led her to an iron bench nearby, and shoved her into it. Then
she opened her handbag and took out a small black wallet fastened round
with an elastic band, and laid it on Veronica's knee without a word.
Veronica looked at it and uttered an incredulous scream of joy. "Where
did you find it?" she gasped.
"Back on Elm Street, before I met you," said Katherine quietly.
"Back on Elm Street, before you met me?" repeated Veronica wonderingly.
"You had it all this while?" Katherine nodded. "Then why did you keep it
all this while?" demanded Veronica. "Why didn't you give it to me at once
and save all this agony?"
Katherine looked at her narrowly. "I didn't dare give it to you _before
nine o'clock_," she said significantly.
Veronica started and clutched Katherine's arm nervously. "What do you
mean?" she asked faintly.
Katherine put her arm around Veronica and drew her toward her so she
could look into her face. The light from the swinging arc was directly
upon her. "You were going to run away on that nine o'clock train, weren't
you?" she asked quietly.
Veronica jerked away and turned dreadfully pale. "How--how did you know?"
she faltered.
"I didn't, for sure," said Katherine. "But I made a pretty good guess.
You see, when I found that wallet, I naturally looked inside. There I saw
your name, five hundred dollars in bills, and a note which read:
"'Take the New York Central Flyer at nine o'clock Wednesday night.' It
was signed with the initials A. T., which I suppose stand for that friend
of yours with the plush whiskers, Alex Toboggan."
"Alex Tobin," corrected Veronica under her breath.
"That looked suspicious to me," continued Katherine. "I've seen him
around with you a good deal, and I don't like his looks, not a little
bit. Then a minute later I came upon you with a suitcase, hunting your
wallet and looking at your watch as if you were crazy. So I came to the
conclusion that you were planning to run away on that nine o'clock train,
and decided to hold you up by keeping the money until the train was gone.
Am I right?"
Veronica's eyes dropped and her face was crimson. "You are right," she
said unsteadily. "I was planning to run away on that train. After I
dropped out of the Camp Fire Group I had no girl friends and became
lonelier and lonelier all the while. The only interest I had was my
music, and the only place to which I went was to hear the Symphony
Orchestra rehearse. There, Alex Tobin, who is really a fine violinist,
was always very friendly to me and kept telling me I should go to New
York and study with Martini, who is the best teacher in the country.
Uncle would not let me go because he said I was too young and he could
not go with me. But Alex Tobin kept telling me that uncle was jealous of
my talent and was trying to keep me back on purpose, and if I had any
money in my own right I should take it and go anyhow. Uncle quarreled
with Alex Tobin and after that he forbade me to have anything to do with
him, but he used to meet me outside, and always he talked about my
talent, and what a shame it was I could not study with Martini, and
things like that, until I began to think I was abused. I was very lonely,
you know, and had nothing else to think about.
"Well, this week was the end of the Symphony Orchestra rehearsals, and
Alex Tobin was going home to New York. He promised me that if I would
play in a restaurant there in which he is interested he would see me
safely there and introduce me to Martini. He talked so much about it that
I finally yielded and said I would go. I had money in the bank, but could
not draw it out without uncle's consent. However, just this week he
wanted to invest five hundred dollars for me and gave me his signature so
I could get it. You know how easy uncle is about money matters, and he
thought it was perfectly all right to send me to the bank alone. I have
gone about by myself so much, you know. But instead of going to his
studio with it, as I was supposed to, I kept it with me and did not go
home at all.
"I was to meet Mr. Tobin in the station at a quarter before nine. If I
was not there when the train went he was going without me. I was so
excited all day I did not have time to stop and think what I was doing,
and how terrible it was to run away from uncle and aunt, when they had
been so kind to me, even to study with Martini. I looked upon Alex Tobin
as my friend and benefactor, instead of a horrid, scheming man, as I see
he is now. He just wanted me to play in that restaurant of his for
nothing, and draw crowds, and beyond that he really didn't care what
became of me.
"When I lost the money I was nearly frantic, because I was afraid I would
miss the train. But when the clock struck nine and I knew the train was
gone, I suddenly felt glad, glad, although I had been so anxious to go.
For I had come to myself and felt sick at the thought of what I had
almost done. Oh, Katherine, how can I ever thank you for keeping me from
doing it?"
"Don't try," said Katherine cheerfully, rubbing away at a grass stain on
her skirt with the wreck of a white silk glove.
For the first time Veronica noticed Katherine's white dress. "Oh,
Katherine," she exclaimed in distress, "tonight is your class banquet! I
heard some of the other girls talking about it. And you have missed it
for my sake!"
"Why, so it is," said Katherine, with a well-feigned start of
recollection. "I had forgotten all about it."
"No, you didn't forget it," persisted Veronica; "you deliberately spent
the time here with me."
"Well, never mind about that," said Katherine soothingly. "It was worth
it."
"Worth it? Oh, Katherine, after the way I have treated you! I once called
you a peasant, but you are noble--you are a princess! It is I who am not
fit to associate with you!"
"O Glory!" exclaimed Katherine in an embarrassed way. Katherine was like
a fish out of water when anyone began to express emotion. "Forget about
the whole business," she said, "and come back into the group. You need to
have something on your mind."
"They will never take me back now," said Veronica sadly, "after this
dreadful thing I did."
"But you didn't do it," maintained Katherine, "you came to your senses in
time. We all have done some pretty foolish things, I guess, if they
weren't quite so startling as the one you planned. But anyway, they'll
never know a thing about it, so they can't have the laugh on you."
"You mean you'll never tell anyone?" cried Veronica unbelievingly.
"Not a soul," said Katherine earnestly. "Not any of the Winnebagos, nor
your uncle, nor your aunt, nor even Nyoda. Never a word, on my honor as
a--a peasant! If I had intended telling anyone I'd have taken your wallet
to your uncle right away, with the note in it, instead of keeping you
back in the way I did. But I knew you'd come to yourself presently, and
there was no use making a fuss. I'll keep your secret, never fear. I
won't even have to explain my absence from the class banquet. They all
know how absent-minded I am, and they will simply think I forgot. That's
the advantage of having a reputation!" And Veronica, looking into
Katherine's homely, honest face, knew that her word would stand against
flood and earthquake.
"Do you really think the Winnebagos will take me back?" she asked
timidly.
For answer Katherine picked up Veronica's suitcase, linked her arm
through hers, and started homeward at a lively pace. "You _are_ back,"
she said simply. "You never were really 'put out,' you know. You left of
your own accord and we have missed you very much and were just waiting
for you to say the word. Oh, I'm so glad!" And her feet began to shuffle
back and forth in a lively manner, and she began to hum in sprightly
tones the tune, "When Johnny Comes Marching Home." Thus it was that the
Torch, carried by Katherine, drew Veronica to the Fire after all,
although Katherine did not even know that she held the Torch in her hand.
The last meeting of the Winnebagos with Nyoda came, oh, much too soon!
The boys were warned to stay away, for not even these dear friends were
to be allowed to disturb the sacredness of that gathering. They cooked
supper for the last time, trying to be riotously cheerful, with the tears
dripping off the ends of their noses into the dishes. All the favorite
Winnebago messes were cooked, because Nyoda couldn't decide which one she
wanted most. There was Shrimp Wiggle and Slumgullion and scones and ice
cream with Wohelo Special Sauce, which was a heavenly mixture of maple
syrup, chocolate and chopped nuts.
The feast was soon spread, and they gathered around the table to sing the
Camp Fire blessing,
"If we have earned the right to eat this bread,"
and most of the voices quavered before they came to the end.
That supper remained in their memories many years afterward. Katherine
had to deliver all her familiar speeches over and over again; Migwan, who
had come home from college in time to attend the farewell meeting, gave a
fine history of the group from its beginning; Gladys danced her best
dances; and all the favorite stunts were gone through and the favorite
songs sung. And Nyoda looked upon and listened to it all with a smiling
face and tear-dimmed eyes. The Winnebagos had formed a large part of her
life for the past three years. Veronica, who was at the supper, and had
been welcomed back into the group with open arms upon her humble apology,
wept disconsolately most of the time. To have been restored to the good
graces of this wonderful young woman, only to lose her again immediately
afterward! She bitterly regretted her withdrawing from the group during
the winter and thus losing her last opportunity of comradeship with
Nyoda.
Supper over they wandered out into the warm June twilight to watch for
the evening stars before beginning the ceremonial meeting. "We'll have
the same stars as you do, anyhow," said Hinpoha, "and when they come out
we'll think of each other, will you, Nyoda?"
"Indeed I will," said Nyoda, heartily.
"And when Cassiopea comes out the W will stand for Winnebago," added
Gladys.
"And that long scraggly constellation will remind you of me," said
Katherine, and they all had to laugh in spite of their sadness.
By and by they wandered back to the House of the Open Door and Nyoda went
up alone and left them standing before the door. Then pretty soon the
signal bird calls floated up and Nyoda's voice called down from above,
saying, "Who's there?" and they answered with the foolish passwords and
countersigns that they loved because they were so foolish. One by one
they climbed the ladder and took their places in the circle, their eyes
on Nyoda, as she twirled the drill with the bow, kindling their last
Council Fire. The spark came immediately and leapt into flame and kindled
the fagots piled on the hearth. Feeling the spell of it as they never had
before, they sang "Burn, Fire, Burn."
Then came the last roll call. Nyoda's voice lingered lovingly on each
name: "Hinpoha; Sahwah; Geyahi (Gladys); Iagoonah; Medmangi; Nakwisi;
Waban (Veronica)."
Migwan read the Count, written in her inimitable lilting metre, which
touched on the many happy times they had had together, and ended,
"All too brief that Moon of Gladness,
Long shall be the years of parting!"
Then Hinpoha put her head on her knee with a stifled sob, and at that
they all broke down and cried together, with their arms around Nyoda.
"Come girls, be good," said Nyoda, after a minute, sitting up and wiping
her eyes. "Stand up and take your honors like men!"
And she proceeded to raise all the girls who had not already taken that
honor, to the rank of Torchbearer, excepting, of course, Veronica. As she
awarded the pins she spoke a few words to each girl, telling in what way
she had become worthy of this highest rank. When she came to Katherine,
she laid her hand on her shoulder. "Good wine needs no bush," she said
with a whimsical smile. "And Katherine needs no advocate. Her actions
speak for themselves. Her masterly handling of that volley ball game the
other day gives the keynote to her character. The ability to snatch
victory from seeming defeat is a gift which will carry one far in the
world. And do not forget that Katherine went into that game as a humble
filler-in, simply to oblige the team, and without a thought of gaining
any glory thereby. That is what I meant by losing one's self in the
common cause which is a necessary qualification for a Torchbearer.
Katherine would go to any trouble to help somebody else get glory for
themselves, or to help them out of trouble." And Veronica almost burst
with the desire to tell of the last great service Katherine had done her.
Katherine blushed at Nyoda's words and winked back the tears and dropped
the pin, and murmured brokenly that she would try to be a worthy
Torchbearer, and would do her best to stop being so absent-minded. And
then all the Torchbearers, new and old, joined hands in a circle and
repeated their desire:
"The light that has been given to me
I desire to pass undimmed unto others."
"And now a word about the future," said Nyoda, putting wood on the fire
and sending the flames roaring up the chimney. "You girls declare you do
not want another Guardian. I heartily agree with you in this. That does
not mean that I would be jealous of a possible successor. But I think the
time has come when you no longer need a Guardian. For three years you
have been bound together by ties stronger than sisterhood, and have had
all the fun that it is possible for girls to have, working always as a
unit. You have stood in a close circle, always facing inward. Now you
must turn around and face outward. You have been leaders from the
beginning, and I have trained you as leaders. And a leader must stand
alone. Each one of you will have a different way of passing on the light.
The time has come to begin. The old order has passed when you did every
thing under my direction. You must kindle new Camp Fires now and teach to
others the things you have learned."
"Oh, Nyoda," cried Gladys sorrowfully, "do you mean that all our good
times together are over? That this is the end of it all?"
"No, dear, this is not the end," said Nyoda cheerfully, "this is the
'beginning of it all.' I do not mean for a moment that you girls are not
to meet and frolic together any more; but that must not be the main
thing. You must begin leading groups of younger girls and teaching them
to have a good time as you have learned to. What wonderful Guardians you
will make in time!" she said musingly.
"Besides," she added, after a moment's silence, while the girls
thoughtfully pondered the new idea she had given them, "you had come to
the parting of the ways, although you didn't seem to realize it. You have
graduated from school, and next year Hinpoha and Gladys and Katherine are
going away to college, each one to a different city, and Nakwisi is to
travel with her aunt, and Veronica will be going to New York to study
music sooner or later. That leaves only Sahwah and Medmangi here in the
city. You couldn't go on as you have in the past, even if I were not
going away. But come," she cried in an animated tone, "enough of solemn
talk! We've had three years together, and nobody can take them away from
us, never. And we're all together now. Let the future take care of
itself; this is today! Come, come, a song!"
And once more the rafters rang:
"O we are Winnebagos and we're loyal friends and true,
We always work in harmony in everything we do,
We always think the weather's fine, in sunshine or in snow,
We're happy all the time because we're maids of Wohelo!"
The echoes died away and then sprang into life again.
"For we are Winnebagos,
For we are Winnebagos,
For we are Winnebagos,
And that's why we're so spry!"
"A toast!" cried Nyoda, "a toast to the future!" And they drank it in the
remains of the cocoa. Their eyes met as they clinked the cups, and
overflowed. "Oh, my girls," cried Nyoda, trying to get her arms around
all of them at once, "there never _was_ such a group! And there never
_will_ be such a group! I just can't leave you!" Then she pulled herself
up again. The time was passing and she must hasten, for she was leaving
on the train late that night. Her marriage was to take place in the East.
"Come, girls, 'Mystic Fire.'" And once again their voices rose in musical
chant:
"With hand uplifted we claim thy power,
Guide and keep us as we go,
True to Wohelo.
Thy law is our law from this hour,
Thy mystic spirit's flame will show
Us the way to go."
And so on to the end.
But when they stood in the close circle with which the song ends, Nyoda
stooped to the hearth, and, plucking forth a burning brand, held it aloft
as a torch, and the girls passed in front of her, each carrying a tiny
torch in her hand, which she lit from the big one. Then the circle stood
complete once more, a ring of shining light. Silence fell on all. The
moment of parting had come.
"Don't say good-bye," begged Nyoda. "Act as if I were a guest just
leaving for a short time."
And bravely, with voices that did not falter to the end, they sang the
familiar guest song:
"Our guest, may she come again soon----"
and followed it with a fervent cheer:
"O Nyoda, here's to you,
Our hearts will e'er be true,
We will never find your equal
Though we search the whole world through!"
Then the circle turned resolutely and faced outward. A moment more they
lingered, and then they went forth into the night, carrying their torches
with them.
THE END
Transcriber's Notes
--Silently corrected palpable typos in spelling and punctuation
--Adjusted front matter to give a complete list of the series