When an hour later Betty Ashton finished her story of the first years of
the Camp Fire girls at Sunrise Hill on the table nearby three candles
were burning and about them was a circle of eager faces.
Moreover, from the cedar which Betty had bought as a part of her winter
bouquet a miniature tree had been built as the eternal Camp Fire emblem
and there also were the emblems of the wood gatherer, fire maker and
torch bearer constructed from odd sticks which Cricket had mysteriously
produced in the interval of the story telling.
"That is the most delightful experience that I ever heard of girls
having, a whole year out of doors with a chance to do nice things for
yourself, a fairy story that was really true," Cricket sighed finally.
"Funny, but I never heard of a Camp Fire club and I have never been to
the country."
"You have never been to the country?" Betty repeated her words slowly,
staring first at Cricket and then at the other girls. No one else seemed
surprised by the remark.
In answer the younger girl flushed. "I told you I had not," she repeated
in a slightly sarcastic tone. "But please don't look as if the world had
come to an end. Lots of poor people don't do much traveling and we have
five children in the family besides me. Of course, I couldn't go on
school picnics and Sunday-school excursions like the others." Here an
annoyed, disappointed expression crept into Cricket's eyes and she grew
less cheerful.
"Please don't spoil our nice morning together, Miss Ashton, by beginning
to pity me. I hate people who are sorry for themselves. That is the
reason we girls have liked you so much, you have been so different from
the others."
Quietly Betty began putting on her wraps. She had been watching
Cricket's face all the time she had been talking of Sunrise Hill, of the
grove of pine trees and the lake. Yet if the thought had leapt into her
mind that she would like to show her new acquaintance something more
beautiful than the chimney tops of Boston, it was now plain that she
must wait until they were better friends.
"But you'll come again soon and tell us more?" Cricket next asked,
picking up their visitor's muff and pressing it close to her face with
something like a caress. Then more softly, "I did not mean to be rude."
Betty nodded. "Of course I'll come if you wish me. You see, I am a
stranger in Boston and lonely. But I'll never have anything half so
interesting to tell you as the history of our club with such girls as
Polly O'Neill, Esther and Meg and the rest for heroines. Nothing in my
whole life has ever been such fun. Do you know I was wondering----"
Here a slight noise from the figure on the cot near them for an instant
distracted Betty's attention. Yet glancing in that direction, there
seemed to have been no movement. Not for a single moment did she believe
the little girl had been listening to a word she was saying. For she had
never caught another glance straying in her direction.
"You were wondering what?" Agnes Edgerton demanded a little impatiently
and Betty thought she saw the same expression on all the faces about
her.
"Wondering if you would like my sister, Esther, to come and sing our old
Camp Fire songs to you some day?" This time there was no mistaking it.
Her audience did look disappointed. "And wondering something else, only
perhaps I had best wait, you may not think it would be fun, or perhaps
it might be too much work--" Betty's face was flushed, again she seemed
very little older than the other girls about her.
"Yes, we would," Agnes Edgerton answered gravely, having by this time
quite forgotten the interruption of Little Women in her new interest. "I
know what you mean, because almost from the start I have been wondering
the same thing. Do you think we girls could start a Camp Fire club here
among ourselves, if you would show us how? Why, it would make everything
so much easier and happier. There are some of the Camp Fire things we
could not do, of course, but the greater part of them----"
Here, with a sudden exclamation of pleasure, Cricket bounced off her
perch on the table and began dancing about in a fashion which showed how
she had earned her name.
"Hurrah for the Shut-In Camp Fire Girls and the fairy princess who
brought us the idea!" she exclaimed. Then, surveying Betty more
critically, "You know you do look rather like a princess. Are you one in
disguise?"
Betty laughed. She had not felt so cheerful in months. For with Agnes
and Cricket on her side, the thought that had slowly been growing in her
mind would surely bear fruit. But how strangely her old title sounded!
How it did bring back the past Camp Fire days!
"No," she returned, "I am not a princess or anything in the least like
one. But we can all have new names in our Camp Fire club if we like,
select any character or idea we choose and try to live up to it. Next
time I come I will try and explain things better and bring you our
manual. Now I really must hurry."
Betty Ashton was moving quickly toward the door, accompanied by Cricket,
when a hand reached suddenly out from the side of a bed clutching at her
skirt.
"I would rather have that Polly girl come the next time instead of you;
I am sure I should like her much better," the voice said with a
decidedly foreign accent. Then Betty looked quickly into the pair of
black eyes that had been so relentlessly fixed upon the ceiling.
"I don't wonder you would rather have the Polly girl instead of me," she
returned smiling; "most people would, and perhaps you may see her some
day if I can find her. Only I don't know where she is just at present."
So this strange child had been listening to her story-telling after all.
Curious that her fancy had lighted upon Polly, but perhaps the name
carried its own magic.
Out in the hall Betty whispered to her companion:
"Tell me that little girl's name, won't you, Cricket? I didn't dare ask
her. What a strange little thing she is, and yet she makes me think of
an old friend. Already I believe she has taken a dislike to me."
The other girl shrugged her shoulders. "Don't be flattered, she dislikes
everybody and won't have anything to do with the rest of us if she can
help it. Yet her name is Angelique, that is all we know. 'The Angel' we
call her when we wish to make her particularly furious. She is French,
and we believe an orphan, because no one comes to see her, though she
has letters now and then, which she hides under her pillow," Cricket
concluded almost spitefully, since curiosity was one of her leading
traits.
On her way back home, oddly enough, Betty found her attention divided
between two subjects. The first was natural enough; she was greatly
pleased with her morning's experience. Perhaps, if she could interest
her new acquaintances in forming a Camp Fire, her winter need not be an
altogether unhappy and dissatisfied one.
There had been a definite reason for her leaving Woodford, which she
hoped was known to no one but herself. It had been making her very
unhappy, but now she intended rising above it if possible. Of course,
work in which she felt an interest was the best possible cure; there was
no use in preaching such a transparent philosophy as Esther had earlier
in the day. But she had no inclination toward pursuing a definite career
such as Sylvia, Nan and Polly had chosen. The money Judge Maynard had
left her relieved her from this necessity. But the name of Polly
immediately set her thinking along the second direction. What was it in
the unfortunate child at the hospital that had brought Polly so forcibly
before her mind? There was no definite resemblance between them, only a
line here and there in the face or a slight movement. Could Polly even
be conscious of the girl's existence? For Betty felt that there were
many unexplainable forms of mental telegraphy by which one might
communicate a thought to a friend closely in sympathy with one's own
nature.
But by this time, as she was within a few feet of Esther's and Dick's
home, Betty smiled to herself. She had merely become interested in this
particular child because she seemed more unfortunate and less content
than the others and she meant to do what she could to help her, no
matter what her personal attitude might be. As for Polly's influence in
the matter, it of course amounted to nothing. Was she not always
wondering what had become of her best-loved friend and hoping she might
soon be taken into her confidence?