"By day, upon my golden hill
Between the harbor and the sea,
I feel as if I well could fill
The world with golden melody.
There is no limit to my view,
No limit to my soft content,
Where sky and water's fairy blue
Merge to the eye's bewilderment."
Polly read from the pages of a magazine, and then pausing for a moment
she again repeated the verse aloud, giving each line all the beauty and
significance of which it was capable.
She was walking alone along a path beyond the grove of pine trees one
Sunday morning about ten days later. She wore no hat and her dress was
of plain white muslin without even a ribbon belt for decoration. She had
a bunch of blue corn flowers, which she had lately gathered, pinned to
her waist and was looking particularly young and well.
Yet for the first time since her home coming Polly had recently been
feeling somewhat lonely and neglected. There was at present absolutely
no counting on Mollie for anything. Billy had always made demands upon
her time when they were simply friends, but since their engagement had
been announced there was never an entire afternoon or even morning when
Mollie was free. In answer to Polly's protests that she was only to be
at home during the summer and so would like to see her only sister alone
now and then, Billy had explained that early August was the only month
in which he had any real leisure and that he and Mollie must therefore
make plans for their future at once. Moreover, as it was self-evident
that her sister preferred her fiance's society to her own, Polly had
been forced to let the matter drop.
Then a week before, Betty had gone to Boston to see Esther and her new
nephew, which was discouraging for her friend. For as Anthony had been
too busy to come to the cabin except in the evenings, Polly had the
Princess to herself during the day time.
She had promised Betty to stay on at the cabin until her return, as the
simple, outdoor life seemed to be doing her so much good; nevertheless,
Polly had determined to go into Woodford in the next few days and
persuade her mother to take her away unless things at the cabin became
more interesting. She was now rested and entirely well and more than
anxious to get back to her work again, since the friends on whom she had
depended were at present too absorbed to give her much of their time or
thought.
"Well, Margaret Adams always told me that 'a career' was a lonely kind
of life," Polly thought to herself. "But oh, what wouldn't I give if
Margaret should appear at this moment at the turn of that road. She must
have had my letter on Friday begging her to come and perhaps she had no
other engagement. It will be delightful, too, if she brings Mr. Hunt
along with her. I told her to ask him, as Billy can make him comfortable
at the farm. I should like him to see Sunrise cabin and the beautiful
country about here."
Polly had finally come to the end of her lane and beyond could see the
road leading out from the village. She was a little weary, as she had
not walked any distance in several months until this morning. There was
a convenient seat under the shade of a great elm tree that commanded a
view of the country and she had her magazine with her and could hear the
noise of an approaching motor car or carriage, should Margaret have
decided to come.
Again Polly fell to memorizing the poem she had been trying to learn
during her stroll. It was good practice to get back into the habit of
training her memory, and the poem seemed oddly descriptive of her
present world.
"Tonight, upon my somber gaze
With gleam of silvered waters lit,
I feel as if I well could praise
The moon----"
Here Polly was interrupted by the sound of a voice saying:
"My dear Miss Polly, I never dreamed of finding you so well. Why, if you
only had the famous torn hat and rake you would pass for Maud Muller any
day!"
With a cry of welcome Polly jumped to her feet.
"Mr. Hunt, I am so glad to see you and so surprised!" she exclaimed.
"Please explain how you managed, when I have been watching for you and
Margaret all morning, to arrive without my knowing?"
"But we have not arrived, and I hope you won't be too greatly
disappointed at my coming alone. You see it is like this. I happened to
be calling on Miss Adams when your note came and she told me that I had
been included in your invitation. Well, it was impossible for Miss Adams
to spend this week end with you as she was going off on a yachting party
with some of her rich admirers, so I decided to run down and see you
alone. It was not so remarkable my coming upon you unawares, since I
walked out from the village. Please do sit down again and tell me you
are glad to see me."
Polly sat down as she was bid, and Richard Hunt, dropping on the ground
near her, took off his hat, leaning his head on his hand like a tired
boy.
"Come, hurry, you haven't said you were glad yet, Miss Polly," he
protested.
Polly's eyes searched the dark ones turned half-teasingly and
half-admiringly toward her.
"Do you mean, Mr. Hunt, that you came all the way from New York to
Woodford just to see me?" she asked wonderingly. "And that you came
alone, without Margaret or any one else?"
Her companion laughed, pushing back the iron gray hair from his
forehead, for his long walk had been a warm one.
"I do assure you I haven't a single acquaintance concealed anywhere
about me," he declared. "But just the same I don't see why you should
feel so surprised. Don't you know that I would travel a good many miles
to spend an hour alone with you, instead of a long and blissful day. Of
course I am almost old enough to be your father----"
"You're not," Polly interrupted rather irritably. Yet in spite of her
protest she was feeling curiously shy and self-conscious and Polly was
unaccustomed to either of these two emotions. Then, just in order to
have something to do, she carelessly drew the bunch of corn flowers from
her belt and held them close against her hot cheeks.
"Mr. Hunt," she began after a moment of awkward silence, "don't think I
am rude, but please do not say things to me like--" the girl
hesitated--"like that last thing; I mean your being willing to travel
many miles to spend an hour alone with me. You have always been so kind
that I have thought of you as my real friend, but of course if you begin
to be insincere and flatter me as you would some one whom you did not
honestly like, I----"
Polly ceased talking at this instant because Richard Hunt had risen
quickly to his feet and put forth his hand to assist her.
"Let us go on to your cabin," he replied gravely. "You are right. I
should not have said a thing like that to you. But you are wrong, Polly,
in believing I was insincere. You see, I grew to be pretty fond of you
last winter and very proud, seeing with what courage you fought your
battles alone." Richard Hunt paused, walking on a few paces in silence.
"I shall not worry you with the affection of a man so much older than
you are," he continued as though having at last made up his mind to say
all that was in his heart and be through. "Only at all times and under
all circumstances, no matter what happens, you are to remember, Polly,
that you are and always shall be first with me."
"I--you," the girl faltered. "Why I thought you cared for Margaret. I
never dreamed--" then somehow Polly, who had always so much to say, could
not even finish her sentence.
"No, of course you never did," the man replied gravely. "Still, I want
you to know that Margaret and I have never thought of being anything but
the best of friends. Now let us talk of something else, only tell me
first that you are not angry and we will never speak of this again."
"No, I am not displeased," Polly faltered, looking and feeling absurdly
young and inadequate to the importance of the situation.
Then, walking on and keeping step with her companion, suddenly a new
world seemed to have spread itself before her eyes. Shyly she stole a
glance at her tall companion, and then laid her hand coaxingly on his
coat sleeve.
"Will you please stop a minute. I want to explain something to you," she
asked. Polly's expression was intensely serious; she had never been more
in earnest; all the color seemed to have gone from her face so as to
leave her eyes the more deeply blue.
"You see, Mr. Hunt, I never, never intend marrying any one. I mean to
devote all my life to my profession and I have never thought of anything
else since I was a little girl."
Gravely Richard Hunt nodded. Not for an instant did his face betray any
doubt of Polly's decision in regard to her future. Then Polly laughed
and her eyes changed from their former seriousness to a look of the
gayest and most charming camaraderie. "Still, Mr. Hunt, if you really
did mean what you said just now, why I don't believe I shall mind if we
do speak of it some day again. Of course I am not in love with you,
but----"
Richard Hunt slipped the girl's arm inside his. There was something in
his face that gave Polly a sense of strength and quiet such as she had
never felt in all her restless, ambitious girlhood.
"Yes, I understand," he answered. "But look there, Polly, isn't that
Sunrise Hill over there and your beloved little cabin in the distance?
And aren't we glad to be alive in this wonderful world?"
The girl's voice was like a song. "I never knew what it meant to be
really alive until this minute," she whispered.
The sixth volume of the Camp Fire Girls Series will be known as "The
Camp Fire Girls in After Years." In this story the girls will appear as
wives and mothers. Also it will reveal the fact that romance does not
end with marriage, and that in many cases a woman's life story is only
beginning upon her wedding day. There will be new characters, a new plot
and new love interests as well, but in the main the theme will follow
the fortunes of the same group of girls who years ago formed a Camp Fire
club and lived, worked and loved under the shadow of Sunrise Hill.