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THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ACROSS THE SEAS
BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Author of "The Ranch Girls Series," etc.
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1914, by
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
[Illustration: "LOOK HERE, ESTHER," HE BEGAN]
CONTENTS
I. TWO YEARS LATER
II. THE WHEEL REVOLVES
III. FAREWELLS
IV. UNTER DEN LINDEN
V. CHANGES
VI. A COSMOPOLITAN COMPANY
VII. DAS RHEINGOLD
VIII. OTHER SCENES
IX. THE MEETING
X. AN ADVENTURE
XI. AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
XII. THE UNCERTAIN FUTURE
XIII. RICHARD ASHTON
XIV. BETTY'S STRANGE DISAPPEARANCE
XV. THE FINDING OF BRUNHILDE
XVI. A HEART-TO-HEART TALK
XVII. THE DAY BEFORE ESTHER'S DEBUT
XVIII. THAT NIGHT
XIX. TEA AT THE CASTLE
XX. ESTHER AND DICK
XXI. SUNRISE CABIN
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"LOOK HERE, ESTHER," HE BEGAN
THERE WAS A SLIGHT SOUND FROM HIS LISTENER
"TELL ME MORE ABOUT THE PLACES NEAR HERE"
"FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS TO ME!"
The Camp Fire Girls Across the Seas
CHAPTER I
Two Years Later
A young man strode along through one of the principal streets of the
town of Woodford, New Hampshire, with his blue eyes clouded and an
expression of mingled displeasure and purpose about the firm lines of
his mouth.
It was an April afternoon and the warm sunshine uncurling the tiny buds
on the old elm trees lit to a brighter hue the yellow Forsythia bushes
already in bloom in the gardens along the way.
Standing in front of an inconspicuous brown cottage was a large touring
car, empty of occupants. Within a few yards of this car the young man
paused, frowning, and then gazed anxiously up toward the closed door of
the house. A short time afterwards this door opened when a girl, wearing
a scarlet coat and a felt hat of the same shade pinned carelessly on her
dark hair, hurried forth and with her eyes cast down and an air of
suppressed excitement moved off in the opposite direction, without
becoming aware of the onlooker. And although the bystander's lips moved
once as if forming her name with the intention of calling after her, his
impulse must have immediately died, for he continued motionless in the
same spot until the girl had finally turned a corner and was lost to his
view. Then the young man walked on again, but not so rapidly or
resolutely as at first.
Indeed, he was so intensely absorbed in his own line of thought as to be
unconscious of the other passers-by, until some one stopped directly in
front of him and a familiar voice pronounced his name.
"Why, Billy Webster, where are you going?" Meg Everett demanded. "You
look as if you were giving Atlas a holiday this afternoon and had
transferred the weight of the world to your own shoulders."
Two years had changed the greater number of the old Sunrise Hill Camp
Fire members from girls to young women, but they had not made a
conspicuous difference in Margaret Everett. Her sunny yellow hair was
tucked up, but today the April winds had loosened it, and though she was
dressed with greater care than before the Camp Fire influence, she would
never altogether approach her brother John's ideal of quiet elegance, as
the Princess always had. Yet her eyes were so gay and friendly and her
face so full of quick color and sympathy, that there were few other
young men besides her older brother who found much to criticize in her.
And certainly not the small boy at her side, who had once been "Hai-yi,"
the Indian name for "Little Brother," to the twelve girls at Sunrise
Hill.
Returning Meg's interested gaze, Billy Webster, who was never given to
subterfuges, had a sudden impulse to seek information and possible aid
from her.
"Is it true, Meg," he asked, "that Miss Adams, the actress, is here in
Woodford visiting her cousin and that Polly O'Neill has been going to
see her every day and riding over the country in her motor car? I
thought Mrs. Wharton had insisted that Polly was to have nothing to do
with anything or anybody connected with the stage until three years had
passed. It has been only two since Polly's escapade, and it seems to me
that nothing could so awaken a girl's interest as being made the
companion and friend of a famous woman. I thought Mrs. Wharton had
better judgment. Polly had almost forgotten the whole business!"
As she shook her head Meg Everett's face wore a slightly puzzled look.
For she was wondering at the instant if it could be possible that Billy
had any special right to his concern in Polly O'Neill's proceedings.
Mollie O'Neill was her dearest friend and for several years she knew
Mollie and Billy had been apparently devoted to each other. Yet she
would have been almost sure to have guessed had their old affection
developed into something deeper. Moreover, Mollie was only nineteen and
Mrs. Wharton would have insisted upon their waiting before agreeing to
an engagement between them.
"Oh, I don't think it worth while for you and Mollie to worry over
Polly," Meg returned, even in the midst of her meditations, which is a
fortunate faculty one has sometimes of being able to think of one thing
and speak of another at the same instant. "Miss Adams is going away in a
few days, I believe, and though she has invited Polly to be her guest
and travel with her in Europe this summer, Mrs. Wharton has positively
refused to agree to it. I can't help being sorry for Polly, somehow, for
think what it would mean to see Esther and Betty again! Two years has
seemed a dreadfully long time to me without the Princess; I only wish
that there was a chance for me to go abroad this summer."
And in the midst of her own wave of the spring "Wanderlust," which is
aroused each year in the hearts of the young and the old alike, the girl
had a moment of unconsciousness of her companion's nearness and of the
manner in which he had received her news. The next instant he had
lifted his hat and with a few muttered words of apology for his haste,
had walked off with his shoulders squarer than ever and his head more
splendidly erect.
Meg's eyes followed him with admiration. "I hope you may look like Billy
Webster some day, Horace," she said to the small boy at her side, who
was now all long legs and arms and tousled hair. "But I don't know that
I want you to be too much like him. Billy is the old-fashioned type of
man, I think--honest and brave and kind. But he does not understand in
the least that the world has changed for women and that some of us may
not wish just to stay at home and get married and then keep on staying
at home forever afterwards." And Meg laughed, feeling that her little
brother was hardly old enough to understand her criticism or her
protest. She herself hardly realized why she had made it, except that
the spring restlessness must still be lingering within her. Meg was not
usually a psychologist and there was no reason to doubt that Mollie
would always continue a home-loving soul.
On the broad stone steps of the Wharton home, which was the largest and
finest in Woodford, except the old Ashton place, Billy Webster was
compelled to wait for several moments before the front door bell was
answered. And then the maid insisted that the entire family had gone
out. Mr. and Mrs. Wharton were both driving, Mollie was taking a walk
with friends, and Polly paying a visit. Sylvia was not living in
Woodford at present, but true to her Camp Fire purpose was in
Philadelphia studying to become a trained nurse.
"Do you mean that Miss Polly gave you instructions to say she was not
in?" the young man inquired, trying his best to betray no shadow of
offended pride in his question. "Because if she did not, I am sure that
you must be mistaken. I saw her leave the place where she was calling
some little time ago and----"
But the maid was crimsoning uncomfortably, for at this moment there
arose the sound of some one playing the piano in the music room near
by.
"No, sir," the girl stammered, "no one asked to be excused. Miss Polly
must have come in without my knowing." And in her confusion the girl
ushered the visitor into an almost dark room, without announcing his
name or even suggesting his approach.
However, the recent visitor was so much in the habit of going frequently
to the Wharton home that he did not feel in any sense a stranger there.
Besides, had he not spied the familiar scarlet coat and hat on a chair
outside the music room, where no one but Polly would have placed them?
And was it not like her to be sitting in the semi-darkness with the
shutters of four big windows tightly closed, playing pensively and none
too well on the piano, when the rest of the world was out of doors?
Billy felt a sudden and almost overmastering desire to take the
musician's slender shoulders in his hands and give them a slight shake,
as she continued sitting on the stool with her back deliberately turned
toward him.
"I hope I am not disturbing you," he began with a little laugh, which
even to his own ears did not sound altogether natural.
And then, when the girl had swung slowly around, he walked up toward her
and leaning one elbow on the piano, with his eyes down, continued
speaking, without giving his companion the opportunity even for greeting
him.
"Polly," he said, "I have just heard that Miss Adams has invited you to
go abroad with her this summer and that your mother has refused to let
you accept. But I cannot entirely believe this last part of my news. I
don't dare unless you tell me."
[Illustration: THERE WAS A SLIGHT SOUND FROM HIS LISTENER]
There was a slight sound from his listener, an effort at interruption,
but the young man went on without regarding it.
"I did not mean to speak to you so soon. I know you are too young and I
expected to wait another year. And certainly you have not given me much
encouragement. Sometimes I have not felt that you liked me any better
than when first we knew each other. But you can't have completely
forgotten what I said to you that day in the woods two years ago. And
you know I never change my mind. Now I can't bear to have you go so far
away from Woodford without saying again that I care for you, Polly, in
spite of our sometimes disagreeing about things and that I will do my
level best to make you happy if you, if you----"
But the girl at the piano had risen and Billy now lifted his eager blue
eyes to her face. Immediately his expression changed, the hot blood
poured into his cheeks, and he moved forward a few steps. Then he stood
still with his hands hanging limply at his sides.
For the girl, whose pallor showed even in the semi-darkness of the room
and whose lips trembled so that it was difficult for her to command her
voice, was not Polly O'Neill! Although her hair was almost equally dark,
her chin was less pointed, her lips less scarlet and her whole
appearance gentler and more appealing.
"I am sorry," Mollie O'Neill faltered, "I did not understand when you
began, Billy, or I should not have listened. But I didn't dream that you
and Polly--oh, I didn't suppose that people could quarrel as you do and
yet be fond of each other. And you were my friend, Billy, and Polly is
my twin sister. I cannot understand why one of you did not tell me how
you felt without waiting to have me find out like this." And in spite of
her struggle for self-control, there was a break in Mollie O'Neill's
soft voice that Billy would have given a great deal never to have heard,
and a look on her face which, though he did not entirely understand, he
was not soon to forget. She had put out one arm and stood steadying
herself against the piano stool like a child who had been unexpectedly
hurt and frightened and who wished to run away, yet felt that if she
lingered a little longer she might better understand the puzzle.
Nevertheless Billy said nothing for a moment. He was too angry with
himself, too worried over the surprise and sorrow in Mollie's eyes, to
speak. For they were deeply attached to each other and nothing had come
between their friendship since the morning, now almost five years ago,
when she had cleverly bandaged up the wound in his head. They had been
foolish children then, but so long an intimacy should surely have taught
him by this time the difference between the twin sisters. If only the
room had not been so dark when he came in, if only he had not been
deceived by the crimson coat and cap and by his own excitement!
"There was nothing to tell you before, Mollie, at least nothing that
counts," Billy began humbly. "Sometimes I have wanted to explain to you
my feeling for Polly. We do quarrel and she makes me angrier than anyone
I know in the world, and yet somehow I can't forget her. And I like
being with her always, even when she is in a bad temper. Then I don't
wish her to go on the stage. I think it a horrid profession, and Polly
is not strong enough. I would do anything that I could to prevent it.
But you see, Mollie, I have no reason to believe that Polly cares for
me; though now and then she has seemed to like me better than she once
did. Still I am determined to try whatever means I can to keep her away
from this Miss Adams' influence. For if once Polly leaves Woodford with
her, the old Polly whom we both know and love will never come back to us
again." And Billy appeared so disconsolate and so unlike his usual
confident, masterful self, that Mollie smiled at him, a little wistfully
it is true, but in a perfectly friendly and forgiving fashion.
"I'll go and find whether Polly has come home," she answered. "I ran in
for a moment to call on Miss Adams and found that Polly had left there
half an hour before. I wore her old coat and cap, so I think she must be
dressed in her best clothes and paying visits somewhere." And Mollie
laid a hand lightly on her friend's arm.
"Don't be discouraged at whatever Polly says to you," she begged. "You
know that she may be angry at the idea of your opposing her having this
European trip with Miss Adams. But she is not going. Mother is positive
and Polly will not do more than ask for permission since there is a
whole year more before her promise ends."
And Mollie slipped quietly away, grateful for the darkness and her old
friend's absorption.
In the hall, a few feet from the music room door, she encountered Polly
herself, with her eyes shining and her face aglow with the beauty and
fragrance of the April afternoon. And before she could slip past her
Polly's arms were about her, holding her fast, while she demanded,
"Whatever has happened to make you so white and miserable, Mollie
Mavourneen? Are you ill? If anyone has been unkind to you----"
But Mollie could only shake her head. "Don't be absurd; there is nothing
the matter. Billy Webster is here waiting to see you."
Nevertheless, a moment afterwards, when Polly had marched into the music
room and opened wide a shutter, her first words as she turned toward her
visitor were, "Billy Webster, what in the world have you said or done to
make Mollie so unhappy?"