A NEW INTEREST
IT is a far journey from the New Hampshire hills to the plains of the
West.
Nevertheless a girl whom we once knew at Sunrise Hill is walking alone
this afternoon on the rim of a desert and facing the western sun. It is
scarcely fair to call her a girl, unless one has the theory that so long
as a woman does not marry she retains her girlhood. Yet glancing at her
as she strolled slowly along, no one could have guessed her to be more
than twenty, though perhaps she was a little nearer the next decade.
Exquisitely dressed in a long, dark green broadcloth coat with a fur
collar and small hat, she was a little past medium height and unusually
slender. Her hair was so black that it had an almost somber look, and
yet her eyes were vividly blue. Just now, having wandered a good many
miles from the place where she was staying, she looked extremely tired
and depressed. In no possible way did she appear to fit into her present
surroundings, for without a doubt she was a woman of wealth and
distinction. It was self-evident in the clothes she wore, but more so in
the unconsciously proud carriage of her head and in the lines of her
face, which was not beautiful and yet seemed to have some curious charm
more appealing than mere beauty.
She stopped now for a moment to gaze with an appreciation that was
almost awe at the beauty of the sinking sun. There was a glory of color
in the sky that was almost fantastic; piles of white clouds seemed to
have been flung up against the horizon like mammoth soap bubbles, tinted
with every rainbow shade. With unconscious enthusiasm, the woman clasped
her hands together.
"Why," she exclaimed aloud, "I was wondering what this scene reminded me
of. It is dear old Sunrise Hill! What would I not give to be there in
the old cabin tonight with Betty and Mollie and the others! But they
must not know what has become of me until things are all right again.
Both Betty and Mollie are too happy with their babies and husbands to
worry over the old maids in the family. Sometimes, though, I feel that I
should like to send for Sylvia." Then the wanderer turned and stared
around her.
In every direction there were long waving reaches of sand with an
occasional clumping of rocks, while growing near them were strange
varieties of the cactus plant. Some of them had great leaves like
elephants' ears, some were small and thick with queer, stiff hairs and
excrescences, and among them, in spite of the lateness of the season,
were occasional pink and crimson flowers with waxen petals.
Behind the wayfarer there was a trail which she must have followed from
some nearby village, yet it was growing less and less distinct ahead,
and certainly the hour was far too late for a stranger to be traveling
alone so near a portion of the great Colorado desert.
Nevertheless the young woman at this moment turned and left her path.
Walking deliberately for a few yards she seated herself on a giant
rock, and leaning forward, rested her chin in her beautifully gloved
hands.
"So like you, Polly O'Neill, even in your old age to have gotten
yourself entirely used up on the first walk you were allowed to take
alone!" she began aloud, giving a half despairing, half amused shrug of
her thin shoulders. "I am not in the least sure that I know the way back
to my hotel if it grows dark before I arrive there, and assuredly I am
too weary to start for the present. And hungry! Heaven only knows when I
was ever so ravenous! Now if I had only been a Camp Fire girl in the
West instead of the East, doubtless I could at once discover all sorts
of delectable bread fruit and berries growing nearby. But I don't feel I
want to run any further risks at present."
So for the next half hour in almost perfect quiet Polly O'Neill remained
seated. It would have been impossible for her to have done otherwise,
for suddenly a curious attack of exhaustion had swept over her. It was
not unusual of late, for indeed Miss O'Neill and her maid had
established themselves in a small hotel near Colorado Springs in order
that the well-known actress might recover from an attack of nervous
exhaustion which she had suffered during her successful tour in the
Western states. So Polly was quite accustomed to finding herself all at
once too weary either to move or speak. But quite like the Polly of old
she had just deliberately walked five miles without reflecting on her
lack of strength or the fact that she must return by as long a road as
she had come.
No, in spite of the fact that Polly O'Neill had in the last ten years
made a great name for herself as one of the leading actresses in the
United States, she was as thoughtless and impetuous as she had been as a
girl.
Finally, however, with what seemed to require a good deal of effort she
got up and moved, this time toward the east, but all the elasticity had
gone from her. The sand was uncomfortably heavy, so that she dragged one
foot after the other and her slender body seemed to wave like a stalk in
the wind. But the worst of her difficulty was that her breath came in
short, painful gasps. Unconsciously the effort which the business of
walking required made Polly pay less strict attention to the path which
she should have followed. But by and by, realizing that her way was less
plain and that it was now quite dusk, she paused for a moment, put her
hand to her side and then again seemed to be considering her situation.
Whatever her decision, she must have accepted it philosophically, for
this time, more deliberately, she sought another resting place.
Fortunately not far away was a better shelter of rocks, half a dozen of
them forming a kind of semicircular cave. Deliberately Polly crept
toward their shelter and there removed her hat and tied her hair up in a
long automobile veil. Then she lay down in the sand with the stones as a
shield behind her and before her a wonderful view of the night as it
stole softly over the desert.
Polly was not afraid and not even seriously annoyed. Life to her was but
a series of adventures, some of them good and others less cheerful. She
was not at all sure that she was not going to enjoy this one and she
could not believe that it would do her any especial harm. She was
sleeping outdoors for the benefit of her health in a small porch
attached to her hotel bedroom. Perhaps the sand was less comfortable and
clean than her bed, but then she had never before imagined so much sky
and prairie. Moreover, there was no one to worry over her failure to
appear except Marie, her maid. It was just possible that Marie might
arouse the hotel and a searching party be sent to find her. In that case
Polly knew that she would be glad to return to civilization. However,
she did not intend to worry if no one came. Her hunger and thirst must
be forgotten until morning.
Somehow, when the stars came out, in spite of the beauty of the night
Polly found she could not manage to keep her eyes open. She was not
exactly sleepy, only tired. For never in years had she had such an
opportunity to think things over. How crowded her life had been, how
full of hard work, of failure and success, yes, and loneliness! She was
willing to confess it tonight to herself. How she would have liked to
have had one of her old Camp Fire friends here in Colorado with her! Yet
they were all too busy and she had not wished any one of her family to
know how ill she had been. How much trouble she had always given all the
people who cared for her ever since she could remember! Polly's
conscience pricked her sharply. Why had she not married and settled down
as her sister Mollie had suggested at least a hundred times? Because she
would not give up her acting? Well, she need not have done this had she
married Richard Hunt. But too many years had passed since their
engagement had been broken for her to recall him. She had not even seen
Mr. Hunt in the past five years, although they had occasionally acted in
the same cities and at the same time.
Finally, however, when the famous Miss O'Neill actually fell asleep she
was smiling faintly. For a vision had suddenly come to her of how
shocked her sister Mollie and her brother-in-law, Mr. William Webster,
would be if they knew that she was sleeping alone on the edge of a
desert. But she was surely too near the village to be in any danger from
wild animals and no one would undertake such a walk as hers had been at
this hour.
Nevertheless, wisdom should have prompted an old Camp Fire girl to have
found twigs enough to have started even a miniature camp fire. But the
edge of a desert is scarcely the place where wood abounds and the fact
is, though she had thought of it, Polly had been too tired to make the
necessary effort. For goodness only knows how much farther she need have
wandered before coming to an oasis of shrubbery or trees.
When at last Miss O'Neill opened her eyes actually it was broad daylight
and standing before her was a figure that almost fitted into her dream.
For the girl was just about the age of the group of friends who had once
lived together in a log house in the woods, and all night she had been
dreaming of Sunrise Cabin.
Nevertheless her visitor bore no other resemblance to them, so that the
distinguished lady rubbed her eyes, wondering if she were yet awake and
how the girl could have come so close up to her without her hearing.
A glance explained this, for the intruder was barefooted and her legs
and feet were so brown and hard they appeared totally unfamiliar with
shoes and stockings.
She was staring so hard at Polly that she seemed scarcely conscious of
anything except her own surprise.
With an effort Miss O'Neill sat upright. She did not feel tired now in
the least, but gloriously rested and strengthened from her wonderful
night out of doors in the clear, pure air. But of course she must
explain her situation to the little girl before her, although she would
have preferred her discoverer to have explained herself.
In spite of being about fourteen years old, this child had on only a
thin yellow calico frock, and it was late October. Her hair was
perfectly straight and Polly might have thought her an Indian except
that it was light brown in color, although a good deal stained by wind
and sun. However, the girl's eyes were a kind of greenish gray in shade
and her features were delicately modeled. But she had a peculiar and
not an agreeable expression.
"I wandered away from my hotel last evening and was not able to return,
so I slept here all night. How did you happen to find me?" Polly began,
feeling that some one must start a conversation in order to persuade her
companion to cease her almost frightened staring. Of course Polly
appreciated that she herself was not looking her best, but there was no
reason why she should excite so much curiosity.
Notwithstanding she received no answer. With a slight gesture of
annoyance Miss O'Neill stood up. After all, she did not feel as
energetic as she had thought and it was undoubtedly a long walk back to
her hotel.
"Do you live anywhere near here? I am both hungry and thirsty. If you
could find some one to help me I should be most grateful," Polly said as
politely as if she had been speaking to a friend. For if the girl was
afraid of her she wished her to forget her timidity.
But instead of replying the strange child stared harder than ever for
half a minute, and then before Polly could speak again or touch her she
was off, running across the sand like a deer, without a backward glance.
Miss O'Neill watched her for some time until she vanished into what
appeared at this distance to be a clump of trees. Then she deliberately
set out to follow her. The child must have come from some place nearer
than the village where she was staying. In almost any kind of settlement
she would be able to find a horse to take her back to her hotel.