THE PASSING
Outside the opening into her tent Teresa Peterson sat presumably
playing upon the banjo. The sounds she was making were not particularly
pleasing. Yet the camp was fairly deserted. Only a few of the other
girls were to be seen and they were busy and nowhere near Teresa.
In fact, the camp in Beechwood Forest would be vacant within the next
few days. Summer was closing with the soft loveliness that makes one
forgive and forget her less charming moods.
Already the evergreen house, which had been the center of the camp
life, was being dismantled.
Katherine Moore had returned to the Gray House on the Hill. After the
performance of the Greek tableaux she had not been so well and Dr.
McClain had additional reasons for desiring her presence in town at
this time.
Impatient always to fulfill his own wishes, no sooner was Mr. Hammond
aware of Kara's departure to town than he requested permission to have
the floor of the old cabin removed and the search begun. Kara was not
to be told of the effort until the work was accomplished. Not one
chance in a thousand, Mr. Hammond agreed, that any trace of Kara's
past history be located here, therefore she had best not be excited or
worried until the task was finished.
This afternoon, as Teresa twanged at her banjo strings, she looked
oftener than was good for her music at the group of men who were at
work in the evergreen cabin.
So far they had only started the removal of the old boards.
When this was concluded the Girl Scouts had determined to organize the
searching parties among themselves. Mr. Hammond would join them; no
one else was supposed to feel a sufficiently keen interest in the
investigation to be allowed to take part.
In spite of her music Teresa observed Lance McClain coming toward the
Girl Scout camp when he was still some distance away. He was not
wearing his Scout uniform as might have been expected.
Even at a distance Lance appeared unlike the other boys. He was
smaller than a number of them, more slender and graceful. He had a
peculiar carriage of the head. He seemed to bend forward slightly and
yet his eyes were nearly always upturned. He apparently did not look
at the objects directly in front of him.
"Hello, Lance, I am awfully glad to see you! I was feeling dull,"
Teresa called out. "How did you happen to walk over to camp and not be
wearing your uniform? Miss Mason is lying down in her tent; if you
like I'll tell her you are here and then you can stay and talk to me,
or else I'll play to you."
Lance made a funny grimace.
"Thanks awfully, Teresa, but I want to see Dorothy for a special
reason. I can't stay long. I wonder if you will tell me where I can
find her?"
Teresa frowned.
"I thought you always claimed to be fond of music, Lance, so I don't
see why you need be in such a hurry."
Again Teresa twanged at her banjo, a little angrily on this occasion,
so that the boy's sensitive face twitched.
"Oh, for goodness sake don't make that noise, please, Teresa, and
don't be annoyed. I'd like to talk to you if I had time. I don't think
I am fond of the banjo as a musical instrument, but I've simply got to
find Dorothy. If you don't know where she is will you ask Miss Mason?
Tell her it is important or I would not have appeared. Oh, yes, I know
the Boy Scouts are more welcome visitors at present than they were,
still I really have too much else to do ordinarily!"
So worried was Lance's expression that Teresa relented.
"You might tell me what you have on your mind. If you don't wish to,
why, I do know where Dorothy is. She and Tory Drew and Louise and
little Lucy rowed over to the other side of the lake, not far off. If
you are in a hurry you can take the other canoe and join them. It will
require less time than walking around the shore and I'll go with you
if you'd like to have me come."
Lance flushed.
"You will think I am rude I am afraid, Teresa, but it is rather a
private matter I want to talk over with Dorothy, so if you don't
object I'll row over alone. Some other time you and I----"
The girl shrugged her shoulders.
"Oh, it does not make any difference," she returned, and began humming
a gay little tune and playing more softly.
As he entered the silver canoe and started paddling across the shallow
lake Lance regretted his decision. His was a nature not so uncommon as
people suppose. He disliked hurting people in small ways, in larger
and more important ways he was apparently indifferent.
He liked Teresa and thought her extremely pretty.
After all, Dorothy would not be alone, although they could go off
somewhere nearby together. Yet Lance knew he would not particularly
object to the presence of Louise Miller and Tory Drew.
No difficulty arose in discovering the group of girls. Before Lance
shoved his boat from the shore he observed them at a point about
three-quarters of the way down the opposite shore. He could not
distinguish one from the other nor tell the exact number.
As he approached nearer he observed that Tory was seated with an easel
in front of her, and at a short distance away Lucy was posing. The
other girls were not in sight.
So intent was Tory upon her work that she did not see Lance until he
was within a few yards. Then he called out to her, and Lucy, glad of a
chance to change her position, ran down to meet him.
They came up hand in hand.
"Not so bad, Tory, for a girl, and one no older than you!" Lance
murmured, staring at the drawing of the youthful artist, his brows
drawn into a fine line, half of criticism, half envy.
Donald and Dorothy McClain and most of her younger companions would
have felt only enthusiastic admiration for Tory's work. Had they
known, Lance's attitude was more flattering. He expected more of
Tory's ability than the others knew how to expect.
She shook her head.
"This is my third attempt, Lance, to make a picture of Lucy that I
shall be willing to submit to the judges in our Council or show
father. I can't try again, we are going away from camp so soon. Now
and then I think this may do, and at others I am discouraged. I must
not talk about myself. How did you happen to turn up here? Are you
looking for Dorothy? I hope there is nothing the matter, you are so
serious."
Before it became necessary for Lance to reply a voice interrupted him.
Overhearing the conversation, Dorothy and Louise Miller, who had not
been far away, were returning.
With an unexpected display of affection, Dorothy McClain, not
accustomed to showing her emotions, put her arm through her brother's
and held tight to him.
"What are you doing not in your Scout uniform, Lance? We were just
saying that it was too dreadful to think that our summer camping days
in Beechwood Forest would soon be a thing of the past. Nevertheless, I
will be kind of glad to return to my own family. Tory and Ouida and I
have been making all sorts of plans for the winter. You must help us
with some of them, Lance, you and Don."
"Afraid I won't be able to, Dorothy," Lance answered in an odd voice.
The three girls studied him more intently.
Lucy, seldom interested in the conversation of older persons, had
wandered away and was throwing pebbles into the clear water.
"Why not, Lance? You are not usually unaccommodating, and though you
may consider you are wasting your valuable time to spend any of it
with girls, you won't count Tory and Ouida and me with the others?"
"I won't be at home next winter, Dorothy, at least I think not. I came
out to camp this afternoon to have a private conversation with you,
but if Ouida and Tory won't be bored I don't mind if they hear what I
wish to say. Perhaps if you don't see things my way to the extent I
want you to, they may help me."
Dorothy looked frightened. "Oh, Lance! What in the world are you going
to propose? Please don't ask me to take your part if you have been
having an argument with father. I may not think you are in the right.
Suppose we have afternoon tea before you tell us anything. We brought
the tea things over in the canoe and Ouida and I have been collecting
the materials for a fire."
Doggedly Lance shook his head.
"No, it will take more than a half hour before the water can possibly
boil. I can't wait so long.
"I have had an argument with father, Dorothy. I don't see how you
managed to guess. I went in to see him yesterday and stayed all night
at home. We talked until after midnight. I am going back home now
after I have confided in you, so I did not care to wear my uniform."
As if she suddenly had grown tired, Dorothy seated herself on the
ground, Lance standing above and staring down at her an eager,
appealing light in his brown eyes.
Embarrassed by their own position, Tory and Louise were moving away
when a swift inclination of Lance's hand beckoned them to remain.
"I want you to stay, please do. I believe Dot is going to be
difficult. I did not think so when I came out to talk things over with
her. She is always claiming that I am her favorite brother yet when it
comes to a test she is far oftener on any one's side than mine."
"That is not because I do not care for you but because I feel you are
often wrong, Lance, and for your own sake I am obliged to differ with
you," Dorothy answered, as if she were on the defensive.
"Oh, well, all right, here goes. Perhaps I am wrong again," Lance
returned. "Nevertheless you and father might as well understand that I
am in earnest and sooner or later mean to have my way."
At this instant Lance sat down beside his sister, Tory and Ouida
following his example, but a few feet away as if they were interested
but reluctant.
Persuasively Lance placed his arm around his sister.
"Dot, does it ever occur to you that a fellow may have a right to his
mistakes? The rest of my family is so almighty sensible that if I am
never to be allowed to have my own way I'll never learn anything.
"Do you remember about two weeks ago when Mr. Fenton talked to us
about the Greek spirit? He said that to him it represented, beauty,
adventure and freedom."
Dorothy sighed.
"Dear me, Lance, I was afraid at the time you might take Mr. Fenton's
speech personally! What are you planning to do in quest of beauty,
freedom and adventure?"
Dorothy's expression was worried but amused, and Lance flushed. Upon
only one subject was he particularly sensitive, his devotion to music
and his own lack of any knowledge of it.
In a measure his sister could surmise something of what he had in
mind.
"My effort was not to be a very serious one, Dot," he said slowly; "at
least I did not feel it go until after my talk with father. He seems
to have gone up in the air. I don't want to spend next winter in
Westhaven. I simply can not endure any longer never having music
lessons from any one who knows how to teach and not even hearing any
music worth listening to."
Lance set his teeth.
"I don't ask anyone to understand, you can't if you try."
Dorothy's blue eyes grew more troubled.
"I know, Lance, but I do try," she returned. "And I would give
anything, make any sacrifice I knew how to make if father were willing
or had the money to send you to New York to study. But he is not
willing and he has not the money."
"I know, that is just it. I don't mean to ask him for money. I have
been writing letters to people in New York and trying to get work and
now I have succeeded in landing something that will give me enough to
live on, so you won't have to worry."
"But, Lance, there is school. You are only fifteen and you can't stop
school, it is even against the law. You must have pretended you were
older."
"I can go to school at night when I have finished working; I explained
this to father," Lance argued patiently.
"What about the music? When will you have money or time for lessons?"
Tory interrupted, not intending to intrude upon the discussion, but in
her interest forgetting her resolution.
A little less self-confident Lance appeared.
"Honestly, I don't know, Tory," he replied. "I think I feel that if
once I get where music is, the opportunity will come to me as rain and
sunshine come to trees and the things that need them. Gee whiz, I am
talking like a poet or a girl! Father would not think this line of
conversation convincing. You'll think up a better line of argument,
won't you Dorothy? Then when your time comes and you want something a
whole lot I'll do my best for you."
"But, Lance, I--" Dorothy hesitated--"I don't want you to go away from
home; I don't think it best for you. You ought to wait several years
anyhow. You are not strong and you'd be ill. You don't believe it, but
father cares more for you than for the rest of us because you are more
like mother. Please put things off a while longer in your own mind.
Truly, father will not consent for the present."
Lance got up.
"All right, Dorothy, don't say anything to father on the subject. If
you try to do your best for me what you really think will be plain
enough. I am sorry to have interrupted you; I'm off."
Nor would Lance remain in spite of the pleading of his sister and
friends.
Disconsolately they watched the slender figure in the canoe push away
from shore.
Afterwards they made no pretence of cheerfulness. Tory would not
return to her drawing; Dorothy was too depressed even to assist in
making tea.
An hour later they were on the way back to their own camp.