A New Dawn
Very rarely did Polly Burton arise early in the morning. This excellent
habit she had never liked as a girl and, of course, later on her stage
life had made the custom well nigh impossible. Now, however, within the
past few months of outdoor camping, she had changed and become that very
doubtful early bird, or early worm, for one never can be sure which one
may be—the winner of the morning prize or the victim.
However, the coming of daylight in this extraordinary land of hills and
deserts, of giant cliffs and fairy gardens, was worth a serious effort.
At any rate this was Mrs. Burton’s impression. Frequently she used to
slip out of her tent before any one else had awakened and watch the dawn
above the blue San Francisco peaks spread itself slowly over the entire
horizon. Afterwards she sometimes returned to bed and to sleep, or else
read until the Camp Fire girls were in evidence.
This morning it was a little before six o’clock when, getting into her
clothes, she slipped out of doors. Quiet had to be preserved for, now
that Mrs. Webster had arrived, she was sleeping in her sister’s tent,
while another smaller tent had been put up not far off which Dan and
Billy Webster were occupying together. Now, that Billy was so much
better, his brother was able to look after him at night. Moreover their
mother, after her siege of nursing, required the rest.
For two reasons, therefore, Mrs. Burton departed without making the least
disturbance. First, she wished her sister to continue sleeping, second,
she did not wish her own plan interfered with. One never could be sure
when Mollie would not take a stand against what she might consider an
unnecessary eccentricity.
Mrs. Burton’s desire was to see the sun rise above one of the canyons and
to see it alone. Not the Grand Canyon itself; one still had a day’s
journey down a precipitous trail from the Sunrise Hill camp for the best
view of this amazing spectacle. She intended visiting one of the lesser
canyons which was within reasonable walking distance.
The pine forest was as gloomy and quiet as a dim old cathedral when Polly
Burton started swiftly through it toward the neighborhood of the cliffs
of the day before.
There was a mist at the top of the trees hiding the first shafts of
daylight. No other living human being was about. Only in one of the trees
a screech owl, still under the impression that it was night, continued
his curious wailing.
Mrs. Burton was not frightened, but naturally she was a little nervous
and keenly alive to every sight and sound. Always enjoying new emotions
and new impressions; now the early morning walk alone in so strange a
place was unlike any past experience she could recall.
Not many miles away stood a fashionable hotel filled with tourists, who
had come to Arizona to see the Grand Canyon. Yet here in the forest one
appeared to be in a primeval world. Not so different could these forests
have been in the prehistoric days of the cliff dwellers, whose ancient
homes were in the nearby cliffs.
Following the trail Polly Burton kept glancing from one side of the path
to the other. Ridiculous, of course, but all through dinner the evening
before Dan Webster had been regaling the girls with stories of the deer
and bear supposed to live in the adjacent woods.
Yet, in spite of her unfaith, there was always enough of the spirit of
the adventurer in Mrs. Burton, left over from the one-time Polly O’Neill,
to hope for the unexpected.
Once in a place where the trees grew thicker than elsewhere, she half
believed she saw a big, brown figure go lumbering off on all fours in the
opposite direction. Nevertheless, without being interrupted in any way,
she finally arrived at the ledge of cliffs where she had spent the
afternoon before.
Now, instead of stopping at the same place, she walked slowly along,
carefully guarding each step. The morning light was a dull grey—the color
of deep shadows. Slowly the sky was growing warmer and breaking into
light, coloring the thick mist in the ravine below until it resembled a
mammoth, iridescent soap bubble.
Then the mist began to separate and to float upward like an army of
ghostly figures.
The effect was fascinating—even thrilling—and yet it was eery. To an
imaginative person many fantastic ideas would have presented themselves.
It was as if the spirits of evil persons having been enchained to do
penance for their sins in the world below, and now, having expiated their
misdeeds, were allowed to float upward. Sometimes they moved in pairs,
gradually drifting apart as they reached the higher air. Now and then a
more lonely ghost, appearing as if wrapped about in a cloak of silver
mist, would pursue his upward flight alone.
Mrs. Burton felt more than repaid for her trip, yet regretted that she
had not brought one of the girls with her. Bettina would perhaps have
enjoyed the spectacle most. The Camp Fire guardian was beginning to
understand Bettina Graham better than she had in their past Camp Fire
experience. But her desire was not purely unselfish, for she was nervous.
The scene was almost too beautiful and mysterious to be witnessed by
oneself. Besides, in the past few months she had grown so accustomed to
being in the society of the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls that she was
almost uncomfortable any great length of time without them.
Now it would have been pleasant to have heard Bettina’s pretty fancies,
or to have had Peggy dispel the mists by a practical suggestion, or to
have listened to Alice’s or Ellen’s scientific explanation of clouds, or
to have beheld Sally and Gerry giggling irresponsibly over something
which had nothing to do with mists or ghosts or canyons.
Yet Mrs. Burton lingered until the dawn had fully come and all the sky
was rose crimson. Then, glancing at her watch, she started toward camp.
In another half hour the girls would be up and preparing breakfast. As no
one knew where she had disappeared it was possible that her Sister Mollie
might become uneasy.
Once in the woods again she walked more hurriedly, not only because she
feared being late, but for another more absurd reason. Unexpectedly Mrs.
Burton had the sensation of being followed.
She did not see any one or anything, and was not even sure that she heard
distinctly. Nevertheless her impression was vivid.
Twice she stopped and waited; once she called aloud; the second time,
very like the one-time Polly O’Neill, she stamped her foot, crying out:
“If any one is playing a prank on me, please understand that I am weary
of it.”
There was no answer. However, afterwards she had no longer the sensation
of being pursued.
At camp Sally Ashton and Gerry Williams were busy preparing breakfast.
Camp life was at least eventful when these two girls were at work.
Really, once stirred out of her slothfulness, Sally Ashton, who was
essentially feminine, was an extraordinarily good cook. However, she
required several persons to wait upon her while she was at work.
This morning, in honor of Mrs. Webster, she was making a new cornmeal
bread from a recipe which the Indian girl, Dawapa, had taught her.
She had Dan Webster engaged in assisting her. Dan not only brought fresh
wood for her fire every few moments, but in between his pilgrimages
watched with anxiety the cakes slowly browning in the hot ashes. Sally
was never content unless she had at least one man or boy engaged in her
active service. As a matter of fact if one were about she did not find
this difficult to accomplish.
She waved a plump little hand toward their guardian when Mrs. Burton
strolled into camp. Over the great pan of bacon she was frying Gerry
Williams threw her a kiss.
There was no one else about. A little tired from her walk, Mrs. Burton
sat down a short distance from the fire, for the warmth was pleasant,
and, embracing her knees, began rocking slowly back and forward just as
Polly O’Neill had always done when she wished to work out a problem.
Mrs. Burton was again considering her group of Camp Fire girls. How
pretty Sally looked! Her hair lay in soft brown curls over her white
forehead. She did not tan as the other girls. At the moment her big brown
eyes were shining with an animation she did not always show. She was
wearing a big apron over her Camp Fire dress.
Deliciously domestic Sally appeared to be working out-of-doors! For,
although Sally did belong to the type of women whom we choose to call
especially feminine, she had gone far beyond the history of the primitive
woman. Sally’s idea was to enslave, certainly not to be enslaved.
In appearance she and Gerry Williams were a complete contrast, although
having many tastes in common.
Since the trouble between Gerry Williams and Bettina Graham, Gerry and
the Camp Fire guardian had not continued such devoted friends. Until
then, except for her niece, Peggy Webster, Gerry had undoubtedly been
Mrs. Burton’s favorite among her group of girls.
But Gerry’s effort to force Bettina to remain behind in the Indian’s
house, in order to place her in a false position during their last
camping experience, had appeared not only mischievous but malicious. Mrs.
Burton wondered if she had been right in bringing a girl of Gerry’s
training and tastes to live with girls who had been brought up so
differently. She still said nothing to any one of them concerning Gerry’s
history, but she had one talk with the girl herself. Afterwards Gerry
apologised, both to Bettina and to her and appeared to repent her
behavior.
Now, in spite of the fact that Mrs. Burton could not trust her as she had
at the beginning of their friendship, nevertheless Gerry’s prettiness and
affectionate manners never failed to appeal to her. She returned the kiss
light-heartedly.
A few moments later the other Camp Fire girls appeared.
Peggy took away her aunt’s coat and hat, since Marie had not been seen
since the night before. She was no longer sleeping in Mrs. Burton’s tent,
but in a tent with several of the girls.
Alice Ashton reported to Mrs. Burton that Marie had not yet lifted her
head from the pillow, so overcome did she appear to be, either from
relief or regret at the loss of Mr. Simpson.
Breakfast was about ready to serve before Mrs. Webster and Billy finally
came out to join the others. They were an odd contrast—the mother and
son—suggesting the homely but immortal comparison of the hen with the
ugly duckling.
Mrs. Webster—who had once been Molly O’Neill—had cheeks round and soft
and rosy as a girl’s. Her blue eyes were filled with the sweetness of a
loving and unquestioning nature. She was well past her youth and yet, in
spite of her comfortable plumpness and the few grey hairs among the black
ones, to the persons who loved her she seemed to grow prettier and
sweeter as she grew older. Certainly her own family adored her.
But Billy Webster, her son, was a delicate boy with fair hair and large
blue eyes. His expression was difficult to understand until one came to
know that Billy questioned everything, but, having decided for himself
acted, whenever it was possible, solely upon his own judgment.
When Dan Webster started forward to join his mother and offer his morning
greeting, one felt better satisfied. For, except that he was big and
strong and virile, he was exactly like her, both in appearance and
apparently in character.
The Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls were in the habit of beginning each day
with some little ceremony appropriate to their outdoor life and the
spirit of their Camp Fire. Each member had her appointed time, for a
morning ceremony. Today chanced to be Mrs. Burton’s.
When everybody had assembled she walked toward a clearing and stood with
her face to the east and her back against a group of pine trees with a
growth of underbrush between.
“I am sorry all of you were not with me this morning at daylight. To have
recited my verse then would have been more appropriate,” she began.
However, what she recited was not so important, since always Mrs.
Burton’s audiences heard her with thrilling interest. For one reason, the
voice of the great actress was so beautiful and appealing. Like the great
Sara Bernhardt she would have been able to stir her hearers both to
laughter and tears by a mere recital of the alphabet, could she have
spoken as Bernhardt did in a language unfamiliar to her listeners.
“This verse is a part of the Indian New Fire ceremony and seemed to me
appropriate to our morning camp fire,” she explained.
Some vivid, charming quality appeared to be born anew in Polly O’Neill
Burton each time she faced an audience, no matter how small and
unimportant. This love of her work was perhaps the surest expression of
her genius.
She now lifted her head, the color coming swiftly to her face, and
pointing to the sun and then toward their own fire she spoke in a
beautiful resonant voice:
“All people awake, open your eyes, arise,
Become children of light, vigorous, active, sprightly;
Hasten clouds from the four world quarters,
Come snow in plenty, that water may abound when summer appears,
Come ice and cover the fields, that after planting they may yield
abundantly,
Let all hearts be glad.”
The last words sounded like an invocation to happiness. However, it was
Mrs. Burton who started forward, saying unexpectedly:
“Dan, there is some one watching us. I was under the impression I was
being followed in my walk this morning. Why, I cannot understand! Will
you find out who it is?”
Then, without replying, Dan went quickly forward into the nearby woods.