A New Girl
There was an instant of waiting, then a little cry quickly suppressed.
Soon after Dan could be heard returning.
But when he appeared he was half leading, half carrying, a girl of about
fifteen or sixteen who did not look like a formidable intruder. She was
small and her face was pale; at the moment her lips were pressed tightly
together. Yet, in spite of her effort at self-control, her eyes were full
of tears, either of anger, embarrassment or pain.
Yet, although Dan was resolutely holding her to the duty of facing the
Camp Fire party, he was perfectly gentle. It would have been impossible
for him to be otherwise.
Immediately Mrs. Burton walked forward. There was something about the
girl that attracted her. She was not pretty; her features were too
irregular; she had a long nose a little crooked, a wide mouth, and her
chin was too sharply pointed for the breadth of her brow. But her eyes
were a fascinating grey-green with extremely dark brows and lashes, and
her hair was reddish brown.
“I am sorry,” the Camp Fire guardian began quickly. “Dan and I must both
have been mistaken in thinking you the person we were seeking. But you
must forgive my nephew, the fault was mine. I was under the impression
that some one was spying upon us, and who, for some absurd reason, was
not willing to be discovered.”
The girl shook her head. “You were not mistaken. I have been watching
you—or trying to—since early this morning. And I hate your having
discovered me.”
She spoke quietly in a soft but at the same time throaty voice, as if she
were a little hoarse.
Polly Burton was puzzled and yet it was stupid of her to have been. It
was true that here in the West in the past few months, living outdoors
with her group of Camp Fire girls, she had honestly forgotten a number of
facts about herself.
“I don’t understand.”
But at this instant, murmuring something or other in apology, Dan Webster
moved a few steps aside.
The girl turned her head.
“Don’t let go your hold on me,” she said almost angrily.
Again Dan held out his arm and this time the girl clutched it.
Dan’s face was crimson; he felt the whole situation to be extraordinarily
awkward. He was not quick either in thought or action and undoubtedly he
was confused by the words and the behavior of the girl who had been his
prisoner a few moments before. Now she held on to him as if she dared not
let go. He could feel her hand trembling on his arm and indeed her whole
body was shaking.
Then Dan gave an inward sigh of relief, seeing that his mother was
approaching them.
“You have hurt yourself, haven’t you, child?” she began in a sensible
comfortable fashion. “I presume you were merely curious about my sister
and our Camp Fire proceedings. I know the information has gone out over
the neighborhood that we wished to be left to ourselves. You understand
my sister has to see so many people when she is playing that she has let
it be known she wishes to meet nobody here. If you have been trying to
see her without being observed, she must remember a time, which does not
seem so long ago to me, when she was only a stage-struck girl herself.
There, take my arm and let Dan help you to my tent.”
The girl had looked unhappy at the beginning of Mrs. Webster’s speech,
but before the close she laughed a little uncertainly.
“I am afraid _that is_ true,” she returned. “In any case I owe you an
apology, Mrs. Burton.” She had dropped the lids over her eyes to hide her
chagrin, but she went on honestly. “I suppose I am a stage-struck girl,
although I do not like hearing myself called one. But I did come over
here this morning at daylight for a look at your camp. Of course I never
dreamed of seeing you. But when you started for your walk I did go along
near you, as I did not suppose you would either see or hear me. But it
was wonderful just to be so near you!”
In the meantime Peggy Webster had slipped forward and now stood alongside
her aunt.
“Don’t be hateful, Tante,” she whispered warningly, knowing from
experience that her aunt’s good nature was not always to be relied upon
under trying circumstances. Moreover she had forgotten, as ninety-nine
people out of a hundred do, when they arrive at distinction, how she had
felt toward famous persons in her own youth.
But on this occasion Peggy need not have been uneasy.
The new girl was evidently of gentle breeding in spite of the shabbiness
of her attire and the fact that she was rather more plain than good
looking.
“Nonsense, child, it is oftentimes distinctly disagreeable to be near me,
as my Camp Fire girls may tell you. But come and have breakfast with us,
if you really have been prowling about since daylight as I have. I am
dreadfully hungry.”
She started away with Peggy, expecting the others to follow. Either Mrs.
Burton had not heard her sister’s speech, or else believed that her
beloved Mollie was only fussing over the newcomer’s health as she did
over everybody’s.
“Thank you, I would rather not be troublesome,” the new girl answered.
At this she let go Dan’s arm and took a step forward. But the pain of
walking alone was too great for her self-control.
As people always did in disaster she turned to Mrs. Webster.
“I fear I have hurt myself and it is so stupid of me. Really I don’t know
what to do. You see I did not want to be discovered and when I heard some
one coming after me I started to run. I must have tripped and fallen over
a stump in the underbrush. As soon as I got up I was a prisoner.”
She flashed a peculiar glance at Dan Webster; but whether she was angry
or amused over his discomfiture it was difficult to decide. Yet Dan
looked wretched enough to satisfy the most teasing desire for revenge. He
had the sweetest and most chivalrous temper in the world. No one ever
remembered Dan’s deliberately hurting any one in his life. Now he
undoubtedly felt as if he had caused a perfectly innocent girl to do
herself a painful injury and had afterwards treated her with unpardonable
rudeness. But it was not difficult to make Dan Webster feel himself in
the wrong, both his sister Peggy, and his twin brother, frequently taking
advantage of this trait of his character.
“You are not a prisoner in any sense,” Mrs. Webster replied, speaking
more coldly, and appreciating Dan’s embarrassment. “But if you are hurt
we shall be glad to do what we can for you and some one will drive you
back to your home.”
More humbly the girl then took hold of Mrs. Webster’s proffered arm, and
still holding on to Dan, started toward Mrs. Webster’s tent not many
yards away.
In a curious fashion Dan felt that, in spite of her pretense of anger,
the girl by his side felt a reliance upon him. And for some reason he
could not explain he was interested in her. She was not half so pretty as
many of the Camp Fire girls—Sally Ashton and Gerry Williams for instance.
Yet there was something fascinating in her grey-green eyes, in her long
nose with that funny twist at the end of it, and in the uncertainty of
her behavior.
Naturally Dan thought it ridiculous of the strange girl to have been
hiding about in their neighborhood for the very ordinary pleasure of
beholding his famous aunt.
Dan did not take Mrs. Burton or her fame as an actress seriously. Indeed,
unconsciously he had inherited some of his father’s old prejudice against
women in any kind of public life. He was fond of his aunt, but not as
Peggy was, or even his brother, Billy. For, although Billy did not bestow
much affection upon any human being, except his mother and Vera Lageloff,
he admired Mrs. Burton, was proud of her success, and was really more
influenced by her opinion than any one’s else.
The new girl walked with difficulty, but Dan could not help admiring her
pluck. Ordinarily her skin was sallow but it was an odd greenish-white at
present.
Outside his mother’s tent Dan departed to find Ellen Deal.
Since the arrival of the Sunrise Camp Fire girls in Arizona, Ellen Deal
had had but few opportunities for the display of her usefulness as a
trained nurse. She had not graduated in nursing, since a breakdown in
health had prevented her from finishing the last year of training. But
she was older than the other Camp Fire girls and had come West with them
because of Dr. Sylvia Wharton’s request made to her half sister and
always her beloved friend, Polly O’Neill, or Mrs. Richard Burton.
The call to the sick, however, with Ellen was like the call to arms with
a soldier.
Fifteen minutes later, when Dan was finishing a belated breakfast, Ellen
reappeared and sat down beside him. The next moment he saw the new girl
come out of his mother’s tent with her assistance and drop down on a
cushion outside.
“Nothing serious the matter, as far as I can tell,” Ellen announced in
the business-like manner which seems to be considered professional.
“Nevertheless I would like to have a doctor if one can be found over at
the hotel or anywhere nearby. Our unexpected visitor has bruised and
strained her knee and it may be worse than I think.”
“Dan won’t you take your victim, or our victim, her breakfast,” Mrs.
Burton suggested, smiling and yet looking sympathetic. Having finished
her own breakfast she and Peggy had arranged a breakfast tray for their
uninvited guest.
“Sit here, Dan,” his mother announced a few moments later on his arrival
before her tent. Then she hurried away to her own meal.
Dan sat silently watching the new girl.
She was evidently trying to show self-control. Yet it seemed impossible
for her to choke the breakfast down, in spite of the fact that Sally had
made new corn bread especially for her. Her lips kept twitching and
finally the tears ran unchecked down her face.
“I am sorry you are in such pain,” Dan said gently, and there was
something very attractive in his gentleness, combined as it was with his
beauty and strength. “I’ll find a doctor for you in a little while.”
To his surprise his companion again turned upon him angrily.
“I am not crying because I am in pain. I am not quite so ridiculous.”
Then her nose twitched in a funny fashion and she added with the hoarse
note in her voice which was so unusual, “I am crying because I am such
a—such a fool.”
In spite of his wish to be sympathetic, Dan laughed.
“Oh, that is a common enough experience.”
But the girl shook her head.
“No,” she answered quietly, “there are a good many foolish people in the
world, I know, but there are degrees. It seems to me I am the most
hopeless kind.” She turned her eyes full upon Dan and curiously he was
reminded of certain pools in his own New Hampshire woods on a soft grey
day.
“My name is Marta Clark. I meant to tell you before. My brother and I are
here living in a tent not far away from your camp—a few miles I believe.
My brother broke down in health and we had to come out here because of
him. He is still very ill and I have been taking care of him. If I can’t
even hobble about for a few days I don’t know what is to become of us.
Besides he has not the faintest idea where I am. I realized he would not
allow me to prowl about trying to see Mrs. Burton if he knew, although he
and I had talked of her being here. We had seen her act once and adored
her.”
“Oh, you’ll find some one able to look after him for a few days well
enough,” Dan replied, not viewing the matter as seriously as his new
acquaintance did.
Again the girl flashed what seemed to be an angry glance toward him.
“I don’t enjoy your forcing me to confess the fact,” she went on, “but my
brother and I are desperately poor—far too poor to hire any one to take
care of us, even for a few days. He was working and taking care of me,
and when his illness came we had almost nothing. He was only a reporter
on a paper and I was at school.”
“Nevertheless,” said Dan firmly, “I am sure we shall manage in some way
to have you cared for until you are all right again.”
The girl’s face cleared, and Dan noticed that she had a rather care-worn
look which her words had just explained.
“I don’t know why I should feel it when we are utter strangers, but you
do look as if you could make things happen the way they should. I suppose
it is because you are strong and patient. I am neither of those things.”
But they could not go on talking because, at this moment, the Camp Fire
guardian was coming toward them.