THE GIRL SCOUTS SERIES
The Girl Scouts of the Round Table
BOOKS BY MARGARET VANDERCOOK
THE RANCH GIRLS SERIES
The Ranch Girls at Rainbow Lodge
The Ranch Girls’ Pot of Gold
The Ranch Girls at Boarding School
The Ranch Girls in Europe
The Ranch Girls at Home Again
The Ranch Girls and their Great Adventure
The Ranch Girls and their Heart’s Desire
The Ranch Girls and the Silver Arrow
The Ranch Girls and the Mystery of the Three Roads
STORIES ABOUT CAMP FIRE GIRLS
The Camp Fire Girls at Sunrise Hill
The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows
The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World
The Camp Fire Girls Across the Sea
The Camp Fire Girls’ Careers
The Camp Fire Girls in After Years
The Camp Fire Girls on the Edge of the Desert
The Camp Fire Girls at the End of the Trail
The Camp Fire Girls Behind the Lines
The Camp Fire Girls on the Field of Honor
The Camp Fire Girls in Glorious France
The Camp Fire Girls in Merrie England
The Camp Fire Girls at Half Moon Lake
The Camp Fire Girls by the Blue Lagoon
THE GIRL SCOUTS SERIES
The Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing
The Girl Scouts in Beechwood Forest
The Girl Scouts of the Round Table
The Girl Scouts in Mystery Valley
The Girl Scouts and the Open Road
[Illustration: THIS WAS THEIR FIRST IMPORTANT TEST (_See page 149_)]
THE GIRL SCOUTS SERIES
The Girl Scouts of the Round Table
By
MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Author of “The Ranch Girls Series,”
“The Red Cross Girls Series,” “Stories
About Camp Fire Girls,” etc.
Illustrated
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS PHILADELPHIA
COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE WHITE KNIGHT 7
II. THE ROUND TABLE 19
III. “NOT DEATH BUT LIFE” 30
IV. TORY’S DREAMS 39
V. CHRISTMAS EVE 48
VI. A CHRISTMAS DANCE 61
VII. A CITY OF TOWERS 71
VIII. THE CALL 79
IX. A STUDIO TEA 90
X. REACTION 104
XI. A ROUND TABLE DISCUSSION 117
XII. UNEXPECTED OPPORTUNITIES 126
XIII. OTHER EXPERIENCES 136
XIV. AN INTRODUCTION 153
XV. UNRAVELING 166
XVI. DOUBT 181
XVII. AN ANNOUNCEMENT 190
XVIII. THE LAST ROUND TABLE 207
XIX. AN UNWRITTEN STORY 216
XX. A WEDDING 226
XXI. A JUNE DAY 235
CHAPTER I
THE WHITE KNIGHT
The snow had fallen several days before. This afternoon the ground was
hard and white, with a thin crust of ice.
Spinning in the air were small silver crystals that danced in the
winter wind as if with no thought of ever settling down upon the earth.
Driving along the road, Tory Drew felt their light, cold touch on her
forehead and cheeks. The warm blood in her rushed up to meet them, her
face and eyes glowed.
She was alone and on her way to call upon Memory Frean in her House in
the Woods.
An hour before she had been despondent. Now she felt a pleasant rush of
excitement and a sense of adventure.
Originally she had not intended to make the little journey alone. At
present she was rejoicing in her loneliness.
She had stopped at the shabby old house across from her own to ask
Dorothy McClain to accompany her, but finding Dorothy away from home
had made no further effort for companionship.
There were other Girl Scouts who would gladly have joined her. Memory
Frean was a member of their Council, and during the past summer in
Beechwood Forest their own Patrol of the Eagle’s Wing Troop had learned
to know her intimately.
Tory’s horse moved slowly and serenely with little urging from her.
The tang and beauty of the afternoon occasionally stirred him to small
spurts of speed.
Ordinarily Mr. Richard Fenton’s riding horse, only recently Tobias had
been broken for driving.
This afternoon he was drawing a newly purchased two-seated sleigh with
Tory Drew as driver.
Now and then she made an impatient movement of her reins and smiled,
appreciating the fact that Tobias would not move any faster than his
own inclination ordered. Besides, she was in no particular hurry. So
long as the sun shone with its early afternoon radiance upon the white
world surrounding her, she enjoyed being a part of the great outdoors.
The wind blew harder and the snow danced faster and still Tory laughed.
The House in the Woods would appear like a miniature fairy palace when
she finally reached it.
It was Friday, and she had received permission from her aunt, Miss
Victoria Fenton, to remain for the night. Therefore, when darkness fell
she and Miss Frean could sit by the open fire and talk as only they
could talk.
If of late life had not been so satisfactory as usual, Memory Frean
would help set things right.
Only a little more than a year before on an autumn afternoon they had
met along this self-same road.
The thought of Westhaven without Memory Frean, Victoria Drew did not
like to contemplate.
Since her arrival in the little New England town of Westhaven two
friends she had come to consider indispensable to her happiness, Memory
Frean and Katherine Moore.
No longer was Kara to be found in the Gray House on the Hill, her own
title for the village orphan asylum.
Counting the days, Tory felt it incredible that she and Kara had been
separated only two months. But then she was one of the persons who
measured time not by the calendar but by her own needs.
After the excitement of helping Kara make ready to leave had followed
a natural reaction. Then word had come that the other girl was settled
in a small hospital in New York City. How long she must wait before the
doctors could say whether she would be able to walk again no one would
predict.
Kara was struggling to be patient. Tory appreciated that she should be
no less patient, yet uncertainty was peculiarly hard for her restless
nature.
This morning Kara’s final letter had announced that she might hope to
hear by Christmas. Until then they must both be brave.
With all Tory Drew’s vivid charm and sweetness, she did not possess the
force of character of the other girl. However, their lives had been
very different. After her mother’s death, Victoria Drew, who preferred
to be known as Tory, had lived with her artist father, wandering about
Europe. Eighteen months before, he had married a second time. He had
then sent her to be brought up as an American girl in the little town
of Westhaven, with her mother’s unmarried brother and sister, Mr.
Richard Fenton and Miss Victoria Fenton.
No such background favored Kara. Found by a passer-by in a deserted
cabin when little more than a baby, until her accident in Beechwood
Forest the summer before, Kara had lived in the village orphan asylum.
Her name, Katherine Moore, pinned to her dress, was all that was so far
known of her history or parentage. She had gone with her Patrol of Girl
Scouts to the woods to camp for the summer. Here, an accident which had
not appeared serious at the time made it probable that she would never
walk again.[A]
[Footnote A: See “Girl Scouts in Beechwood Forest.”]
Her thoughts turning from one friend to the other, Tory became more
dispirited.
She did not look overhead to see that the clouds were deepening and
the sun on the snow shining less bright. No longer were the snowflakes
dancing in the air, but settling thick and fast on the hard crust of
the ice.
However, when she drew up before the front door of the House in the
Woods she was finally aware of the fact.
It was good to observe the small spiral of smoke ascending through the
brick chimney and to catch the reflection of the fire on the window
glass. Preferring first to make her horse comfortable for the night,
Tory led him to the stable at the back of the house, unhitched and fed
him.
With her task accomplished, on her way to the house Tory found her
hands and face aching from the cold. She received the impression that
although fighting valiantly against the wind and snow, if the contest
should be a long one she would be defeated.
Her knock at the front door became more imperative than polite, more a
demand than an appeal.
No one opened the door.
The girl did not knock again. A sudden gust of wind blew her forward.
She caught hold of the knob, felt it turn and pushed open the door.
The room inside was warm, glowing and empty.
Tory called, but there was no reply.
By the side of the fireplace was a pile of logs sufficient to last
twenty-four hours. Removing her wraps and replenishing the fire, the
newcomer sat down on the stool she regarded as her especial property.
There was not much light in the wide room save the flames of crimson
and gold from the fire. The window blinds were open, but the sunlight
of an hour before had vanished. The light through the glass was gray
and opaque.
Tory frowned. Yet she was really extremely comfortable and reasonably
serene again. Christmas was not far off. Her uncle had promised to take
her for her first visit to New York. With her artist father she had
been in London, Paris and Rome; and the time was approaching when she
should behold the greatest city in her own country.
Tory Drew’s frown at present was not for herself or Katherine Moore.
She was troubled by Memory Frean’s absence from her home.
No need to ponder where she had gone, or why.
Tory observed the absence of the rusty leather bag that ordinarily sat
in the corner by the odd cabinet.
From the depth of this same bag she had received the gift of the
Eagle’s Wing which had been her talisman in Westhaven. Later her Troop
of Girl Scouts had chosen the Eagle’s Wing for its crest.
Never did Miss Frean fail to carry this bag when upon a pilgrimage to
some one ill or in trouble in the neighborhood who asked her sympathy
and help.
The laws and purposes of the outdoors, some of its simple gifts of
healing, Miss Frean had studied and applied.
She would realize that the storm would be a heavy one and return home
in a little while.
In the meantime, the girl, knowing she would be found a welcome guest,
sat by the fire, sometimes dreaming, at others troubled by Miss Frean’s
delay.
She had always been able to see pictures in the firelight.
At present she pretended to observe a procession of knights marching
through the flames. The last knight perished and Tory aroused herself
to action.
Outside it was now dark, so that Miss Frean would be at home at any
moment, tired and hungry.
She would be glad to discover she was not to spend the long winter
evening alone.
Lighting a lamp, Tory set it in the window as a beacon guide to the
mistress of the house. Another she placed in the center of the table,
which she laid for supper.
Having spent many hours in the House in the Woods with Memory Frean,
Tory was familiar with all its domestic arrangements.
Yet to-night she had an odd sense of unreality, a fanciful impression
that she was in a little house of mystery shut in by the white guards
outside. Now and then they rattled and shook the doors and windows as
if they wished to enter.
She had been glad that Miss Frean had left her front door unlocked. She
rarely ever fastened it. Since her own arrival Tory had seen that it
was securely bolted.
Seven o’clock and the water was boiling on the oil stove in the
kitchen, the bread sliced for toast, and the bacon and eggs waiting to
be cooked on the instant.
At half-past Tory ate her supper alone.
At eight o’clock she went to the front door and half opened it with the
impulse to go forth and search for her friend.
Tory saw the absurdity of this idea, for she had no conception where
to begin the search. The conviction was stealing over her that instead
of waiting through the quiet hours for the return of Memory Frean she
should have gone back to her home in Westhaven before dark. There was
more than a possibility now that Miss Frean would remain for the night
at the home of the ill person for whom she was caring. That she could
be away on any other errand that would absorb so much time did not
occur to her unexpected guest.
Half an hour later Tory’s serenity completely vanished, when suddenly
the idea of remaining alone in the little House in the Woods for the
night swept over her with a sense of panic. Never had she been alone
anywhere for a night in her entire lifetime. Here she was in the heart
of the country with no neighbor within a mile. Often she had wondered
and worried over Miss Frean’s living here alone, yet the terror of a
winter’s night in the midst of a storm had never before touched her
imagination.
And Tory’s imagination was keener than most persons’.
The big room became haunted with shadows. The gusts of wind outside
that had given her a sense of satisfaction and the impression of
being safely cloistered during the afternoon were now wailing spirits
struggling to enter.
Tory was now walking up and down the floor straining her ears to catch
the sound of approaching footsteps. If only Memory Frean would return,
there would still be time for a few happy hours together.
Memory Frean must of course be spending the night with her patient, who
had been too ill to permit her to return earlier in the evening.
Tory realized that she should have gone back to her own home in
Westhaven as soon as she discovered her hostess’s absence.
It was too late now to consider this. Besides, the storm made it out of
the question.
Restlessly she continued walking up and down the serene and familiar
room, but Tory’s own serenity had vanished. The room haunted by
shadows, she must remain here alone until daylight.
Always she had suffered from an ardent imagination. At times it
afforded her more entertainment than anything else in the world.
To-night she would have been glad to be spared it.
Straining her ears, she kept hoping for the return of Miss Frean,
notwithstanding the conditions outside.
At bedtime Tory arrived at a desperate decision.
No matter what the reality, she could face it. She would go back to
Westhaven.
An unnerving self-pity overwhelmed her.
In the old brown-and-gold drawing-room of the Fenton homestead her
uncle and aunt were perhaps nodding over their evening conversation.
They would be missing her presence. Suppose they dreamed of her present
plight?
She put on her coat and wrapped her fur tightly about her.
A barn lantern hung inside the kitchen door.
Lighting it, Tory once more opened the front door of the little House
in the Woods.
Her lamp went out, she was enveloped in a spiral column of swirling
snow.
On the path and just below the catalpa tree Tory seemed to see a tall
figure shining in white and silver.
She knew of course this was an illusion, nevertheless, she banged the
door shut with all the force at her command.
Then, as sleep appeared out of the question, piling the fire with
logs, once more she sat down, now to watch and wait for the coming of
morning.