E-text prepared by Al Haines
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 22938-h.htm or 22938-h.zip:
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/3/22938/22938-h/22938-h.htm)
or
(https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/9/3/22938/22938-h.zip)
[Illustration: Cover artwork]
THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE OUTSIDE WORLD
by
MARGARET VANDERCOOK
Author of "The Ranch Girls" Series, "The Red
Cross Girls" Series, etc.
Illustrated
[Frontispiece: "Esther Crippen, that is the loveliest song in the
world!"]
Philadelphia
The John C. Winston Co.
Publishers
Copyright 1914, by
The John C. Winston Company
CONTENTS
I. "DO YOU REMEMBER ME?"
II. BETTY'S KNIGHT
III. HER PENSION
IV. TEMPTATION
V. THE WAY OF THE WILFUL
VI. ESTHER'S ROOM
VII. THE THREAT
VIII. PREPARATIONS FOB THE HOLIDAYS
IX. THE CASTLE OF LIFE
X. THE RECOGNITION
XI. SUNRISE CABIN AGAIN
XII. "LIFE'S LITTLE IRONIES"
XIII. THE INVALIDS
XIV. "WHICH COMES LIKE A BENEDICTION"
XV. SECRETS
XVI. THE LAW OF THE FIRE
XVII. A FIGURE IN THE NIGHT
XVIII. UNCERTAINTY
XIX. AN UNSPOKEN POSSIBILITY
XX. THE BEGINNING OF LIGHT
XXI. BETTY FINDS OUT
XXII. SUNRISE CABIN
XXIII. FAREWELLS
ILLUSTRATIONS
"ESTHER CRIPPEN, THAT IS THE LOVELIEST SONG
IN THE WORLD!" . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"THERE ISN'T ANYTHING MUCH TO TELL"
THE PROFESSOR HAD TO WIPE HIS GLASSES
"I WON'T INTERFERE WITH YOUR DESTINATION"
The Camp Fire Girls in the Outside World
CHAPTER I
"DO YOU REMEMBER ME?"
Walking slowly down a broad stairway, a girl carried three old silver
candlesticks in her hands. And although the hallway was in
semi-darkness, the candles had not yet been lighted. It was a cold
November afternoon and the great house was chill and silent.
Entering the drawing room, she placed the candles upon the mantelpiece.
Her breath was like a small gray cloud before her; and her dress, too,
was the color of the mist and soft and clinging.
"Work, health and love," she murmured quietly, striking a match and
watching the candles flicker and flare until finally they burned with a
steady glow. "If one has these three things in life as I have, what
else is worth worrying over?" Then the sigh that came in answer to her
own question almost extinguished the candle flames.
"There are bills and boarders of course--too many of the first and at
present none of the second," she added with a kind of whimsical smile.
"But, oh dear, what a trying Thanksgiving day this has been, when even
the Camp Fire ideals won't comfort me! Dick 'way off in Germany, Polly
and Esther studying in New York and me face to face with my failure to
save the old house. It is not worth while pretending; the house must
be sold and mother and I shall have to find some other place to live.
In the morning I will go and tell Judge Maynard that I give up."
Sadly Betty Ashton glanced about the familiar room. The portraits of
her New England ancestors appeared to gaze coldly and reproachfully
down upon her. They had not been of the stuff of which failures are
made. Her grand piano was closed and dusty, the window blinds were
partly pulled down, and although a fire was laid in the grate, it was
not burning. Dust, cold and an unaccustomed atmosphere of neglect
enveloped everything.
With a lifting of her head and a tightening of her lips that gave her
face a new expression, the girl suddenly pulled open a table drawer and
began fiercely to polish the top of the piano while she talked.
"There is no reason why I should allow this place to look so dismal
just because things have gone wrong with my efforts to keep boarders
and continue my work at school. As no one is coming to see me I can't
afford a fire, but I'll open the piano and place Esther's song, 'The
Soul's Desire,' on the music rack, just as though she were at home to
sing it for me. Dick's dull old books shall lie here on the table
where he used to leave them, near this red rose that John Everett
brought me this morning. Somehow the rose makes me think of Polly. It
is so radiant. How curious that certain persons suggest certain
colors! Now Polly is often pale as a ghost, and yet red always makes
me recall her."
A few moments afterwards and Betty moved toward the front window and
stood there staring out into the street, too deep in thought to be
actually conscious of what she was doing.
She had changed in the past six months of struggle with poverty and
work beyond her strength. There were shadows under her gray eyes and
worried lines about the corners of her mouth. Instead of being slim as
formerly, she was undeniably so thin that even the folds of her
delicate crepe dress could not wholly disguise it.
It was not that Mrs. Ashton and Betty had spent this lonely day in
their old home, because their former friends had neglected them.
Indeed, they had had invitations to Thanksgiving dinners from half a
dozen sources. But Mrs. Ashton had not been well in several months and
was today too ill for her daughter to leave her. The two women were
now entirely alone in the house. One by one their boarders had
deserted them, and the previous week they had even felt compelled to
give up the old cook, who had been in the service of the Ashton family
for twenty years.
At first Betty saw nothing to attract her attention in the street
outside--not a single passer-by. It was odd how quiet and cold the
world seemed with her mother asleep in one of the far-away rooms
upstairs and other persons evidently too much interested in indoor
amusements to care for wandering through the dull town.
In another instant, however, the girl's attention was caught by the
appearance of a figure which seemed to spring up suddenly out of
nowhere and to stand gazing intently toward the Ashton house. It was
almost dark, and yet Betty could distinguish a young man, roughly
dressed, wearing no overcoat, with his coat collar turned up and a cap
pulled down over his eyes. Without being frightened, she was curious
and interested. Why should the man behave so queerly? He now walked
past the house and then turned and came back, not once but several
times. Evidently he had not observed the girl at the window. At last
however he gave up, and Betty believed that she saw him disappear
behind the closed cottage of the O'Neills. No longer entertained, she
prepared to leave the drawing room. It was too chilly to remain there
any longer. Moreover, studying the familiar objects she had loved so
long only made the thought of their surrender more painful. Betty once
more faced her three candles.
"Be strong as the fagots are sturdy;
Be pure in your deepest desire;
Be true to the truth that is in you;"
"And--follow the law of the fire," she repeated with a catch in her
breath. Then with greater strength and resolution in her face she blew
out two of the candles, and picking up the third, started on her way
upstairs.
The next moment there came a quick, muffled ring at the front door bell.
The girl hesitated; yet there was no one else in the house to answer
the bell, and only a friend, she thought, could come at this hour.
Shading her light from the wind with one hand she pulled open the door
with the other, already smiling with pleasure at the idea of thus
ending her loneliness.
Close against the door she discovered the young man whom she had seen
only a few moments before in the street.
He did not speak nor move immediately.
"What do you wish?" Betty demanded a trifle impatiently. The fellow
had both fists rammed deep into his pockets and had not the courtesy to
remove his hat. With a slight sense of uneasiness, Betty thought of
closing the door. The unexpected visitor kept edging closer toward her
and was apparently fumbling for something in his coat.
"Please tell me what it is you want at once," the girl repeated almost
angrily. "This is Mrs. Ashton's house if you are looking for it. My
mother and I are entirely alone." Having made this speech Betty
instantly recognized its stupidity and regretted it.
However the young man had at last succeeded in removing a small oblong
package from his pocket, which he silently thrust toward her. On the
wrapper in big letters, such as a child might have written, the girl
was able to decipher her own name. But while she was puzzling over it,
and before she could thank the messenger, he had hurried off.
Betty set her candle down on the lowest of the front steps and kneeling
before it rapidly undid her parcel. Inside the paper she discovered a
crudely hand-carved wooden box, and opening the lid, a blank sheet of
folded white paper.
She shook the paper. Had some one sent her a Thanksgiving present or
was she being made the victim of a joke? But from between the blank
sheets something slowly fluttered to her feet. And picking it up with
a little cry of surprise Betty saw a crisp new ten dollar bill.
Immediately her cheeks turned scarlet and her eyes filled with
indignant tears. Only by an effort of will could the tears be kept
from falling. Did any one of her friends consider her so
poverty-stricken that it was necessary to send her money in this
anonymous fashion?
Scarcely waiting to think, Betty rushed out of the house and down the
old paved brick walk out into the street. For there might be a bare
chance that the messenger was not yet out of sight. Sure enough, there
he was still loitering on the corner about half a block away.
Bareheaded, and in her thin dress, with the money in her hand, the girl
ran forward. And actually as she reached the young man, she caught him
fast by the sleeve.
"Please, you must tell me who sent me this money or else take it back
at once and say that though I am very much obliged I cannot receive a
gift delivered in this secret fashion."
The two young people were standing near an electric light so that they
could now see each other plainly. Betty observed a tall, overgrown boy
with thin, straight features and clear hazel eyes, and now that his hat
was removed, a mass of curly dark hair, which had been vainly smoothed
down.
"I can't take the money back, since it belongs to you," the young man
answered awkwardly.
Inside her Betty heard a small voice whispering: "If it only really
did!" For the ten dollars would buy Christmas presents for her mother,
for Polly and Esther and others of her friends. Nevertheless she shook
her head.
"The money cannot be mine and so you must return it." Then finding
that her insistence was failing to have any effect, she dropped the
money on the ground at the young fellow's feet and walked away.
"But, Miss Ashton," the stranger's voice argued, "please believe me
when I say that this money is yours. Oh, of course I don't mean this
special ten dollar bill; for yours was spent nearly a year ago. But at
least the money represents the same amount."
Betty paused and again faced the speaker. There was sincerity in his
tone--a determined appeal. But what on earth could he be talking
about? He looked perfectly rational, although his statement was so
extraordinary.
"You don't recognize me and I am truly glad," the young man went on.
"But can't you recall once having befriended a fellow when instead you
ought to have sent him to jail? He did not deserve your kindness then.
He was actually trying to steal from you the money which you afterwards
gave him of your own free will. But he has tried since to be honest."
He ceased abruptly. For Betty's eyes were shining and she was
thrusting her little cold hand into his big one.
"You're not!" she exclaimed.
"Yes I am," the boy returned.
"Anthony Graham, Nan's brother?" Betty laughed happily. "Then please
give me back the money I refused. I did not understand that you were
returning the loan. Of course I understand how you feel about it. And
do come back and into the house with me. I so want you to tell me all
about yourself. I hope you have had splendid luck."
The young man's shabby appearance did not suggest sudden riches.
Nevertheless he smiled.
For more than ever did Betty Ashton appear to him like the Princess of
his dreams. Only once before had he met her face to face. And yet the
vision had never left him. He could still see the picture of a girl
moving toward him, her face filled with shame--for him--and her eyes
downcast; and thrusting into his clenched fist, which had so lately
been raised to injure her, the money which had given him the desired
opportunity for getting away from his old associations and beginning
again.
Enter her home and tell her of his struggle! Anthony felt far more
like kneeling in the dust at her feet. Yet being a boy he could only
blush and stammer without words to voice his gratitude.
Betty was beginning to shiver. "Please come, I am so lonely," she
urged. "I have had the horridest kind of a Thanksgiving day. Only a
little while ago I was having a hard time trying to remember the things
that I have to be thankful for."