SUNRISE CABIN AGAIN
It was New Year's night. Sunrise Cabin was no longer an empty and
deserted place, but golden lights shone through the windows, making a
circle of brightness outside the door.
From the inside came the sound of voices and laughter and music and the
clatter of dishes.
Slowly a figure approached the door. It was after seven o'clock and a
sharply cold evening with a heavy snow on the ground, so there could be
small comfort in loitering. Yet when the figure reached its evident
destination, instead of knocking or making an effort to enter, it
hesitated, stopped, turned and walked away for a few steps and then
came back again. The second time, however, summoning a sudden courage,
the arm shot forth, and there was a single rap on the door. The rap
was so imperative that in spite of the rival noises inside, the door
opened quickly. Then the newcomer entered and for another moment stood
hesitating in even greater bewilderment.
The great room seemed to be twinkling with a hundred bayberry candles,
sending forth a delicious woodland fragrance. The walls were covered
with pine branches and the big fireplace was piled as high with burning
fagots and pine cones as safety permitted. A long table standing in
the center of the room was beautifully and yet oddly decorated, and
upon it dinner was just about to be served.
Resting in the middle of its uncovered surface were three short and
slender pine logs of the same general height and size and crossed at
the top, while swinging from this trident was a brightly polished
copper kettle, piled high tonight with every kind of fruit and with
giant clusters of white and purple grapes suspended over its sides.
Encircling the centerpiece, made not of real wood of course but of
paper bonbons, were three groups of logs representing the insignia of
the three orders of the Camp Fire, the wood-gatherer's logs having no
flame, the fire-maker's a small one, while the torch-bearer's flame of
twisted colored paper seemed to glow as though it were in truth of
fire. The mats on the table were embroidered in various Camp Fire
emblems--a bundle of seven fagots, a single pine tree, or a disk
representing the sun. And at either end of the long table three
candles had lately been lighted, while standing up around it at their
appointed places were about twenty guests, the girls dressed in their
ceremonial costumes, the young men as Boy Scouts.
The effect of the entire scene was so brilliant and so unusual that
there was small wonder that the latest comer was overwhelmed. He
fumbled awkwardly with his hat, cleared his throat, his face so
crimsoning with embarrassment that actual tears were forced out of his
eyes. And then just as the young man was praying that the earth might
open and swallow him up, a girl came forward from the indeterminate
mass of persons, who appeared to be swimming in a mist before him, and
held out her hand.
"I am so glad to see you, Mr. Graham. Nan and I were beginning to be
afraid you would not be able to come," she said cordially. "But you
are just in time, as we are only sitting down to the table this very
minute."
And Meg Everett then led her final guest down what seemed to him a
mile's length of table, placing him between two persons, whom at the
moment he did not suppose that he had ever seen. And before he could
quite recover his senses there was an unexpected burst of music and
then a cheer that filled every inch of the cabin space.
"Wo-he-lo for aye, Wo-he-lo for aye, Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo for
aye! Wo-he-lo for work, Wo-he-lo for health, Wo-he-lo, Wo-he-lo,
Wo-he-lo for Love."
And then with laughter Meg Everett's New Year dinner guests took their
places at the table and in the pause Anthony Graham had a chance to
pull himself together. To his relief he found that Miss McMurtry was
seated on his left side, and at least they were acquaintances. For
Miss McMurtry had also come to live in the old Ashton house and often
passed the young man on the stairs, nodding good-night or good-morning.
Then he had put up some book-shelves for her in her room and moved the
furniture to her satisfaction. So, perhaps the Camp Fire party might
not be so wretchedly uncomfortable with one person near with whom he
might exchange an occasional word.
For just what the young man's emotions were this evening, no one except
a person placed in a similar position could understand. Perfectly well
did he appreciate that Meg had asked him to her dinner only because of
her loyalty and affection for his sister, Nan, as a member of her same
Camp Fire Club. The brothers of the other girls had been invited, Jim
Meade, Frank Wharton and, of course, John Everett, besides others of
his friends. So to have left him out might have been to hurt Nan's
feelings. His sister was both proud and sensitive over his efforts to
make a better position for himself in the village. Yet should he have
taken advantage of Meg's kindness and accepted her invitation? Anthony
was by no means certain. This same question had been keeping him awake
for several nights and even after having written his hostess that she
might expect him to appear he had delayed his approach until the last
minute.
Assuredly the other young men would not enjoy his presence. They might
be coldly polite, but nothing more could be expected. For no one could
be more conscious than Anthony was at this time in his life of the
difference between him and other men of his age, who had the advantages
of birth and education. Actually he could feel the grime of his own
hands as he clutched them nervously together under the table. Not all
the scrubbing of the past hour could altogether rid them of the soot
and dust that came of making fires and sweeping office floors. And his
clothes, although brushed until they were spotless, were worn almost
threadbare in places. The very shirt that Nan had washed and ironed
for him, had had to have the frayed ends trimmed away from the
wrist-bands.
Anthony glanced across the table. There were Nan's dark eyes smiling
at him bravely. She did not look in the least ashamed of him. And as
for Nan herself why, she was as pretty a Camp Fire girl as any one at
the table. Wearing their Council Fire costumes, each girl decorated
only with the honor beads which she had won by her own efforts, the
poorer maids and the rich ones were equally attractive. For there were
none of the differences in toilet which any other kind of entertainment
might have revealed.
But Nan was not only smiling at her brother, she was nodding at him and
trying to attract his attention. Evidently she wished him to glance
away from Miss McMurtry to his companion on the other side. And
Anthony finally did manage to turn shyly half way around.
Then with a sudden feeling almost of happiness he discovered that Betty
Ashton was on his right. She did not happen to be looking toward him
at the moment, but was talking to John Everett with more animation than
he had ever before seen her show.
Betty had no knowledge of Anthony's having been invited to Meg's Camp
Fire dinner. His invitation had not come so soon perhaps as the others
had received theirs, and afterwards for several days he had had no
opportunity for conversation with her. For of course living in Betty's
house gave him no right to any pretense of friendship with her.
Yet the moments were passing and she must by this time have become
conscious of his presence. Miss McMurtry had called him by name
several times and no human being could be entirely oblivious of a
person so near, unless under some peculiar stress of emotion.
Anthony felt his former nervousness leaving him. He was no longer
blushing; his face had become white and a little stern. So that when
Betty finally turned to speak to the young man she had a curious
impression that his face was unfamiliar, it wore so different an
expression from any that she had ever seen on it before. Betty had
been conscious of Anthony's presence from the instant of his taking his
place beside her and in failing to recognize him had not deliberately
intended being rude or unkind. At first she had been amazed and a
little chagrined by his presence, for after what she had said to Meg
she had not dreamed of the young man's being included among the guests.
Yet this was Meg's entertainment and not hers, and of course she had no
right to feel or show offense. Only she and John Everett happened to
be having such an interesting talk at the moment of Anthony's
appearance, and assuredly John shared her conviction about the
newcomer! One could be kind to the young fellow of course, without
admitting him within the intimate circle of friendship. And Betty
Ashton, although she would never have confessed it, had always been
greatly influenced by John Everett's opinions and personality. He was
such a big blond giant, older and handsomer and more a man of the world
than any other college fellow in Woodford. She was flattered, too,
because he had never failed on his return for holidays to show her more
attention than any other girl in the village. He might have other
friendships outside of his own home; of this she could know nothing,
but at the present time this thought only made him the more agreeable.
Therefore it was annoying that she might be expected to waste a part of
her evening on a young fellow for whom she felt no personal interest,
only good will. Betty herself was not conscious of the condescension
in her attitude, but why did she find it so difficult to begin a
conversation with the newcomer or even to greet him?
Anthony should at least understand that it was exceedingly ill mannered
of him to keep staring down into his plate when he must have become
aware that she was now ready to talk with him. But what should she say
first? Having failed to notice a person's existence for some time
makes an ordinary "Good evening" appear a bit ridiculous.
"How do you do, Mr. Graham?" Betty began half shyly, putting more
cordiality into her manner than usual in an effort to atone for her
former lack of courtesy.
Then for the briefest space Anthony glanced up at her quietly, his
grave eyes studying hers, until Betty felt her own eyelids flutter and
was grateful for the length of her dark lashes which swept like a cloud
before her vision. For actually she was blushing in the most absurd
and guilty fashion, as though she had done something for which she
should feel ashamed.
"Good evening," Anthony returned, and during the rest of the dinner
party he never voluntarily addressed a single remark to her.
Betty need not have been afraid that he might interfere with her
opportunity for conversation with John Everett. For although Anthony
answered politely any questions that she put to him and listened to
whatever she wished to say, the greater part of his time he devoted to
talking with Miss McMurtry and to pursuing his own train of thought.
For if the young man had originally been doubtful as to whether it was
wise for him to accept Meg Everett's invitation, he was glad now with
all his heart. Just what this evening was giving him he had needed.
Glancing up and down the table, his own resolution was thereby
strengthened. If there had been moments when he had wavered, when it
had seemed easier to slip back into his old way of life and to enjoy
the companions who were always ready to join hands, he could hereafter
recall this experience and Betty's treatment of him, as well as the
sight of the other young men guests.
Some day there should be another reckoning. These fellows were largely
what their fathers had made them; they had birth, schooling, the
influences of cultured homes. But out in the big world a man's own
grit and will and ability to keep on working in the face of every
difficulty counted in the long run. Anthony clenched his teeth,
feeling his backbone actually stiffen with the strength of his
resolution. Then he had the humor and good sense to laugh at himself
and to begin taking more pleasure in his surroundings.
Here were all the Camp Fire girls whom his sister had talked and
written so much about, excepting the two whose absence the others were
lamenting, Polly and Esther. Here also was the German professor, who
had lately moved into the Ashton house, sitting on the further side of
Miss McMurtry and certainly absorbing all of her attention that he
possibly dared. But Anthony did not mind; he had a kind of fellow
feeling for Herr Crippen, who was poor and evidently not of much
interest or importance in the Lady Betty's estimation. There at the
farther end of the table must be Miss Rose Dyer, the Camp Fire Guardian
whom Nan cared for so deeply, and she certainly was quite as pretty as
his sister had said. So why should young Dr. Barton be staring at her
so severely? Miss Dyer was only laughing and talking idly with Frank
Wharton; and every now and then she turned to smile and speak to the
little girl who sat close beside her. This must be Faith, the youngest
of the Sunrise girls, whose mother had lately died and who was now
living with Miss Dyer.
Anthony smiled unexpectedly, so that Betty, who happened to be glancing
toward him at the moment, was vexed over his ability to amuse himself.
He had only just guessed why Dr. Barton found it necessary to regard
Miss Dyer so sternly. Anthony felt that he would like to make friends
with this young men. He was evidently somewhat narrow and puritanical,
but already had offered to assist him with any of his studies should he
need help. And Anthony meant to take advantage of his offer and to
interest him if he could; for Dr. Barton was just the kind of a friend
he would like to know intimately in these early days of his struggle.
Dinner was finally over, and, stupidly enough, as the guests began
leaving the table Anthony Graham felt his own shyness and awkwardness
returning. They were intending to dance for the rest of the evening,
and dancing was another of the graces that had been left out of his
education. However, he could find himself an inconspicuous corner
somewhere, and it would be good enough fun to look on.