Christmas Eve at the Cabin
"I am so sorry, I never dreamed things would turn out like this," said
Sylvia Wharton awkwardly, trying to control a suggestion of tears. She
was standing in the center of the Sunrise cabin living room with one hand
clasping Rose Dyer's skirt and the other holding on to Polly. However, if
she had had half a dozen hands she would like to have grasped as many
girls, for her hour of reckoning had come. Instead, her eyes mutely
implored Mollie and Betty who happened to be hurrying by at the same
moment and had been arrested by the apologetic and frightened note so
unusual in Sylvia's voice. And this note had to be very much emphasized
at the present time to have any one pay the least attention to it, since
there were enough Christmas preparations now going on in the Camp Fire
living room to have sufficed a small village.
On a raised platform, which occupied about a third of their entire floor
space, Miss Martha McMurtry was rehearsing the two Field girls, Juliet
and Beatrice, who had only arrived the night before, in the parts they
were to play in the Christmas entertainment the following night. While
Meg, holding "Little Brother" tight by the belt, was trying to persuade
him to await more patiently his time for instruction. Toward the front of
this stage, John, Billy Webster and Dick Ashton were struggling to adjust
a curtain made of heavy khaki. It had a central design, the crossed logs
and a splendid aspiring fire, the well-known Camp Fire emblem, painted by
Eleanor Meade, who was at this moment making suggestions to the curtain
raisers from the top of a step-ladder. Nan Graham and Edith Norton ran
about the room meanwhile, carrying holly wreaths, bunches of mistletoe
and garlands of cedar, that several of their Boy Scout friends were
helping festoon along the walls. Indeed, every girl in the Sunrise Camp
Fire was represented except Esther. She had gone over to the old orphan
asylum where she had lived as a child, for a final rehearsal of her song
with the German Herr Professor, who was staying with the superintendent
of the asylum. For what reason he was there no one knew except that he
must have intended getting music pupils in the village later on.
However, in the midst of the prevailing noise the little group about
Sylvia had remained silent, for their guardian's face was flushing
strangely, her yellow-brown eyes darkening and for the first time since
she came into the Sunrise Club it was possible to see how Rose Dyer felt
when she was truly angry. Although her voice never lost its softness
there was a severity in it that the girls felt to be rather worse than
Miss McMurtry's in her moods of disapproval.
"Do you mean, Sylvia," Rose asked, "that you and Dr. Barton have arranged
to have a young girl whom none of us know brought to our cabin to be
taken care of all winter, without consulting me or even mentioning the
subject to a single one of the girls? And that this child, who has been
so ill she will require a great deal of care, is actually to arrive this
afternoon? It seems to me that not only have you broken every principle
of our Camp Fire life but you have been lacking in the very simplest
courtesy."
Never in her life would Sylvia Wharton be able to explain herself or her
motives properly in words. She was one of the often misunderstood people
to whom expression comes with difficulty. Now her plain face was nearly
purple with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to be rude; yes, I know it
looks horrid and impossible of me, but you see I meant to explain and to
ask permission, only I didn't dream that she would arrive for another
week, and I was just waiting until our festivities would be over and you
would be better able to be interested." She looked rather desperately at
Betty, Polly and Mollie before going on, but they appeared almost as
overwhelmed as their guardian.
"You see, Betty, it was something you said a while ago that made me think
of it first," she continued. "You said to Miss Dyer one evening that you
thought we Sunrise Camp Fire girls were getting rather selfish, that we
were not letting strangers into our club or doing anything for outside
people. So I thought as Christmas was coming I would like to help
somebody. Perhaps we all would! So when Dr. Barton told me about a poor
little girl (she is only thirteen, I think) who was ill, probably dying,
and if only she could have an outdoor life such as we girls are living
she might get well, why, I told him I thought we would like to have her
in our camp."
Sylvia stopped because her words had given out, but she could hardly have
chosen a wiser moment, for Mollie, whose gentleness and good judgment
everybody respected, was beginning to understand.
"I think Sylvia is trying to show the Christmas spirit of doing good to
the people who need it and letting us help," she whispered, coming closer
to their guardian and slipping an arm about her waist. "Perhaps our
Christmas preparations have been a little bit too much for ourselves. Of
course Sylvia ought to have asked permission, Rose, and of course the
little girl is not to stay if you don't want her, but she didn't expect
her for another week and--and please don't be angry on Christmas eve."
This was exactly what poor Sylvia would like to have said without knowing
how; however it did not matter who spoke, as Rose was plainly softening.
"But it is Dr. Barton's part I don't understand, Sylvia; he is older, a
great deal older, than you, he must have understood that you had not the
right to make such a proposition without consulting me or any one," Rose
declared thoughtfully.
"He did," Sylvia now answered more confidently, feeling the atmosphere a
bit more friendly. "He said at the beginning that the idea was quite
impossible, that Miss Dyer would never be willing to undertake a
responsibility of such a character, that he was surprised she had stayed
with our Camp Fire club so long. It was only when I promised to try and
save you all the trouble possible that he consented, Miss Dyer. You see
Abbie is the daughter of a landlady Dr. Barton once had when he was a
student in Boston, and so he is much interested in her, only he is too
poor to pay her board and hasn't anybody to look after her at his little
place; and you mustn't think it is just goodness on my part, wanting this
girl at our cabin. You see I do care about learning to look after sick
people more than anything else and I do want to know if our way of living
really helps."
"So Dr. Barton thought I would not wish to help in the care of a sick
child, that I was only playing at being a real Camp Fire guardian," Rose
Dyer repeated slowly and then, without adding another word, somehow she
seemed to drift away. However, there were a dozen voices calling for her
advice and aid at this same instant, which may have explained her failure
to let Sylvia and the other girls know her possible decision.
The three older friends exchanged looks and then Polly patted the
crestfallen Sylvia on the shoulder. "Never mind, dear, some of us possess
all the virtues except the trifling one of tact. If your little girl
comes we can't very well turn her out on Christmas eve, so you had better
say nothing more until Rose has thought things over and we have had a
meeting of our Council Fire."
Then the girls hurried off to what was about the busiest day in their
careers, with little further thought of Sylvia's protégé; Polly to a
quiet rehearsal with her elocution teacher of her part in the Christmas
play, Mollie and Betty to assist with the final details of certain
costumes, and Sylvia, who was never of a great deal of service in
frivolities, to apply her scientific interest toward helping with the
cooking.
However, by six o'clock all the Sunrise Camp Fire friends and assistants
had gone back to the village and by seven supper was over and cleared
away so that the girls might have a quiet evening and go early to bed in
order to be rested for the next day. Esther had only gotten home a few
minutes before tea time, but in the excitement no one had missed her, nor
did she seem much more tired than the rest of the girls from the strain
of her last rehearsal. Nevertheless, Miss McMurtry, who had always a
special affection for Esther, did see that she was even paler than usual
and persuaded her to sit close to her when the girls grouped themselves
about their great Christmas eve fire for an hour of Christmas story
telling before separating for the night.
And it was while their old guardian held everybody's attention that Rose
managed to slip quietly away. She was not a child, she was not even a
young girl any longer, and yet she went straight to the refuge of her
babyhood--to Mammy--who had a tiny room of her own just off the kitchen.
To-night there was a younger colored girl in the kitchen who had come out
from Woodford to help over Christmas day, but as Rose passed their pantry
she saw that Mammy had forgotten her seventy years and intended giving
the New England girls a taste of an old-fashioned Southern Christmas. For
along with the beautiful pies and doughnuts, which the Camp Fire girls
had made, there were great dishes of sugar-powdered crullers, a black
cake as big as a cart wheel and half a dozen deliciously fried chickens
to vie with the turkey which had not yet been cooked.
Down on a stool at the old colored woman's feet Rose let Mammy brush out
her yellow-brown hair as she had done ever since she could remember. She
was tired to-night; she had done more work in the past month than in all
the years of her life and she loved it and was very happy and was only
hoping to grow more capable and more worthy every day. Yet it was hard to
have a narrow-minded New England doctor who had been a friend of her
uncle's criticizing her to one of her own girls and failing to show faith
in her or her work. Just because he was a recluse and spent his time in
looking after the sick poor was no reason for being so severe and
puritanical in his judgments.
Rose was not listening to Mammy's low crooning else her ears would not
have been the first to catch the sound of a horse and buggy approaching
their cabin door. If the girls had forgotten the prospect of a newcomer
to their Camp Fire circle their guardian had not, so now, hastily tucking
up her hair without waiting for a wrap, Rose hurried out into the
darkness. It was a cold clear night with many stars, but it was hardly
necessary for her actually to behold the shabby buggy before recognizing
it.
However, the young doctor did not at first see her, for he stopped and
hitched his horse and then lifted out what appeared to be a soft bundle
of rugs. "Don't be frightened, dear," he whispered in a voice of unusual
gentleness. "She--they will be very kind to you, I am sure, even if they
can't keep you very long. I am sorry I didn't understand that things
weren't exactly settled and that we made such a mistake about the time,
but--why, Rose, Miss Dyer," he corrected himself hastily, "it is good of
you to come out to meet us, I am sorry to be putting this additional
burden upon you." And then his manner changed to a doctor's severity.
"Please go into the house at once, you haven't any wrap and on such a
cold night as this! Really I don't see how you are able to look after
girls when you don't look after yourself."
But Mammy appeared at this moment wrapping her charge in a long
rose-colored broadcloth cape, and Rose's manner was unexpectedly humble.
"I wouldn't have forgotten if it had been one of my girls," she
apologized, and then more coldly, "Won't you come into the house?"
She had so far caught but an indefinite glimpse of the young girl in Dr.
Barton's charge and was steeling her heart against her until she had had
time to think of whether it was best for the other Camp Fire girls to
bring this sick child into their midst. For she did look such a baby
standing there in the snow with an old-fashioned knitted blue woolen hood
on her head, such as little girls had not worn for almost twenty years.
And then, suddenly, the girl began to cry quite helplessly and pitifully,
so that Rose forgot every other consideration and put her arms about her
as you would comfort a baby, drawing her toward the cabin and into the
kitchen that she might be warmed and comforted by Mammy before being
presented to a dozen strange older girls all at once.
The young doctor did not follow them, indeed Rose had not invited him in
again. But a few moments later she must have remembered his existence,
for she came out for the second time into the cold.
Dr. Barton extended his hand, but apparently Rose did not see it, for she
kept her own arms by her sides, saying in somewhat the same manner she
had used earlier in the day to Sylvia: "I am sorry, Dr. Barton, you do
not think I can be interested in the care of a sick little girl, and that
you feel me unworthy to be a Camp Fire guardian. I know that I haven't
all the knowledge and character that is necessary, but I am learning,
and----"
Rose would not listen to the young man's explanation or apology, for with
a quick good-night she turned and left him endeavoring to say something
to her which evidently she did not care to hear.