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The Girl Scouts Series

THE GIRL SCOUTS IN BEECHWOOD FOREST


      *      *      *      *      *      *

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 RED CROSS SERIES
       The Red Cross Girls in the British Trenches
       The Red Cross Girls on the French Firing Line
       The Red Cross Girls in Belgium
       The Red Cross Girls with the Russian Army
       The Red Cross Girls with the Italian Army
       The Red Cross Girls under the Stars and Stripes
       The Red Cross Girls Afloat with the Flag
       The Red Cross Girls with Pershing to Victory
       The Red Cross Girls with the U. S. Marines
       The Red Cross Girls in the National Capital

             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 GIRL SCOUTS SERIES
       The Girl Scouts of the Eagle's Wing
       The Girl Scouts in Beechwood Forest
       The Girl Scouts of the Round Table

      *      *      *      *      *      *

[Illustration: She Arranged Two Such Smoke Columns]

      *      *      *      *      *      *

The Girl Scouts Series

THE GIRL SCOUTS IN BEECHWOOD FOREST

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
Made in U. S. A.




CONTENTS

  CHAPTER                               PAGE
       I.  Flame                           7
      II.  Looking Backward               19
     III.  Their Camp                     29
      IV.  Right About, Face              37
       V.  A Discussion                   47
      VI.  "The Choros"                   62
     VII.  Other Girls                    72
    VIII.  Light and Shade                85
      IX.  The Odyssey                    97
       X.  Consultations and Decisions   108
      XI.  Out of the Past               125
     XII.  Retrospection                 135
    XIII.  A Portrait                    142
     XIV.  Disagreements                 149
      XV.  The Choice                    159
     XVI.  The Greek Spirit              169
    XVII.  A Classic Revival             176
   XVIII.  The Passing                   191
     XIX.  Letters                       204
      XX.  Looking Forward               211
     XXI.  Kara's Departure              215





CHAPTER I

FLAME


The flame ascended, ending in a little spiral of smoke curling upward
in the night air.

Overhead the stars shone, the pine trees formed dark shadows.

Within the radius of the firelight a girl leaned forward, her eyes
fastened upon a drawing she held in her lap. One could see only vague
outlines. The light danced over the figure of the girl, her bright,
reddish-gold hair, cut short and held in place with an amber comb, her
slender shoulders, the unconsciously graceful poise of her body.

She turned to glance anxiously at another figure lying outstretched
upon the ground only a few feet away.

This girl appeared to be sleeping. Her eyes were closed and she was
breathing fitfully.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and smiled.

"Tory Drew, aren't you ever going to sleep?" she demanded. "Is it your
intention to sit up all night and keep guard over me? I told you that
I was not suffering in the least. My fall seems not to have injured
me, only for some strange reason has made it difficult for me to walk.
We have been longing to spend a night out of doors alone ever since we
arrived at our camp in Beechwood Forest. This is an unexpected
opportunity, yet you do not look grateful. Small wonder if you are
never going to sleep! What time do you think it is?"

Victoria Drew leaned closer toward the fire and looked at her wrist
watch.

"It is half-past twelve o'clock, Kara. The witching hour over and I
have seen no woodland spirits come to haunt us, and no human beings. I
am afraid my signals have failed to attract attention. The other girls
at camp must have decided to give us up for lost and await our return
in the morning; I am sorry for your sake. Are you sure you are not
uncomfortable?"

Tory arose and bent over her companion, not so convinced that the
entire absence from pain, which Kara insisted upon, was absolute proof
that she was not seriously hurt.

In the firelight the other girl's face appeared white and unreal. To
any one so impressionable as Tory the past few hours bore a semblance
of unreality.

Early in the morning of the previous day she and Katherine Moore had
set out from their camp in Beechwood Forest to spend the day alone
among the hills. For some time they had been planning this excursion
when the duties and amusements of camp life made a break possible. How
differently from their plan and expectation this day had gone!

As Kara was beginning to fall asleep again Tory need no longer conceal
her anxiety.

By the fire, now freshly piled with pine cones and branches, she sat
down and propping her chin in her hands, gazed deep into the burning
embers.

The night was very still, save for a light wind in the tree tops.

On the ground beside her, with a stone keeping them from blowing away,
lay the result of her day's work. She had sketched all morning while
Kara wandered about or else rested and read.

Before daylight they had wakened in their Girl Scout Camp in Beechwood
Forest. By dawn, with their luncheon packed and her sketching outfit,
they had set out to explore the heart of the hills, a purple rim
bordering the far side of their own camping site.

During the previous winter in the small Connecticut village Tory
faithfully had fulfilled her promise to her artist father. She had
made no attempt to go on with her drawing and painting, devoting all
her time and energy to her school, her new home and her Girl Scout
Troop.

With summer had come the release from her promise.

These days of camping in the woods with the other Girl Scouts recalled
the enchanting months outdoors she had spent with her father. Every
green tree outlined against the summer sky, their canoes on the lake
before the camping grounds, the Girl Scouts at work or at play, all
were pictures Tory longed to transfer to line and color.

Until to-day the business of getting settled at their summer camp had
left scant opportunity for artistic effort outside the camping
arrangements.

Tory picked up the pile of sketches on the ground beside her. She
studied each one carefully and then tossed it into the fire.

Her present work was valueless; she had become so hopelessly out of
practice.

Finally her eyes rested on a single sheet of drawing paper. On the
instant her expression altered. This sketch was not without worth. She
had drawn it with pastels and in the light from the camp fire. The
lines were crude and the colors too vivid, but it showed the figure of
a girl lying on the ground, her eyelids closed, her figure expressing
a curious quiet.

The lower part of the body was covered.

At present Tory Drew was without the khaki coat which she had worn
earlier in the day. Beside the figure the smoke and flame of the camp
fire formed light and shadow.

Tory sighed.

"At least this will serve for our camp log! The other girls can see
how Kara looked during this interminable night. She will be able to
write the account of her fall. I remember that I was diligently at
work upon an impossible drawing of a line of hills when I heard the
noise of a landslide. There was a sound of earth and rocks being torn
from their foundation and tumbling and sliding down an embankment. I
scarcely looked up. Kara had disappeared for a walk, so there was no
one to whom I might mention the fact. Certainly I had no thought of
associating the noise with her."

Again Tory arose. This time she moved farther from the fire, walking
restlessly up and down toward the clearing which opened into a dark
forest of evergreens.

The night was a mild summer night. There was in the atmosphere the
coolness of the wooded places surrounding them.

Her fire signals had not been observed on either side of the hill.
Tory's impression was that their camp of "The Eagle's Wing" lay to the
west of the hill, although by no means immediately below it. On the
eastern slope and nearer by was the Boy Scout camp. This camp the
girls of her own Troop had been deliberately ignoring.

At present Tory realized that she would gladly accept aid from either
or any direction.

Had Kara been well and awake, or if they had been able to dream beside
one another, the long night would have proved a delightful experience.

From the depth of the woods an owl was crying. Tory repressed a slight
shudder, controlling her nerves by an effort. The sound recalled the
vague moaning that first aroused her to any knowledge of Kara's
accident. Once more she could see Kara lying at the bottom of a tiny
precipice. Her face was covered with rocks and earth, but there was no
sign that she had fallen any distance or been seriously hurt.

Now in retrospection Tory could see Kara smiling up at her in the old
humorous fashion. She could hear her voice with the gentle drawl that
had attracted her so strongly at their original meeting.

"Most extraordinary thing, Tory darling. I slid off that small
embankment a short time ago, bringing most of it along with me. I was
considerably bumped and I presume bruised, but not hurt. However, I
decided to lie still here for a while until I recovered my nerves and
disposition. Then I tried to climb back to you for consolation and
found that my legs _would_ crumple under me in the most absurd
fashion. So I fell to making disagreeable noises so you would come and
find me. What are we going to do, Tory? I can't walk and I weigh too
much for you to carry."

Yet she must have carried her, or else Kara must have been able to
walk a little! Somehow they had managed to reach this clearing nearer
the summit of the hill. Here a fire signal could be more plainly
observed.

Six hours had passed. Not for five minutes had Tory allowed the fire
signal to die down. No one had replied either by another signal or by
coming to their rescue.

Fortunately Kara slept the greater part of the time. Now that the
night was fully advanced she would be more comfortable where she was
than carried down the mountainside, where there was no well defined
path. One had to seek the easiest way between the trees.

For her own part Tory concluded that she might as well attempt to
sleep for as long as her fire could be trusted to continue burning.

The pine wood was filled with brush and the night so bright she could
find without difficulty what she was seeking.

Returning, Tory smothered over the fire so that it might burn for some
time without replenishing. She then lay down beside Kara.

Toward morning she must have dreamed. She woke with the impression
that a number of years had passed, or what seemed a long passage of
time, and in the interval she and Kara had been searching the world
over for each other and unable to meet.

Glad she was to reach over and touch her companion, who scarcely had
stirred.

Already the sky was streaked with light, palest rose and blue.

Strengthened and refreshed, Tory set to work again. The summer morning
was exquisite, the odor of the pine trees never so fragrant, nor the
air so delicious.

Failing in her signals for help the evening before, she now determined
to make a more strenuous effort. Intending to return to camp before
dusk, she and Kara had neglected to bring a flashlight or a lantern
which might have proved more effective.

With the coming of darkness she had not relied on solid columns of
black smoke being seen at any distance. Now on a farther ridge of the
hill she arranged two such smoke columns, remembering that two steady
smokes side by side mean "I am lost, come and help me."

If she failed a second time, she determined to go down the hill until
she was able to secure aid. But this meant leaving Kara alone, which
even for a short time she did not wish to do.

The waiting was the difficult task. To her own embarrassment Tory
realized that she was thinking more of her own hunger than of Kara's
need as the minutes wore on and no one arrived. Fortunately she had
saved a small quantity of coffee in their thermos bottle the day
before. This must be for Kara when she finally awakened.

There was nothing to occupy one save to rise now and then and stir the
hot ashes to a fresh blaze, covering them afterwards with the green
wood of the small beeches that straggled up the hill away from the
shadow of the pines.

The noise of footsteps up the mountainside actually failed to arouse
Tory until they were not far away.

She first heard an exclamation from Kara. She had not been so sound
asleep for the past hour as she had preferred to pretend.

Kara sat up, her arms outstretched as if she were a child begging to
be lifted up.

Tory started toward her. She then turned and ran forward with a cry of
relief. Had Fate allowed her to choose her own and Kara's rescuers she
would have selected the two figures now appearing at the brow of the
east side of the hill. They wore the uniforms of Boy Scouts and were
the brothers of one of the girls in her own Patrol. They were also her
own intimate friends.

"Don, Lance!" Tory exclaimed, a little breathless and incoherent. "How
in the world did you find this impossible place? Kara and I have been
fearing we might have to stay here always!"

Don held out his hand and caught Tory's, giving it a reassuring
pressure. He was a big, blue-eyed fellow with fair hair and a splendid
physique.

In contrast Victoria Drew appeared small and fragile and incapable.

Lance McClain was entirely unlike his brother in appearance. He was
dark and small. He went directly to the girl who seemed most to
require his help.

As she struggled to rise at his approach and was not able, Lance knelt
down on the grass beside her, while Kara explained what had occurred.

Never, Tory Drew decided, would she forget the aspect of their own
camp in Beechwood Forest, when an hour or more later she, in the lead,
caught the first glimpse of it. It was as if one had struggled through
one of the circles of Purgatory to reach Paradise at last.

Actually a few lines from Dante that her father had recited many times
returned to Tory's memory:

          "My senses down, when the true path I left;
          But when a mountain foot I reached, where closed
          The valley that had pierced my heart with dread,
          I looked aloft and saw his shoulders broad
          Already vested with that planet's beam,
          Who leads all wanderers safe through every way."

The way had been difficult with Kara helpless.

With their arms forming a kind of basket chair and Kara's arms about
their necks, Donald and Lance had moved slowly down the hillside.

Once Tory became aware that Lance looked almost as ill and exhausted
as Kara herself.

Don's color continued as ruddy, his eyes as blue and serene and his
expression as steadfast as the moment when they had set out on the
descent of the hill. To call attention to the fact that Lance was less
able to endure the fatigue, Tory knew from past experience would anger
him.

Curious that no one in their own camp appeared to have been alarmed by
their night's absence!

The morning bugle must have sounded more than an hour before. The
early drill was over.

By the open fire Tory now beheld Dorothy McClain and Louise Miller
preparing breakfast.

Placing her hands to her lips she uttered their Scout signal call.




CHAPTER II

LOOKING BACKWARD


A few minutes later Donald and Lance McClain were standing in the open
space before the Girl Scout camp. They were facing a number of the
girls and their Scout Captain, Sheila Mason, as well.

Slightly in the background and yet within hearing, Victoria Drew
waited.

Kara was lying on the cot inside her own tent. Tory's friends had
suggested that she follow Kara's example and allow breakfast to be
brought to her. Surely she looked weary enough after a night of such
anxiety!

Tory had her own reasons for declining. Now as she overheard the
beginning of the conversation she was glad of her own decision.

"We are sorry to have intruded upon you even for a short time, Miss
Mason," Donald McClain protested. "We know that you have asked that no
member of our Scout camp come within your boundaries this summer. Of
course you appreciate that the present circumstances left Lance and me
no choice. Last night Lance insisted that he saw the light from a fire
on one of the hills which he believed was a signal for help. The rest
of us talked him out of the idea. The fire was plain enough, but we
were under the impression that some one was spending the night on the
hill-top and had kindled the fire either for cooking or companionship.
Lance is an obstinate chap and was not altogether convinced. He arose
at dawn and discovered the two smoke columns. He wakened no one but
me. We set out and were lucky enough to find Tory and Kara without
much trouble. We must say good-by to you at once. The other fellows
will not know what has become of us, as we can't reach our own camp
for another two hours."

Impulsively Tory Drew made a little forward movement. She then
observed Lance's eyes fastened upon her with the half-humorous,
half-quizzical expression she frequently found annoying. What was
there in the present moment to amuse him, save her own intention to
come immediately to Donald's defense? He so rarely made a speech to
any stranger so long as this one to the Girl Scout Troop Captain. When
the four of them were together, she and Dorothy McClain, Lance and
Don, Lance often accused her of talking for Don.

At this instant, however, Sheila Mason extended her hand toward Donald
with a friendly gesture.

"We have been anxious for the opportunity to explain to you and Lance
that in asking the Boy Scouts not to pay visits to our camp this
summer, we did not intend to include you. We have talked of this to
your sister, but Dorothy has had no opportunity, she tells me, to
speak of it to you. We realize you could not have taken part in the
rude behavior of the other boys the night following our making camp
here at the border of the forest."

Sheila Mason, the Troop Captain of the Girl Scouts of the Eagle's
Wing, was only about ten years older than the youngest member of her
Troop.

In the early morning sunlight she looked charming in her brown khaki
skirt and white blouse. Her long, light hair was braided close about
her small head, her fair skin tanned by the outdoor life of the past
few weeks, and color brighter than at any time in her life.

It was now midsummer, with days of unusual heat and nights of
enchanting coolness.

There was no trace of severity in the Troop Captain's manner or
appearance, but Donald McClain flushed uncomfortably and closed his
lips into the obstinate lines Tory so well recognized.

She wished Dorothy for a moment would be less faithful to her task of
preparing breakfast. Mingling with the other outdoor fragrances, the
odor of the coffee gave Tory a sensation of momentary faintness from
sheer hunger.

Don had squared his shoulders. Not sixteen, he was nearly six feet in
height and splendidly built.

"You are mistaken, Miss Mason. I was with the other Boy Scouts the
night we came over to your camp. We meant to frighten you a little and
to find out a few of the mistakes you were pretty sure to make on your
first camping venture, nothing worse! We had no idea you'd take a
little teasing so seriously. Some of us may not have behaved as well
as we should, but nothing for the girls to have made a tragedy over."

Donald was not intending to offend the Girl Scout Captain more deeply,
but tact was not his strong point.

Why did Lance fail to come to his brother's rescue? Tory flashed an
indignant glance at him. He possessed, when he wished, the gift of
expression his brother lacked. Lance's occasional moods of silence
were due either to disappointment or anger.

Arriving a stranger in Westhaven the winter before, among Victoria
Drew's first acquaintances were Dorothy McClain and her six brothers.
Their father was the leading physician in Westhaven and an old friend
of her aunt and uncle. They were neighbors as well.

In the beginning Tory had believed she preferred Lance to any of the
other boys. He was Dorothy's favorite among her brothers, a delicate,
musical chap, partly admired and partly scorned by the five who were
stronger and more matter of fact.

Lance's passion for music, of which he knew but little, his desire to
be left alone, his failure in most athletic sports, the rest of his
family found annoying and amusing.

Lance McClain alone was like his mother who had died some years
before, the others like Dr. McClain.

"Lance, why in the world don't you help Don out? You know he will only
make things worse if left to himself." Tory whispered at this moment.

"Want to save Don at my expense? All right, Tory," he answered
quizzically in the voice and manner Tory never really understood.

Lance moved forward and now stood close beside Miss Mason.

His golden-brown eyes and his sensitive mouth relieved his face from
plainness, although he was considered the least good looking member of
his family.

At present he was smiling in a charming fashion.

"See here, Miss Mason," he began speaking slowly, "I don't suppose you
can imagine what a difficult thing it is to have a brother who is
always putting you in the wrong? Oh, not intentionally, but by
everlastingly doing the right thing and then trying to take the blame
for your mistakes!

"Don did not want us to come to your camp and make a scene. He is our
Patrol leader and we should have done what he advised. Only we
wouldn't and didn't! He came along at last more to keep the rest of us
out of mischief than because he wanted to be in it."

Lance drew his brows together so they became a fine line.

"Wonder if I've got to make a clean breast of the whole business? Don
is everlastingly forcing me to play up to him when I would not
otherwise. The suggestion that we hike over to the girls' camp and see
what was going on originated with me. Don and I had been telling
Dorothy you would never get things in shape over here without help
from us, or men in the village. Your Girl Scout Troop has been
claiming that you could accomplish all the things we do and a few
other things beside. We did not believe you and wished to see for
ourselves. I was sorry and mad as Don when some of the fellows went
too far. We had a call-down from our Captain and have been looking for
a chance to apologize. Do try and forget it, won't you? If your Girl
Scouts will swoop down on us unexpectedly and be double the nuisance
that we were, we are willing to call it square."

Sheila Mason laughed. Margaret Hale, the Patrol leader and one of
Victoria Drew's intimate friends, who had joined the group during
Lance's speech, shook her head. She was a tall, serious looking girl
with clear-cut features and a graceful manner.

"Lance, I don't believe a Boy Scout Troop is supposed to employ a
lawyer. You strike me as a special pleader. You had better go in for
the law instead of music. We are not so cranky that we would have
objected to an ordinary descent upon us, even with the idea of showing
us what inferior creatures we are. But when it comes to trying to
frighten us, and some of the more timid girls were frightened, you
behaved as if you were wild Indians."

Lance held up a white handkerchief.

"This is a token of complete surrender. We ask the courtesy due the
defeated, Miss Mason. Please don't allow Margaret to rake up the past.
Don and I must be off now to camp. Sorry you won't give us a message
of forgiveness to carry back. May we speak to Dorothy? Evidently she
is more interested in her breakfast than in her brothers."

"Nonsense, Lance, you and Don must have breakfast with us before you
leave," Miss Mason answered. "I cannot bury the hatchet, Indian
fashion, because the Girl Scouts must decide themselves whether or not
you are forgiven."

Approaching in their direction at this moment, her face flushed and
holding a long toasting fork in one hand, was Dorothy McClain.

She was only a year and a few months younger than her two brothers and
looked very like Don, save that her hair was chestnut and her eyes a
darker blue.

"Don, Lance, how glad I am you had the good luck to come to Tory's and
Kara's aid! I have made a double amount of toast and there are six
more eggs added to our usual supply for breakfast. I thought you would
appreciate this sisterly attention more than rushing to greet you at
once. I saw you were not lonely."

"Good to see you, Dot. You are looking in great shape, only we must be
off at once," Donald answered, still appearing uncomfortable and
obstinate.

Between Dorothy and Tory Drew a signal was flashed of which no one of
the small group save Lance McClain was aware.

"Please stay, Don," Tory begged, moving forward and standing beside
him. She scarcely came up to his shoulder. "Edith Linder has gone to
Miss Frean's cottage to ask her to come to Kara at once. She is to try
to telephone for your father. If not, one of us must ride in to town
for him. But perhaps he might want you to be here when he arrives in
case there is anything to be done, if Kara has to be lifted. Oh, I
don't know anything, except that I am dreadfully worried over her."

Don softened.

"Oh, of course if there is any chance Lance or I can be of further use
we'll be glad to stay. You ought to go to bed, Tory, and not wait for
father."

Tory shook her head. Her face was whiter than usual from anxiety and
fatigue, yet Donald McClain liked her appearance.

His brothers and other people might insist there were several girls in
the Girl Scout Troop of the Eagle's Wing far prettier than Victoria
Drew--Teresa Peterson, with her half Italian beauty, his own sister,
Dorothy, Joan Peters, with her regular features and patrician air. Don
knew that Tory possessed a charm and vividness, a quickness of thought
and a grace of movement more attractive to him than ordinary beauty.

Forgetting their companions, they walked off together, leaving the
others to follow.

"If you only knew how I have been longing to show you our camp in
Beechwood Forest, Don! Please say you think it is wonderful," Tory
pleaded.




CHAPTER III

THEIR CAMP


They were seated along the edge of the lake, six girls and their two
visitors. The water was a still, dim blue reflection of the sky with
one deep shadow from the hill of pines. Away from the hill and the
lake stood the forest of beechwood trees.

In an open space on a little rise of ground half within, half without
the forest, lay the summer camp of the Girl Scouts of the Eagle's
Wing.

A little brown house built of logs was almost entirely covered with
vines, a tangle of woodbine and honeysuckle and wistaria. Only from
the windows and the door had the vines been cut away. The house looked
extremely ancient, older than the slender beeches that formed a
semicircle to the rear and left. Beyond the door, thick with deep
green shade on this midsummer morning, towered a single giant beech
which appeared to have moved out a few yards from its forest shelter
to act as a sentinel for the log cabin.

The cabin had been erected so many years before that no one in the
vicinity remembered its origin. Finding the location an ideal one for
their camp, the little house had been restored, the chimney to the
single fireplace made over, the glass added to the window frames, open
spaces between the logs replastered.

The log house formed the center of the camp.

On each side at irregular distances were three tents, one row
advancing from the forest, the other receding into it.

To-day there was an unusual stillness about the camp itself at an hour
of the morning ordinarily a busy and active one.

Now and then some one appeared, hastily accomplished whatever the task
and vanished.

Even the little group on the shore of the lake continued unusually
quiet. When any one did speak it was with a lowered voice.

Five of the six girls were occupied. Only Tory Drew's hands were idle.
They moved frequently with unconscious gestures characteristic of her
temperament and the fact that she had lived a number of years in the
Latin countries where the hands are used to communicate one's meaning
as well as speech.

She made a sweeping movement of her hand at this instant, appearing to
include the lake, forest, hillside and the small group of tents about
the evergreen cabin.

"You have not yet said, Don, that you consider our camp superior to
yours, when I am perfectly convinced that it is, without having laid
eyes on yours. Lance has given me the impression that he agrees with
me. He has not exactly said so in any words I can recall, but he can
be tactful when he likes. You are always so tiresomely silent, Don,
whether you think a thing true or not true. I always know when you are
most silent your opinion is the strongest one way or the other."

Don was silent. Yet he knew the group of girls were awaiting his reply
with almost as great interest as Tory.

Finally he smiled in a handsome, good-humored fashion.

"Don't see why you should object to my not talking a great deal, Tory,
when it gives you and Dorothy and Lance more opportunity."

He turned around, however, studying the little camp in the shadow of
the old forest with careful scrutiny. Donald McClain did not think
quickly nor could he express his point of view until he had given a
subject serious consideration.

"I don't see any comparison between your Girl Scout camp and our own,
Tory," he returned at length. "The two camps are not in the least
alike. In the first place, you tell me that you have only fourteen
Girl Scouts and we have nearly forty boys. Of course things look
neater and more picturesque here, with girls one expects this. Our
problem is different. I have an idea we have more discipline and do
more hard work."

Tory Drew looked annoyed.

Dorothy McClain took up the defense.

"I am not so sure of the work and the discipline, Don. We do
everything at our camp, the cooking, washing and cleaning. We have
been pretending that we were members of Penelope's household. If you
have never read the 'Odyssey' you won't know what I am talking about.
Joan Peters we sometimes call Penelope. She is everlastingly at her
weaving, but does not unravel her web at night that she has woven in
the daytime. She is not troubled by Penelope's importunate suitors.
Tory at present is the Princess Nausicaa, the daughter of the King
Alcinous, who conducts the family washing as a part of her work. I
won't bore you with all our distinguished titles.

"As for discipline! I don't mean to be rude and I am glad you did not
wish your Troop of Scouts to descend upon us like a band of Indians on
a group of pioneer women. Still, I would scarcely be proud of such
discipline."

"See here, Dorothy, what is the use? You know you are reflecting upon
me, not upon old Don. But with my well-known amiability I forgive you.
Whose idea was it that you pretend to be Greek heroines as well as
American Girl Scouts?" Lance inquired in the tone that nearly always
brought peace.

"Oh, we have not gone into the idea seriously," Joan Peters returned.
Her head was bent over the square frame she held in her lap, her
fingers busy with the strands of flax. "Miss Frean comes to camp every
few evenings and reads aloud to us. She insists that we are too
frivolous in our own summer reading and wishes to read us something we
ought to remember."

Joan Peters liked Lance McClain. She was a great reader and perhaps
because of his more delicate health Lance did not feel the same scorn
of books that Donald affected.

With a swift movement Tory arose suddenly. Apparently she forgot the
group of friends close about her. She clasped her hands tightly
together, her eyes suddenly looked larger and darker, her lips
twitched.

The Girl Scouts of the Eagle's Wing had chosen silver and gold as
their camp colors.

Near the spot where Tory was standing lay two canoes. One was golden
in color with an eagle's wing in silver on the bow, the other the
opposite color scheme. Tory's own khaki costume looked golden in the
sunlight. The water was now silver.

Don had a fleeting impression that Tory intended to jump into one of
the canoes and disappear from sight.

Now and then she affected him curiously. He never knew what she
intended to do or say. She thought so quickly, moved so swiftly, and
he was stupid and slow.

At the present moment he was puzzled and troubled by her sudden look
of intense unhappiness. The instant before she had been arguing the
respective merits of the two camps and had appeared cheerful as usual.

"What is the matter, Tory? You are the most startling person! You
upset one," Teresa Peterson protested.

She glanced toward Donald and then toward Lance McClain for their
attention or approval.

Teresa was unlike the other Girl Scouts. She was extremely pretty with
dusky hair that curled about a low forehead and soft rose colored
cheeks. She gave one an impression of sweetness and yet one could not
be sure of her actual character. She seemed always anxious for
attention and the approval of other people. Several of the girls in
her Patrol felt that Teresa was unnecessarily self-conscious before a
masculine audience.

At this instant Tory Drew returned her glance. Her face showed
bewilderment.

"Why, Teresa, how can you ask what is troubling me? Is one of us
thinking any other thought? Of course we have had to talk of other
things, but nothing matters except what Dr. McClain may at this moment
be deciding about Kara. You know we all care for her more than any
other girl at camp. She has had so much more to contend with than the
rest of us even before this.

"She thought first of our camp in Beechwood Forest and we used to talk
of it when it did not seem a possibility. The day of her accident Kara
told me the past few weeks had been the happiest of her life."

Tory walked away from the others.

"I have been trying to keep my word and stay here with you until after
Dr. McClain had seen Kara. Now I cannot wait any longer. I am sure
something more dreadful than any of us realize has happened."

Margaret Hale rose and slipped her arm inside the other girl's.

"We will go back together. You are more nervous over Kara than need be
because of the strain of last night."

They moved on a few yards.

Coming out of the cabin they could see Dr. McClain, Miss Frean and
Sheila Mason. Dr. McClain, assisted by the two women, was bearing Kara
in his arms.

Before Margaret and Tory reached them, he had placed Kara in his motor
car and they were driving away.




CHAPTER IV

RIGHT ABOUT, FACE


Tory toiled up the long, hot street, her arms filled with packages,
her face flushed.

How different the atmosphere from the cool green shade of Beechwood
Forest!

At the end of the street upon a rise of ground stood the Old Gray
House. This had been Katherine Moore's name for the house, accepted
and used by the town of Westhaven. To-day it appeared what it actually
was: the village orphan asylum.

No longer could Kara's optimism conceal reality from Victoria Drew.

The house showed blistered and bare of paint. The open space of yard,
green and fresh in the springtime, when she and Kara oftentimes sat
outdoors to dream and plan, was now baked brown and sere.

The children playing in the yard behind the tall iron fence looked
tired and cross, a little like prisoners to Tory's present state of
mind.

She had come in from camp early in the day and had spent several hours
at home with her uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton. Their own house was empty
save for his presence. Miss Victoria had gone for a month's holiday to
the sea.

After a talk with her uncle and an hour's shopping, she was now on her
way to call upon Kara.

She saw a mental picture of Kara's small room on the top floor of the
Gray House. How proud Kara had been because she need share her room
with no one!

And what a place to be shut up in when one was ill!

For Kara's sake Tory had endeavored to view this room with Kara's
eyes. Kara loved it and the old Gray House that had sheltered her
since babyhood, her refuge when apparently deserted by the parents she
had never known.

Victoria Drew was an artist. This did not mean that necessarily she
was possessed of an artist's talent, but of the artist's temperament.
Besides, had she not lived with her artist father wandering about the
most beautiful countries in Europe[A] until her arrival in Westhaven
the winter before?

If this temperament oftentimes allowed Tory to color humdrumness with
rose, it also gave her a sensitive distaste to what other people might
not feel so intensely.

With half a dozen of the children in the yard of the Gray House, Tory
now stopped to talk a few moments. Never before could she recall
wanting to see Kara so much and so little at the same time.

Of the two children who had been Kara's special charges and her own
favorites, only the boy remained.

His eyes bluer and more wistful than formerly, Billy Duncan came
forward to speak to Tory.

He seemed older and thinner and less the cherub she remembered.

The children who were his playmates could have told her that Billy had
altered since the departure of his adored companion, Lucy Martin, the
little girl who had been adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy Hammond a few
months before.

Lucy Martin had been an odd little girl, full of fire and passion and
wilfulness. Blindly and adoringly Billy had followed her until her
departure from the Gray House.

Afterwards he never spoke of her or asked for her, although at first
she often demanded his presence and came to the Gray House to see him.
Of late, however, Lucy had ceased to appear.

"Do you miss Lucy?" Tory inquired at this instant and was sorry for
her own stupidity.

Billy merely shook his head. He always had been a dull little boy. One
had been fond of him because of his sweetness and placidity, not for
any brilliance.

Slipping a gift inside Billy's pockets, Tory ran on up to the Gray
House, comforting herself with the idea that the little boy was
incapable of feeling anything deeply.

The fact that Lucy had lost her affection for Kara, who had been like
a devoted older sister, was more serious.

The door stood open so that Tory entered the wide hall of the old
house without ringing the bell. She had come often enough during the
past winter and spring to be a privileged character.

At the bottom of the long flight of stairs she paused a moment. Warm
and out of breath, she did not wish Kara to guess at her rebellious
mood when she arrived at the little room up under the eaves.

"You won't find Kara upstairs in her old room. Let me show you where
she is," a voice called, as Tory placed her foot on the first stair.

The big room had been a back parlor in the days when the Gray House
had been the residence of a prosperous farmer. This was before the
village of Westhaven had drawn so close to it.

By the window in a wheeled chair sat a small figure crouched so low
that had she not known it could be no one else, Tory would scarcely
have recognized her.

Since her night and Kara's together on the hillside only a week had
gone by. Could one week have altered Kara's appearance and her nature?

Her impulse to go toward the figure and gather her in her arms, Tory
carefully repressed.

Kara's expression, as she raised her eyes at her approach, was almost
forbidding.

Tory also repressed the exclamation that rose to her lips.

How white and thin the other girl's face appeared! The humorous, gayly
challenging look with which she had met former trials and difficulties
had vanished. The lines of Kara's mouth were tired and old, the gray
eyes with the long dark lashes, her one claim to beauty, were dark and
rebellious.

"You have taken your own time to come to see me, Tory. I have been
here at the orphan asylum nearly a week and this is the first time you
or any member of my Girl Scout Patrol has honored me with a call. I
can't say I altogether blame you. It certainly is pleasanter at our
camp in Beechwood Forest than in this place!"

Tory's arms went around Kara's shoulders, her bright red lips touched
the other girl's brown hair.

"You know I have wanted to come to you every minute in the twenty-four
hours, dear, and every member of your Patrol has wanted to come as
well, besides Miss Mason and Miss Frean and all the rest. To-day I am
regarded as the most privileged person in the camp because I am first
to see you. Dr. McClain only consented last night to allow me to come.
I am to bring you everybody's love and to demand that you stay away
from camp only the shortest time. Otherwise we intend to call on Dr.
McClain in a body and assert our authority as Girl Scouts to bring you
home to Beechwood Forest. Anyone save a doctor would know you would
sooner grow strong again there than here."

As she talked, partly as a relief from nervousness and to hide her
consternation over Kara's changed appearance, Tory was moving about
the room arranging her gifts.

In a vase filled with water from a pitcher standing on a table she
placed a bouquet of faded wild flowers.

The room became fragrant with the scent of wild hyacinths, ragged
robins, cornflowers and daisies. By a low bowl piled with peaches and
grapes, she put two magazines and a new book.

"Uncle Richard sent you the things to read, Kara. I should like to
have brought more, but could not manage to carry them."

Still Kara made no reply. She scarcely had glanced at the offerings.

"Sorry the flowers are so faded. I think they will look better after a
time. I had not the cruelty to decline to bring them, as Edith Linder
and Teresa Peterson rose up this morning and gathered them in the dew
to send you. I have brought our camp log for the past week."

Conscious of the wall between herself and her companion, Tory was
aware that she was talking of trivialities until the moment when Kara
would admit her inside her closed citadel.

How long before she would speak a second time?

Walking over toward Kara, Tory took a low seat beside the wheeled
chair.

With a swift gesture of affection she placed a square book on Kara's
lap. The book was of heavy paper, golden in color back and front and
with silver-gray leaves inside. On the outside cover was a painting of
an eagle's wing.

"This is the first time we have ever had a written history of our week
at camp, Kara dear. But we decided the other night at our Troop
meeting to arrange this to bring to you. So whatever we dropped into
the big box in front of Miss Mason's tent we put inside this book. I
have made some sketches and Joan Peters has written a poem dedicated
to you. Please look for yourself, won't you?"

Kara turned away her eyes.

Still Tory had no sensation of anger, only a kind of nervous fear.
More than any one who ever knew her could have imagined here was a
different Kara!

She now pushed aside the little magazine with a gesture of annoyance.

"I don't want to know what you have been doing at camp, Tory. I never
want to hear any mention of our Girl Scouts again. You must erase my
name from our Patrol list and find some one else to fill my place."

A valiant effort, Tory's to smile, when in the other girl's voice and
manner there was so much to make smiling difficult.

"When that day arrives, Kara, I presume I also shall wish to resign
from the Girl Scouts. It is hard to imagine when we both care so
deeply. Has anyone or anything offended you? Do you feel I am
responsible for your accident? If you realized how many times during
the past week I have wondered if this were true. I did ask Miss Mason
for permission to allow us to go for the day alone. I told her that I
could sketch so much better without any companion save you. She
reproaches herself now as much as I do and says as our Troop Captain
the mistake was hers. But we promised not to go far from camp and were
accustomed to the neighborhood."

"Don't be stupid, Tory. I have not forgotten that I first suggested
the plan to you. We wanted a day to ourselves."

Kara had spoken. At least this much had been accomplished, although
her tone remained hard and uninterested.

Suddenly her head went down until her face was hidden.

"Don't you know, Tory, darling? Has no one told you or the other Girl
Scouts of our Troop? Dr. McClain promised me that he would tell you. I
can't come back to our camp in Beechwood Forest, I cannot be a Girl
Scout. I may never be able to walk again. No, I do not suffer, I never
have suffered, that is the dreadful part of it."

Kara's hands now clutched the other girl's shoulders.

"Tory, don't look at me like that. It may not be true always."

-----

  [A] See "Girl Scouts of the Eagle's Wing."




CHAPTER V

A DISCUSSION


"The land that is always afternoon," Joan Peters quoted dreamily.

Twelve girls were seated in a circle in a clearing in Beechwood
Forest. Save for the fact that fallen logs formed their resting place
here was a modern American "Agora of Mycanae," the well polished
circle of stones, where the earliest of civilized peoples sat for
council and judgment.

The afternoon sunlight slanted through the deep polished green of the
trees.

A few moments before, the other girls had been earnestly talking, then
had ensued a thoughtful silence and Jean's irrelevant speech.

"I never have understood exactly what that expression means, but it
always has had a fascination for me," she continued. "Please don't
think I am forgetting what we have been discussing this last hour. To
my mind there can be no two ways of looking at it. The only problem we
have is Kara. And, thank goodness, we do not have to decide what is
wisest and best for her."

Seated beside Joan, Tory Drew remained oddly still. Quiet either of
body or mind was an unusual phase with her. Life and movement were her
natural characteristics, more marked than with most girls.

"I wish I could think as Joan does, that the decision does not rest
with us and we _must_ be content," she added finally. "I feel as if I
_knew_ it was the only thing for Kara to come back to us and as if no
one and nothing could induce me to think otherwise."

"Not a very sensible point of view, Victoria," a voice answered.

In the tone there was a different enunciation. In the voice there was
a different emphasis from the other Girl Scouts. Besides, no one of
them ever spoke to Tory without using her abbreviated title.

The girl who had made the remark was different in manner, appearance
and costume from the rest of the group, although not conspicuously so.
Martha Greaves was an English girl who had crossed the ocean early in
the summer with Tory Drew's father and step-mother to spend the summer
in Westhaven. She was singularly tall with light brown hair and
gray-blue eyes.

After she had spoken she appeared a little embarrassed as if she
regretted having called the attention of the other girls to her
presence.

At the beginning of their acquaintance Martha and Tory had felt drawn
toward each other. The differences in their temperaments appeared not
as a barrier, but an interest.

But with the opening of the camp in Beechwood Forest, Tory had
neglected her responsibilities. Her affection for Katherine Moore had
made her less mindful than she should have been of a stranger in a new
environment.

Fortunately Martha Greaves was an English Girl Guide. She was wearing
the uniform of the Guides at this moment. Shy she might appear upon
suddenly expressing her opinion, yet assuredly she had made a number
of friends among the Girl Scouts. Moreover, she was too vitally
interested in the differences between the two organizations, the Girl
Guides of England and the Girl Scouts of the United States, to be
especially self conscious.

She understood and liked Tory's impulsive nature with its capacity for
romantic affection, so unlike her own. She considered herself to be a
matter-of-fact person with only a few enthusiasms.

At Martha's sensible statement Tory had the sensation of being
suddenly plunged into cold water.

A moment she was nonplussed and slightly angry. Then she had the good
sense to realize that Martha had not intended to be unkind. What she
had said was undoubtedly true.

If she were rarely sensible at any time, Tory appreciated that she had
become less so since her last talk with Kara.

Not an hour since had the problem of Kara been out of her mind.

Indeed, since the news of the result of what had first seemed a simple
accident had reached the camp of the Girl Scouts in Beechwood Forest,
the entire summer to which they had looked forward so joyously seemed
to offer only disappointment.

They were only fourteen in number and Kara was individually dear to
each one of them. Seven of the group were in Kara's own Patrol, the
others, members of her Troop of the Eagle's Wing.

If they suffered some disadvantages over the larger summer camps for
girls they had the advantage of a peculiar and intimate feeling for
one another. The fact that Martha Greaves was the one outsider added a
special interest. Rarely a half day passed that one of the Girl Scouts
did not make some inquiry of Martha concerning their respective
organizations.

She was glad enough to answer and they were learning from each other.

The Girl Scouts of the Eagle's Wing had worked at their scouting
during the past winter with pleasure and faith, but occasional
meetings could not bring the results these past few magical weeks at
camp had accomplished.

All day long they were outdoors, at night the tent flaps were
oftentimes left open for a better view of the sky and the feel of the
wind.

All their own work had they undertaken and life had never appeared
more practical, simple and delightful.

Then like a cloud darkening the serenity of their summer had come the
news of Katherine Moore's accident with its unexpected, tragic result.

Tory Drew sighed.

"You are probably right, Martha. I have been told often enough by Aunt
Victoria and sometimes by Kara herself that I have too great an
opinion of my own judgment, when in reality my judgment isn't very
good.

"Yet this time I simply can't feel that I am mistaken. Kara will be
happier here at camp with us than at the Gray House or in a sanitarium.
We all understand her and will do anything in the world to make her
happier. Dr. McClain says that Kara's state of mind worries him a great
deal. Yet how can it be different? Surely we can make her physically
comfortable in the evergreen house and all of us will wish to wait on
her. I--"

Tory hesitated and could not go on.

"I agree with you entirely, Tory," Margaret Hale answered
sympathetically. Tory's Patrol leader, a dignified girl of gentle
breeding, she was not the most gifted member of the Patrol, yet
possessed the greatest personal influence. One could always trust to
Margaret's sense of justice. She was never prejudiced and never
unfair.

"I feel as Tory does. If there is nothing the doctors can do for Kara
at present, save to watch her carefully, she had far better be here
with us. I know they will do everything that is possible at the Gray
House; I know too that Mr. Fenton has offered to pay Kara's expenses
should the doctors decide she had best go to a sanitarium. Yet will
either of these places alter Kara's state of mind?

"Since Tory told us of her talk with Kara I have scarcely been able to
think of anything else. Kara, with her optimism and humor vanished;
Kara, hard and bitter and wretched! It seems so incredible! Why, she
has always faced her difficult existence with such courage. When one
thinks of Kara it is to recall the humorous expression of her eyes,
the laughter that always was waiting its chance. No one ever had so
gay a laugh as Kara!"

Unconscious of what she was doing, at this instant Tory jumped up.
Leaving her seat she stood alone in the center of the circle looking
toward the other girls.

The first rays of the sunset slanted through the trees, turning the
green to gold. One ray fell directly upon Tory Drew, her bright,
red-gold hair, her thin, eager face and graceful figure.

About her the other girls were more in darkness.

There was almost a mystic quality in the late afternoon atmosphere,
here in the heart of an ancient woods, with no one near save the
circle of Girl Scouts.

"Margaret has suggested just what I want to make clear to all of you.
The old Kara for the time being seems to have disappeared. And perhaps
for the reasons Margaret has mentioned.

"Kara has had too much to bear. She has always made the best of the
fact that she had no parents, no family! Cleverer and sweeter than
anyone, she was found in a deserted house with no explanation as to
why she had been left there.

"Kara found happiness in the life at the Gray House because everybody
cared for her at the asylum and in the village. But she was always
thinking that the day was coming when she would be able to earn her
own living at some congenial work.

"Now, Kara told me the other day that this hope has been taken from
her and she sees nothing left. I am frightened about her. The doctors
tell her she may walk again some day, but not for a long time. She
insists this is only to encourage her. If we, her own Troop of Girl
Scouts, can do nothing for her, I don't see who can."

Louise Miller, seated beside her most intimate friend, Dorothy
McClain, uttered an unexpected exclamation.

Under ordinary circumstances she talked less than any one of her
companions. Usually it was conceded that Louise alone among all of
them thought of what she was going to say before making a remark.

She was not good looking. Her features were heavy and she had grown
too rapidly. She had peculiar light gray eyes under thick dark brows
which held a kind of fascination. Yet Louise's only real claim to
beauty was a mass of coppery, red-brown hair.

She was not happy or congenial with her own family. They were poor and
her mother, a pretty woman, resented Louise's lack of beauty as well
as their poverty. On Louise's part there was no effort to conceal the
fact that she had been happier these past weeks at their Girl Scout
camp in Beechwood Forest than at any time since she could remember.

"There is something to be considered in this situation beside Kara,"
she began, with a kind of awkward earnestness. The statement had not a
happy sound, but the other girls waited, knowing that Louise had an
odd fashion of expressing herself. One could not at first be
altogether sure of her meaning.

"We must remember that it is not for Kara's sake only that we are to
keep her here, if Dr. McClain agrees it will be wise, but for our own
sakes as well. While Tory has been talking I have been wondering if we
were equal, as Girl Scouts, to the test.

"You look surprised, Tory, as if there could be no question save the
joy of having Kara to take care of and her pleasure in being with us.
There will be other sides to it. Some one of us will always have to
stay with Kara day and night. She must never be left alone for any
length of time, when we may be wanting to go off together on a hike or
a swimming party. It may be hard now and then to be left out. We must
not expect Kara always to be cheerful and patient."

Louise had been looking toward Tory Drew. She now turned her head and
her glance traveled from one face to the other.

The group of girls, except for a few additional ones, was the same
that had gathered in the old Fenton home in Westhaven on a momentous
evening the winter before.

On that evening they had formed the first Patrol of the Girl Scouts of
the Eagle's Wing Troop. Margaret Hale remained the Patrol Leader and
Dorothy McClain her Corporal. The other girls were Victoria Drew, Joan
Peters, Louise Miller, Teresa Peterson and Katherine Moore. Edith
Linder had been asked later to become the eighth member and so
complete the favored number.

To-day, amid the outdoor council in the woods, there were four girls
from a second Patrol in the same Girl Scout Troop.

"Honor, loyalty, duty, a sister to every other Girl Scout, courtesy,
cheerfulness. These are some of our Scout principles. I wonder if
bringing Katherine Moore here as an invalid to be cared for by us
would not put our Scout principles into a crucible?" one of the four
remarked unexpectedly.

Tory Drew frowned upon her, and then realizing the truth of what she
had said, her expression changed and she nodded agreement.

Why should she expect that all the other girls must appreciate as she
did the degree of Kara's misfortune and the necessity to do something
to make her lot easier without delay.

The girl she was looking down upon always had amused Kara and herself.
She was so unlike any of them. Her light hair was almost as short as a
boy's and was boyish in appearance, save that it curled in an almost
babyish fashion. Her eyes were wide open and a light china blue. Here
her doll-like attributes ended. She had a short, determined nose, a
square chin, and a large mouth filled with small, even teeth.

She had an odd, boyish name as well, Evan Phillips. No one knew a
great deal about her. She had come with her mother to live in
Westhaven the winter before in order to go to school. She had spoken
of living in California before that time. A member of a Girl Scout
Patrol in the west, she had asked to be admitted into the Eagle's Wing
Troop in Westhaven.

The three other members of the second Patrol were Julia and Frances
Murray and Ann Fletcher.

"What is a crucible, Evan?" Tory inquired. "I don't care in the least
how many of our Scout principles are cast into it, if only Kara is
here at camp with us. I know what Louise means, but no one need be
troubled. If Kara will permit it, I shall wish to be with her always."

"You will not be allowed, Tory. Remember, Kara is our friend as well
as yours, and we have known her longer," Dorothy McClain and the other
girls protested, almost in the same words and at the same instant.

"Suppose you do not argue any more for the present," a quiet voice
interrupted, the same voice that so often gave Tory the sensation that
she had been quietly and politely restrained from too great intensity.

"I am sure I hear some one coming, three people in fact."

It was slightly annoying to the American Girl Scouts that in many ways
their English guest had a better outdoor training than any one of
them. However, this was not her first camping experience.

A moment or so later Dr. McClain appeared at an opening between two of
the trees in the encircling grove. He was accompanied by Sheila Mason
and Miss Frean. The two women remained outside. Alone Dr. McClain
entered the charmed circle. At once a dozen girls were crowding about
him.

A quarter of an hour after Tory Drew and Dorothy McClain were walking
with him toward the road that led back into Westhaven.

"We will have the little evergreen house made comfortable for Kara.
Miss Mason and all of us have decided she will be safer and easier to
care for there than in one of the tents. You are sure it will be best
for her? She must become stronger and in better spirits being with
us," Dorothy McClain insisted, clinging to her father's arm as if she
were unwilling to let him go. "I declare it is wonderful to have a
Girl Scout doctor--father!"

Dr. McClain made a sound half pleasure, half displeasure.

"So this is what I have come to after more than a quarter of a century
of hard work, a Girl Scout Doctor! Hope you girls may have no further
need for me. Hard luck about little Kara. Things may turn out better
for her later on. By the way, you and Tory do not know, and perhaps
had best not mention it, but the very log cabin where you are planning
to install Kara is the house where the child was found deserted years
ago."

"But gracious, Dr. McClain!" Tory argued, "I have always been told
that Kara was found in a deserted _farmhouse_. Our evergreen cabin was
never a farmhouse. Mr. Hammond once spoke of finding Kara when I was
with them, and he was not aware that Kara was the child he had
discovered.

"Then Jeremy Hammond does not know a farmhouse when he sees one. The
house was a deserted hut in those days where no one had lived for a
great many years. That is why the mystery was the greater. A bridle
path then led past the door and joined a road that was a short cut
into Westhaven. The path is now overgrown with grass.

"I remember very well, because I came out myself next day to see if
Hammond, who was a young fellow, may have overlooked any method by
which we might trace Kara's history. Save for the piece of paper
pinned to the child's dress and bearing her name no other information
was ever forthcoming. Good-by, here is my car waiting. I'll bring Kara
out myself in a few days. Remember, this is only to be an experiment.
If she is not happier and does not improve we must try something else.
Much depends upon you. 'Be Prepared'."




CHAPTER VI

"THE CHOROS"


In the open space a solitary figure was dancing.

The enclosure was not the circular place where the Girl Scouts held
their councils, but deeper in the woods, although not a great distance
away.

The space was larger. Instead of being surrounded by giant beech trees,
a new grove of young beeches was here growing up to take the places of
older trees that had died or been cut down. Their slender trunks were
high and arched, their branches curved downward. They seemed to stoop,
as young things that have grown too tall for their own strength. The
green of their leaves was paler and more transparent. Underneath the
trees the ground was covered with a finer, softer grass.

The girl was dancing barefoot. She wore a thin white dress. On the
ground not far away was the khaki costume which she must have
discarded for the time being.

Her hair was short and fair, and she had a square, determined, lightly
freckled face. She was short and her figure not particularly graceful
in repose. Watching her dancing one thought of neither of these
things. The square head with the light fringe of curling hair was
perfectly poised, the body showed strength and lightness.

At this moment the girl was moving in a wide circle inside the fringe
of young beeches. Her arms were extended above her head; at regular
intervals she poised and stood upon her toes, then danced more
rapidly. At length, with a little fluttering movement like a swallow
about to alight, she dropped on the grass, her arms covering her head.

From a short distance away came exclamations of pleasure.

Stiffening with surprise, anger, and what might have been alarm, the
small figure arose.

Tory Drew, pushing a wheeled chair with a good deal of difficulty,
slowly advanced. Seated in the chair was Katherine Moore.

"Evan, I am sorry we have intruded upon you and stopped your dance. It
did not occur to me until this moment that you did not hear us
approaching. Kara was bored and I thought if I could manage we would
come down here to our 'Choros.' Isn't it learned to have called our
dancing ground by the name of the first dancing grounds ever
discovered and built by Daedalus, the famous artificer of Crete?
However, we are obliged to give Miss Frean the credit for most of our
erudition.

"We will go on again to the lake as soon as I have rested a little.
May I say that it was wonderful to see you? I did not dream that any
one of our Girl Scout Troop could dance as you do. I am sure Kara must
have enjoyed watching you. So you will forgive my not having told you
we were near."

The girl in the wheeled chair lifted her head.

"I wonder, Tory, why you think I enjoy seeing another person dance?
Isn't it hard enough to sit everlastingly watching you walking,
swimming, doing whatever you wish, while I am more helpless than a
baby? Naturally it affords me _especial_ joy to behold another girl
who can do all these other things and dance like a wood nymph
besides!"

In the young voice there was a note that made her companions stare
helplessly toward her and then drop their eyes as if they were
responsible and ashamed.

"Kara, dear, it is my fault. Things always seem to be my fault, I am
so stupid these days! I never realized that you would mind the
dancing. I had forgotten how much you used to care for dancing.
Besides, I did not suppose we would find any one here, and thought we
could enjoy the cool and the quiet.

"Good-by, Evan. You _are_ a wood nymph. Kara was right."

Tory had placed her hands on the back of the wheeled chair and was
about to move on, when again a querulous voice interrupted:

"Oh, no, let us not go at once. You are always tiring yourself to
death for me these days. Don't think I never overhear Miss Mason and
the other girls speaking of it, Tory. One learns to hear more than one
should in my position. I was not always an eavesdropper. Neither did I
suppose you would have to be a martyr for my sake, Tory. I wish you
would try not to be; a martyr is a noble character, but one does not
wish one for a constant companion."

Tory Drew made no reply. Instead she shoved the heavy chair into a
cool, green shelter and dropped down on the ground beside it.

The other girl followed, anxious to be useful and not knowing what she
should do.

A week had passed since Kara's return to her friends in their Girl
Scout camp in Beechwood Forest. The Kara who had gone away after her
accident and the Kara who had come back seemed two utterly different
human beings.

The courageous, gay, sweet-tempered girl was now rebellious, fretful,
impatient. Indeed, she had become more difficult than any one who had
known her previously could have imagined.

The little group of Girl Scouts were being tested, and more than any
one of them, Tory Drew. So far not once had she faltered. Knowing Tory
six months before, one could scarcely have believed this possible.
Always she had been sweet and charming, but self centered and spoiled.
Now, was it her affection for Katherine Moore or the months of her
Scout training that had given her a new spirit?

"Suppose you tell us how you learned to dance in that beautiful
fashion, Evan? Then, if Kara wishes, perhaps you will dance for us
again?"

The girl with the odd, boyish name gazed at Tory Drew reflectively.
Since their arrival in camp she had conceived a deep admiration for
Tory. She had never spoken of it to any human being. Tory possessed
this charm, of which she was unconscious, which was to gain her
friends all her life.

Evan sat down on the ground nearby.

She was a year younger than the other two girls. At this moment, in
her shabby, simple white dress, she appeared a good deal younger.

"Would you really like to know about my dancing? I have been wanting
to tell some one. It would be absurd to pretend I had not been taught,
no one with any judgment would believe me. Besides, when one is a Girl
Scout I do not think one desires to keep secrets from the other girls.
Perhaps you won't approve of me afterwards, but I shall run that
risk."

Tory laughed.

"You are a dear! I approve of nearly every one. What could there be to
object to in your wonderful dancing? Don't you know every girl who
sees you must envy you."

A little fearfully Tory glanced upward toward Kara.

Had she been tactless again? Everything she said or did appeared the
wrong thing these days.

At present apparently Kara was not looking or listening to either of
them. Her gray eyes, which showed so wistfully in her thin face, were
fixed on a far-off line of the sky between two clumps of trees.

"Well, you might as well hear the worst at the start," Evan went on,
smiling and revealing her small, even teeth.

"In the first place, I received my ridiculous name because my father
died a short time after I was born. It was intended I should be a boy,
so I was named for him. We were poor and mother had to make her own
living and mine. She did not feel troubled over this because she had
studied dancing and loved it. So she gave dancing lessons in
California, and before I was two years old I was a member of her
class. We never would have stopped save that mother was ill and we
were forced to come east to consult a doctor. We came to Westhaven to
live so she could be near New York and I at school. Mother is better,
and next winter intends to begin teaching again."

"So you wish to be a dancing teacher?" Katherine Moore asked. The
other girls were under the impression that she had not heard what they
were saying.

Evan jumped up quickly.

"Never, I should hate it! I mean to study folk dancing and some day
originate new dances that shall be as American as possible. We talk of
the folk dancing of the Irish and Spanish, and the Austrians and the
Dutch and any number of other nations. When we speak of American folk
dancing it is supposed we dance like the Indians. I don't see why we
can't create a national folk dance of our own."

Evan made a cup of her hands and dropped her chin into it.

"Please don't laugh; I think an American folk dance might be like
these young beech trees. I know that sounds absurd. What I mean is,
the dance should show youth and freshness and grace, beautiful things
like a primeval American forest. Oh, I don't suppose you understand
me. I am sure I don't quite understand myself!

"Since I have been at camp Miss Mason has allowed me to come here an
hour each morning to practice. May I show you the dance I have been
trying to compose. I don't mind if you laugh at the dance or at me, I
do it so badly. I shall learn some day. I like to call it 'The Dance
of the Young Beeches'."

Without waiting for Kara's or Tory's agreement, Evan was up and away.
Slowly she again circled around the beautiful dancing ground, her arms
and body waving with gentle, fanciful undulations.

Now and then she seemed to be swept by light winds; again a storm
pressed upon her and she bowed and swayed as if resisting with all her
strength. Afterwards, wishing to suggest that the storm had passed and
the sun was shining and the birds singing, she tiptoed about, her arms
gently undulating, her face looking upward.

The dancing was crude and yet would have been attractive to eyes more
accustomed to trained dancing than Tory's or Kara's.

Tory's first sensation was one of pure, artistic pleasure. Then
glancing at Kara she felt a deeper joy. A moment Kara appeared to have
forgotten her own misfortune. She looked more interested, more
entertained than in many days.

"Don't you think, Evan, that if your mother is well she might be
persuaded to come to your camp and teach us dancing?" Kara demanded,
as if she too could be included in the lessons. "I know when we first
decided to have our camp in Beechwood Forest one of the things we
talked of doing was learning outdoor dancing. We hoped Miss Mason
would be able to teach us. She only knows ordinary dances, and insists
she does not even know the newest of these. She has not gone into
society since the death of the young officer to whom she was engaged,"
Kara confided. "Sometimes I wonder if being Captain of our Girl Scout
Troop has not helped her almost as much as the rest of us?"

She stopped abruptly.

Farther off in the woods the three girls heard a strange sound.

It was as if some one were calling. Yet the noise was not the Girl
Scout signal.

Ten minutes later, on the way back to camp, unexpectedly the three
girls beheld Teresa Peterson hurrying on alone. She looked surprised,
even a little frightened, by their appearance.

When Tory inquired where she had been, as Teresa made no reply, the
question was dropped.

No one was supposed to leave the camp without special permission from
the Troop Captain. There was no reason, however, to suppose that
Teresa had not received this permission.




CHAPTER VII

OTHER GIRLS


The other girls in the camp in Beechwood Forest were not passing
through so trying an ordeal as Victoria Drew and Katherine Moore,
after Katherine's return to camp.

Sympathetic they were with Kara's misfortune, yet upon them it did not
press so heavily.

Frankly two of the girls acknowledged that the few weeks at camp were
the happiest of their entire lives. These two girls were Louise Miller
and Teresa Peterson. Neither of them was particularly congenial with
their home surroundings.

An odd contradiction, Louise Miller was oftentimes so quiet, so slow
and awkward in her movements that many persons regarded her as stupid.
This was never true among the friends who knew her intimately, if for
no other reason, than because of Dorothy McClain's attitude. From the
time they were children the two girls had admired and loved each
other, notwithstanding the difference in their natures. Dorothy was
one of the happy persons whose attraction was so apparent that few
natures resisted it. She was handsome and straightforward and sweet
tempered. One girl in a family of six brothers, she had learned a
freemasonry of living, and had not the sensitiveness and introspection
that troubles so many young girls. Her mother was dead, yet she and
her father had been such intimate friends that she had not felt the
keenness of her loss as she must have under different circumstances.

Indeed, Louise Miller, whose parents were living, endured a deeper
loneliness.

There had never been any pretence of anything else. Her father was a
business failure. This had narrowed and embittered his nature. He was
devoted to his wife but to no one else.

She had cared for society and beautiful surroundings and been forced
to do without them. To have Louise, her oldest child, another
disappointment, was difficult to bear.

If Louise had been pretty, if she had appeared to be clever, if she
had cared for her home life and been anxious to assist her mother with
the younger children, Mrs. Miller would have been quick to appreciate
any one of these characteristics. But Louise was not handsome, she
insisted upon disliking every character of household work, and her
position at school was not always above the average. In certain
classes she did excel. Louise herself was the last person who could
have explained why there were days when she was so absorbed that she
seemed more than ordinarily dull even in the subjects that sometimes
interested her.

She was never a favorite with her teachers or with strangers. But for
one thing Louise was always grateful. Her own troop of Girl Scouts
sincerely liked her, for her own sake as well as Dorothy's. Only
Dorothy she believed really understood and cared for her deeply in
spite of her faults and idiosyncrasies.

With Dorothy alone she felt able to say and behave exactly as she
desired. She could drop into one of her moods of self-absorption, or
speak as if she were thinking aloud. Not always were her ideas clear
even to herself until she had slowly evolved them.

Now these days in the woods Louise felt freer, less awkward and
self-conscious. Mysteriously, unexpectedly, she was finding herself.

With the other girls nature study was a pastime, or merely a necessity
of their outdoor Scout training. With Louise it was becoming a
passionate delight.

The note of the first bird singing deep among the beechwoods found her
awake and guessing the name before slipping noiselessly outdoors to
see if the warbler could be discovered.

The other girls were amused by the fact that Louise wandered about all
day carrying a nature book in her hand. She studied the trees and
flowers, even the stones, silent most of the time while her companions
chattered. If one of them asked a question concerning the outdoors
that she could answer, she would become eloquent enough. But to
Dorothy McClain alone she confided her deeper spiritual and mental
reactions.

"It is as if I had been asleep all my life before, Dorothy, dear, and
was only beginning to wake up. Somehow I cannot explain it, even to
myself, I feel so convinced that this summer in the woods will have a
tremendous influence on my future life. I am going to find something
in these woods that I have been looking for in a stupid fashion since
I was a little girl."

"We are what the winds and sun and waters made us," Dorothy quoted,
glad to recall at this moment the lines her father so often repeated.

Louise shook her head.

"No, I mean something different. We all are what you have just said. I
feel lately that the outdoors is going to do something special for me.
Actually I mean I am going to find something here the rest of you may
not find."

Louise laughed. She had a large mouth with strong, white teeth. "That
speech of mine would annoy my mother dreadfully. She says I am always
dreaming and never interested in _real_ things. Nothing ever seemed
real to me until this summer in Beechwood Forest."

Carefully she smoothed the brown army blanket on her cot bed.

She and Dorothy McClain were straightening their tent preparatory for
inspection in the hour after breakfast. Their flag raising and Scout
drill were the first features of the long summer day.

The tent was scrupulously neat.

Dorothy McClain stooped to pick up a fallen book. She was paying a
slightly puzzled attention to the other girl's odd conversation.

"Would it not be difficult to persuade your mother to believe, Louise,
that you and I are interested in our camp housekeeping? Miss Mason
said the other day you probably would earn a merit badge before the
summer was past for cooking over a camp fire. Is this because you are
preparing to spend your entire life out of doors?"

Dorothy appeared amused and incredulous. She was devoted to athletics
and a thoroughly normal and delightful person. Nevertheless, the two
people for whom she cared most, excepting her father, were her brother
Lance and her friend Louise Miller, both of whom were unusual.

"You are an angel, Dorothy, to try to be sympathetic with me. You
can't know what I am talking about, if I don't myself. There is only
one other person in the world to whom I could speak, Miss Frean. When
I know better what I am only dreaming of at present I shall confide to
her and ask her advice. Isn't it fine to think of her nearby in her
little House in the Woods, always ready to give us help and advice.
Tory declares she would never have dared to insist we have Kara at
camp with us when she is so ill and unhappy except for Miss Frean's
nearness."

Her task accomplished, Louise turned aside from her cot bed and put
her arm about the other girl's shoulders.

"Dorothy, I know I am selfish with you. I suppose because I am so
tongue-tied with other people I pour forth everything upon you. I have
not forgotten you said you wanted to speak to me about something this
morning when we were alone. What is it?"

Dorothy stooped and glanced in the small square mirror which hung
suspended from one of the tent poles.

Her bright chestnut hair was braided and twisted about her head.
Ordinarily her father objected to this grown up fashion. At camp
Dorothy insisted that two long plaits were always in one's way. Her
eyes were a clear blue with a slight hint of gray, her skin healthy
and freshly colored. A fine, frank line formed her lips. Altogether
she was the type of American girlhood who represents many of our
highest ideals.

At the present moment a frown appeared between her brows.

"I did want to ask your opinion about something, Louise. Yet nothing
is more important to me than to see how happy you are this summer and
how the life in the forest is changing you. What I wanted to ask is
your view concerning the apology the Boy Scouts have made us for their
rudeness. Shall we or shall we not bury the hatchet and agree to
forgive them? The situation is particularly uncomfortable for me. I
don't like to take any special position in the matter, because Lance
and Don are my brothers. Lance has confessed he was principally
responsible for their effort to frighten or tease us soon after our
arrival at camp. So far as I have been able to find out we seem about
evenly divided on the subject. Tory Drew wishes to forget all about
it. She is so grateful to Don and Lance for rescuing Kara that she
refuses to consider anything else. Edith Linder agrees with Tory
besides Evan Phillips and several other girls.

"Strangely the persons most opposed to forgiving the boys and making
friends again are Margaret Hale and Joan Peters.

"We are to vote on the question to-night.

"But here comes Teresa. Perhaps she will tell us how she feels on the
subject. I wonder what is the matter? She looks worried, and she has
been so happy at camp."

At the tent opening Teresa appeared.

"Do come on down to the lake and let us sit there a half hour and talk
if you have finished your work?" she asked.

Teresa's olive coloring had deepened in the weeks in the sunshine and
fresh air, her cheeks were more rose colored, her wide eyes with their
half mature, half childish expression were slightly plaintive at this
instant.

The shores of the lake, not a great distance from the camping ground,
were a favorite resting place for the Girl Scout Troop.

Not only did they rest here and hold long conversations, of necessity
here a good deal of the camp work took place. Clothes and dishes were
washed, water was had for cleaning. Farther up on the left-hand side,
where a shore of bright pebbles ran down into the lake, was the
bathing beach for the campers. The water for drinking was obtained at
a pure spring up the hill of the Three Pines which rose not far off
from the camp.

At present, as the greater number of the girls were still busy in
their tents, the vicinity of the lake was agreeably solitary.

As the three girls sat down Louise Miller said suddenly:

"There is a legend of a lake where every night at midnight a maiden
arises bearing in her hands a silver bowl. One may make a wish and
cast it into the silver bowl. Then the maiden disappears. On another
night, one can never know exactly when, the maiden returns and on this
night grants your wish."

"I wish she would appear at once," Teresa grumbled. "I have a wish she
might be persuaded to grant. I want something more exciting to happen
at camp. Oh, I am enjoying it of course, but of late the days have
been a good deal alike."

"What is it you want, Teresa?" Louise Miller demanded a little
scornfully. Two girls could not have been more unlike. Because Louise
was intellectual she could not altogether refrain from regarding the
other girl with a mixture of pity and amused contempt, as well as
occasional envy.

Teresa was so pretty, so gentle and confiding and pleasure loving.
When she failed to live up to the Scout rules, as all of the girls,
being human, did now and then, no one ever blamed Teresa. Nor did
Louise Miller understand that Teresa represented the type of girl who
oftentimes has a stronger will than any other, hidden beneath her
apparent gentleness. Teresa was not conscious of possessing a strong
will. In fact, she would have denied the fact, believing she was
telling the exact truth.

She only knew that in a quiet fashion she wanted what she wanted very
intensely and that it was almost impossible to give up any wish. She
might try her best, she might even pretend to herself that she had
given up. The desire was inclined to be only asleep and to wake again.
One must remember this characteristic in hearing of Teresa Peterson's
after career.

Teresa shrugged her shoulders.

"I am not anxious to talk to you, Louise, only it is so impossible to
see Dorothy without you."

Teresa flushed prettily.

"There, I don't mean to be rude. One is now and then without intending
it. I suppose you are such a profoundly intellectual individual you
cannot bear with my frivolous character.

"I only want to say to Dorothy that I am specially anxious to have our
camp of Girl Scouts make friends with the Boy Scouts. I have a special
reason and promised to do my best with the girls. But of course I know
I have not a great deal of influence, like you have Dorothy, or
Margaret Hale, or Tory Drew."

Teresa's voice and manner became vaguely plaintive.

"Then we could have occasional dances, or supper parties, something to
vary the outdoor monotony. Oh, of course I love the camp better than
being at home. I only thought we were going to have some other
associates beside just our own Troop. Most of the boys are our old
friends and Don and Lance are your brothers, Dorothy. I don't see any
point in our always avoiding each other."

"I see, Teresa, feminine society is not enough for you. I wonder if it
ever will be," Louise remarked with such profound disgust and
annoyance that Dorothy shook her head reproachfully.

"Don't be so cross, Ouida, I am sure Teresa does not mean any great
harm. I like boys, I am obliged to like them with six brothers of my
own. Besides, I feel as Teresa does that it is stupid and self
righteous of us to continue to refuse to have anything to do with the
Boy Scouts simply because they once offended us. Certainly I miss the
opportunity to see Lance and Don now and then."

Anxious to be out of the conversation, Louise Miller picked up a book
of nature studies on the New England country, by John Burroughs, and
began reading.

Teresa Peterson's nature was not a straightforward one. Without actual
proof Louise Miller felt this instinctively. Of course there was no
great harm in her. But then all the more reason why she might make
mischief without intending it.

A few moments later the three girls moved back toward camp. Tent
inspection was over and they were going for an all-day hike through
the woods.




CHAPTER VIII

LIGHT AND SHADE


Victoria Drew sat on the lowest step leading into the evergreen cabin.
This was the name she preferred to call it. Inside Kara lay asleep.

There was no one else at the camp in Beechwood Forest at this moment.

The other girls and the Troop Captain had departed for a day's hike,
not to return until late afternoon.

Nevertheless Tory and Kara had not been alone. This never occurred;
Edith Linder had remained to be useful and to relieve Tory. As a
matter of fact, the Troop Captain, Miss Mason, and half a dozen girls
had insisted that Tory go forth for the long hike. The day was a
perfect midsummer day and each and every one of them would gladly
remain with Kara.

Tory had declined. In face of the argument that it was her duty to
give the other Girl Scouts the opportunity to be useful to Kara, who
was their friend as well as her own, Tory insisted that to-day she was
too tired for a long tramp. In any case she would stay on at camp.
Some other day she would be glad to change places.

At present Edith Linder had gone the half mile or more away to the
little House in the Woods on an errand. She had promised to help
prepare supper before the camping party could return. Finding herself
in need of supplies she had explained to Tory and slipped away. Kara
would not be apt to awaken soon and there appeared no immediate need
for her.

In truth Tory was glad to be alone for an hour.

In a short time the sun would set.

Weary Tory believed she wanted an hour for quiet thinking.

Earlier in the day Teresa had confessed that she was feeling a degree
of disappointment in the summer camp.

Tory Drew was disappointed, but for different reasons.

The past winter had been the most difficult she could remember. After
a wandering existence abroad with her artist father, it had not been
simple to find her place and to make friends in Westhaven. Yet she had
accomplished both. Her aunt, Miss Victoria Fenton, did not regard her
with great affection, nevertheless at least she had agreed that the
younger Victoria had become slightly less trying. And she and her
uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton, at first not liking each other, had become
devoted comrades.

Save for his interest and aid the summer camp, now surrounding her
like a quiet guard, would never have been a possibility.

Growing a little restless, Tory changed her position.

Would it not have been better had she gone on the errand to Miss Frean
and asked Edith to watch beside Kara. Of late Kara frequently showed
that she was weary of so much of her society.

Moreover, without confessing the fact, Tory appreciated that she was
suffering from the strain. She was tired and nervous oftener than she
was accustomed to feeling.

A quiet talk with Memory Frean and a walk to the House in the Woods
would have done her good.

Her uncle had said that he hoped this summer would give them an
opportunity for a closer intimacy. He believed that her influence
would be of benefit to Tory. If their friendship of long ago had
ended, he had not for that reason ceased to admire Miss Frean.

At this moment a breeze swept through Beechwood Forest, setting the
leaves shimmering with a fairylike enchantment.

An instant Tory was aroused from her reflections.

She was alone with no one to disturb her. Why not slip into her tent
and find her sketch book? She probably would have time for a sketch
before Kara awakened or Edith Linder returned.

Unaware of her own action, Tory shook her head.

She was too tired to sketch, and worse, felt no inspiration or desire.
Next to her grief over Kara was her disappointment in regard to her
summer's work.

Miss Mason had agreed that she might try for a Merit Badge as an
artist during their camp. Surely she had sufficient talent to have won
it. She had looked forward to having an arm filled with worth-while
sketches of her outdoor summer to show her father upon his return to
Westhaven.

Now she must face the fact that she would have not a single drawing
she would care to submit to competent judges, not even a sketch she
would be willing to have her father criticize.

Of course she would be glad to have sacrificed her summer to Kara, if
Kara had revealed a moderate amount of appreciation.

In truth Kara was not even as fond of her as she had been in the past
before she had been able to show her devotion. To do one's best and
always seem inadequate is not a condition many persons can face
cheerfully.

Inside, in the room beyond the open door, the other girl stirred, and
Tory glanced in.

On a cot by a window Kara lay asleep.

The room had changed since her coming. Formerly it had been the Girl
Scout living room. Here they had eaten their meals and held their
Scout meetings on the occasional rainy evenings when their more
splendid outdoor meeting place had been less comfortable.

This could still be managed if Kara were well enough or in the mood to
take part. But always her comfort and her wish were first.

Thrown over her at this moment was a gay woolen cover made by her own
Troop of Girl Scouts. During the past winter each of them, who had not
known how previously, had learned to knit as a part of their home
training. The suggestion had come from Teresa that each girl knit a
square of her favorite color, and thus a rainbow scarf might shed good
fortune upon Kara.

So far, Tory decided, with a sudden trembling of her lips, the promise
had not been fulfilled.

Kara was no happier in body or mind since her return to the camp.

Yet the room in which she was lying at present asleep was altogether
charming.

The sunlight, fading into its last brilliancy, shone through pale
yellow curtains. On the mantel above the fireplace was a brown bowl of
yellow wild flowers. Perched above, with wings outspread, was Mr.
Richard Fenton's last gift to the evergreen cabin, the stuffed figure
of an American eagle. A splendid specimen, one instinctively looked up
toward it on entering the room. Over it were the words, "The Girl
Scouts of the Eagle's Wing in Beechwood Forest."

A table drawn up near the couch was filled with flowers, books,
magazines and small articles. Scarcely a day passed that Kara did not
receive a gift of some kind, not only from the Girl Scouts and their
families, but from her many friends in Westhaven.

Yet, apparently, Kara no longer cared for what in the past would have
given her happiness. At one time she had been glad to feel that
Westhaven did not regard her merely as a little waif who had been left
upon their bounty and brought up at the "Gray House." She was the ward
of the entire village. Now this was of no further concern to her.

Tiptoeing softly into the room, Tory closed a window without arousing
the sleeper.

Strange to think that Kara long ago had slept in this same room and
been rescued by a stranger! What would be her emotions if she knew
that in this house, tumbled down and uncared for, she had been
deserted as a baby?

Tory decided that she must remember to warn Mr. Jeremy Hammond, who
had rescued Kara, never to recall the fact to her mind. Dr. McClain
had agreed that for the present this would be wisest, as in no
possible way must Kara be excited or depressed.

True, Mr. Hammond had never been to see Kara since her accident! He
must have learned of her misfortune. A large box of roses had arrived
at the "Gray House." Yet neither Mr. or Mrs. Hammond nor Lucy had come
personally to inquire.

At the thought Tory's face flushed with annoyance. Mr. Hammond had not
been attracted by Kara when he appeared at the orphan asylum with the
idea of adopting the little girl he had discovered long ago. Instead
he had chosen Lucy, the little girl whom Kara had cared for as if she
were a small sister. Lucy, at least, should have paid daily visits to
see if she could be useful. Possibly she had forgotten Kara amid her
new wealth.

"Well, _she_ would never forget or be unfaithful," Tory thought with a
sudden intensity of feeling characteristic of her. Some day Kara must
surely find someone or something to compensate her for her difficult
girlhood!

If only there might be a treasure, some fortunate inheritance, hidden
away in the little evergreen house, left there by the parents who
seemed to have cared less than nothing for their baby!

At her own dreaming Tory smiled. She then tiptoed out of the room
again. The place had been thoroughly searched for information and not
a line had been discovered save the slip of paper with Kara's name,
"Katherine Moore."

Outside on the veranda Tory did not sit down at once.

She could see some one approaching toward the camp down the long path.
Edith Linder was probably returning. It was, perhaps, as well. Miss
Mason, the Troop Captain, insisted that the girls never be at camp or
in the woods alone.

If Miss Frean knew she would doubtless come back with Edith. Tory
hoped this might be true. There were so many questions to discuss.
Kara had proposed an interesting suggestion earlier in the day. Evan
Phillips' mother might be induced to teach their own little group of
Girl Scouts outdoor dancing. Where could there be a more perfect
opportunity than here in the heart of Beechwood Forest in their own
"Choros," or dancing-ground?

The figure approaching was not a girl's.

At some distance off Tory recognized Lance McClain. He was strolling
calmly along in the most unconcerned fashion, a book open in his hand.
Now and then he glanced down and read a few lines.

Not the slightest intimation did his manner reveal that he ought to
regard himself as an unwelcome visitor in the Girl Scout camp.

Tory had not seen him since the morning when he had aided in bringing
Kara home. On that occasion he had been told that the girls were still
undecided whether they wished to have anything further to do with
Lance's group of Boy Scouts during their summer camping season.

"Hello, Tory; I hoped I would find you outdoors," he called out
amiably when within a few yards of the evergreen house.

Tory ran down the steps.

"Don't make a racket, Lance! What in the world are you doing here?
Kara is asleep and I am on guard. You know you are not supposed to
come to our camp. I feel as people used to in the old fairy stories
and legends. Somehow I must try to save you from having your head
chopped off, or some other fearful end. I do consider you deserve it,
but somehow it would be unpleasant."

"Your gentleness and kindness of heart overpower me, Oh, Victoria of
Beechwood Forest," Lance answered. He bowed in the graceful fashion
that for some unexplainable reason often aggravated Tory, and Dorothy
and Donald McClain; Lance's own sister and brother.

Lance was too unlike other boys at times not to be trying.

"Come down to the shore of the lake with me, won't you Princess
Nausicaa?" he demanded. "See how well I remember the name some one
bestowed upon you when I was here before. I have another reason for
recalling it. I shall explain in another instant if you will be so
good as to listen.

"What a pleasure to find you alone! Of course I expected it. I can't
say I should have cared to enter this particular camp if I had been
forced to face the entire troop of disapproving maiden Scouts. Still,
there is something I am anxious to have brought to your attention.
Come along, Tory."

The girl shook her head.

"Not so far away as the lake, Lance. I'll come to the big beech here
near the cabin. I'll know then if Kara wakes and wants me, yet we will
not be near enough to disturb her."

Under the deep green shelter Tory looked more searchingly at her
companion.

"You say you expected to find me at camp with most of the other girls
away. Did you see them on their hike or did Dorothy tell you we were
planning an all-day tramp?"

Lance shook his head.

"No, I have seen no one and heard nothing from Dorothy. If I have a
secret source of information isn't that my affair? In any case you
would not have me betray another?"

Tory sighed.

"Oh, for goodness sake, Lance, do say what you intend to say in a
straightforward fashion. I wish you were more like Don. One can always
understand and depend upon Don."

Then, when she saw Lance flush, Tory regretted her speech.

"I am all too accustomed to that remark, Tory. I assure you that if I
have seen any one from your camp or received any information
concerning you, it is not because I desired to be disagreeable. I was
hoping I might be allowed to extend you the olive branch.

"In fact, I have the olive branch with me. It is hidden away in my
book."




CHAPTER IX

THE ODYSSEY


Tory took the book into her own hands. Sitting down on the ground, she
opened the leaves carefully.

Nothing to suggest an olive branch met her gaze, not a pressed leaf or
a flower which might have served as a symbol.

Seated beside her, Lance's thin face, with its tanned skin and
humorous brown eyes, peered eagerly over her shoulder.

Tory shook her head.

"Explain yourself again, Lance. What has this book, the story of the
wanderings of the Greek hero, Odysseus, after the Trojan war, to do
with ending the feud between your troop of Boy Scouts and our own of
girls?" Tory patiently inquired. "I know you have some idea in mind,
but it takes a cleverer person than I to fathom it."

Gently Lance removed his book from the girl's clasp.

"Listen, Tory, for a few moments while I read to you. Then I'll tell
you what I mean and ask for your help if you are willing to give it.
You look tired and it may rest you."

Gladly Tory submitted. Clasping her hands together in her lap, she let
her eyes wander from their first glance at the little log cabin with
its bright covering of evergreens on and away into the deeper green of
Beechwood Forest, now shadowy with the approach of evening.

Lance could be agreeable when he liked. The winter before, when first
she had been introduced to Dorothy McClain's six brothers, she had
liked Lance better than the others. She even had preferred him to Don,
his twin brother, whom people in Westhaven insisted was the handsomest
member of the family.

During an illness of Lance's she had been able to save him from being
seriously burned. Afterwards, curiously, they became less friendly. In
any case Tory knew that she at present preferred Don. Not only was he
handsomer and stronger and more straightforward, he showed a sincerer
liking for her.

"So there the stout-hearted Odysseus lay and slept, worn out with all
his toil. But meanwhile Athena went to the Sea-Kings' city, up to the
palace of their ruler, the wise Alcinous and into the beautiful
chamber where his daughter lay asleep, the young princess, Nausicaa,
fair as the Immortals. On either side of the threshold two maidens
were sleeping, as lovely as the Graces, and the glittering doors were
shut. But the Goddess floated through them like a breath of wind up to
the head of the couch, and spoke to Nausicaa in a dream. She seemed to
her one of her dear companions, the daughter of Dymas, the sailor."

As Lance continued reading Tory did not listen attentively. He had a
pleasant, quiet voice that shed a restful influence upon her as he had
hoped.

Tory was not especially fond of reading, not to the extent that her
uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton would have liked. He spent the greater part
of his time in his library at the old Fenton house in Westhaven.

Miss Frean in her own little House in the Woods gently reproached Tory
now and then for her lack of interest in books. Perhaps neither one of
them could understand that pictures were what she cared for intensely.
The pictures need not of necessity be of the character that hang upon
walls. Tory was seeing pictures at this moment which were affording
her the deepest pleasure.

If only she had her neglected sketch book in her hands!

Bent over his book Lance's head would have made an interesting sketch
even if she were unable to obtain a satisfactory likeness.

Then Tory forgot Lance and the outward objects surrounding her. The
words he was reading aloud were creating a beautiful image in her
mind. She seemed able to see "The Princess Nausicaa, fair as the
Immortals."

Her companion read on:

"So the night passed away, and the young dawn appeared on her glorious
throne and awakened the princess."

With a bang Lance closed his book.

"Stop dreaming, Tory Drew. You scarcely know I am present and I want
you to be particularly sensible and attentive to what I am going to
say. I suppose you know I have been reading the story of the Odyssey,
since you told me Miss Frean had read it to you early in the summer."

Tory laughed. For all his quietness and apparent gentleness Lance's
nature was more domineering than most persons appreciated. Their
friends believed that Don ruled in the intimate friendship between the
two brothers. More often than not they were mistaken.

"We have been having a great time at our Scout camp, Tory. Hope you
girls have had as good! I have enjoyed the summer a lot better than I
expected. I know I have improved in the drilling and a few other
things. Lucky for me that I am fond of a few outdoor sports; keeps up
my end in the Scout proficiency tests!"

"All right, Lance, but why don't you come to the point? I know it is
hard for you to have to give your time and energy to so many things
and never be allowed to study the music you love. But then, of course,
your father knows best. I can understand his not wishing you to be a
musician," Tory added hastily, fearing she might appear to be
criticising the doctor whom she loved and admired. "I can appreciate
your father saying that with six sons and a daughter and he only a
small town physician, he never could afford to let you have the
musical education you would require."

"All right, Tory, no use going into that subject now. I have heard all
that a good many times. What we were talking about was the Scout
organizations, yours and mine. I think they are specially good for us;
for you, because you are an only girl and kind of spoiled by pretty
nearly everybody. Good for me because I am a selfish fellow who likes
to be alone unless I can hang around with Don. We get the combination
of freedom and discipline we both need.

"At first this summer I thought the other fellows were not going to
have much use for my queer notions. I thought they stood for me
because Don is very nearly the most popular Scout in camp. I was kind
of pleased when they chose me to come over to camp and extend the
olive branch to you Girl Scouts."

The thin, brown face was now eager and glowing, but Tory remained as
completely mystified.

"Remember the tableaux your troop of Girl Scouts gave in Westhaven
this spring? They were a great success and I, for one, shall never
forget how you looked as Joan of Arc.

"Ever since our Boy Scout Troop has been trying to get up something as
good. This summer we decided would be our best chance with all the
fellows together and our officers and several members of our Scout
Council staying at camp."

"Yes," Tory replied, beginning to be anxious to go back to Kara and
wishing Lance would finish what he was endeavoring to say.

The other Girl Scouts might come back to camp at any moment. She did
not wish to be discovered seated under a beech tree conversing with
Lance McClain, whose presence at their camp was neither invited nor
desired. Later she would be able to explain, but for the moment she
would not enjoy the position.

Lance smiled.

"I appreciate you are in a hurry, Tory, as well as the other things
you are thinking. You need not believe I wish to be discovered here
until you have had a chance to make things clear to Miss Mason and the
Girl Scouts. But I want to put my proposition to you before you have
your outdoor meeting to-night to decide whether you wish to make
friends once more."

Again Tory was puzzled to understand how Lance could know so much of
their daily program. His next suggestion drove all other thoughts from
her mind.

"To get to the point: After a lot of reading and discussion we have
concluded to close our summer holiday with an outdoor pageant. I
suppose one should call it a pageant. We are not going to do exactly
what other people have been doing all summer. We don't intend to
present New England history. After the big pageant at Plymouth Rock,
it would take a good deal of nerve to try to imitate it. So we have
decided to present the 'Wanderings of Odysseus.' We are not sure as to
details. Our plan is to have a series of Greek tableaux that will tell
the story and have some one person read certain of the lines aloud."

Tory leaned forward.

She appeared interested but doubtful.

"That is a pretty big idea, Lance. Do you feel you will be equal to
it? Presenting an American pageant is one thing, but gracious! who
knows what Greek pictures should be like?

"Of course, I am sure the girls will be delighted if there is anything
we can do to be useful. You were awfully kind about helping us," Tory
continued, feeling she had not appeared as enthusiastic as Lance might
have hoped. "But where is the olive branch I am to offer the girls
to-night when we have our meeting to decide whether we are willing to
make friends?"

Lance flushed and looked uncomfortable.

"The olive branch is what I have been talking about, Tory. The Boy
Scouts want you girls to take part in our Greek pageant. We want you
to take the feminine rôles. Now, don't say no, right off, Tory, and
don't be so discouraging as you seem to feel. I confess I am counting
on your influence in more ways than one. The truth is the suggestion
came from me, and I have had a hard enough time trying to make the
other fellows see the thing as I do. Suppose we don't accomplish
anything remarkable, it is fun to have had a try. And it is worth
while trying to make people see things and think things that have had
to do with other nations at other times in the world's history. I want
you to talk to your uncle, Mr. Fenton, and to ask his advice before we
go much further. I suppose you know he is a Greek scholar."

During Lance's speech Tory's expression had become more sympathetic
and convinced.

"Perhaps the idea is possible, Lance. In any case, I am delighted to
help all I can by talking to Uncle Richard and using whatever
influence I have with the girls. Only one thing, you must not count on
my taking part. I could not give up the time from being with Kara."

"I understand, Tory; we'll see how it works out. I was thinking of
Kara as I came over here to talk to you. A lot better than a good many
other people I believe I can understand Kara's present state of mind.
You see, I have been sick myself. Kara will brace up once she gets
hold of herself. Don't you take anything she says or does too
seriously."

Lance and Tory got up and began walking back toward the evergreen
cabin.

"You know if this thing goes through I believe it may be a help to
Kara. She isn't strong enough for a lot of excitement, but it will
give her an outside interest. Right now she needs to think of
something beside herself.

"I suppose I ought to have strength of character enough not to mention
it. But there are days when the fact that I am never going to have a
chance to be a great musician gets hold of me, and I know there is
nobody on earth then who is as disagreeable as I can be. I don't see
why Kara cannot play some part in the tableaux. She could be seated in
her chair as if it were a kind of throne," Lance concluded.

The girl looked at him gravely.

"You can be a comfort when you wish to be, Lance, and you are right,
you can be dreadfully disagreeable. Only you are not very often.

"Would your telling me how you know what we are doing at our Girl
Scout camp involve some one else?"

Lance nodded.

"Yes, so I decline to mention names. Now, don't be stupid and think I
mean anything serious. If two people meet they have a right to speak
to each other. Good-by, I must be off. I think I hear the Girl Scouts
returning. Do the best you can for us."




CHAPTER X

CONSULTATIONS AND DECISIONS


At the close of their evening's discussion the Girl Scouts had not
finally decided whether to accept or reject the invitation tendered
them by Tory Drew.

They would be friends again. This opinion was at last unanimous. But
to take part in a Greek pageant which would require a sacrifice of
time and energy from the routine of their camp life? This represented
a deeper problem.

There must be a longer period for consultation. The advice of their
Girl Scout Council must be asked. Upon this, Miss Mason, the Troop
Captain, insisted, before even expressing her own point of view.

By the following afternoon she and Tory and Edith Linder started out
for the little House in the Woods to talk over the idea with Memory
Frean, who represented one of their chief sources of wisdom.

The summer afternoon was a perfect one. Illimitably beautiful pale
dappled gray clouds filled the summer sky, shutting out the fierce
rays of the sun.

As they hoped, from a little distance off the three newcomers
discovered Miss Frean busy in her garden.

Tory saw her first. She made a motion with her hand to suggest that
they approach softly without being observed.

The older woman wore no hat, and a simple outdoor cotton dress of pale
gray, with a deep blue scarf over her shoulders.

Her hair was more carefully arranged than usual in the shining, heavy
brown braids Tory so often had admired.

In truth Memory Frean had begun to take more interest in her personal
appearance since her meeting with Victoria Drew on the wintry road. So
long she had lived alone in her little House in the Woods, with her
outdoor interests in the summer time and her books in winter, that she
had grown too careless.

The meeting with Tory had brought back old friends and memories. Tory
had introduced her to the Girl Scouts of the Eagle's Wing. Now, as a
member of their Council, Memory felt as if the girls were her adopted
daughters.

Edith Linder had been in a measure her adopted daughter. She had lived
for the past winter in the house with Miss Frean.

Now Edith uttered an exclamation of pleasure, which at Tory's gesture
she quickly subdued.

Memory Frean was standing in the center of a plot of grass with her
arms outstretched. Fluttering about her head were a family of wrens.
Two had alighted within the palms of her hands and were gazing toward
her with serious intentness.

In a nearby tree stood a new bird house, which she must recently have
placed in position, as not far off was another bird house smaller and
shabbier. Outside the door of the new home a feast of bread crumbs had
been spread.

By and by one of the wrens flying near the new abode, pecked at a
crumb. Something gave him confidence and courage. Inside the open door
he disappeared. Instantly the entire family followed.

The three visitors burst into a cry of admiration. Memory Frean came
toward them, still with her arms outstretched.

"I have been expecting you all day. No Girl Scout has been near me
since Edith came on a borrowing expedition late yesterday afternoon.
If you had waited any longer I should have been offended. See, I have
put on a clean dress, and the water is boiling for tea, and the table
spread in the Shakespeare garden."

Miss Frean led the way, with Edith and Tory clinging to her and Sheila
Mason following.

The herbs in the Shakespeare garden were in the perfection of bloom.
In the fragrance of the summer air mingled the pungent odors of thyme
and marjoram, sage and rosemary.

A bunch of the herbs decorated the small round table.

Edith Linder disappeared toward the kitchen for the tea, while the
three others sat down.

"Edith Linder has been a success as a Girl Scout this summer, has she
not, Sheila? We did our best to prepare for the honor last winter.
Edith and I realized that Tory opposed her joining your troop."

Tory flushed.

"Is it very kind of you, Memory Frean, to refer to one's past
mistakes, especially when I am your guest?"

Memory Frean laid her large but beautiful hand, a little roughened
from outdoor work, upon Tory Drew's sensitive, slender one.

"I suppose I should apologize to you, Tory. I only meant to say that I
am glad you finally agreed to allow Edith to enter your Patrol. I do
not believe any of you quite realize what the honor meant to her. In a
brief time she seems to have changed more than any one I have ever
known. She had not had much of a chance in the past. Occasionally last
winter, when she was with me, she gave Tory the right to her
prejudice."

The large hand had not been raised from the smaller one.

Still weary, from what cause she could not guess, Tory felt as if the
strength and vitality of the older woman were flowing gently into her.

Scarcely listening more than was necessary for politeness, she leaned
her head against her companion's shoulder.

"I believe one of the most difficult things in the world to realize is
that when people fail to possess the characteristics we have agreed
they ought to possess, the failure nearly always comes from lack of
opportunity, not from choice. I don't mean to be preaching truisms, I
was only thinking of this in connection with the Scout organizations.
They bring opportunities to so many who would have had no chance
otherwise. Edith Linder had never had the opportunity or the spur she
needed. Her ambition to be a good Scout has given her both.

"Wake up, Tory. Are you being nice to Edith as you promised me to be?
She likes and admires you, and I am sure would not mind my speaking of
this."

"There are three girls in our summer camp who have the greatest
personal influence over the others. It is interesting to watch," Miss
Mason remarked, smiling at the older woman. "Of course, under the
circumstances I do not include Kara. Her illness makes her influence
of a different kind at present."

Tory lifted her head, more interested in the discussion.

"Yes, I have noticed this about Margaret Hale and Dorothy McClain. I
am not so sure, I think the third girl is Joan Peters," she ejaculated
and relapsed into quiet again.

The two women glanced at Tory and then at Edith Linder, who was at
this instant coming across the yard with the tea.

The two girls were an apt illustration of Memory Frean's last
expressed opinion.

Edith had grown tall in the past year. Her features were large and a
little coarse, but handsome in their own fashion. There was about her
a look of capacity. If she had desired she could easily have lifted
and carried the other girl who was nearly her own age. Edith's family
had been small farmers for generations. Tory Drew's had been students
and artists and writers. She had no appearance of physical strength
and yet her vitality was probably as great.

She looked admiringly at the other girl.

"Edith is splendid. She knows more of cooking and practical things
than any girl in camp. She was trying to teach me to cook and we were
together a good deal of the time before Kara's accident. Now I see
little of any of the other girls, although I really think Kara often
would prefer anyone's society to mine."

Edith was by this time engaged in pouring the tea.

"I like to behave as if I were more at home in the House in the Woods
than any one of the other Scouts," she explained. "After all, I am the
only one who has lived here, although Tory is an older friend and my
greatest rival."

Edith spoke as if she meant seriously what she was saying. Yet she
spoke with entire good nature.

It had been agreed not to discuss the subject of the pageant until her
return.

The next half hour the two women and two girls talked of nothing else.

"I believe you should speak to other members of the Council beside
me," Miss Frean argued. "Mr. Fenton is fairy godfather to the camp in
Beechwood Forest. He is Tory's uncle and I think should be consulted.
If I remember correctly he used to be a Greek scholar. He is not apt
to have forgotten, and if he thinks well of the idea can be of great
assistance."

Before dusk Sheila Mason and Edith Linder started back for camp. They
left Tory to have supper with Miss Frean, who promised to bring her
home later.

The suggestion had originated with the Troop Captain.

Tory protested that Kara would need her services and be hurt if she
failed to appear.

"No, I want Miss Frean to talk to you for a special reason, Tory. I am
sure you will find that the other girls, with my help, are capable of
caring for Kara this one evening without you."

The little edge to Miss Mason's speech Tory had never heard her use
before. It left her flushed and silent. She remained alone in the
Shakespeare garden while Miss Frean walked a few yards into the woods
with her guests.

In what fashion was she failing as a Girl Scout, that her Troop
Captain felt compelled to ask some one else to lecture her? Why had
she not told her wherein lay her fault?

Tory found her eyes filling with tears. She was glad to be for a few
moments alone. Not often was she given to this particular form of
weakness. She disliked it in other persons, but of late her nerves had
been troublesome. Were the other Girl Scouts finding her a difficult
member of their camp group?

By and by the older woman returned. At first she and Tory said nothing
upon any intimate topic. They continued to stroll about the garden
until dusk.

Their supper was to be a simple meal of bread and milk and fruit that
would give no trouble.

Since she had begun to study and love the New England country this
garden of Memory Frean's had become of intense interest and affection
to the young American girl who had spent so much of her life in
foreign lands.

Within the yard and upon the border of the deep woods beyond she had
learned the names of a wide variety of trees, birds and flowers. She
knew the differences between the white and black and yellow pines, the
spruce and the cedar and the several species of maple trees, the ashes
and the birches. She had learned that the beech tree is singularly
arrogant and permits few other trees to grow inside its woods.

At this season of the year the birds were less in evidence than
earlier in the spring. Now, as darkness fell, Tory discovered that a
greater number sang their evensong in Memory Frean's garden than near
their own camp in Beechwood Forest. True, Miss Frean made everything
ready for their reception.

Placed about the yard were half a dozen wide open bowls filled with
fresh water.

The garden boasted a hedge of currant and raspberry bushes at present
loaded with ripe fruit. There were no scarecrows about and no one ever
made an effort to drive the birds away, so they were accustomed to
plucking the unforbidden fruit of this garden.

This evening Tory assisted at the daily scattering of crumbs. This
took place when possible at exactly the same hour.

Afterwards she and Memory Frean hid behind a shelter, where concealed
they could watch the flight of the birds into the garden.

Some floated in from outside, others came down from their nests in
Miss Frean's own trees to partake of her hospitality.

This evening, appearing with the more regular visitors, was a
golden-winged warbler, splendid with his conspicuous yellow wing bars.
Close behind him came a pair of tanagers.

The female Tory did not recognize until Memory Frean explained that she
was a dull green olive in color, unlike her brilliant, scarlet-coated
husband.

In fact, Tory and Miss Frean did not go indoors until, from somewhere
deep in the woods, a whippoorwill began his evening call.

In the meantime Tory had happily forgotten there was any subject to be
discussed between herself and her friend that might not be an
altogether happy one.

She did think of it, however, while she was eating her supper on a
small table in Memory Frean's living-room, drawn up before a small
fire.

The night was not particularly cool, yet the fire was not uncomfortable,
and had been lighted at Tory's request.

The older woman had finished eating and sat holding an open magazine
in her hands.

Tory's eyes studied the room, with which she now had grown familiar,
with the same curiosity and pleasure. The room was so simple and odd.
The hundreds of old books in their worn coverings, only a few new ones
among them, lined the walls. By the window, the couch was covered with
an old New England quilt, of great value, if Tory had realized the
fact. The furniture was so inexpensive, the little pine table before
her, the larger one with Memory Frean's lamp and books and a bowl of
flowers, the chairs and long bench.

What a contrast to her own austere and handsome home in Westhaven, now
the property of her uncle and aunt, Mr. Richard Fenton and Miss
Victoria Fenton. If Memory Frean and her uncle had not ceased to care
for each other perhaps there would have been no little House in the
Woods.

Tory finished her supper and her reflections.

"Memory Frean, what is it Miss Mason wished you to talk about to me?
How am I failing as a Girl Scout?"

When no one else was present she used the older woman's first name,
loving its dignity and soft inflections.

Memory Frean put down her magazine.

"You are not failing, Tory, not in one sense. You are trying to
accomplish too much. This is, of course, another form of failure. Take
your dishes in to the kitchen and then sit here on the stool by me."

Five minutes after she continued:

"You see, Tory, it is with Kara you are making a mistake. You are
doing yourself and Kara both injustice. Miss Mason tells me she has
talked to you and that the other Girl Scouts have protested, yet you
remain selfish about Kara."

The girl made no answer. If she did not like the accusation, she did
not at present deny it.

"From the first you have been sentimental over your friendship with
Katherine Moore. Kara first made a strong appeal to you when you were
lonely and antagonistic toward your new life in a small New England
town. This drew her closer to you than had you grown up together in
ordinary girl fashion. Besides, you are romantic, Tory. You respond to
the people who call forth that side of you. The mystery surrounding
poor Kara has fascinated you. The fact that she knew nothing of her
parents has made you feel that you could be more to her than had she
enjoyed the family affection other girls receive. I believe in your
heart of hearts you have planned some day to be Kara's fairy godmother
and make up to her for what she has failed to receive."

"Well, if I have, is it so wicked of me?" Tory demanded.

Memory Frean smiled.

"I am afraid so, Tory dear, although many wise persons may not agree
with me. I don't think it often is allowed us to play special
Providence to other people. Since Kara's accident more than ever have
you been trying to accomplish this for her. You have been wearing
yourself out and Kara feels this and cannot enjoy it. In their own
ways the other Girl Scouts resent your belief that Kara must always
prefer you to be with her and to care for her. She was their friend
and they knew and loved her before she came into your life.

"Together you agreed to bring Kara to camp and to see if you could
make things easier for her. The other girls want their chance too,
Tory. Don't you realize, dear, that you are growing tired out from too
much responsibility. You can't help Kara if you are tired and nervous
and, though you may not confess it to yourself, a little resentful of
your own disappointment in the summer.

"Remember you told me what a lot of outdoor sketching you intended to
do. Your father had given you permission to work at your painting and
drawing in the summer time, provided you gave your time and energy to
your school in the winter. You have not shown me a new drawing since
Kara's accident.

"Then, don't you suppose the other girls miss having you with them on
some of their excursions? Martha Greaves, the English Girl Guide, must
have felt many times that you have been neglecting her. She is a
stranger and in a way has the right to depend upon you. Am I
reproaching you for too much all at once, Tory?"

The girl arose up from her low stool and stood with her hands clasped
and a frown on her forehead.

"You have said a good deal, Memory Frean. If you don't mind, suppose
we start back to camp."

Tory made no other reply. After a little she and Memory Frean were
walking along the path that led in the direction of Beechwood Forest.

Tory was no more fond of criticism than most persons, and less
accustomed to it. Her mother had died when she was a small girl, and
her father had been her devoted friend and admirer, rarely her judge.
To her aunt Miss Victoria Fenton's efforts at discipline Tory had
yielded little. Her uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton, made no attempt at
discipline, but had been sympathetic toward her after the birth of a
rare understanding between them.

To-night Tory was angry with the person whom, next to Kara, she had
believed her dearest friend in Westhaven.

Mistakes she may have made in her devotion to Kara. But Memory Frean,
Sheila Mason, her Troop Captain, and her own Girl Scouts might have
appreciated the situation.

She had been with Kara when the accident took place that might result
in the tragedy of her life. Dr. McClain and the two surgeons with whom
he consulted could only say there was a possibility of a future
recovery. But before anything could be hoped for Kara must reach a
happier state of mind and body.

Never had there been any pretence that she and Kara were not more
intimate and devoted than any other two girls in their Troop, save
perhaps Dorothy McClain and Louise Miller.

Then what was one to do but give Kara all that one possessed?

However, if Kara were wearying of this and really preferred the other
girls, Tory appreciated that she was probably being a nuisance. She
would not speak of it to Memory Frean or Miss Mason, but in the future
Kara should not be so bored by her society.

Walking on together through the woods, once Memory Frean attempted to
put her arm inside Tory's. Quietly Tory drew away.

The dusk was deepening. After a time footsteps behind them could be
heard. It was as if some one were following them.

A screech owl called and startled her; Tory had a sudden attack of
nerves; running ahead a few yards, she stumbled. The footsteps were
coming nearer.

Memory Frean put an arm about her.

"Stand still, Tory. Let us wait here and see who is approaching."




CHAPTER XI

OUT OF THE PAST


The stranger was a middle-aged man with iron-gray hair. He was
carrying his hat in his hand and enjoying the beauty and fragrance of
the late evening in the woods.

As Tory rushed toward him, Miss Frean stepped back into a deeper
shadow.

The newcomer was Tory's uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton.

"How stupid of me to have been frightened!" she exclaimed. "I have
been taking supper with Miss Frean and she is walking back to camp
with me. You were coming to camp to see us?"

Mr. Fenton agreed, walking forward to speak to Memory Frean. Except
for an occasional meeting upon the streets of Westhaven, and one or
two brief conversations with regard to the Girl Scout camp in
Beechwood Forest, they had not seen each other in many years.

To-night in the depth of the woods, with Tory walking between them,
they talked as if neither of them recalled any past intimacy.

"I have been a little worried about you, Tory," Mr. Fenton said
finally. "You have not been in town to see me in a number of days. I
thought it was agreed that we were to see each other once a week."

Tory nodded.

"Yes, I have missed you dreadfully, but I have been so busy. I thought
if you became very lonely you would come and find me," she announced,
with the familiarity of a delightful intimacy.

By and by when Miss Frean and Mr. Fenton continued talking, the
barrier between them increasing, Tory scarcely listened, thinking
their conversation not particularly entertaining.

They were merely discussing the weather and the scenery.

In another quarter of an hour the lights of the camp showed nearby.
Darkness had not completely descended. Outdoors one could still see
one's way.

The chief lights appeared inside the evergreen cabin, while in front
of the door stood a large automobile.

Fearing that Kara had grown unexpectedly worse, Tory darted away from
her companions and into the cabin.

The car she saw was not Dr. McClain's.

Entering the room, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, she found
it filled with people.

Kara sat in the center in her wheeled chair. She looked pale but
excited and interested.

Three visitors were standing near her. They were Mr. and Mrs. Jeremy
Hammond and the little girl, Lucy Martin, whom they had adopted some
months ago.

In the years at the old Gray House on the hill in Westhaven Lucy had
been Kara's special charge.

If Tory had been fascinated by the little girl's extraordinary beauty
in the past, she was more startled to-night. The room was lighted only
by candles and a single large lamp under a yellow shade.

Lucy wore a pale yellow dress of some filmy, soft material and a large
hat circled with a wreath of flowers.

She had removed her hat and held it as one would a large basket. Her
dark hair made a stiff aureole about her delicately cut face with its
pointed chin, large brilliantly black eyes and full red lips.

Then Tory was both startled and repelled by the younger girl's
expression.

She was staring at Kara with no suggestion of sympathy or affection;
instead, she looked shocked and frightened and even disdainful.

Kara was extending her hands toward the little girl with more
animation and pleasure than Tory had seen her reveal since her
accident.

And actually, with a faint shudder, Lucy was drawing away.

An impulse to seize the little girl by the shoulders and forcibly
thrust her out of the evergreen cabin assailed Tory.

She moved forward. In the meantime Mr. and Mrs. Hammond, becoming
aware of Lucy's behavior, were endeavoring to conceal her rudeness.

"Kara, Lucy has been insisting each day that we bring her to see you.
We did not know at first that you had gone from the Gray House.
Afterwards Mr. Hammond was away for a short time and we were waiting
for him," Mrs. Hammond remarked, speaking hurriedly but with extreme
graciousness.

She was a pretty, exquisitely dressed woman of about thirty years with
light brown hair and eyes. She appeared an agreeable society woman but
without any especial force of character. Evidently if she cared a
great deal for Lucy, the little girl in time would have small
difficulty in having her own way.

This would not be equally true with Mr. Hammond.

At present he was divided by annoyance with his adopted daughter and a
kind of puzzled curiosity.

He was staring about the gay room filled with girls and then at the
figure in the wheeled chair.

Kara appeared to be interested in no one save Lucy.

Now as the child shrank away from her, her thin hands dropped in her
lap, her face looked whiter and her gray eyes with the heavy dark
lashes grew sadder and more wistful.

A little murmur, not actually voiced and yet capable of being heard,
ran through the room.

This time Lucy must have understood the antagonism among the group of
Girl Scouts that her manner had created.

At one time, and only a few months before, Kara had been everything to
her, sister and nurse and friend. A few months of wealth and she
seemed completely spoiled.

"You have many friends, Kara, but if there is anything Mr. Hammond and
I could possibly do for you, you have only to let us know," Mrs.
Hammond suggested at this moment, not very tactfully.

"You are very kind, but there is nothing to be done," Kara returned
coldly.

Apparently she had lost all interest in her guests, now that Lucy had
so utterly forgotten the old days at the Gray House on the hill. She
always had been an odd little creature, passionate, self willed and
self seeking. Still, Kara had never doubted her affection.

Not yet eight o'clock and Kara not expected to retire until nine,
nevertheless Tory looked about the room in search of Miss Mason. Kara
was being wearied. Better the room full of people be asked to go
outdoors. They could talk on in the deepening dusk.

At the open door Sheila Mason was talking to Miss Frean and Mr.
Richard Fenton. At the moment she was not thinking of Kara and the
three other visitors.

Trying to make up her mind to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Hammond herself,
Tory saw that Mr. Hammond suddenly appeared restless and at the same
time absorbed in thought.

"See here, Miss Kara, I wonder if you would like me to tell you
something? I am not perfectly sure and perhaps have not the right to
speak. Yet after all I am pretty well convinced that I am not making a
mistake and you cannot fail to be interested. You need things to
interest you these days, don't you?"

Mr. Hammond spoke abruptly. Tory considered that his manner was kinder
and he showed more interest in Kara than upon the day when he had come
to the old Gray House to seek the little girl he had rescued years
before. Then he had been fascinated by Lucy and Kara had been
disregarded.

Kara looked up now with slightly more animation.

"Yes, I do need something to interest me these days, Mr. Hammond. I am
afraid you will find me pretty difficult. Only a few weeks ago I cared
so intensely for our summer camp in Beechwood Forest and every one of
our Girl Scout occupations that nothing else appeared of the slightest
importance. Now when everyone is so good to me I don't seem interested
in anything. There are so many Scout subjects I could study when I
have so much time and I don't care to take the trouble. I really am
stronger perhaps than I pretend to be."

Kara's tone was so unhappy and listless that Mr. Hammond's agreeable
face clouded.

"Your state of mind is due to the fact that you have not recovered
from the shock of your fall. You won't feel like that always, sure not
to, a girl with the courage and good sense you have always revealed.
Still, what I am going to tell you is obliged to stir you up. I don't
believe you will object to the other Girl Scouts hearing what I tell
you. You are such devoted friends.

"Ever since I entered this pretty room I have experienced an odd
sensation connected with it. Somehow it seemed associated with you.
This may not appear remarkable, the room is now your sanctuary and I
am sure everything in it is for your service. But that is not what I
have in mind.

"I was haunted by an almost forgotten impression. As I drove up to the
cabin this afternoon, I felt that I had been in this vicinity before.
Here something unusual had taken place which had left a strong
impression upon me. I felt this more keenly when I entered this room,
although I never beheld any other room so gay and pretty and filled
with so many girls.

"The room was not always like this, Kara. You Girl Scouts must have
seen the room a little as I beheld it a number of years ago, when you
chose this spot for your summer camping grounds.

"Did I not once confide to you, Kara, that I discovered a tiny little
girl in a deserted farmhouse when I was a young man, riding along a
lane in this neighborhood? It looked more like an abandoned farm in
those days to a man who knew extraordinarily little about farms.
Perhaps the little house was never anything more than a cabin in the
woods, with farmlands in the neighborhood. If so, they have vanished.
Do you recall, Kara, the little girl I discovered and who she
afterwards turned out to be?"

At last Tory Drew felt her senses returning, and at the same time an
impulse to action. During Mr. Hammond's rambling story she had
remained quiet, listening and yet all the time knowing its conclusion.

Previously Dr. McClain had impressed upon her the fact that Kara had
been found in the little house in which she was living at present. If
Mr. Hammond had once called the cabin a farmhouse, Dr. McClain had
always been certain of its identity.

It was the doctor's opinion that Kara must not for the present be
excited or disturbed by any reference to this fact.

At last Tory was aware that she should have spoken sooner, that any
protest from her at present would come too late.

With all her listlessness vanished Kara was leaning forward, her eyes
on the speaker, while the other Girl Scouts appeared almost equally
interested.




CHAPTER XII

RETROSPECTION


"Now that I look back, the room seems to have been extraordinarily
clean under the circumstances, although it was bare and poor," Mr.
Hammond continued. "There was just a bed and some chairs and a table.
You were lying on the bed, Kara, and if you had objected to being left
alone, you were perfectly agreeable and sweet tempered after I made
your acquaintance. I remember you were extremely amiable during our
ride together into Westhaven. You gave me an impression which I still
carry with me that you would meet most situations with grace and good
sense."

Mr. Hammond began wandering about the room. He appeared embarrassed by
the intensity of Kara's attitude and the conviction that possibly he
had not chosen a wise time or place for his revelation.

In fact, he had no intention of speaking of the matter at all.
Surprise at finding himself a visitor to the girl in the same spot
where he had discovered her as a baby had influenced his discretion.

"Is there anything else you could tell me, Mr. Hammond? You need not
regret having spoken before the other girls. They are my friends and
really know as much of my history as I know, there is so little
information I have ever received."

"No, I am afraid not, Kara, I am sorry. Now and then I have considered
that possibly we did not make a sufficiently thorough investigation.
Yet I do not honestly believe this. At the time I searched the room
thoroughly. I waited, thinking that in all probability some one would
come back for you. Then, when I gave up this idea and took you with me
to Westhaven, we did not fail in making another effort.

"Dr. McClain, I recall, insisted upon this and we came out here
together. Moreover, we left a letter stating that if any one desired
to find you, information could be had of Dr. McClain in Westhaven."

"There does not seem to be any doubt, no one ever did return and no
one ever wished to find me. I have always thought, almost hoped that
my mother and father were dead," Kara answered.

No one else had spoken during the grave and dramatic conversation
between Kara and Mr. Hammond. In fact, Kara herself had said little.
Now her words affected the room filled with her friends with a sense
of tragedy.

Tory Drew moved near the other girl, standing beside her in a
defensive attitude, as if disaster must first meet her before it could
again touch the friend so dear to her.

Mrs. Hammond took Lucy's hand in her own, attempting to draw the
little girl toward the open door. Some day she hoped that Lucy might
altogether forget the Gray House and think of herself as her own and
Mr. Hammond's child.

At last Sheila Mason had ceased her talk with Mr. Fenton and Miss
Frean. She turned toward the center of the room, looking as if she
wished to ask Mr. and Mrs. Hammond to say farewell. Then the interest
in Kara's face and in Mr. Hammond's words forbade the interruption.

Memory Frean had come into the room and Mr. Richard Fenton stood
immediately behind her. He was watching Tory.

"I am afraid I have said too much or too little and perhaps tired or
worried you, Kara. If you like, suppose we have a long, quiet talk
some day alone. I'll come again to see you and we can go out into the
woods together."

Conscious of the atmosphere and of his own imprudence, Mr. Hammond
picked up his hat and stick which he had placed upon a table.

Again his own interest in the situation became stronger than other
impressions.

Walking toward Kara's chair, he pushed the chair a few feet nearer the
wall.

Without explaining his purpose he moved aside a rug which lay on the
floor and struck the boards with his cane.

"Has this floor ever been taken up and a new one laid down?" he
inquired, apparently of Victoria Drew, who chanced to be standing
nearer than any one else.

Tory shook her head.

"I don't think so. The floor was in extremely good condition when we
decided to make this cabin the center of our camp in Beech wood
Forest."

"The bed stood just here," Mr. Hammond indicated with his walking
stick the exact spot where Kara's chair had been the moment before. "I
have always felt we should have had this floor removed. Kara, if you
will give me permission, when the summer camping days have passed, I
should like to undertake it. There isn't one chance in a thousand we
should come across anything, but it would be worth while to try, would
it not?"

Kara's expression made no other answer necessary.

A few moments after the Hammonds had said farewell and were gone.

An instant it appeared as if Lucy wished to break away and speak to
Kara. The other girl never glanced toward her, or seemed conscious of
her presence after her first display of affection, so apparently Lucy
lost the desire or the courage.

Immediately the Girl Scouts departed for their sleeping tents
accompanied by their Troop Captain.

Miss Mason would return to say good-night to Kara and see that she was
comfortable for the night. In the meantime there was the final evening
ceremony with her Girl Scouts.

In the big room at present were only Tory, Miss Frean and Mr. Fenton,
save for the girl in the wheeled chair.

Mr. Fenton approached Kara.

"I trust so many visitors and so much excitement will not be harmful
to you," he said in the dignified fashion that always charmed Kara and
his own niece. Mr. Fenton never addressed them as if they were merely
young girls and of no special importance.

Always his manner was courtly and agreeable.

Toward Kara he extended a box of candy which he had been carrying
under his arm.

"I know candy is to a large extent a forbidden fruit at camp. But as
you are a kind of uncrowned queen these days, Kara, I thought you
might be permitted to offer a sweet now and then to your ladies in
waiting."

During this conversation Tory had crossed over to Miss Frean,
persuading her to be seated on a low bench and sitting down beside
her.

"I was deeply offended with you, Memory, an hour ago when you held a
'mirror up to nature,' my nature. I detest being lectured. Just the
same, I promise to try not to bore Kara too much with my society and
to give the other girls more opportunity. But dear me, I did think I
was doing the right thing! Often I have wanted dreadfully to go off on
our Scouting expeditions and have remained at camp because I thought
Kara needed me and did not wish the other girls to be sacrificed. It
does require an extraordinary number of virtues to be a good Scout."

Memory Frean shook her head.

"I don't believe I would put the case in just that fashion, Tory. To
be a good Scout demands first of all common sense. You have the
artistic temperament, Tory, and common sense is perhaps more difficult
for you. Glad you are willing to be friends again."

Memory Frean and Mr. Richard Fenton walked back together to the House
in the Woods. They had not been alone with each other in more than
twenty years.




CHAPTER XIII

A PORTRAIT


Several days later Tory Drew, accompanied by two other of her Troop of
Girl Scouts, went forth to spend the morning sketching, not far from
their camp.

Her companions were Edith Linder and Martha Greaves, the English Girl
Guide, who was her guest.

Personally Tory felt considerable embarrassment concerning her own
neglect of the young English girl who had been left dependent in a
measure upon her interest and friendliness. She had not intended any
rudeness or indifference. Her greater interest and affection for
Katherine Moore had dominated all other ideas and emotions.

Even before Miss Frean's lecture Tory had suffered an occasional
moment of self-reproach. However, only within the past twenty-four
hours had she talked over the situation frankly and openly with Martha
and offered an apology.

It was delightful to have discovered her to be altogether sensible and
agreeable. Apparently the young English Girl Guide had understood and
accepted the circumstances. She not only failed to express any show of
resentment at Tory's unintentional disregard of her, she appeared not
to feel any resentment.

"It has all been a wonderful experience for me, the opportunity this
summer to meet and know so many American Girl Scouts," she explained.
"Nor has it been possible to feel either lonely or neglected. The
other girls have been so friendly and interested. They have talked to
me of your devotion to Kara and told me something of Kara's difficult
life. I would not have you give up an hour when she needs you to look
after me."

Tory was thinking of this and of other characteristics of the English
girl, as she sat idly holding her sketch book open in her lap, a
drawing pencil in her hand.

Martha and Edith had gone over into one of the fields to look for
mushrooms. As Edith had spent the greater part of her life on a small
farm, she possessed a good deal of practical outdoor knowledge which
the other Girl Scouts were endeavoring to acquire through books and
teachers.

Particularly was the English Girl Guide interested in learning all
that was possible in one brief summer concerning the American woods
and fields. Now and then they appeared oddly unlike her own green and
fragrant country with its miles of cultivated gardens and carefully
trimmed hedges.

Martha and Edith were especially friendly. Tory was possessed of
sufficient knowledge of the world to appreciate this fact as
indicating an unusual sweetness and poise upon the part of their
English visitor.

Obviously Edith Linder came of simple people. Her father and mother
had been poor farmers and were now working in a factory in Westhaven.
Edith made no pretense of anything else and had not received a great
deal of education. She had learned much from her winter with Miss
Frean, and was learning through her summer with her Troop of Girl
Scouts. Nevertheless, there were ways in which she revealed the
difference in her past circumstances from the lives of most of the
Girl Scouts with whom she was associated at present.

To Martha, Edith's lack of social training must have been especially
conspicuous. Martha had been reared in a careful fashion. Her family
had been wealthy before the war and owners of a large estate.

Nevertheless the English Girl Guide accepted Edith's efforts toward
self-improvement and her evident desire to make friends with perfect
tact and good breeding.

Tory knew that social distinctions were more seriously regarded in
England than the United States. She concluded if ever the moment were
propitious to inquire of Martha if the Girl Guides represented an
effort toward real Democracy in the sense the American Girl Scouts
trusted that they represented the same purpose.

At length Tory took up her pencil and began drawing.

She was seated in an open place in the woods not far from their
dancing ground within the circle of giant beech trees.

Later in the day Evan Phillips' mother was to give the Girl Scouts of
the Eagle's Wing their first lesson in outdoor dancing.

The thought of this in prospect interrupted Tory's effort. With an
impatient gesture she picked up the paper upon which she was working
and tearing it into bits flung the pieces to the winds.

Her father insisted that she draw from still life and she had been
using a distant tree as her model.

Is there anything in the world more difficult to represent with its
dignity, grace and beneficence than a tree?

At this instant Tory certainly was convinced there was not.

Half unconsciously her pencil began indicating the figure of a girl in
various attitudes.

For years, whenever left to her own devices, Tory had amused herself
in this fashion. However crude her drawings of human figures, since
she was a tiny girl they had in them a suggestion of life and action.

A noise, apparently coming from behind a clump of bushes not far off,
distracted the artist's attention.

Tory raised her eyes.

Beyond the bushes she thought she beheld some one move.

"Martha, Edith!" she called out.

At first there was no reply.

The second call brought a response.

From farther away Martha and Edith halloed in Girl Scout fashion.

Again Tory returned to her work, having now acquired the impression
that she was no longer alone.

Once more she looked suddenly around.

A figure behind the clump of shrubs undoubtedly stirred.

Rising, Tory walked in that direction.

She had not moved more than a few feet when the intruder, aware of
discovery, came toward her.

A small figure Tory beheld dressed in a pale green linen frock,
crumpled and torn. The large leghorn hat had a band of green velvet
ribbon encircling it. In one hand she bore a small yellow leather suit
case.

"Why, Lucy, what in the world does this mean? Are you by yourself? Do
Mr. or Mrs. Hammond know where you are?"

"No, you may tell them," the little girl answered calmly. "I am on my
way to Kara. I am going to take her back to the Gray House or
somewhere else, where we can be alone. I hated Kara sitting still in a
chair and never moving and all of you keeping me from her."

"Then you do care for Kara?" Tory demanded, putting her arms about the
picturesque little figure.

Coldly but politely Lucy drew away.

"Care? What do you mean? Do you mean do I love Kara? Why, I don't
really like anyone else very well except Kara and perhaps Billy and
now Mr. and Mrs. Hammond. Mrs. Hammond says I must be more devoted to
her than any one else, but I'm not truly, now that I know Kara is
ill."

"You have run away, haven't you, Lucy? I am sure I don't know how you
ever got this far without some one stealing you. You are the most
delightful looking child I ever beheld. Come and sit down for awhile
and rest and eat some sandwiches. I know you ran away before breakfast
and must be hungry and tired. Afterwards I'll take you to Kara."

A creative impulse had seized hold of Tory.

More than anything she could imagine at the moment she longed to make
a sketch of Lucy, of the little figure in the pale green gown against
the deeper background of green, the big hat hanging behind her
shoulders. The child's cheeks were a vivid rose, her dark hair still
in the stiff aureole that was unlike other children's.

But it was not the color that Tory wished to represent. That would
have to come later. She must try to catch the grace of the small
figure, sitting serenely on the ground a few feet from her munching
sandwiches.

Tory would have preferred that her portrait model be engaged in some
other occupation. But this made no special difference. By and by Lucy
stopped eating and Tory, fascinated, went on with her drawing.




CHAPTER XIV

DISAGREEMENTS


The decision to take part with the Boy Scouts in the presentation of
the Greek pageant representing the adventures of Odysseus was largely
brought about through Mr. Richard Fenton's interest.

He it was who finally persuaded the Troop Captain, Sheila Mason, to
give her consent. Of chief importance was her point of view, since she
must be responsible for her own Girl Scouts.

For many years Mr. Fenton had been an enthusiastic Greek scholar. To
him it appeared more than ordinarily worth while to stimulate among
the Boy Scouts and the Girl Scouts an interest in the historic legends
of the past. In his estimation the history of Greece was of greater
importance than any other nation. In the history of Greece one finds
the model of the first known Democratic government in the world and
according to many historians the best.

The outdoor life of the American Scouts, planned to develop them
mentally and physically, to make better citizens and wiser men and
women, had its counterpart in the lives of the early Greeks, centered
about their Olympian games.

A series of tableaux, accompanied by a recitation of the story of one
of the two great Homeric poems, would not alone broaden the outlook of
the young people who took part. Mr. Fenton had a shrewd idea that it
would awaken among the older people in Westhaven a wider vision of
beauty. Like most small towns, Westhaven was too self-centered. Mr.
Fenton did not wish the little New England village to share in the
opprobrium of "Main Street."

Why was it not a portion of the work of the Scouts to bring fresh
ideals of beauty and romance into their own environments? Mr. Richard
Fenton considered this an important part of their service.

To-day, seated with the fourteen Girl Scouts in a circle about her,
Sheila Mason was wondering if she had not been more idealistic than
practical.

The girls were in their own council chamber in Beech wood Forest. No
one else was within sight or hearing.

The story of the "Odyssey" lay open in Sheila Mason's lap.

Katherine Moore, in her wheeled chair, held another copy. Bending over
her, reading from the same pages, were Margaret Hale and Louise
Miller.

A few feet away Tory Drew and Dorothy McClain were writing on large
sheets of paper the instructions that were offered them from time to
time.

Teresa Peterson, slipping her handkerchief to her eyes, was wiping
away an uncomfortable moisture. Her cheeks were deeply flushed and her
lips tremulous.

Lucy Martin sat contentedly on a cushion at Kara's feet.

She had not been permitted to bear away the other girl as she had
planned. However, she was allowed to stay on with the Girl Scouts in
their camp for a visit which made her equally content.

To Mr. and Mrs. Hammond she had explained that she could not leave for
two reasons. Kara needed her and Tory was making a picture of her.
Either reason she considered sufficient. Apparently Mr. and Mrs.
Hammond had agreed for the present.

"I believe, although the boys have left the final choice with us, that
it will be best to follow their selection of characters," Margaret
Hale remarked.

The Troop Captain looked up from her book, first toward Teresa and
then Margaret.

"I do not see what else is possible under the circumstances. We are to
make two or three changes, but they are not important ones. I am sorry
Teresa is disappointed. She insists that Lance originally suggested to
her she could represent Penelope, so I presume she has built upon the
idea. Yet it does seem more appropriate for Joan Peters to play the
part of the famous lady with the web, the wife of Odysseus. There is
no question, Teresa, of your not acting as well, but this is scarcely
a question of acting, but of appearing to the best advantage in the
series of tableaux. And Joan does look more like one's conception of
Penelope than you. Except for Lance McClain's suggestion to you, and
he should not have expressed an opinion without consulting the others,
the choice has always been between Dorothy McClain and Joan. The
majority finally decided in favor of Joan because Donald McClain is to
appear as Odysseus and Don and Dorothy are brother and sister. Perhaps
there would be less illusion in having them represent a husband and
wife."

"I suppose it is because Joan is taller and her features more regular
and she is prettier, that she was chosen to play Penelope," Teresa
murmured in an injured tone and with such a gentle suggestion of
melancholy, that Joan Peters appeared extremely uncomfortable.

"I don't see it that way, Teresa, and I am perfectly willing to give
up in your favor if the others will agree. Of course it is ridiculous
to talk of any question of beauty having been considered. You know you
are absurdly pretty, Teresa, and are merely trying to make some one
say so," Joan remarked, half serious and half amused.

As a matter of fact, she was not enthusiastic over being chosen for
one of the principal parts in the Greek tableaux.

She was not particularly popular with the Boy Scouts. The boys liked
half a dozen of the other girls better, although Tory Drew, Dorothy
McClain and Teresa were the chief favorites.

"See here, Teresa, don't be tiresome. If we were all to object as you
do to the casting of the characters we will never get anywhere and
spend the entire day in argument. Everybody knows I think it the
greatest mistake in the world not to have had Dorothy in the leading
rôle. Still, I am saying very little and apologize to Joan for what I
have said," Louise Miller protested. "So let us get on with what we
are trying to accomplish. Remember, we are to meet the boys and Mr.
Fenton this afternoon and choose the place for our poetic drama."

Frequently Louise Miller was too impatient with Teresa's small
frailties, her love of pleasure and admiration. This was hardly fair
because of the difference in their temperaments making any sympathy
between them almost impossible.

"Well there is one person whom we all agree to be the ideal choice,"
Dorothy McClain remarked, hoping to turn the conversation into more
agreeable channels.

She had been sitting on the ground weaving a chaplet of beech leaves.
Rising up now she placed it like a crown on Kara's brow.

"Behold Athena, the wise Goddess with the clear gray eyes!"

A little silence descended upon the group of girls.

Kara flushed.

"It is the kindest and most ridiculous thing in the world to have _me_
take part when I cannot stir from this chair. I don't want to seem
unappreciative. I'm not really, you know, but do please explain to the
Boy Scouts that they must realize it is out of the question," Kara
argued.

"No, dear, we are not going to bring up that question again. Lance and
Don and Jack Hardin told you that their entire Troop of Scouts wished
you to play the 'Goddess of Wisdom.' The tableaux are to be arranged
so you need not appear but once. Then you are to be seated upon a
throne as Pallas Athena should be. You know how we all feel on the
subject. Surely you do not wish to disappoint everyone," Tory
protested.

She was wondering if the other girls had observed what she had. In
these days of discussion of the Greek tableaux Kara had appeared
brighter and more like her former self. Now and then even a glimpse of
the old humor showed in the depth of her gray eyes or about the
corners of her of late too serious lips.

"Tory has expressed what we all feel, Kara," Miss Mason added. "Now,
Tory, please read aloud the list of the characters so far as they have
been decided upon. I am delighted to know that the father of the Boy
Scouts has agreed to be with us on the evening of the tableaux and
will read selections from the Odyssey as the pictures are presented."

Tory glanced toward the paper in her lap.

"Donald McClain will be Odysseus; Lance McClain, his son, Telemachus;
Joan Peters, Penelope; Victoria Drew, the Princess Nausicaa; Mr.
Richard Fenton, Eumaeus, the aged servant of the Greek hero. The other
Girl Scouts will be the ladies in waiting to Penelope and the Boy
Scouts Penelope's suitors.

"I had forgotten to write down that Margaret Hale will be Arete and
Jack Hardin the good King Alcinous, my respected parents. I am glad
they assisted the wanderer to end his adventures and return to his
faithful Penelope.

"Just as well that we decided to start our tableaux with the arrival
of the hero on the island of the Sea Kings! I fear it would have taxed
even our talents to have shown the enchanted spots where Odysseus was
held enslaved by Calypso with the beautiful hair, who sang sweetly as
she wove at her loom with the golden shuttle, or Circe, the sorceress,
who mixed the drink in a golden cup that turned men into swine.
Representing these Goddesses would have taxed our powers. Except for
Kara we are only mortals."

Tory rose up.

"May I start with Kara to our dancing grounds? It may take me some
time and Mrs. Phillips is to arrive in less than an hour for our first
dance rehearsal. I have an idea, or perhaps a hope, that our Greek
dance which Evan is to lead, will be one of the most beautiful,
beautiful things that has ever been seen in Westhaven."

Tory reached Kara's chair, but at the same time Dorothy McClain pushed
her gently away.

"Margaret and I are going to take turns in pushing Kara's chair to our
dancing grounds. We have already made an engagement with her to that
effect. Please remember we are both stronger persons than you, and
Kara will arrive far more speedily and safely."

Tory appreciated that Dorothy was jesting, nevertheless, she bit her
lips and frowned.

Kara's hand reached around and took hold of hers.

"You'll come along with us, won't you, Tory? I know I am selfish, but
I do hate being separated from you. If there is time before Mrs.
Phillips arrives why not attempt another sketch of Lucy? We thought
the first sketch you made of her wonderful, even if you were not
pleased."

In the last few days Tory had quietly been following Memory Frean's
advice and allowing the other Girl Scouts to share in the care of
Kara. As a consequence they did seem to feel more pleasure in being
together. But then for more than one reason Kara was in a better state
of mind.




CHAPTER XV

THE CHOICE


At four o'clock in the afternoon Mr. Fenton sent a large motor car to
the Girl Scout camp to bear Kara, Miss Mason, Lucy Martin and any
other girls who chose to ride to the place under discussion as the
site to be chosen for the Greek pageant.

The spot lay midway between the two camps.

Earlier in the afternoon Miss Frean had started off with the girls who
preferred the hike.

Walking steadily without pausing for rest, before the others they
arrived at the proposed place.

When the signal was given to halt, Tory Drew dropped down on the
ground and in the fashion supposed to be best for meditation sat
looking about her.

Several of the other girls followed her example, while Miss Frean
remained standing with three or four companions. They preferred to
command a wider view of their surroundings.

They had reached the source of the stream of water which ended in the
small lake before the camp in Beechwood Forest.

Here the water was fairly deep but the stream of no great width. On
one side was a small clearing with a grove of trees not far away.
Where the Girl Scouts stood at present the open space was larger. A
dozen yards away a country road connected with the state road that ran
through the village of Westhaven.

Beyond were a rim of blue hills.

"I would not be surprised if we conclude this is the proper location,"
Miss Frean said reflectively. "There is the disadvantage of being so
far from Westhaven. We shall have to transport the scenery and
costumes out here and make arrangements for the audience to be seated.
Yet the place itself is rarely lovely."

Tory looked at her beseechingly.

"The place is ideal. Please don't say a word against it. Uncle Richard
insists that the early Greeks possessed a greater love of the
beautiful than we possess. Yet surely this spot would have pleased
them!

"Our tableaux can be shown on the other side of the water. The
audience can be seated on this side. The distance will add to the
illusion. The Palace of Odysseus with the courtyard in front where
most of the scenes will take place, can be constructed in front of the
grove of trees. Odysseus can land on what is supposed to be the island
of the Sea-Kings from a Greek galley rowed up the stream. And I shall
appear with my maidens who come down to the banks to wash the imperial
clothes of my royal family. Until the moment to appear before the
audience the players can be concealed beyond the trees."

Closing her eyes and clasping her hands ecstatically together, Tory
exclaimed:

"Can you not see the entire scene, the beauty and glamour, what Uncle
Richard calls the Greek spirit that we are to portray?"

Joan Peters laughed and shook her head.

"No, Tory dear, I am afraid not. We cannot all see it, although I must
only speak for myself. Can't you appreciate that we are not all
possessed of the artistic temperament and gifted with the power of
seeing visions? I am a humdrum person who has to be shown."

Joan moved away to join another group.

"Tory, yours is a fortunate gift, I am not pretending to deny it.
There are times when I envy you. Still, dear, some of us before we can
behold the completed masterpiece, are obliged to consider how we can
get a sufficient number of chairs out here to permit the audience to
be seated comfortably," Memory Frean interposed.

The girl looked at her half challengingly.

"I am not so unpractical as you may think. Uncle Richard and I drove
out here a few days ago and discussed the very problem of how to seat
our audience. He promised to have any number of chairs sent out at his
expense. We can guess the number required by the tickets we shall
sell. I have an idea our audience will be very large. After paying for
our costumes and scenery there will still be a good deal of money to
be divided between the Boy Scout Troop and our own."

"A noteworthy conclusion, Tory. I am glad you have made the necessary
decisions and arrangements without waiting for the other arrivals. A
confusion of tongues just adds to a confusion of ideas," Lance McClain
remarked, jumping from his bicycle and unexpectedly joining the small
group.

Apparently he had ridden on ahead of his Scout Troop.

He turned now and greeted Miss Frean.

Then he came over toward Tory.

"I don't wish to be teased, Lance. Of course I have not made any
decision and nothing positive can be decided until the vote is taken.
I have only been entertaining myself by dreaming that this is to be
the chosen site. I can see a mental picture that is very wonderful."

Lance shook his head and laughed.

"I am not wishing to be disagreeable, Tory. Of course this is the
ideal spot. It takes you and me to recognize the fact."

For some reason neither of them understood, Victoria Drew and Lance
McClain usually argued unimportant issues and agreed upon the
important ones.

From a little distance beyond, the rest of the Boy Scout Troop could
now be seen approaching.

"Yes, Don will be here in a little while, Tory. Don't you and Dorothy
worry. I rode over because the camp doctor thought I wasn't in very
good shape. I am not in high favor at camp at present, so I thought
I'd do what I was told on this occasion," Lance remarked.

Only three girls were sufficiently near at this instant to overhear
his speech, Tory, Dorothy McClain and Louise Miller. The other girls
and Miss Frean had moved over to meet the advancing Troop.

"What are you talking about, Lance? What have you done of late to
break the camp discipline? If you don't care for your own sake, I
think you might consider how much Don and I care for your Scout
record. It was enough for you to have originated the ridiculous
excursion that resulted in the trouble between your Troop and our own
that has lasted until now. Please, please don't get into any more
mischief."

In Dorothy's tone there was something maternal. Lance alone of all her
brothers called forth this spirit in her.

"Sister of mine, you take me too seriously. I have only wandered off
from camp now and then for a stroll in the woods. I am obliged to
meditate. I have not broken any of the commandments. It is my
misfortune to be unlike other people. You have told me this a good
many times. So perhaps I am frequently misunderstood."

Lance's tone was so indifferent and teasing that Dorothy was seriously
annoyed.

"I don't mind if Louise and Tory do hear what I have been wanting a
chance to say to you, Lance. You had no right to tell Teresa Peterson
that she would be chosen to play the part of Penelope in our Greek
tableaux. She has been dreadfully disappointed and it has made things
hard for all of us."

"Teresa Peterson to play Penelope! Who says I made any such suggestion,
Dorothy? Teresa looks more like a pretty doll than the model of Greek
faithfulness and propriety."

Dorothy looked puzzled.

"Teresa told me herself, Lance. She told me she had met you two or
three times by accident and you had talked to each other for a little
while. She seemed to feel she ought to speak of it to me and to Miss
Mason. Teresa is a dear, but she isn't as clever as some of the other
girls and I don't think you would ever care to be very intimate
friends. She never could understand you as Tory and Louise do. You did
tell Teresa she was to be chosen for Penelope, didn't you?"

Lance whistled.

"I suppose so, if she insists upon it."

"Well, I wish you would stick to one story or the other, Lance,"
Dorothy protested, moving away with Tory Drew and leaving her brother
and Louise Miller together.

"I suppose there are not many things I would not forgive you, but I
never should forgive your not being truthful."

Lance and Louise remained silent a few moments after the others had
departed.

Reproachfully Louise studied the thin, eager face.

"Lance, I can guess it is in your code to protect a girl by telling a
half truth. I suppose Teresa somehow got the impression she was to be
chosen for Penelope without your having said so. She is a vain little
thing. But what I want to say is, please never hurt Dorothy in order
to protect anyone else. Perhaps she is only your sister, but she hates
deceit more than anything in the world, and you know how devoted she
is to you."

Lance frowned.

"See here, Louise, I'm not in the habit of telling fibs, so don't
preach. I am not going to have Teresa suffer any more criticism from
the rest of you girls. I have met her a few times and we have talked.
She seemed to think perhaps it was a mistake as long as our two camps
were not friendly, so I am glad she has spoken of the fact to Dorothy
and Miss Mason. I wasn't going to say anything first.

"You need not worry over Dorothy and me, Ouida. We have our scraps now
and then, but there isn't another girl I think holds a candle to her
at present, not even you or Tory.

"By the way, we ought to be special friends. We are both 'different,'
and no one ever really likes being. Dorothy says you have got some
queer idea in your head that you would like to be a naturalist. That
is almost as good as my wishing to be a musician, when we both have
our own livings to earn, the sooner the better for ourselves and
families. We aren't all Tory Drews in this world!"

Louise's earnest pale gray eyes with their dark lashes were staring
intently at her companion.

"I agree with the first part of your speech, Lance, but I really don't
understand what you mean about Tory," she returned.

"Don't you? Well, nothing important. Only Tory is one of the people
who has talent and charm and things are going to be fairly easy for
her compared to you and me. When the time comes for her to study art
she will have her chance. Most people are fond of her. At present in
our family old Don and father will do pretty much anything she asks.
So I thought maybe you and I might be kind of special friends, Ouida.
I may probably get into a scrape some day and not know the best way
out and want your help."

"You can always count on me, Lance, if for no other reason than
because you are Dorothy's favorite brother," Louise answered simply.

Observing that Miss Mason's car had arrived and several others, Lance
and Louise moved toward the newcomers.

Three members of the Boy Scout Council and three other members of the
girls had driven out with Mr. Fenton. It was rare in the history of
the Scout movement that the girls and boys should take part in the
same entertainment and the subject was being seriously considered.




CHAPTER XVI

THE GREEK SPIRIT


"What is the Greek spirit, Mr. Fenton?" During one of the rehearsals
for the presentation of Odysseus, Lance McClain made this inquiry.

No one else among the group of boys and girls surrounding Mr. Fenton
at the moment would have asked the question. Yet, overhearing Lance, a
number of them stood waiting for the answer.

The weeks of outdoor work and study had awakened new ideas and
interests.

Mr. Fenton did not reply immediately; instead, he appeared to be
considering the question deeply.

Frequently he had talked of the Greek spirit. Therefore, what did he
actually mean?

"I am glad you put that query to me, Lance," he returned finally.
"Half a dozen times since we began our rehearsals I have spoken of the
'Greek spirit.' I have emphasized the wish that we reveal it in the
presentation of our tableaux. One ought not to talk glibly and be
unable to offer a simple definition.

"At least I can tell you what the 'Greek spirit' means to me and why I
want us to give expression to it in our pageant.

"Try not to be bored if I discuss the subject seriously for a few
moments. You know I have been a student, not a speaker, all my life,
and there are times when we all wish for the gift of tongues."

Observing that Mr. Fenton was addressing not Lance alone who had asked
the question, but the crowd of young people nearby, Memory Frean and
Sheila Mason, Captain Curtis and several others came and stood on the
edge of the crowd.

This afternoon they were together on the side of the stream of water
where the tableaux would be presented.

In nearly every detail Tory had been correct in her original
conception. The pageant would be presented in the clear green space
with the grove of shadowy trees as background.

Across the water the audience were to be seated in a natural outdoor
auditorium. On a slight elevation of land near the stream the Father of
the Scouts, who had promised to appear for the evening's entertainment,
would read aloud portions of the Odyssey.

This afternoon, however, the Scouts were busy building and arranging
details of the outdoor scenery.

It must be as simple as possible to serve their purpose.

Observing the crowd gathering about Mr. Richard Fenton, the builders
also stopped their toil to join the others.

A rare experience had come to Mr. Fenton late in life, and although
she never realized the fact, Tory Drew was chiefly responsible.

Almost as a recluse Mr. Fenton had spent the years of his middle age.
He was under the impression that he was not sympathetic with most
people and that they did not care for him. With a sufficient fortune
for his needs, he had not found it necessary to engage in an
occupation for the sake of making money. Therefore he had devoted most
of his time to study and thought.

The result had not brought him a deep satisfaction. In his young
manhood he had not planned this kind of existence.

He had contemplated being a public man, a statesman should he reveal
the necessary ability. In those days he had been young and meant to
make Memory Frean proud of him. They had separated and he had sought
consolation among his books.

Then into his own and his sister's well regulated lives Tory had
entered the winter before. She was not Tory to them then, but Victoria
Drew, as Miss Victoria Fenton still insisted upon calling her niece.

To Mr. Fenton the young girl had made an unconscious appeal. Lonely
and feeling herself out of place in a new and strange environment, she
appeared like a gay little tropical bird or flower transferred to a
harsher environment. When he and Tory became friends the coldness of
the old maid and old bachelor establishment changed to a pleasanter
warmth.

Introduced to her girl friends, Mr. Fenton had become a member of
their Scout Council. But not until this summer had he developed into
their chief mentor, and fairy godfather.

Now to his surprise, added to his other unsought honors, he found
himself the director of the Greek pageant, one of the performers as
well, and far more popular with his fellow-players than he yet
appreciated.

Daily they were coming to him with their problems and their ambitions.
As yet their confidences related only to the approaching performance.

Lance's question was more general than any other that had been
propounded. While Mr. Fenton was replying he looked at Lance with more
interest than he had felt in the boy before.

If no one else understood what he was endeavoring to make plain, he
believed that Tory and Lance would catch the import of his words.

"Among the nations the Greeks are rarely fortunate," Mr. Fenton began.
"They left us such inheritances that we have remembered their great
days; with other nations we are too apt to recall the years of their
decay, their mistakes.

"Perhaps one reason for this is that the Greeks were our forefathers,
a branch of the Aryan-speaking peoples who in the faint twilight of
early history, a nomadic, wandering people, moved southward, and
combined with the inhabitants of Crete. This gives us the story of the
Odyssey, one of the two great Greek poems, but more filled with legend
than the story of the Iliad, which is the siege of Troy."

Mr. Fenton paused.

"I am not tiring you too much? Still I must go on. We must try as far
as we can to understand what we have undertaken to present to others.
And I have not yet told you what I mean by the Greek spirit.

"It revealed itself even as far back as these two poems. The Greeks
were then possessed of two great passions, the love of adventure and
the love of beauty. Those two possessions I want to be equally the
heritage of the American Girl and Boy Scouts.

"Later, in what is known as the Age of Pericles, the Greeks entered
into their third ardor, Democracy, the love of freedom. So what I call
the Greek spirit is the love and pursuit of these three things:
Beauty, Adventure, Freedom.

"I might talk longer and you would understand me less well. Understand,
there may be danger in these three desires. One must not seek beauty,
adventure and freedom at the expense of other people, but in order to
share it with others as the Greeks have done.

"Now I am through with my lecture, will some one give me a hammer?
I'll try to assist Don in building a footstool for one of Penelope's
maids. I'm afraid I am no better carpenter than I am lecturer. Do you
understand what I have been trying to explain, Lance? We may talk the
question over together some other time."

Lance nodded.

"I think I do understand what it means in regard to the Scouts."

A moment he stood dreaming when the others went back to work. Beauty,
adventure, freedom, the Scouts were finding in the outdoors during the
weeks of their summer camp.

At present in front of the grove of trees Mrs. Phillips was starting a
rehearsal of the Greek dance that was to form a part of the coming
pageant.

Fascinated, Lance stood watching.




CHAPTER XVII

A CLASSIC REVIVAL


Only now and then does nature allow us a perfect thing.

The day of the presentation of the Greek poem of the Odyssey by the
Girl and Boy Scouts was a perfect day.

It occurred during the last week in August. Here at the fringe of the
deep woods the afternoon was like early September; there was more
color, more radiance than one associates with any other month of the
year.

Beyond the woods the wheat fields were golden, the final growth of the
summer gardens a riot of purple and rose and blue. The corn fields
having ripened, bent their green maturity to the breezes, the silk of
the corn tassels made valiant banners. In the forests the beech trees
showed bronze leaves amid the midsummer foliage, the sumach and the
woodbine were flaunting the scarlet signals of autumn.

Along the road leading from Westhaven to the site in the woods where
the Greek pageant would take place, from an early hour in the
afternoon motor cars moved back and forth.

The first cars transported the players and their costumes and such
odds and ends of scenery as had to be attended to at the last.

The same cars returned for the families and friends of the actors.
Every automobile and carriage the town could spare for the occasion
had been commandeered.

The interest the town of Westhaven and several neighboring villages
displayed in the Greek pageant was beyond the realms of possibility in
the original conception of the Girl and Boy Scouts.

But the summer was closing. In a short time a good many of the summer
residents would be returning to their city homes. The thought of a
final entertainment, a final memory of the summer days became
inspiring.

Moreover, a Greek pageant was unusual presented by groups of American
girls and boys. Probably they would make a failure of so ambitious an
effort, yet it would be worth while to see.

The first arrivals among the audience found several hundred chairs
placed in more or less orderly array upon one side of a stream that
ran straight as a ribbon along this part of the countryside.

Upon an elevation a small platform had been constructed with a table
and a chair so banked with golden rod and Michaelmas daisies and green
boughs that the wooden outlines were concealed.

On the further side of the water was an ingenious structure, half
palace and half tent.

The walls were of a heavy white canvas, the roof had been made of
narrow lattice and this covered with green branches.

In front was the court yard of the palace. The furnishings were
severely simple, a long bench and a table, a few straight chairs,
little more than stools, and painted white to suggest marble.

No other paraphernalia of the approaching performance was visible.

Now and then a figure appeared from the background of trees, never one
of the players, only some assistant bent upon an errand.

Not upon the shore-line supposed to represent ancient Greece, but
immediately facing the audience waved a giant American flag. On either
side were the Scout flags, one bearing the imprint of an eagle's wing,
the insignia of the Girl Scouts, the other an elm tree, the flag of
the boys.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the pageant began.

Before that hour not only were the seats filled but a number of people
were standing.

A guest of honor of the occasion was one of the distinguished men who
originated the Scout movement for boys in the United States. Another
guest of honor was a member of the National Girl Council, who had come
up from the headquarters in New York for no other reason than to be
present at the pageant.

With simple Scout ceremonies the entertainment opened.

A few moments after the applause had subsided, a beautiful resonant
voice read aloud the first lines describing the Odyssey:

   "Sing us the song of the hero, steadfast, skilful and strong,
   Taker of Troy's high towers who wandered for ten years long
   Over the perilous waters, through unknown cities of men,
   Leading his comrades onward, seeking his home again.
   Sing us the song of the Wanderer, sing us the wonderful song."

A moment later slowly rowing down the stream appeared a solitary
figure, Odysseus, seated upon a raft to which were fixed sails and a
rudder.

Before reaching the place along the shore where the boat, built by
Odysseus on the island of Calypso, was to land, a storm was supposed
to beset the hero. The audience beholds him struggle with the storm
and then reach a safe harbor.

On the shore he piles up branches and lies down upon a bed of leaves.

A short time passes and Odysseus sleeps.

This opening scene in the tableaux Donald McClain insisted was the
most difficult in the entire program. During the rehearsals he had
been possessed by the fear that he would not be able to produce the
illusion, so that his audience would not take him seriously.
Therefore, the tableaux would begin and end in disaster.

Don need not have troubled. Very handsome and heroic he appeared, his
dark hair grayed to represent the age of the Greek hero who had
wandered so many weary years after the siege of Troy.

While Odysseus slumbers the Princess Nausicaa and her maidens come
down toward the river. Unaware of the sleeper, they begin washing
their clothes in the river and afterwards spread them out to dry in
the sun.

Victoria Drew, as the Princess Nausicaa, wore a gown of bright blue
with a Greek design in silver braid. Her bright red-gold hair was
bound in a silver fillet. Her maids were Margaret Hale, Edith Linder,
Martha Greaves and Julia Murray. Their costumes were white and
crimson, yellow and green.

In making a careful study of the costumes worn by the early Greeks,
Miss Frean and the Troop Captain had been surprised to find that white
did not play so important a part in their dress as they had supposed.
Together with their love for the beauty of line and form the Greeks
possessed an equal love for color.

Nausicaa and her maidens begin a game of ball on the sands. The
princess misses the ball and as it rolls into the water she gives a
cry that awakes Odysseus.

He comes forward and asks Nausicaa's aid.

Together they move toward the palace of the Sea-kings, when the first
tableau ends.

The second scene shows Odysseus seated inside the tent narrating his
adventures to the good King Alcinous and his wife, Queen Arete.

Again the voice of the interpreter recited further lines from the
Greek poem:

"Hither, come hither and hearken awhile, Odysseus, far-famed king!
No sailor ever has passed this way but has paused to hear us sing.
Our song is sweeter than honey, and he that can hear it knows
What he never has learnt from another, and has joy before he goes;
We know what the heroes bore at Troy in the ten long years of strife
We know what happens in all the world, and the secret things of life."

A thrill of appreciation and sympathy stirred the larger portion of
the audience at the outset of the next tableau.

Strangers, slightly puzzled to guess the cause, found that a few
hurried words made the situation clearer.

Odysseus has sailed from Crete and comes at last to his own land.

No change of scenery was possible. The hearers learned from the
recitation that he had reached the island of Ithaca. Here his ship was
moored in a haven between two steep headlands near a shadowy cave,
where the water-fairies come to look after their bees and weave their
sea-blue garments on the hanging looms.

Odysseus, knowing not that he has reached his home at last, walks up
the steep incline from the shore. Here he meets the Goddess of wisdom,
Pallas Athena.

Contrary to her own judgment Katherine Moore had agreed finally to
represent Athena; in spite of the difficulties to be surmounted not to
have accepted would have been too ungracious.

From beyond in the grove of trees the Goddess advances. She is seated
in a chariot drawn by four children. The children wore costumes of
white, short skirts to their knees and sandals on their feet.

The Goddess herself was clad in white with a wreath of green leaves
about her hair. Had the audience been closer she would have appeared a
pale and fragile Goddess with wide gray eyes set in a delicate,
bravely smiling face. For the old-time Kara had been doing her best to
return these days in order to cast no gloom upon the pleasure of her
friends.

Better for Kara perhaps that the general effect of the tableau was
what was desired and not a too apparent view of details!

This, however, was not true concerning the little group of children
who drew the chariot.

So startling was Lucy Martin's beauty that not only the Girl Scouts
and their older friends discussed it among themselves, the Boy Scouts,
not so apt to notice a little girl's appearance, also spoke of it to
one another privately.

Fortunately Lucy, in spite of her wilfulness, was not self-conscious.

To-day evidently she was thinking not of herself but of Katherine
Moore and Billy, her former friends from the Gray House on the Hill.

A blond Cupid grown slightly older and thinner, Billy Duncan appeared,
with his blond hair and large childish blue eyes and his somewhat
expressionless face.

Either the performance of the Greek tableaux or the presence of the
little girl who had so dominated him during the years they had spent
together at the Gray House made Billy dazed and speechless.

There was no need, however, that he should use any intelligence save
to do what Lucy commanded.

Her dark eyes sparkled with a brilliant excitement, her rose cheeks
glowed. The stiff aureole of her dark hair made a striking contrast to
the whiteness of her childish costume.

The other two children were acquaintances of Lucy's from the Gray
House and equally ready to do her bidding.

So, whatever the others may have believed, Lucy Martin was convinced
that she had taken complete charge of Kara's tableau.

Watching the little girl, Kara in a measure forgot what she felt to be
her own unfitness for her distinguished rôle.

Athena touches Odysseus with her magic wand and he changes into an old
man, not wishing to be recognized on his return to his own palace.
Athena's chariot is then drawn back into the grove of trees and
Odysseus, now disguised as a beggar, once more sets out for his home.
The Goddess has presented him with a worn coat which he places over
his former costume.

The tableaux did not consume any length of time, scarcely longer than
it requires in the telling, nevertheless the entire drama of Odysseus
could not be unfurled in a single afternoon's pageant.

The meeting of Odysseus with the faithful steward, Eumaeus, played by
Mr. Fenton, was presented without the details one finds in the story.

Immediately after the son of Odysseus, Telemachus, makes his
appearance.

Neither Lance McClain nor Donald had ever acted until to-day.

They had both been fearful that playing together would have its
drawbacks, as one is inclined to be more nervous and critical with
regard to one's own family. Actually the brothers were more surprised
by each other than they could have surprised their audience.

The change in costume, the gray in his hair, the lines of makeup on
his handsome boyish face, gave Donald a look of maturity, while
Lance's slenderness and the fact that he was several inches smaller
carried with it the necessary suggestion of graceful youth.

Together the father and son set forth to their home, crowded with the
suitors who, believing Odysseus dead, have come to seek the hand of
Penelope.

Instead of going directly to the palace they retire toward the woods
to suggest a lapse of time.

So far the Greek tableaux had been dominated by single figures,
chiefly the hero of the poem.

Now a change occurs.

In the courtyard before the palace Penelope is seen to appear
accompanied by her maidens.

A serene and stately Penelope robed in ivory and gold, her ash-brown
hair braided and coiled low on her neck, a gold band in her hair, Joan
Peters had never looked so handsome.

About her the troop of maidens like a swarm of brilliant, many-colored
flowers.

They moved from the yard and onto a broad space of ground untouched by
tree or shrub. Here the grass had been closely cut so that it formed a
velvet greensward.

Penelope stands in the background and her maidens advance.

They were sixteen in number and represented the four seasons.

As Kara's illness made it impossible for her to be of their number,
the sixteen girls were not alone Girl Scouts from the camp in
Beechwood Forest. Four of them were gowned in white, four in pale
green, four in blue and four in scarlet.

Their costumes were like the simple, flowing draperies of the Greek
dancing girls seen upon the friezes of the ancient Parthenon at
Athens.

Carefully Mrs. Phillips had made a study of every detail of Greek
dancing and costuming. Anxious to impress the people of Westhaven with
her ability as a teacher of dancing, she appreciated that no such
opportunity as the present one would be offered her again.

Evan Phillips was to lead the Greek Dance of the Four Seasons; one of
the dancers representing winter, she was dressed in white and silver.

Advancing, the entire line made a streak of rainbow beauty upon the
farther edge of the silver stream of water.

The line recedes, forming a crescent about the solitary dancer.

Then Evan danced alone. Her dancing was a series of graceful gestures,
of movements of her arms and postures of her body, not toe dancing or
a skilful employment of her feet, such as we associate with modern
dancing.

In the midst of her dancing she summons the four seasons to advance.
Winter comes first. They seem to be blown forward by a gust of winter
wind that sets them dancing and shivering forward. Supposedly the snow
falls and their arms, partly covered by delicate white draperies, are
raised as a shield.

The sun shines, the snow melts and they move backward to give place to
the birth of spring, the four Girl Scouts in shimmering green
costumes.

The dance of the Spring recalled Evan Phillips' dance of the young
beech trees, save that it was more stately. As far as possible her
mother had adapted her idea to the Greek model.

Summer follows spring and the dance suggests the blossoming of the
flowers. The scarlet succeeds the blue and autumn comes with its
portents of flying leaves and birds moving southward.

The dance ends and for the first time the audience broke into
enthusiastic applause. Nothing so beautiful had ever been witnessed in
Westhaven!

Penelope and her maidens return to the palace. Later Odysseus wanders
into his own home, unrecognized by his family and friends.

The Girl Scouts composed the household of Penelope, the Boy Scouts
found their opportunity as the impatient suitors of the lady Penelope.
They remain about her palace, playing at games, feasting and wasting
her substance and that of her son, Telemachus. The hour must be near
when she shall make up her mind who is to fill the place of her lost
husband, Odysseus.

In the games that took place the Boy Scouts found their chance to
exhibit their prowess in outdoor sports.

Penelope fetches the bow and the quiver full of deadly arrows. She
then goes to meet the princes, her attendants following carrying the
axes.

To the suitor who wins at the trial of the bow Penelope vows to give
herself in marriage.

Odysseus, with as little trouble as a minstrel fits a new cord to his
lyre, bends the mighty bow with an arrow caught up from the table at
his side.

Even when the bronze-tipped shaft goes clean through twelve axes set
up in a row, the blinded Penelope fails to know her lord.

The last scene reveals Odysseus, his shabby coat cast aside, his
figure no longer bent and aged, a shining hero seated opposite
Penelope in the courtyard of his home, united at last after long
parting.

The Greek tableaux were over. Within a quarter of an hour the audience
departed for their homes, the Girl Scouts to their own camp and the
boys to theirs on the other side of the hill. Yet not until bed-time
was any other subject discussed by the players and their audience than
the surprising success of the Greek pageant given that afternoon in
the familiar setting of the New England woods.

So the beauty of the past held its re-birth in the present.




CHAPTER XVIII

THE PASSING


Outside the opening into her tent Teresa Peterson sat presumably
playing upon the banjo. The sounds she was making were not particularly
pleasing. Yet the camp was fairly deserted. Only a few of the other
girls were to be seen and they were busy and nowhere near Teresa.

In fact, the camp in Beechwood Forest would be vacant within the next
few days. Summer was closing with the soft loveliness that makes one
forgive and forget her less charming moods.

Already the evergreen house, which had been the center of the camp
life, was being dismantled.

Katherine Moore had returned to the Gray House on the Hill. After the
performance of the Greek tableaux she had not been so well and Dr.
McClain had additional reasons for desiring her presence in town at
this time.

Impatient always to fulfill his own wishes, no sooner was Mr. Hammond
aware of Kara's departure to town than he requested permission to have
the floor of the old cabin removed and the search begun. Kara was not
to be told of the effort until the work was accomplished. Not one
chance in a thousand, Mr. Hammond agreed, that any trace of Kara's
past history be located here, therefore she had best not be excited or
worried until the task was finished.

This afternoon, as Teresa twanged at her banjo strings, she looked
oftener than was good for her music at the group of men who were at
work in the evergreen cabin.

So far they had only started the removal of the old boards.

When this was concluded the Girl Scouts had determined to organize the
searching parties among themselves. Mr. Hammond would join them; no
one else was supposed to feel a sufficiently keen interest in the
investigation to be allowed to take part.

In spite of her music Teresa observed Lance McClain coming toward the
Girl Scout camp when he was still some distance away. He was not
wearing his Scout uniform as might have been expected.

Even at a distance Lance appeared unlike the other boys. He was
smaller than a number of them, more slender and graceful. He had a
peculiar carriage of the head. He seemed to bend forward slightly and
yet his eyes were nearly always upturned. He apparently did not look
at the objects directly in front of him.

"Hello, Lance, I am awfully glad to see you! I was feeling dull,"
Teresa called out. "How did you happen to walk over to camp and not be
wearing your uniform? Miss Mason is lying down in her tent; if you
like I'll tell her you are here and then you can stay and talk to me,
or else I'll play to you."

Lance made a funny grimace.

"Thanks awfully, Teresa, but I want to see Dorothy for a special
reason. I can't stay long. I wonder if you will tell me where I can
find her?"

Teresa frowned.

"I thought you always claimed to be fond of music, Lance, so I don't
see why you need be in such a hurry."

Again Teresa twanged at her banjo, a little angrily on this occasion,
so that the boy's sensitive face twitched.

"Oh, for goodness sake don't make that noise, please, Teresa, and
don't be annoyed. I'd like to talk to you if I had time. I don't think
I am fond of the banjo as a musical instrument, but I've simply got to
find Dorothy. If you don't know where she is will you ask Miss Mason?
Tell her it is important or I would not have appeared. Oh, yes, I know
the Boy Scouts are more welcome visitors at present than they were,
still I really have too much else to do ordinarily!"

So worried was Lance's expression that Teresa relented.

"You might tell me what you have on your mind. If you don't wish to,
why, I do know where Dorothy is. She and Tory Drew and Louise and
little Lucy rowed over to the other side of the lake, not far off. If
you are in a hurry you can take the other canoe and join them. It will
require less time than walking around the shore and I'll go with you
if you'd like to have me come."

Lance flushed.

"You will think I am rude I am afraid, Teresa, but it is rather a
private matter I want to talk over with Dorothy, so if you don't
object I'll row over alone. Some other time you and I----"

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, it does not make any difference," she returned, and began humming
a gay little tune and playing more softly.

As he entered the silver canoe and started paddling across the shallow
lake Lance regretted his decision. His was a nature not so uncommon as
people suppose. He disliked hurting people in small ways, in larger
and more important ways he was apparently indifferent.

He liked Teresa and thought her extremely pretty.

After all, Dorothy would not be alone, although they could go off
somewhere nearby together. Yet Lance knew he would not particularly
object to the presence of Louise Miller and Tory Drew.

No difficulty arose in discovering the group of girls. Before Lance
shoved his boat from the shore he observed them at a point about
three-quarters of the way down the opposite shore. He could not
distinguish one from the other nor tell the exact number.

As he approached nearer he observed that Tory was seated with an easel
in front of her, and at a short distance away Lucy was posing. The
other girls were not in sight.

So intent was Tory upon her work that she did not see Lance until he
was within a few yards. Then he called out to her, and Lucy, glad of a
chance to change her position, ran down to meet him.

They came up hand in hand.

"Not so bad, Tory, for a girl, and one no older than you!" Lance
murmured, staring at the drawing of the youthful artist, his brows
drawn into a fine line, half of criticism, half envy.

Donald and Dorothy McClain and most of her younger companions would
have felt only enthusiastic admiration for Tory's work. Had they
known, Lance's attitude was more flattering. He expected more of
Tory's ability than the others knew how to expect.

She shook her head.

"This is my third attempt, Lance, to make a picture of Lucy that I
shall be willing to submit to the judges in our Council or show
father. I can't try again, we are going away from camp so soon. Now
and then I think this may do, and at others I am discouraged. I must
not talk about myself. How did you happen to turn up here? Are you
looking for Dorothy? I hope there is nothing the matter, you are so
serious."

Before it became necessary for Lance to reply a voice interrupted him.

Overhearing the conversation, Dorothy and Louise Miller, who had not
been far away, were returning.

With an unexpected display of affection, Dorothy McClain, not
accustomed to showing her emotions, put her arm through her brother's
and held tight to him.

"What are you doing not in your Scout uniform, Lance? We were just
saying that it was too dreadful to think that our summer camping days
in Beechwood Forest would soon be a thing of the past. Nevertheless, I
will be kind of glad to return to my own family. Tory and Ouida and I
have been making all sorts of plans for the winter. You must help us
with some of them, Lance, you and Don."

"Afraid I won't be able to, Dorothy," Lance answered in an odd voice.

The three girls studied him more intently.

Lucy, seldom interested in the conversation of older persons, had
wandered away and was throwing pebbles into the clear water.

"Why not, Lance? You are not usually unaccommodating, and though you
may consider you are wasting your valuable time to spend any of it
with girls, you won't count Tory and Ouida and me with the others?"

"I won't be at home next winter, Dorothy, at least I think not. I came
out to camp this afternoon to have a private conversation with you,
but if Ouida and Tory won't be bored I don't mind if they hear what I
wish to say. Perhaps if you don't see things my way to the extent I
want you to, they may help me."

Dorothy looked frightened. "Oh, Lance! What in the world are you going
to propose? Please don't ask me to take your part if you have been
having an argument with father. I may not think you are in the right.
Suppose we have afternoon tea before you tell us anything. We brought
the tea things over in the canoe and Ouida and I have been collecting
the materials for a fire."

Doggedly Lance shook his head.

"No, it will take more than a half hour before the water can possibly
boil. I can't wait so long.

"I have had an argument with father, Dorothy. I don't see how you
managed to guess. I went in to see him yesterday and stayed all night
at home. We talked until after midnight. I am going back home now
after I have confided in you, so I did not care to wear my uniform."

As if she suddenly had grown tired, Dorothy seated herself on the
ground, Lance standing above and staring down at her an eager,
appealing light in his brown eyes.

Embarrassed by their own position, Tory and Louise were moving away
when a swift inclination of Lance's hand beckoned them to remain.

"I want you to stay, please do. I believe Dot is going to be
difficult. I did not think so when I came out to talk things over with
her. She is always claiming that I am her favorite brother yet when it
comes to a test she is far oftener on any one's side than mine."

"That is not because I do not care for you but because I feel you are
often wrong, Lance, and for your own sake I am obliged to differ with
you," Dorothy answered, as if she were on the defensive.

"Oh, well, all right, here goes. Perhaps I am wrong again," Lance
returned. "Nevertheless you and father might as well understand that I
am in earnest and sooner or later mean to have my way."

At this instant Lance sat down beside his sister, Tory and Ouida
following his example, but a few feet away as if they were interested
but reluctant.

Persuasively Lance placed his arm around his sister.

"Dot, does it ever occur to you that a fellow may have a right to his
mistakes? The rest of my family is so almighty sensible that if I am
never to be allowed to have my own way I'll never learn anything.

"Do you remember about two weeks ago when Mr. Fenton talked to us
about the Greek spirit? He said that to him it represented, beauty,
adventure and freedom."

Dorothy sighed.

"Dear me, Lance, I was afraid at the time you might take Mr. Fenton's
speech personally! What are you planning to do in quest of beauty,
freedom and adventure?"

Dorothy's expression was worried but amused, and Lance flushed. Upon
only one subject was he particularly sensitive, his devotion to music
and his own lack of any knowledge of it.

In a measure his sister could surmise something of what he had in
mind.

"My effort was not to be a very serious one, Dot," he said slowly; "at
least I did not feel it go until after my talk with father. He seems
to have gone up in the air. I don't want to spend next winter in
Westhaven. I simply can not endure any longer never having music
lessons from any one who knows how to teach and not even hearing any
music worth listening to."

Lance set his teeth.

"I don't ask anyone to understand, you can't if you try."

Dorothy's blue eyes grew more troubled.

"I know, Lance, but I do try," she returned. "And I would give
anything, make any sacrifice I knew how to make if father were willing
or had the money to send you to New York to study. But he is not
willing and he has not the money."

"I know, that is just it. I don't mean to ask him for money. I have
been writing letters to people in New York and trying to get work and
now I have succeeded in landing something that will give me enough to
live on, so you won't have to worry."

"But, Lance, there is school. You are only fifteen and you can't stop
school, it is even against the law. You must have pretended you were
older."

"I can go to school at night when I have finished working; I explained
this to father," Lance argued patiently.

"What about the music? When will you have money or time for lessons?"
Tory interrupted, not intending to intrude upon the discussion, but in
her interest forgetting her resolution.

A little less self-confident Lance appeared.

"Honestly, I don't know, Tory," he replied. "I think I feel that if
once I get where music is, the opportunity will come to me as rain and
sunshine come to trees and the things that need them. Gee whiz, I am
talking like a poet or a girl! Father would not think this line of
conversation convincing. You'll think up a better line of argument,
won't you Dorothy? Then when your time comes and you want something a
whole lot I'll do my best for you."

"But, Lance, I--" Dorothy hesitated--"I don't want you to go away from
home; I don't think it best for you. You ought to wait several years
anyhow. You are not strong and you'd be ill. You don't believe it, but
father cares more for you than for the rest of us because you are more
like mother. Please put things off a while longer in your own mind.
Truly, father will not consent for the present."

Lance got up.

"All right, Dorothy, don't say anything to father on the subject. If
you try to do your best for me what you really think will be plain
enough. I am sorry to have interrupted you; I'm off."

Nor would Lance remain in spite of the pleading of his sister and
friends.

Disconsolately they watched the slender figure in the canoe push away
from shore.

Afterwards they made no pretence of cheerfulness. Tory would not
return to her drawing; Dorothy was too depressed even to assist in
making tea.

An hour later they were on the way back to their own camp.




CHAPTER XIX

LETTERS


Mr. Jeremy Hammond personally conducted the search.

The evergreen cabin had been erected without foundation save a number
of cross beams. There was no cellar except one a few feet square under
the small room that served as a kitchen. The logs that upheld the old
house were singularly free from decay.

Standing upon one of them, a line of Girl Scouts on either side of
him, Mr. Hammond gazed downward with an air of discouragement.

"I am obliged to confess I see no place that gives one a right to
believe we shall discover a secret treasure," he remarked. "I am glad
Kara is unaware of our effort. I was wrong in speaking to her on the
subject. I suppose I am hopelessly romantic and have been cherishing
the idea of some day discovering further information about the little
girl I rescued a number of years ago. We shall find nothing here."

Tory touched him on the arm.

"Please, Mr. Hammond, don't let us start out upon our search in such a
hopeless spirit. I feel as you say you do about Kara. Ever since I met
her I have been convinced we would learn that she had a delightful
background of some kind, which would explain why she is so brave and
charming."

Mr. Hammond smiled.

"No, Tory, I cannot go so far as you. I have never anticipated so
much. Besides, I do not consider it necessary. Personality is the
strongest force in the world, not the question of one's immediate
ancestors. I am not decrying the ancestors, only if one possesses an
unusual personality it may come from further back in the stream of
life and the stream was the same for us all in the beginning.

"I have merely hoped to come across a clue which might give Kara an
idea of her parentage, or perhaps, a relative who would be kind and
interested in her."

Tory looked disappointed.

"Kara has plenty of people who are interested in her, and friends may
be as satisfactory as relatives." In this sentiment Mr. Hammond may or
may not have agreed. Already he had commenced tapping on the logs with
the end of his cane and digging underneath in any stray spot that he
hoped might develop into the receptacle of a box or treasure of some
kind.

The girls went about upon their own quests. Unfortunate that there was
no greater amount of space, no secret chambers and passages to be
investigated. This would have lent a glamour, a romance that nothing
about the little evergreen cabin afforded.

An hour and the exploration became of necessity over.

Nothing of any interest had been unearthed.

Disconsolately Mr. Hammond seated himself upon an upturned stool. A
few of the Girl Scouts clustered about him; the others unwilling to
give up, were still poking about in unlikely places.

Alone Tory Drew's original ardor continued unquenched.

All day she had a vision of herself going to Kara at the old Gray
House with information that would bring a new happiness into the clear
gray eyes grown so wistful in these weeks of a summer time they had
thought to be so happy.

No one place had been more thoroughly searched than the corners of the
old brick fireplace that divided the living room and the kitchen with
a single chimney.

Yet kneeling down once more Tory began a last search, poking about
into impossible crannies.

Exhausted, she finally surrendered. No reward was to be theirs, and
they had only been wasting valuable energy and time.

Nevertheless Tory did not feel in the mood for discussing this obvious
fact with the others.

Near the old fireplace was a small collection of loose bricks.
Arranging them into a low square Tory seated herself, leaning her head
against the left corner of the chimney.

Suddenly she had a sensation of dizziness. Her head seemed to be
swimming from the fatigue perhaps and the disappointment of her futile
search.

She straightened, biting her lips and wondering why she was not more
physically uncomfortable than she felt herself to be.

Then hearing a crumbling noise behind her, Tory turned her eyes. The
bricks against which her head had been resting had been loosened. She
had not been dizzy, the movement had taken place _in them_.

Picking up a stick that lay beside her feet she thrust it idly inside
a tiny crevice.

Actually by this time Tory had lost interest in what had been an
ardent enthusiasm earlier in the day.

She was excited, however, when a brick, displaced from its former
position, tumbled to the ground, yet for the moment uttered no
exclamation that might attract attention.

Thrusting her hand into the opening she tugged at another brick. The
exertion was unnecessary. It yielded at once to her touch. Two other
bricks were as easily removed.

Tory then discovered a hollow opening several feet deep.

There was nothing visible inside; the space appeared dark and empty.

Then Tory did call out and Mr. Hammond and the group of Girl Scouts
crowded close about her.

"Would you mind thrusting your hand inside and seeing if there is
anything stored away? I don't think it very nice of me to ask you
because I am afraid of touching something spooky or clammy. Do you
mind?"

Apparently Mr. Hammond did not object. Unmindful of his coat sleeve,
he was thrusting the entire length of his arm into the hollow recess.

"I wonder if this was not a Dutch oven that was covered over when it
failed to be used. In that case I may find a petrified loaf of bread
or pumpkin pie," Mr. Hammond remarked in a slightly ironical tone,
bored by this time.

An instant later his expression altered sufficiently for the group of
girls watching to become conscious of the change. The next he drew
forth a small package of letters tied together with a worn cord.

Were they of the remotest interest or value?

No one could say. At least the audience was willing to offer them the
benefit of an investigation.

Joan Peters went away to her tent, returning with a candle.

If there was anything else inside the dark enclosure the lighted
candle would show it forth.

Except for the letters the recess was empty.

Mr. Hammond continued to hold the packet and stare at it.

"Don't you think you had best open the letters and read what they
say?" Tory asked restlessly, wishing that Mr. Hammond would give her
the opportunity. After all, she had been the real discoverer, even if
her hands had not first touched the yellowed papers. Perhaps they
would contain thrilling information for Kara. She might be an heiress
or possessed of a more romantic heritage.

Mr. Hammond appeared doubtful.

"I don't know; I don't feel as if I were at liberty to open the
letters. I have no authority and they can have no association with me.
Perhaps I had best speak first to Dr. McClain and then take them to
Kara."

"But, Mr. Hammond," Dorothy McClain protested, "why should you
conclude that a small package of letters discovered in the way that we
have come across these can have any connection with Katherine Moore?
The letters may have been thrust into the old fireplace to burn and
been forgotten. Surely there can be no objection to your looking over
them first! Then you may be able to decide to whom they should be
presented. After all, the little evergreen cabin belongs to our Troop
of Girl Scouts. Mr. Fenton bought the place and gave it to us. You
have our permission. Besides, we would like to look at the letters
with you. I am so excited I really cannot endure to wait any longer."




CHAPTER XX

LOOKING FORWARD


Devoted attention to every line contained in the little package of
letters failed to develop information which appeared to be of interest
to Katherine Moore or any one else.

Carefully each line was read by Mr. Hammond and the Girl Scouts on the
afternoon of their discovery. Later the letters were given to Dr.
McClain and to Mr. Hale, Margaret Hale's father, who was a prominent
lawyer, for an equally painstaking perusal. They agreed that they were
merely a trivial collection such as any one might receive from a dozen
friends, preserved for the sake of the affection, not the value of the
communications.

There were no papers save the letters.

Only one or two seemingly unimportant details connected the letters in
any possible fashion with Katherine Moore. Three of them were signed
with the initials O. M., which may or may not have had any association
with the name Moore. In point of fact, it would have appeared a
straining of the imagination, save that the name Moore was signed to
one short note.

In any case, it was agreed that, since there was no one else to claim
them, the little package might be consigned to the girl who was
discovered as a baby in the forsaken cabin. No one had been known to
be living there at the time, so there was no reason to believe
otherwise than that the baby had been carried there and immediately
abandoned.

As Dr. McClain was at present seeing Kara daily at the Gray House, the
letters were given to him for safe delivery. Not until twenty-four
hours after was Tory Drew permitted to call and find what the
influence and effect of so unsatisfying a communication had been.

She found Kara in the big room downstairs which had been given over to
her use since her accident whenever she was living at the Gray House.

When Tory entered the room Kara must have been re-reading the letters,
since they lay open upon her lap.

"You were not disappointed over our discovery, dear? The letters do
mean something to you? You have the faith to believe that something
important to _you_ will develop from them some day? I believe it if
you do."

Kara laughed.

"Beloved Tory, if with all your imagination and sense of romance you
could find nothing of value in the old letters why expect it of a
practical, matter-of-fact, stupid person like I am? The letters are
ridiculous to my mind so far as they are supposed to have any
reference to me."

Still the gray eyes were shining and to-day Tory beheld the half
quizzical lines about the lips that belonged to the Kara of other
days.

"But if you have no faith in the letters, why do you seem so much
happier and like your old self?" she queried.

Her companion hesitated.

"Hasn't Dr. McClain told you?"

"He has told me nothing save that I might come to see you if I would
not stay too long, which is the permission he gives to all our Girl
Scouts."

Kara's voice was steady with the old-time gentle drawl.

"Promise me then not to expect too much or be too disappointed if
things do not turn out altogether well? Of course I am happier to-day,
happier than a dozen letters proclaiming me an heiress could ever make
me.

"Dr. McClain and two other surgeons who have seen me believe there is
a possibility I may be well. They are not absolutely sure. Don't look
so queer, Tory."

"I don't look queer, go on," the other girl whispered, bending her
face down so that her lips touched Kara's hair and her face could not
be seen.

"There isn't anything else to tell, except that I am to go to New York
City to be treated and to spend the winter and that Mr. Fenton and Mr.
Hammond and Dr. McClain and several other people have made the
arrangements and will pay all my expenses."

Here for the first time Kara's voice trembled.

"Who says one cannot have beautiful things happen to one even if lost
letters do prove disappointing?"

She put out her hand and caught hold of her companion's.

"Tory, you don't think I have failed to appreciate your loveliness to
me this summer. All the time when I have appeared most ungrateful I
have cared most. I won't talk about it now, only as you are an artist
you understand better than I how one may see things in a wrong
perspective. My view is clearer now whatever happens."

Tory kneeled down:

"I wish I might be Ruth to your Naomi."




CHAPTER XXI

KARA'S DEPARTURE


Believing that it would do his patient no possible injury, Dr. McClain
agreed that Kara should see as many of her friends as she desired upon
the last few days before departing for New York City.

Every spare hour Kara and Tory were together. The last few days Miss
Victoria Fenton had asked Kara to stay with them at their home in the
village. Farewell could be more easily said from there than at the
Gray House on the edge of the town. There would be less difficulty in
finally getting away.

Dr. McClain was to accompany Kara to New York in order to see the New
York physicians. Mr. Jeremy Hammond had offered to motor them down, as
he owned a handsome car and Kara would be spared having to be lifted
in and out of the train.

Kara's farewell Scout meeting was by her own request a quiet one. No
one would be present save the Scout Captain and her own Patrol. There
was only one other person who would come for half an hour to say
good-by, Memory Frean.

Fortunately the Fenton house had a bedroom on the first floor, so that
Kara could be comfortable without the problem of the stairs.

One admirer Kara had acquired without realizing the fact. She was to
make the discovery on the afternoon that she and Miss Victoria Fenton
sat talking, waiting for Tory to announce that preparations were ready
for tea.

From the beginning of Tory's first acquaintance with Katharine Moore,
Miss Fenton had been quietly watching the other girl. She had liked
Kara's fashion of never referring to the difference between her own
life and that of her more fortunate friends. When it was natural to
mention the orphan asylum, where she made her home, always she spoke
of the place with affection, never criticism or resentment.

Knowing nothing of her parentage, Miss Victoria concluded for reasons
of her own that Kara had come of well-bred people. And she meant more
than ordinary breeding. She was under the impression that Kara
revealed rare tact and sweetness in a difficult situation. Now and
then she considered that her attitude bore a quality of high courage.
But not until after Kara's accident was Miss Fenton convinced that
courage was the characteristic that lay behind her other attributes.

In the twenty-four hours the young girl had been her guest with the
prospect of such a test of patience and fortitude before her, Miss
Victoria had surrendered completely.

Silently Tory Drew had been aware of Miss Victoria's state of mind.
She had observed a new tenderness in the older woman's manner and
voice whenever she spoke or looked at her guest that she never had
seen her display.

This afternoon on the day before Kara's departure, when Miss Victoria
entered Kara's bedroom, with a hurried excuse Tory withdrew.

Kara, who was lying on a couch in a dark corner of the square old
room, struggled to sit up as the older woman entered.

With hands that were large and kind the older woman pushed her gently
back upon the pile of soft cushions.

Then, untying a parcel and flushing as if she were embarrassed, Miss
Victoria laid a dressing gown over the reclining figure.

The gown was a beautiful one, with nothing of the plainness or
severity one might have imagined Miss Victoria would choose. It was of
blue silk, the shade known as old blue, indescribably deep and soft in
tone. The lining was of pale gray. A little hood hung at the back and
a cord was knotted about the waist.

Kara might wear it for a number of occasions. She could receive guests
in it, as it would doubtless be difficult for her at all times to be
formally dressed.

Kara's voice shook a little as she touched the silk with one hand and
caught Miss Victoria's hand with the other.

"Everybody is being too good to me. I wonder if it is going to make it
harder or easier for me this winter. I shall miss my friends the more
and at the same time want to show them how deeply I appreciate what is
being done. May I write to you now and then, Miss Victoria?"

Miss Fenton showed and expressed pleasure, although she had written
her niece only a single letter in more than a month's absence from the
village.

"I have something else for you, Kara, something I want you to prize,
not because of its great value but because it means a great deal to
me.

"It was given me by the bravest person I have known. I will not tell
you about him now. Perhaps I will some day. If ever life seems to be
too difficult for you, my dear, you must tell me and then perhaps my
story may help you find new courage. Please don't speak of this to any
one except to say I wished to give you the little pin as a parting
gift."

As Tory softly turned the handle of the door to come back into the
room and announce the Girl Scouts, she observed Miss Fenton stoop and
pin at Kara's throat a small pin. As she came nearer she saw that it
was a beautiful sapphire set in an old-fashioned band of gold. In
truth, the pin was handsomer than either girl appreciated.

A moment later, before Kara could thank her properly, the older woman
hurried away, insisting she had a household duty to look after.

The Girl Scouts had been warned.

Kara's farewell to her Patrol must be as casual and matter-of-fact as
possible. There must be no heroics at parting; she would leave in the
early morning and must reserve all her strength.

At shortly after five o'clock the girls and the Troop Captain had
departed and Kara was again lying down alone until the evening meal.

Afterwards Dr. McClain and Dorothy were to come in for a few moments.

Kara and Tory, Miss Victoria and Mr. Richard Fenton were in the
drawing-room when they entered. Unexpectedly Lance accompanied them.

"We did not intend allowing Lance to appear, Kara," Dorothy apologized,
"but he insisted he had something of special importance to say to you
and never had been allowed the opportunity, you have been so
surrounded."

Not long after, stating that he was satisfied with her condition, Dr.
McClain departed to call upon another patient. A few minutes later
Miss Victoria and Mr. Fenton left the drawing-room to the younger
guests.

Kara was in her wheeled chair. Lance was standing near her. Dorothy
was seated on a stool nearby, while Tory remained on the rug with her
back to the fire, facing the others.

Dorothy smiled.

"Do you remember, Kara? Tory is wearing a green dress to-night as upon
the occasion of our first visit to this drawing-room to ask her to
become a Girl Scout. Dear me, what is that commotion?"

The two girls ran over toward the window. Lance had the thoughtfulness
to wheel Kara's chair so that she might equally gratify her curiosity.

Tory had drawn up the curtain and the four of them could see a small
group of figures standing in the street beneath the drawing-room
window.

There was a light coating of snow on the sidewalk.

"What in the world is the matter?" Dorothy asked anxiously. "Isn't Don
one of the boys down there? I wonder what they intend?"

Lance made an odd grimace.

"Intend? Good gracious! I always felt Don had no sense of humor, but
this is worse than I feared.

"Don't you girls appreciate the fact this is to be a farewell serenade
for Kara? Yet Don has read 'Seventeen'! They are half a dozen of the
Boy Scout Band."

"It is very kind of them, I am sure; no reason for you to be so
superior, Lance," Tory answered.

Outside the musicians were beginning the strains of "Auld Lang Syne"
and the little crowd inside the room were silent, Tory thrusting the
girl for whom the honor was intended into the most conspicuous
position and a moment later wrapping a blue scarf about her thin
shoulders.

With their heads close together they listened and watched.

"What are we to do when they have finished, Tory, to show our
appreciation?" Kara whispered. "I am afraid Dr. McClain would not be
willing to have me see them. Shall I go to my room while you receive
them?"

"No," Tory shook her head, glancing about the room. On a center table
was a bowl of red roses, the flowers Mr. Fenton cared for most, that
he had brought as a farewell offering to Kara.

Tory gathered half a dozen in her hands.

"Throw these out and wave good-night," she murmured.

Kara was not able to reach so far and seemed shy at making the
attempt, so that the other girl threw the roses and saw them fall,
crimson spots of color on the white snow.

Don picked one up and waved it, lifting his hat. The other boys
followed his example.

"Good-night, good-by, Kara," they called.

Donald's last glance and good-by was for Tory Drew.

As they closed the window and reluctantly turned away, Dorothy McClain
wore an unusual expression. She was frowning and biting her lips, her
color warmer than usual.

"Do you know, Tory, I believe Don is growing to be as fond of you as
of me."

She slipped her arm through Lance's and held it close.

Lance gave her a reassuring glance.

Tory laughed.

"Never in a thousand years! But if Lance really wants to speak to
Kara, perhaps he would rather we give him the opportunity alone.

"Suppose you come over here and sit on the sofa beside me. You must be
specially good to me when Kara is away."

Seldom was Lance awkward in manner or apparently at a loss for words.
Now he appeared embarrassed and silent.

"No, please don't go away, Tory, you and Dot, not if you can bear
remaining. And you must, to brace up Kara. The truth is I had nothing
special to say to her, but the other afternoon I composed a little
piece of music in her honor as a farewell. I am wiser to-night and she
shall not be afflicted with it."

Again Lance's brown eyes were slightly sarcastic, slightly challenging.

"How can you care for my poor efforts after the serenade?"

Tory made no answer save to attempt to lift the cover from the piano,
so that Lance was compelled to come to her assistance.

"Sit down, Lance," she ordered quietly, attempting to place the stool
in position. "I am glad to say the old piano was tuned only a few days
ago, although no one here uses it. You know you want to play what you
have written for Kara, so why pretend otherwise?"

Tory's manner left no chance for argument, so Lance, with a whimsical
smile of agreement, meekly obeyed.

He sat under a light from a reading lamp, the two girls standing
beside Kara's chair.

"My musical composition has the advantage of not being long and is
merely an attempt to express our sorrow over Kara's departure, our
faith in her good courage and our splendid hope for her return. Yes,
and perhaps a little of my envy that she goes to the city of my
dreams. Perhaps after all I shall meet her there."

Lance's words trailed away into silence as his slender fingers touched
the keys in a simple melody of farewell.