Chapter 15

A WARNING

But the girl did not have to decide the problem, for the young man solved it for her.

They were in the midst of luncheon, which was spread out on a vast table-cloth covering ten or fifteen square feet of ground, when he arose solemnly and bearing his plate in his hand came over and sat down on the grass alongside of Polly. In his khaki uniform, with his hair, skin and clothes so much the same color, he was far less countrified, indeed, almost good looking the girl conceded to herself, while waiting for him to speak first, giving her the clue to his attitude toward her.

"You were awfully kind the other day and, I am much obliged to you," he said a trifle awkwardly, but with gracious intention. "I am afraid I should have had rather an uncomfortable time of it but for you."

Polly cast her eyes demurely toward her lap, turning her head slightly to one side, "I am afraid you did have an uncomfortable time anyhow. I was very sorry." She had flushed the least little bit, but her lips were twitching with amusement.

The young fellow smiled. "Oh, don't you be sorry," he protested, "leave that to the guilty person, or I am afraid she may keep you being sorry for her sins all the days of your life."

"I will not!" Polly snapped, in such evident irritation that the young man leaned deliberately over her shoulder staring into her face. Then he actually laughed. "I am sorry myself now," he apologized, "but I thought you were the pretty one."

"Well I am not and that is a horrid way to get even!"

Again the young man laughed. "I beg your pardon, I mean I thought you were the nice one!" And this time Polly happening to catch his eye, which had some of her own sense of humor in it, laughed to herself and then swung round to talk to him more directly.

"No, I am neither the pretty one nor the nice one," she avowed. "There is Mollie sitting between Ralph Bowles and Frank Wharton and you can go talk to her in a moment. But just the same I am sorry that I happened to hit you the other day and I was just as much surprised at its having happened as you could possibly have been."

Her companion nodded as though to dismiss the subject. "If Mollie is the nice one and the pretty one, would you mind telling me your name, then perhaps next time I may be able to tell you apart without your giving me such strenuous examples of your differences in character."

The girl shrugged her shoulders pretending to be entirely indifferent and yet a little piqued at the suggestion in the last sentence. The difference between herself and Mollie, all in her opinion in her sister's favor, was a sensitive subject.

"I was christened Pauline in baptism but I am usually known as Polly. However, my sister and I both recognize ourselves when called Miss O'Neill." This was such an evident attempt on Polly's part to put her questioner in his proper place that he could not rise entirely superior to it, even though her intention to hit back was so transparent.

"May I tell you my name now?" he asked in a more humble tone, as though wishful to make peace.

"You don't have to tell me your name for I am very sure I know it already," the girl answered in a provoking manner, for which she had a peculiar talent. "You see our guardian told us that you were the son of the Mr. Webster who owns the land on which we are camping, and I am convinced that there is no young man in New Hampshire boasting the last name, Webster, whose first name isn't Daniel! Do you think we would so fail to commemorate our greatest statesman? It must be rather dreary to be named for so great a person that you know whatever you may achieve yourself you must always sound like an anti-climax."

This time it was surely Polly who had struck home, for the young man colored and applied himself to the food on his plate for at least a moment before he replied: "You are right, my name is Daniel and I have felt about it a little as you say, but then I am also called William, which is a better name for a farmer."

"Farmer?" Polly forgot that she and her companion had been sparring and let a genuine interest creep into her tone. "Do you really mean that you are going to be content to be a farmer all the days of your life, to stay right on here and never see anything or be anything else? It sounds so strange to me--for a man to have no ambition!" Almost she forgot her companion and sat frowning with her eyes more serious than usual and her thin face with its sensitive features and high cheek bones turned upward toward the peak of Sunrise Hill. "I am a girl, but I am going all over the world and I am going to be an actress and do ten thousand delightful things just as fast as I can before I have a chance to get old."

Gazing at her more intently than ever before in their conversation, the young fellow shook his head. "No you won't,"' he said bluntly, "you will never be strong enough and you had better stay here in the hills and let some one look after you, your sister or--some one. Yet you need not talk as though being a farmer was a thing to look down upon. I am sure our great men all used to be farmers, George Washington and the rest of 'em. You must know their names better than I do. So please bear in mind that I intend to do my best to make things grow--hayseed!" he laughed good humouredly, guessing Polly's secret scorn of him, "but at the same time I expect to see something and if I'm lucky to be something, though if I'm a first-class farmer it isn't so worse. Do give me your plate, you have eaten very little and the rest of the crowd is getting dreadfully ahead of us."

But Polly, jumping up hastily and the young man following her, led him over and introduced him to Mollie, with whom he spent the greater part of the afternoon.

From two o'clock till sundown the hours at Sunrise, Camp were fairly strenuous ones since the Camp Fire girls insisted on comparative tests of skill with their Boy Scout guests. Of course the young men agreed, although they were pleasantly scornful, until possibly owing to their morning's contest the girls actually won out in the knot-tying contest, which was supposed to be a peculiarly masculine accomplishment. In running, jumping and feats of marksmanship the girls of course were easily outclassed by their opponents; however, Beatrice Field, who was so light and so small that no one considered her in the race, did come in second in a short thirty-yard dash. Then Miss McMurtry held a kind of impromptu examination in questions of patriotism and nature lore, the girls and men managing to about equally divide the honors. But the really extraordinary feature of the afternoon was that dull little Sylvia Wharton, the youngest member of the company, was easily first in half a dozen observation games most important in the training of Camp Fire girls and Boy Scouts. For instance, in a Quick-sight experiment, the girls and boys walking rapidly from the camping ground to the shores of the lake, Sylvia had seen eight small objects more than any one else and she was so quiet and looked so stolid while doing it that Polly wanted to laugh, and began to doubt her stupidity.

At six o'clock it still appeared as though the Boy Scouts intended remaining for the evening meal and camp fire; however, Miss McMurtry kindly but firmly bade them farewell. The girls were tired and it was a long tramp back to the Scout camp. There had been no suggestion from any one that the surprise visit had been made in any spirit of criticism and yet John Everett made a half-hearted apology to Betty and his sister.

When the farewells were being said all round, he called the two girls aside:

"I say," he murmured boyishly, in spite of his years and six feet, "I have got to confess that I never saw you girls looking so well, so kind of up to the limit before, and I thought by this time you would surely be fagged out, or bored, or sick of trying things out together. Now I don't say I approve of this Camp Fire business, I won't go so far as that, but it does not seem to have done either of you any harm yet."

And then laughing at his grudging attitude the three of them rejoined their friends, who were waiting to end their day together by singing "My Country, 'Tis of Thee." And they were waiting because Esther Clark was needed for leading the song and in the last few moments she had disappeared with Richard Ashton, who had been watching the proceedings all day with an expression that was sometimes amused but the greater part of the time grave. He had no opportunity for speaking to Betty or to any one else alone and only to Esther because he had just made a deliberate effort. As they came slowly back from the pine grove together, Betty felt cross at Dick's choice of a companion when any one of her other friends would have been pleased by his attention.

Then, too, Esther looked as serious as her brother and Betty hated unnecessary seriousness, besides Dick needed some one to make him gay, not an awkward, uninteresting acquaintance like Esther. But there was no use in arguing with Dick, for he would always be kind to the people who were left out of things and seemed most to require kindness. Sorry to have seen so little of her brother during his short visit, Betty now slipped her hand into his and held it tight while Esther, standing some distance apart from them, started the air for their parting hymn. The girl was not thinking of herself and so was unconscious that the others, even while singing, were also listening with surprise and pleasure to the clear, rounded tones of her beautiful mezzo-soprano voice. In reality Esther Clark was thinking only of Betty and the news that Dick Ashton had just told her. Mr. Ashton, his father, had been taken ill in Italy and, though there was no immediate danger, might never be well again. For the present it was thought best that he remain indefinitely in Europe, so the family had not decided whether or not to tell the facts to Betty. She could do no good; even Dick was not going to him, and it was always best to keep every possible sorrow from Betty. But really, because Dick Ashton could not make up his mind just what was the wisest course, he confided his secret to Esther, asking her to think matters over and write him her judgment. You see there was no question of Esther's unusual devotion to Betty and readiness to sacrifice everything for her, though there seemed to be no reason, and surely Betty was entirely careless of it.

Before the twilight of the long afternoon had entirely faded into night, every Camp Fire girl, including Nan Graham, who was not a member, had vanished into bed. The child was too tired to be sent home to-night and word would be taken to her parents by one of the boys. Miss McMurtry herself was asleep as soon as her girls. And indeed Polly entirely forgot that Betty had suggested she put the question of Nan's remaining in camp with them to her again during the evening.

How many hours Polly had been asleep outside her tent with the newcomer by her side she did not know, but suddenly she was awakened by a sound that was like a sob. Sitting up quickly she saw Nan kneeling on the ground and looking up at the sky.

Polly waited in silence until the girl, feeling her wakefulness, came slowly back to her own bed and somehow Polly could see that her face had lost its sharp, old look and was like a child's.

"I was praying you'd keep me in camp with you long enough to give me a try," she explained.

Like a flash Betty's suggestion that she might change her opinion after thinking things over came back to Polly's mind. Of course the day had not been conducive to reflection, but perhaps it might be just as well not to give Betty too much time to think.

Half an hour afterwards Polly crawled under the blue blankets and putting her arms about her friend whispered her request. And just at first Betty was too sleepy to know what was being asked of her and later on was possibly too tired to resist, for she yawned an agreement.

"Oh yes, I will do my best to persuade the girls to let her stay on if you want her and Miss Martha consents. But if there is trouble, Polly--" and she was almost asleep again.

Polly gave her another gentle shake. "Promise to keep your money hidden and not put temptation in her way. Esther says she found your pocketbook stuffed with money in the middle of the tent floor."

"I promise," Betty ended hardly knowing what she said.