During the next day no one in camp had reason to complain of Corona Raybold. She did not seem inclined to talk to anybody, but spent the most of her time alone. She wrote a little and reflected a great deal, sometimes walking, sometimes seated in the shade, gazing far beyond the sky.

When the evening fire was lighted, her mood changed so that one might have supposed that another fire had been lighted somewhere in the interior of her mental organism. Her fine eyes glistened, her cheeks gently reddened, and her whole body became animated with an energy created by warm emotions.

“I have something I wish to say to you all,” she exclaimed, as she reached the fire. “Where is Arthur? Will somebody please call him? And I would like to see both the guides. It is something very important that I have to say. Mrs. Perkenpine will be here in a moment; I asked her to come. If Mr. Matlack is not quite ready, can he not postpone what he is doing? I am sure you will all be interested in what I have to say, and I do not want to begin until every one is here.”

Mr. Archibald saw that she was very much in earnest, and so he sent for the guides, and Clyde went to call Raybold.

In a few minutes Clyde returned and told Corona that her brother had said he did not care to attend services that evening.

“Where is he?” asked Miss Raybold.

“He is sitting over there looking out upon the lake,” replied Clyde.

“I will be back almost immediately,” said she to Mr. Archibald, “and in the mean time please let everybody assemble.”

Arthur Raybold was in no mood to attend services of any sort. He had spent nearly the whole day trying to get a chance to speak to Margery, but never could he find her alone.

“If I can once put the matter plainly to her,” he said to himself, “she will quickly perceive what it is that I offer her; and when she clearly sees that, I will undertake to make her accept it. She is only a woman, and can no more withstand me than a mound of sand built by a baby’s hand could withstand the rolling wave.”

At this moment Corona arrived and told him that she wanted him at the camp-fire. He was only a man, and could no more withstand her than a mound of sand built by a baby’s hand could withstand the rolling wave.

When everybody in the camp had gathered around the fire, Corona, her eye-glasses illumined by the light of her soul, gazed around the circle and began to speak.

“My dear friends,” she said, “I have been thinking a great deal to-day upon a very important subject, and I have come to the conclusion that we who form this little company have before us one of the grandest opportunities ever afforded a group of human beings. We are here, apart from our ordinary circumstances and avocations, free from all the trammels and demands of society, alone with nature and ourselves. In our ordinary lives, surrounded by our ordinary circumstances, we cannot be truly ourselves; each of us is but part of a whole, and very often an entirely unharmonious part. It is very seldom that we are able to do the things we wish to do in the manner and at times and places when it would best suit our natures. Try as we may to be true to ourselves, it is seldom possible; we are swept away in a current of conventionality. It may be one kind of conventionality for some of us and another kind for others, but we are borne on by it all the same. Sometimes a person like myself or Mr. Archibald clings to some rock or point upon the bank, and for a little while is free from the coercion of circumstances, but this cannot be for long, and we are soon swept with the rest into the ocean of conglomerate commonplace.”

“That’s when we die!” remarked Mrs. Perkenpine, who sat reverently listening.

“No,” said the speaker, “it happens while we are alive. But now,” she continued, “we have a chance, as I said before, to shake ourselves free from our enthralment. For a little while each one of us may assert his or her individuality. We are a varied and representative party; we come from different walks of life; we are men, women, and—” looking at Margery, she was about to say children, but she changed her expression to “young people.” “I think you will all understand what I mean. When we are at our homes we do things because other people want us to do them, and not because we want to do them. A family sits down to a meal, and some of them like what is on the table, some do not; some of them would have preferred to eat an hour before, some of them would prefer to eat an hour later; but they all take their meals at the same time and eat the same things because it is the custom to do so.

“I mention a meal simply as an instance, but the slavery of custom extends into every branch of our lives. We get up, we go to bed, we read, we work, we play, just as other people do these things, and not as we ourselves would do them if we planned our own lives. Now we have a chance, all of us, to be ourselves! Each of us may say, ‘I am myself, one!’ Think of that, my friends, each one! Each of us a unit, responsible only to his or her unity, if I may so express it.”

“Do you mean that I am that?” inquired Mrs. Perkenpine.

“Oh yes,” replied Corona.

“Is Phil Matlack one?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” said the female guide; “if he is one, I don’t mind.”

“Now what I propose is this,” said Corona: “I understand that the stay in this camp will continue for about a week longer, and I earnestly urge upon you that for this time we shall each one of us assert our individuality. Let us be what we are, show ourselves what we are, and let each other see what we are.”

“It would not be safe nor pleasant to allow everybody to do that,” said Mr. Archibald. He was more interested in Miss Raybold’s present discourse than he had been in any other he had heard her deliver.

“Of course,” said she, “it would not do to propose such a thing to the criminal classes or to people of evil inclinations, but I have carefully considered the whole subject as it relates to us, and I think we are a party singularly well calculated to become the exponent of the distinctiveness of our several existences.”

“That gits me,” said Matlack.

“I am afraid,” said the speaker, gazing kindly at him, “that I do not always express myself plainly to the general comprehension, but what I mean is this: that during the time we stay here, let each one of us do exactly what he or she wants to do, without considering other people at all, except, of course, that we must not do anything which would interfere with any of the others doing what they please. For instance—and I assure you I have thought over this matter in all its details—if any of us were inclined to swear or behave disorderly, which I am sure could not be the case, he or she would not do so because he or she would feel that, being responsible to himself or herself, that responsibility would prevent him or her from doing that which would interfere with the pleasure or comfort of his or her associates.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Archibald, somewhat severely, “that our duty to our fellow-beings is far more important than our selfish consideration of ourselves.”

“But reflect,” cried Corona, “how much consideration we give to our fellow-beings, and how little to ourselves as ourselves, each one. Can we not, for the sake of knowing ourselves and honoring ourselves, give ourselves to ourselves for a little while? The rest of our lives may then be given to others and the world.”

“I hardly believe,” said Mr. Archibald, “that all of us clearly understand your meaning, but it seems to me that you would like each one of us to become, for a time, a hermit. I do not know of any other class of persons who so thoroughly assert their individuality.”

“You are right!” exclaimed Corona. “A hermit does it. A hermit is more truly himself than any other man. He may dwell in a cave and eat water-cresses, he may live on top of a tall pillar, or he may make his habitation in a barrel! If a hermit should so choose, he might furnish a cave with Eastern rugs and bric-À-brac. If he liked that sort of thing, he would be himself. Yes, I would have all of us, in the truest sense of the word, hermits, each a hermit; but we need not dwell apart. Some of us would certainly wish to assert our individuality by not dwelling apart from others.”

“We might, then,” said Mr. Archibald, “become a company of associate hermits.”

“Exactly!” cried Corona, stretching out her hands. “That is the very word—associate hermits. My dear friends, from to-morrow morning, until we leave here, let us be associate hermits. Let us live for ourselves, be true to ourselves. After all, if we think of it seriously, ourselves are all that we have in this world. Everything else may be taken from us, but no one can take from me, myself, or from any one of you, yourself.”

The bishop now rose. He as well as the others had listened attentively to everything that had been said; even Arthur Raybold had shown a great deal of interest in his sister’s remarks.

“You mean,” said the bishop, “that while we stay here each one of us shall act exactly as we think we ought to act if we were not influenced by the opinions and examples of others around us, and thus we shall have an opportunity to find out for ourselves and show others exactly what we are.”

“That is it,” said Corona, “you have stated it very well.”

“Well, then,” said the bishop, “I move that for the time stated we individually assert our individuality.”

“Second the motion,” said Mr. Archibald.

“All in favor of this motion please say ‘Aye,’” said Corona. “Now let everybody vote, and I hope you will all say ‘Aye,’ and if any one does not understand, I will be happy to explain.”

“I want to know,” said Phil Matlack, rising, “if one man asserts what you call his individ’ality in such a way that it runs up agin another man’s, and that second man ain’t inclined to stand it, if that—”

“Oh, I assure you,” interrupted the bishop, “that that will be all right. I understand you perfectly, and the individualities will all run along together without interfering with each other, and if one happens to get in the way of another it will be gently moved aside.”

“Gently!” said Matlack, somewhat satirically. “Well, all right, it will be moved aside. I am satisfied, if the rest are.”

“Now all in favor say ‘Aye,’” said Corona.

They all said “Aye,” except Mrs. Perkenpine, who said “Me.”