  To the Sunrise Camp Fire girls the closing in of winter about Tahawus cabin brought a new experience of life. Never in the many seasons spent together under varying conditions had they been so thrown upon their own resources for happiness and growth! Of the outside world of companionship and stimulation, they had no one and nothing upon which they might depend, and this following two eventful years in Europe during the close and in the months after the great war. Yet they had been told what they must expect, the quiet, the loneliness, the shut-in-ness of their existence. Discovering that her health made it unwise to attempt returning to the stage during the winter, Mrs. Burton anticipated spending the winter alone in the Adirondacks save for occasional visits from her husband and Aunt Patricia, her sister and possibly her friend, Betty Graham. However, Miss Patricia Lord had been first to decry an arrangement of this character, protesting that since Polly O’Neill Burton appeared unable to look after herself when she was not ill, what could one expect of her under other conditions! Personally she had no idea of permitting her to make further trouble for her husband and friends. This was of course Miss Patricia’s fashion of confessing that nothing could separate her from the individual she loved best in the world, so long as her care, devotion and wealth could be of service. Without Mrs. Burton’s knowledge Captain Burton and Miss Patricia made a journey to the Adirondacks, where they secured the lease of Tahawus cabin for a year with the privilege of a longer term, and here, a few weeks later, Mrs. Burton found herself established under Miss Patricia’s guardianship, her husband being forced to return to his work in Washington. The maid who accompanied them Miss Patricia soon dismissed, announcing that she gave more trouble than assistance. And, although regretting her loss, seeing that the girl herself was lonely and unhappy and unable to live in peace with Miss Patricia, Mrs. Burton felt obliged to consent. Later she made a number of efforts to secure another maid (Marie, who had lived with her so many years, having been left behind in France), but up to the present time no one had been discovered agreeable to Miss Patricia. Annoyed and unhappy over the amount of work Miss Patricia insisted upon undertaking, Mrs. Burton found her protests and efforts toward aid both set aside. Moreover, as rest was essential to her recovery, she dared not undertake heavy tasks. During the latter part of the summer and the early fall, therefore, she and Miss Patricia lived alone at the cabin, although for various reasons neither of them particularly content. Miss Patricia’s anxiety revealed itself in an increasing sternness and solicitude which left her charge small opportunity for peace. Mrs. Burton, who was not seriously ill so long as she was resting and in a proper environment, oftentimes found herself lonely and restless, and ashamed of her discontent. She was surrounded with every comfort and a good deal of luxury. Her room, twenty feet square, had four large windows facing the south and west; the plastered walls were painted a pale yellow with curtains of a deeper shade. Upholstered in yellow silk with half a dozen yellow and brown silk curtains, was the couch Miss Patricia had ordered from New York to be in keeping with the room. Supplies of magazines and books were sent weekly from town, letters arrived in generous number, occasionally a visitor appeared from one of the hotels or cottages a few miles off, but oftentimes was sent away unseen by Mrs. Burton, Aunt Patricia concluding that she were better left alone if the visitor happened to be not a friend but an acquaintance merely desiring to do homage to a famous woman. Fortunately Miss Patricia looked with favor upon the physician who made weekly calls upon his patient. Miss Lord had secured a cabin in this particular neighborhood in order that the younger woman might be under his care. One afternoon during the first week in September, Miss Patricia and Mrs. Burton were sitting in her bed-room between five and six o’clock. The twilight was beginning to close gently in so that a single lamp was lighted on a table which stood near Mrs. Burton’s couch. Lying upon the couch, she was holding a newspaper open in her hand, but at the moment was not reading. A few feet away Miss Patricia sat grimly hemming dish towels. Neither had spoken in the last ten minutes, not since Dr. Larimer, after an hour’s visit, had driven away. “You are an extremely entertaining companion, Polly. Do you realize you scarcely have spoken to me all day, and yet you seemed to find a great deal to discuss with Dr. Larimer; perhaps because he is a man and I am only a woman.” Swiftly Mrs. Burton dropped the paper which had been hiding her face. “I am so sorry, dear, to have been so stupid; I have been reading since Dr. Larimer’s visit. But it is unkind of you to say I preferred talking to Dr. Larimer for such a reason, when you know what I wanted to discuss with him.” “Yes, and his answer was exactly what I anticipated,” Miss Patricia answered severely, although her eyes were now searching the younger woman’s face. “Polly, I desire you to be truthful, even when the truth appears less complimentary to me. In the last few minutes you have not read a single line. I have been watching you and——” The paper slid to the floor as Mrs. Burton sat up clasping her arms about her knees. Her corded yellow silk gown with a soft fall of lace about her throat had been put on in honor of the doctor’s call; her black hair was loosely coiled on top of her head, her cheeks too brightly flushed, her blue eyes less clear than usual. “Come and sit beside me, Aunt Patricia, please do as I want to make a confession. It is true I have not been reading these last few minutes because a few moments ago I read the announcement of a brilliant new play produced in New York City last week and I was envious and rebellious. Of course I really expected to have Dr. Larimer declare that I must remain all winter in the mountains and yet I must have hoped he would allow me to return to town after a few more months. I am sorry of course, but really, Aunt Patricia, you must not bury yourself here with me, when I am such a burden besides being a stupid companion.” “Don’t talk nonsense, Polly, if you can avoid it,” was Miss Patricia’s reply. Yet she came and seated herself on the couch beside the younger woman, and by and by her arm was about her. “See here, my child,” she announced a few moments later, “the truth is, I am neither lonely nor dissatisfied, but you are. I am never unhappy when I am with you. However, that is neither here nor there. Naturally you need other companionship than an excessively disagreeable old woman. Your husband cannot be with you this winter, his work makes it impossible. I have been thinking for several days of an idea which I discussed with the doctor this afternoon after his conversation with you. Why not have your own Camp Fire girls to spend the winter at the cabin with you? You are accustomed to them and they would keep you interested and able to give less time to thinking of yourself. Dr. Larimer has no objection; says you will grow stronger as soon as you are in a more cheerful frame of mind. Would you like to have the girls, dear, because if so, in the last ten moments before I reproached you for not speaking, I had been planning a letter to each one of the girls which I shall write to-night, once you are asleep.” “I am afraid they won’t care to join us here, Aunt Patricia. The winter will be so long and cold and at present the Camp Fire girls are in their own homes. You must not on my account ask them to come to us; we shall be happy alone, except now and then when I am especially tiresome.” However, at the mere suggestion Mrs. Burton’s face had flushed, her eyes were no longer clouded and a bit of her old animation had returned. “Our invitation to the Sunrise Camp Fire girls shall not imply a favor to us should they care to accept. I shall also tell them what they are to expect,” Miss Patricia added. “If they elect to spend a winter in the Adirondack forest, it will be of benefit to their health as well as to yours. Moreover, do not believe that I am issuing this invitation solely on your account, Polly. More than I dreamed possible I am missing the Camp Fire girls myself, particularly Vera and Alice, who are more sensible than the others.” Later in the same evening, while Mrs. Burton lay half asleep on her couch, seated not far away Miss Patricia Lord wrote her letters of invitation. She kept her word; the letters mentioned the conditions the girls would be forced to meet, the long cold, the quiet days and nights and the fact that they could count on but little society or entertainment save what they could create among themselves. However, the cabin was comfortable and the surroundings beautiful. In only one line did Miss Patricia betray the fact that she believed their Camp Fire guardian’s health might be improved by the companionship of the group of girls who had meant so much to her in the past years. Yet it may have been this line that represented the necessary influence, or merely that the girls enjoyed the novelty of a winter in the North woods. Whatever the reason, October found them living together in their accustomed fashion and now October had passed and November and it was the first week of December. So far, according to the woodsmen, the winter had been a remarkably open one. One Friday afternoon, soon after luncheon, Mary Gilchrist came out of the cabin alone. A short time before Mrs. Burton, Mrs. Graham and Marguerite Arnot had gone for a drive, the rough little pony they had been using earlier in the season was now transferred from the carriage to a sleigh. Ordinarily the Camp Fire guardian preferred the girls not to go any distance away from Tahawus cabin alone. So, as she had found it difficult to secure a companion, Gill had no thought of being outdoors more than an hour. Fresh air and exercise were essential to her health and happiness. Sally, who first had been asked to accompany her, disliking the cold and none too fond of exercise, had pleaded the fact that she was busily engaged in preparing mincemeat for the approaching Christmas holidays and desired to go on with her task. Bettina Graham, Gill preferred not to invite, believing that Bettina would surely decline. Alice Ashton and Vera were at work on their Christmas sewing and had a walk of several miles earlier in the day. Promising Sally to bring back any winter berries or evergreens she might discover, at three o’clock Gill set forth alone. She was dressed in a short skirt and a gray fur coat and cap and was wearing snowshoes. No snow had fallen for the past week and there was a hard layer of ice. The afternoon was cloudless and brilliant, the sky above the tree tops ravishingly blue. A number of paths led away from the door of the cabin and Gill started along one which came down to the edge of the lake. As the lake was frozen over, she followed the line of the west shore for about half a mile, gliding along on the ice, her cheeks tingling, her eyes sparkling with the delight of the exercise and the exhilaration of the winter air. Not in some time had she felt so serene. These past few weeks for several reasons had been as uncomfortable ones as she ever cared to live through. Fortunately she always had believed in the value of an outdoor life to bring one to more cheerful views, even before her membership in the Camp Fire had emphasized this truth. Tiring of the smooth surface of the lake, at length Gill climbed a snowdrift to enter a balsam forest which seemed to cover only a small area before it opened into a clearing beyond. At no great distance from their own cabin, Gill had no recollection at the moment of this particular woods, perhaps because the winter afternoon gave it a new and strange aspect. She recognized that the trees were white pine, many of them fifty feet in height with drooping long branches and five-fingered leaf bunches. Beneath the trees the ground, soft with the needles at other seasons, was to-day hard and white as a marble bed. The arch of the trees formed a kind of natural temple with the opening beyond like a great rose window seen through the intervening space. As she approached the end of the vista Gill heard a noise which at first startled and later on puzzled and troubled her. The noise was like the barking of a dog in distress. She stood still, called and whistled only to have the sound cease and then begin again with a deeper note of suffering. Continuing her walk, but more slowly, Gill moved in the direction from which the barking came. In spite of what may have appeared to contradict this fact, actually she was more attached to animals than any one of the Camp Fire girls. Within another moment she had made a discovery. In a trap set by a hunter a small red fox had been caught but not killed. The barking to her ears had sounded like a dog’s. Notwithstanding its pain and terror and fear of human beings, it seemed to Gill the little animal turned its red-brown eyes toward her with an expression of appeal. Several seconds the girl stood frowning and puzzled, all her color flown and her lips trembling. Her own ignorance and cowardice formed the chief barrier. The little animal’s hind feet had been caught and nearly torn from the body, and yet she was unable to open the trap or to relieve the pain in any way, as she carried no weapon of any kind. Gill set her teeth. Why not walk on or, a better plan, return to the warmth and friendliness of the big cabin. Of a sudden she felt lonely and vaguely uneasy here in the silent woods, the silence broken only by the cry of a small animal in pain. Yet the pain could not continue indefinitely, and in any event she could soon be out of sight and hearing. Gill’s eyes dropped toward the ground. Immediately in her path she beheld a heavy stick, from which the snow had blown away, leaving it exposed to her gaze. A second only she hesitated, then picking it up discovered that the end was round and thick as a bludgeon. She knew that her eye and her aim were unswerving, yet the prospect of a moment’s swift action made her sick and faint. The next Gill lifted her cudgel. With a quick stroke between the eyes that were fastened half fearfully, half trustfully upon her own, the little creature’s suffering was ended. Afterwards, absurd as it seemed to her, Gill could not walk on at once. Instead she leaned against a nearby tree, closing her eyes to avoid the spectacle before her. She could hunt without especial emotion or regret, when her aim was steady and there was no suggestion of long pain or suffering afterwards. But to kill, as she had felt herself forced to do in the last few moments, had upset her in the most acute fashion. Gill opened her eyes when she heard some one coming toward her. “You seem to appear only when I am in the act of taking a life, Mr. Drain,” she exclaimed with poorly concealed bitterness, allowing her state of mind to find expression in the tone of her voice. “I am sorry to have you a witness to what I have just done and yet I felt it was unavoidable.” “You have only accomplished what I have been trying to find courage to do this last half hour, Miss Gilchrist. But you do look used up. My little cabin is not an eighth of a mile away, won’t you come in and rest for a moment? I am sure your friends will not object. I am fairly intimate with most of them except you. Somehow we never seem to meet when I am at Tahawus cabin.” |
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