  “Then you really did care, Dan, when you feared I was lost and that something tragic may have happened?” “I always intended to find you, Sally.” Yet Dan Webster looked troubled. He was standing staring down at the girl who was sitting wrapped in a white woolen cape before the log fire at Tahawus cabin. Somehow Sally Ashton appeared several years younger than before her adventure. She was paler, the lines of her face thinner and there was a little downward droop to the corners of her full lips. “And yet in a way I did not find you after all! I was merely tramping through the woods calling your name when by accident I saw a figure moving toward me, the man whose little cabin you had stumbled into. Fate was kinder to you than you dream, Sally. Mr. Holden was on his way to your friends.” Sally slipped further down into the large semi-invalid chair, ordinarily occupied by Mrs. Burton. “Yes, and I implored him not to leave me alone, Dan. I know it was selfish of me and yet I wanted to wait till morning before sending any word. I don’t remember that I was so frightened when I was wandering around alone. I have not as much imagination as the other girls, besides at first I knew I must not allow myself to be terrified and afterwards, well, afterwards I suppose I really was too cold, Dan, to think or care for anything in the world save getting warm again. Yet I did think of mother and father and you. I don’t believe I thought of Alice.” Sally’s face wore an odd, childish expression. “Alice is so critical of me and of course getting lost and nearly freezing was partly my own fault and partly yours, Dan. But what I intended to tell you was that as soon as I recovered a little and had something warm to drink, hot coffee, or tea, and had rested, Mr. Holden—was that his name?—insisted that he must leave me and tramp to Tahawus cabin. It was miles away and I knew no one could get back before midnight. So suddenly it seemed to me I could not stay alone. Before it had been so silent and now I could hear strange sounds, the barking of little foxes, the calls of animals. I feared no one would return and I would be forever lost in the tiny hut.” Sally shivered. “Nevertheless Mr. Holden would go. He told me I would be entirely safe and could doubtless sleep until his return. Strange that I should have seen him before! It was one afternoon when Chitty and I were in the woods not far away and he sat listening to Chitty’s singing. I was puzzled by him then and am still puzzled. Did you ask him, Dan, why he lived like a hermit? I will some day, and I think he may tell me. Anyhow I am very grateful to him. And I was just falling asleep, Dan, when you came and found me. Then together you dragged me back on a sled. Do you know I have scarcely been wide awake since mother and father lifted me and brought me into the cabin. And yet I am still tired.” Back among a pile of cushions Sally dropped her head as if she were not altogether displeased by her present condition. Nevertheless, her companion watched her anxiously. Dan Webster was a tall, splendid looking fellow, six feet in height, with blue eyes, coal-black hair and extraordinary physical vigor. He had been two years with the American army in France, but at present was only twenty-two. “It is perfectly natural that you should be tired, Sally. I am only worried for fear we are doing too much talking. Your mother told me to keep you amused and away from all the excitement. One question I must ask. What did you mean by saying a few moments ago that I was in part responsible for your attempt to return to the cabin alone and being lost in consequence? Had I dreamed what you intended, I should never have allowed it. It really was nonsensical of you, Sally, to attempt to come home alone; you know you have less skill in outdoor things than the other Camp Fire girls and less courage.” Sally frowned. “Then all the more reason why you should not have left me alone, first to walk up the hill without even speaking to me and afterwards to stand and freeze while you continued to amuse yourself with Mary Gilchrist. Of course Gill is athletic and has lots of courage and is all the things I am not, but you have always pretended to be my friend, Dan, and I have not seen you since we parted in France. You told me then that I ought to return home because I had less ability to help with reconstruction work than the other Camp Fire girls. It is always the things I lack that you notice, isn’t it? But you are right, I am tired and would prefer not to talk any more. To think that to-morrow is not only Christmas but Peggy’s wedding day! Little did any of us dream that a white Christmas at Half Moon Lake would see the first wedding among our group of Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls! If you don’t mind, will you leave me alone for a little while now, Dan? No, I don’t wish to sleep; there are several things I want to think about. I’ll see you to-night at supper.” “I won’t go, Sally, until you explain what you meant.” Lowering her eyelids as if intending to rest, Sally glanced at the tall figure towering above her, through half open eyes which afforded her a plain view of her companion, but concealed her expression from him. There was something in Dan’s manner which pleased Sally. He looked so strong and masterful and yet at the same time so hurt and puzzled. It always had been a comfort and an amusement that she understood him better than he would ever understand her. “Why, I meant nothing except what I said, Dan.” “But to talk of pretense in my friendship for you, Sally, is so nonsensical. I have cared for you ever since you were a little girl more than I have cared for any one save my own family. Of late, well, I might as well be honest, after I saw you in France I knew I cared more. I did not want to speak of this to you, Sally, not for a time. I feel as if somehow you were too young. I know of course that in France Lieutenant Fleury, The girl’s brown eyes with their curiously golden depth were wide open at this moment. “I really never could like any one except an American, Dan. I did not dream until I was in Europe how much I cared for my own country.” Dan did not appear as pleased by this speech as might have been expected. “There are more than a hundred million Americans, Sally, and I presume about ten million young men. Is it your idea that you care for them all alike because they are Americans?” “Not alike,” Sally returned. “But about Mary Gilchrist?” Dan flushed and looked as if he wished to make an angry retort. Then the sight of Sally sitting warm and safe and sweet before the open fire and the memory of the hours he had tramped the frozen earth hoping and yet dreading to discover her, softened him. “About Mary Gilchrist you know there is nothing to say, Sally, know it fully as well as I. The other afternoon she needed some one to help with the toboggan. I was accustomed to the sport and fond of it and knew how to run things when the other fellows did not. To have remained with you, which I would prefer to have done, was to have affected everybody’s pleasure. If that is the reason why you started home alone, I think you were pretty hard on us all.” To make a confession of a mistake was more difficult for Sally than for a more impetuous temperament, yet she answered with an air of unexpected penitence. “I am sorry, Dan. I was angry and piqued and jealous perhaps. So I suppose I deserved what happened to me, yet it was not fair to make mother and father and Tante and the others and you, Dan, uneasy.” “Uneasy, well that is scarcely the proper word, Sally. I have never been more wretched in my life. I knew if I did not find you and if all was not well with you I should never have another happy moment.” Dan spoke simply but with such complete sincerity that Sally made a little movement and saw his hand reach out as if he wished to touch her soft hair. Then the door opened and Mrs. Burton, the Camp Fire guardian, with her sister, Mrs. Webster, came into the living-room. They were twin sisters, at one time Polly and Mollie O’Neill, and among the original group of Camp Fire girls. They had resembled each other in the past, but the years and difference in temperament and experience at present made the likeness less apparent. Mrs. Webster had grown plump, there were lines of gray in her dark hair, her checks were bright and freshly colored. She had a look of gentle and dignified maturity. Save for the death of her son, Billy Webster, “Sally, dear, your mother is asking for you and wants you to lie down for a little while. The truth is I believe she is afraid to have you out of her sight after your behavior the other evening. Dan, will you escort Sally? She seems to require some one to look after her at present, although she was once the Camp Fire heroine. Mollie and I wish to decide upon the arrangements of this room to-morrow. Peggy has left all details to the other Camp Fire girls and Bettina has asked our advice. I suppose the ceremony ought to be performed there between the two big windows with the white world of beauty outside as the background. But really, Mollie, how you can be willing to permit our only and beloved Peggy to be married in this abrupt fashion is beyond my comprehension. “She came to us here at Tahawus cabin that we might have a brief visit together free from the thought of her marriage to Ralph Merritt in the spring and lo, Ralph, descends upon us and demands Peggy in thirty-six hours! It is too impossible; you and William should not have agreed.” Mrs. Webster placed her arm about her sister. “But, Polly, Peggy told you she would not dream of marrying Ralph in this abrupt fashion unless you consented and believed it the thing she should do. Not only are you her adored aunt, but you have been her Camp Fire guardian all these years and I am accustomed to the idea that she loves you, if not better, at least as well as she loves me. Now if you are to make yourself ill over this when you were getting stronger, why Ralph can go to China alone and Peggy wait until he is able to return for her. I shall tell her you have changed your mind and consented only because you did not wish her to be unhappy.” “Well, suppose I did consent for that reason, Mollie, all the more reason why I must not change my mind. We can have this room filled with Christmas evergreens and Ralph tells me he has ordered roses and lilies to be sent up from town. Our Peggy shall be ‘a white bride of winter’ and I promise to pretend that I do not hate all weddings save my own, and above all others the marriage of my Sunrise Camp Fire girls!” |
|
