The next day Mrs. Burton announced that having written her husband she would await his reply before reaching an absolutely definite decision in regard to their presentation of "As You Like It." In the meantime she insisted that the whole question of the performance be neither thought of nor discussed.

Appreciating that he had grown too old to make a valuable soldier and yet unwilling to be left out of war service, Mrs. Burton's husband, Richard Burton, had taken the necessary examinations and had received a commission in the Ordnance Department. He was now stationed at a southern camp.

Despite the Camp Fire guardian's request, there was a good deal of speculation among the girls concerning the possible outcome of their hopes. During the following day they were too much absorbed by the prospect immediately before them to give much time to the consideration of the future.

Having arranged a small dance and invited a number of soldiers from the nearby camp to be their guests, the girls had promised to do whatever work was necessary for their entertainment. This included the cooking of the party food as well as the other arrangements. But by this time, after several summers of camping life, each girl considered that she had become an artist in the preparation of one or more superior dishes.

Ordinarily the most indolent of the girls, on occasions of especial festivity Sally Ashton always assumed supreme command of the cooking. It was Sally who, with Gerry and Vera as her assistants, made both the bread and cake, articles of food of particular importance.

In the present mÉnu she was especially interested, as recently she had been experimenting with a number of new war recipes, finding them extremely successful. Now Sally wished to repeat the recipes for a larger company than their Camp Fire group.

Having by this time recovered from her accident, secretly Sally Ashton felt that she was being repaid for what she had suffered. She had secured a very agreeable new acquaintance, who showed the symptoms Sally so well understood of becoming one of her many admirers. The young man was Merton Anderson, who had been a guest at the Morris ranch and had ridden over to camp with the news of the accident.

Since then, with Mr. Morris and Felipe Morris, he had made several calls upon Mrs. Burton and ostensibly upon her group of Camp Fire girls. However, after Merton Anderson's first visit, Sally appreciated that the rest of his calls were due to her presence. No one could have explained how she managed, not even Sally herself, yet she had a fashion of seeing and conquering almost immediately both young men and old. No one ever observed her making an effort to attract attention. She was even unusually demure; nevertheless the attraction was going on in a subtle and scientific fashion.

Of Felipe Morris' attitude toward her, Gerry Williams was by no means so assured. Not since their original meeting at his home had she an opportunity of speaking to him alone, nor had she made the effort to secure such an opportunity. For some reason Gerry felt a certain shyness toward her new acquaintance, almost as if she were afraid of the influence he might be able to exert upon her.

Certainly she had no idea of making an appointment to meet him anywhere alone. Apart from the fact that Mrs. Burton would not approve, Gerry had been trained in a sufficiently hard school of experience to recognize the lack of wisdom in such a proceeding. If she wished Felipe to like her especially, and she was by no means sure at this time that she did wish it, then she must not allow herself to become cheapened in his eyes. Social conventions Gerry understood were of value and more especially to a girl in her position. However, Felipe had appeared to be courteous, although extraordinarily determined upon securing his own way.

In return for their kindness and also because she liked both young men, Mrs. Burton had invited Felipe Morris and Merton Anderson to their Camp Fire entertainment. The entertainment was to be more than an ordinary dance, since the guests had been invited to a swimming party in the afternoon, then dinner and the dance later.

Since the girls were to spend a portion of the afternoon in swimming, most of the preparations for their party necessarily had to be made beforehand. Mrs. Webster had promised to look after final details, and also there was Marie, who was temperamental, but who could be relied upon to accomplish marvels when she was in the proper mood. Since the entry of the United States into the war, Marie, who was an ardent French woman, had adopted the American soldier as her especial protÉgÉ.

Moreover, on the morning before their dance Alice Ashton and Peggy Webster had motored into town, purchasing the provisions they considered too troublesome to prepare. They bought two roast hams and a roast of beef and half a dozen varieties of fruit. Their mÉnu was to consist of cold meats, baked beans, which were a Camp Fire speciality, roast potatoes and corn, which could be cooked over the outdoor fire, cornbread, fruit salad, coffee and cake.

In the afternoon the girls were to wear their Camp Fire bathing suits, but at night they had concluded to appear in white dresses, with their honor beads, almost as beautiful and as effective as jewels.

The ceremonial Camp Fire costumes were somewhat too heavy and too warm for dancing on a midsummer night in a semi-tropical land.

The girls were naturally a trifle shy over the prospect of guests, nearly all of whom were complete strangers. Among them were only two with whom they had any previous acquaintance. They were Lieutenant Geoffrey Carson and Private George Ferguson, the soldiers who were aided after an accident in their motor car, by the Camp Fire girls during their riding trip down the coast.

Two of the soldiers were members of one of the regimental bands and had promised to play for the dancers, since the girls possessed only a much-used victrola and were too far off in the country to be able to engage the services of professional musicians.

No dance could have been less conventional, when for one thing the white, smooth sands of the beach below the camp were to serve as the ballroom floor.

Truly here indeed were the colors of romance, the moon and the sea, youth and a wind-swept shore!

That night, dancing with Felipe Morris, Gerry believed that she had never been so happy.

With his Southern ancestry and musical gifts, naturally Felipe was a wonderful dancer, possessing an almost perfect sense of rhythm and time.

On one occasion Gerry and Felipe discovered that they were actually dancing alone, their companions having stopped for a moment to watch them. Then they were only brought to a realization of what had taken place by hearing Mrs. Burton cry: "Bravo!" and afterwards the applause of a dozen pairs of hands.

A little while before Felipe had lifted their right arms and he and Gerry had danced in and out in semi-circles until they formed the petals of a flower; reaching the center they revolved slowly in a circle, until almost ceasing to move.

Mrs. Burton decided that seldom had she seen a more enchanting picture—Gerry with her delicate blonde prettiness, Felipe Morris so complete a contrast. But then a great deal may have been due to the effect of the outdoor scene and the moonlight!

Before midnight, after dancing for several hours and after their long afternoon swim, the dancers must have grown weary, for they wandered off and sat down in little groups on the sand.

This was Gerry's and Felipe's opportunity, for at once Felipe led her to a place where they were in sight of the others and yet where they could not be overheard.

The rock Felipe had chosen rose above an amethyst carpet of sea verbena where Gerry sat enthroned while he lay down on the floral carpet.

Felipe could adopt an attitude of careless grace with more assurance than the usual American youth. Indeed, he looked utterly unlike any of the other young men who were the guests of the Camp Fire girls this night.

They wore their uniforms and were bronzed and fit.

At this time the soldiers of the National Guard were beginning slowly to fill their new military camps, as they were to be the first regiments ordered to France after the regular army had crossed. The drafted men were not yet ready for service. During this memorable first summer, after the entry of the United States into the war, the lists of the drafted men were being prepared with great difficulty.

Therefore no one of the soldier guests questioned Felipe Morris' position. It was presumed that he and Merton Anderson were in the attitude of waiting for their call to the colors.

Among the small company only Gerry and Mrs. Burton and Merton Anderson were aware of Felipe's attempt to claim exemption. Naturally the matter was not one that he cared to discuss with strangers, and more especially not with young men near his own age, who had volunteered rather than wait for the drafting.

However, Felipe was at present pleasantly sure of Gerry's sympathy.

"Fine looking soldiers, our American warriors!" he began in a lazy, good-humored tone, which nevertheless held a slight suggestion of disparagement. "I suppose one ought to rejoice that there are some men among us who have the masculine passion for fighting so long as the Kaiser's Huns are still abroad in the world. But personally I don't feel I should make a success as a soldier."

Such a conversation would not have made the slightest impression upon any one of the Sunrise Hill Camp Fire girls except Gerry.

It was obvious that Felipe preferred some one else to shoulder his responsibility and do his duty. Selfishness is neither original nor unique!

But Gerry was not given to deep reflection and was already more under her companion's influence than she realized.

"When are we going to have a meeting together somewhere off to ourselves?" Felipe asked. "There are so many things I want to talk to you about; it is tantalizing to see you for only a few moments at a time now and then. Why can't you come over and stay again at the ranch? My father does nothing but read war news all day and either Shakespeare or Cervantes in the evening, so we would be virtually alone."

The prospect sounded alluring to Gerry, nevertheless she slowly shook her head.

"I should like it, of course," she answered, smiling and showing her small but very regular white teeth, "only, like a good many other pleasant things in this world, it is out of the question for me. I cannot stay at your home alone with just your father and yourself. Besides, your father would never think of inviting me, and although I should enjoy seeing you alone at some other time, I am afraid even that is impossible. Mrs. Burton would not——"

Here Felipe laughed in a teasing fashion.

"Is this the vaunted freedom of the American girl? I thought only the other evening you confided to me that you had always been forced to depend upon yourself ever since you were a little girl and that there had been no one in your life who had ever influenced your decisions! Now you speak of Mrs. Burton as if you were a tiny school girl. Let me assure you—if assurance be necessary—that I intended nothing wicked or even unconventional. I only wished you to take a walk with me some afternoon, or a sail. I have a motor boat, and there are hours when the sea is not rough. As a matter of fact, I meant to ask Mrs. Burton's permission, in case I had your consent first. Mrs. Burton strikes me as a charming person and not one who would be too strict a chaperon. Naturally, as I have spent all my life in this neighborhood, I know the attractive parts of the country."

Felipe's tone was not so much annoyed as it was patronizing, and Gerry accepted it in this spirit.

She disliked making social mistakes, and she had had so little social training and experience that she was apt to regard her mistakes as of more importance than they actually were.

Now she supposed that she had misunderstood Felipe from the beginning and that her own stupidity had been at fault. So she replied somewhat humbly:

"I am sorry. If Mrs. Burton is willing, of course I shall enjoy walking or sailing with you. But don't let me keep you away from the other girls too long tonight. Suppose we walk over and join Mrs. Burton."

As if she intended rising, Gerry made a slight movement. Her companion did not stir.

"Sit down, please, I am afraid you are angry," he returned. "I do wish I had my guitar with me; I should like to sing to you. Mrs. Burton asked me to bring it over tonight, but I had rather not sing before the others."

So Gerry stayed on and allowed Felipe to talk, while she said little in reply, only glancing now and then from the figure at her feet to the beauty of the moonlit ocean. Vaguely she wondered why she had always been convinced she did not care for the outdoor world. It was stupid never to have realized its loveliness until tonight!

But, while Gerry and Felipe were having their talk together, only a short distance away Lieutenant Geoffrey Carson and Bettina Graham were engaged in a very different character of conversation.

It chanced that Lieutenant Carson, who was a Virginian, had an uncle who had been a representative in Congress for a number of years. Having visited his uncle, Lieutenant Carson had not only heard of Bettina's distinguished father, but had met him and knew of his effort to persuade his country to take her high place among the nations in the fight for a world-wide democracy.

So, since Bettina Graham's father was her idol, she experienced none of her customary shyness in talking to the young National Guard officer. She had liked him in their former meetings, not resenting his quiet sense of humor, a contrast to her own seriousness.

"Then you are in absolute sympathy with our having entered the war, Lieutenant Carson?" Bettina inquired, adding: "I think I always have been—and yet now and then one cannot help feeling that all war must be wrong."

Before the young officer could reply, they heard some one approaching and glancing up Bettina discovered Billy Webster.

The next moment, without awaiting their invitation, Billy took a seat on the sands beside them.

Bettina was not surprised, for few persons who knew Billy intimately continued to be surprised by his unexpected actions. Indeed, they would have been surprised had he behaved otherwise. Now, although Bettina was a little annoyed at having her conversation interrupted, she made no effort to interfere with his intention.

The turning of Billy Webster from the accomplishment of his desire required a tremendous amount of energy which the result scarcely ever justified.

So far as Lieutenant Carson was concerned, because Billy looked so much younger than he actually was, he regarded him merely as a presuming small boy.

Moreover, at the beginning of their talk, certainly Billy behaved like one. First he stared at Lieutenant Carson's dress uniform, with the single bar on his collar and sleeve and then up into the officer's firm, smooth-shaven face. Finally, leaning over close to his companion, he fastened his large visionary blue eyes upon the officer's steadfast brown ones.

"Why did you do it?" Billy inquired. Then, because he was accustomed to being compelled to explain himself, he continued: "I mean why did you volunteer, why go through all the hard work and rigmarole to be appointed an officer in the army? You look as if you had an unusual lot of sense, so I cannot imagine that you do not understand there are finer things to do with one's life than killing people. I should think you could see how much more men are called upon to conquer poverty and injustice and the crime that comes of it, than they are called upon to conquer one another. Of course if you had been drafted that would have been a different matter. Most people do what other people tell them to do. That is why I believe if all the leaders of the world would preach peace, all war would end."

Instead of appearing to take the youthful pacifist seriously, Lieutenant Carson smiled. Billy was a little offensive and misguided, nevertheless there was something interesting about the boy; he had such an intense manner, such an appearance of being convinced of his own point of view. And Billy's personality suggested the thinker, not the man of action.

"Then you are under the impression we are over there in our encampment for the fun of it and in order to kill time which we might be spending in better ways?" he inquired, thinking that perhaps he might answer Bettina's anxious questionings and Billy's impertinence at the same time. "Well, as a matter of fact, our encampment is not a very attractive place up to the present. Did you think so when you made us the visit? One job we have been tackling recently is to clear away the underbrush from a good many thousands of acres of desert which have remained undisturbed from the year one until now. We killed ninety rattlesnakes as a part of the first day's work. Later on we are going to drive artillery across those wastes of sand. Does not sound like play, does it?"

"No," Billy returned patiently, wondering why people would not sometimes answer his questions directly, without first preaching long sermons which seemed to have but little bearing upon them.

"It is because I think a soldier's life is so hard and must be so distasteful to a lot of men that I wonder why you would rather give your energy to fighting than to trying to make the world happier and wiser in other ways."

Lieutenant Carson frowned. He knew the things Billy was saying were being said by a good many people the world over, who were older and wiser, or who should have been wiser, than Billy. But he also realized that these same sentiments were not easy to answer, because they had in them so much of the germ of truth, which was to blossom and flower at some future day.

Moreover, unexpectedly he experienced an impulse to help the boy to see the present world struggle in a clearer light.

"Billy," he added, "you will agree with me, won't you, that pretty nearly everybody is saying the same thing these days? We all claim that we wish the world to enjoy universal peace, that we long for greater justice and happiness and a deeper sense of brotherhood. There is only one point that divides you and me just at present. We all want peace, but some of us want it so much that we are willing to pay for it by the final last sacrifice of our youth and our blood. There are others who think it may be obtained, and apparently you are one of them, simply by sitting still and talking the whole subject over. This is pretty difficult as things are at present. So long as the devil is such a scrapper, those of us who believe in the triumph of right have got to learn to fight back harder and even more successfully than he can fight."

Billy was silent for a moment, then with an egotism which was eminently characteristic, he remarked: "Well, perhaps that is the way some people must see the thing. Do you know I have always believed that some day I am going to have a tremendous influence upon people just through talking to them."

Then, by the time Lieutenant Carson had recovered from his surprise at Billy's audacity, he had made up his mind that the hour had arrived for their return to camp.