A few minutes later Donald and Lance McClain were standing in the open space before the Girl Scout camp. They were facing a number of the girls and their Scout Captain, Sheila Mason, as well.

Slightly in the background and yet within hearing, Victoria Drew waited.

Kara was lying on the cot inside her own tent. Tory’s friends had suggested that she follow Kara’s example and allow breakfast to be brought to her. Surely she looked weary enough after a night of such anxiety!

Tory had her own reasons for declining. Now as she overheard the beginning of the conversation she was glad of her own decision.

“We are sorry to have intruded upon you even for a short time, Miss Mason,” Donald McClain protested. “We know that you have asked that no member of our Scout camp come within your boundaries this summer. Of course you appreciate that the present circumstances left Lance and me no choice. Last night Lance insisted that he saw the light from a fire on one of the hills which he believed was a signal for help. The rest of us talked him out of the idea. The fire was plain enough, but we were under the impression that some one was spending the night on the hill-top and had kindled the fire either for cooking or companionship. Lance is an obstinate chap and was not altogether convinced. He arose at dawn and discovered the two smoke columns. He wakened no one but me. We set out and were lucky enough to find Tory and Kara without much trouble. We must say good-by to you at once. The other fellows will not know what has become of us, as we can’t reach our own camp for another two hours.”

Impulsively Tory Drew made a little forward movement. She then observed Lance’s eyes fastened upon her with the half-humorous, half-quizzical expression she frequently found annoying. What was there in the present moment to amuse him, save her own intention to come immediately to Donald’s defense? He so rarely made a speech to any stranger so long as this one to the Girl Scout Troop Captain. When the four of them were together, she and Dorothy McClain, Lance and Don, Lance often accused her of talking for Don.

At this instant, however, Sheila Mason extended her hand toward Donald with a friendly gesture.

“We have been anxious for the opportunity to explain to you and Lance that in asking the Boy Scouts not to pay visits to our camp this summer, we did not intend to include you. We have talked of this to your sister, but Dorothy has had no opportunity, she tells me, to speak of it to you. We realize you could not have taken part in the rude behavior of the other boys the night following our making camp here at the border of the forest.”

Sheila Mason, the Troop Captain of the Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing, was only about ten years older than the youngest member of her Troop.

In the early morning sunlight she looked charming in her brown khaki skirt and white blouse. Her long, light hair was braided close about her small head, her fair skin tanned by the outdoor life of the past few weeks, and color brighter than at any time in her life.

It was now midsummer, with days of unusual heat and nights of enchanting coolness.

There was no trace of severity in the Troop Captain’s manner or appearance, but Donald McClain flushed uncomfortably and closed his lips into the obstinate lines Tory so well recognized.

She wished Dorothy for a moment would be less faithful to her task of preparing breakfast. Mingling with the other outdoor fragrances, the odor of the coffee gave Tory a sensation of momentary faintness from sheer hunger.

Don had squared his shoulders. Not sixteen, he was nearly six feet in height and splendidly built.

“You are mistaken, Miss Mason. I was with the other Boy Scouts the night we came over to your camp. We meant to frighten you a little and to find out a few of the mistakes you were pretty sure to make on your first camping venture, nothing worse! We had no idea you’d take a little teasing so seriously. Some of us may not have behaved as well as we should, but nothing for the girls to have made a tragedy over.”

Donald was not intending to offend the Girl Scout Captain more deeply, but tact was not his strong point.

Why did Lance fail to come to his brother’s rescue? Tory flashed an indignant glance at him. He possessed, when he wished, the gift of expression his brother lacked. Lance’s occasional moods of silence were due either to disappointment or anger.

Arriving a stranger in Westhaven the winter before, among Victoria Drew’s first acquaintances were Dorothy McClain and her six brothers. Their father was the leading physician in Westhaven and an old friend of her aunt and uncle. They were neighbors as well.

In the beginning Tory had believed she preferred Lance to any of the other boys. He was Dorothy’s favorite among her brothers, a delicate, musical chap, partly admired and partly scorned by the five who were stronger and more matter of fact.

Lance’s passion for music, of which he knew but little, his desire to be left alone, his failure in most athletic sports, the rest of his family found annoying and amusing.

Lance McClain alone was like his mother who had died some years before, the others like Dr. McClain.

“Lance, why in the world don’t you help Don out? You know he will only make things worse if left to himself.” Tory whispered at this moment.

“Want to save Don at my expense? All right, Tory,” he answered quizzically in the voice and manner Tory never really understood.

Lance moved forward and now stood close beside Miss Mason.

His golden-brown eyes and his sensitive mouth relieved his face from plainness, although he was considered the least good looking member of his family.

At present he was smiling in a charming fashion.

“See here, Miss Mason,” he began speaking slowly, “I don’t suppose you can imagine what a difficult thing it is to have a brother who is always putting you in the wrong? Oh, not intentionally, but by everlastingly doing the right thing and then trying to take the blame for your mistakes!

“Don did not want us to come to your camp and make a scene. He is our Patrol leader and we should have done what he advised. Only we wouldn’t and didn’t! He came along at last more to keep the rest of us out of mischief than because he wanted to be in it.”

Lance drew his brows together so they became a fine line.

“Wonder if I’ve got to make a clean breast of the whole business? Don is everlastingly forcing me to play up to him when I would not otherwise. The suggestion that we hike over to the girls’ camp and see what was going on originated with me. Don and I had been telling Dorothy you would never get things in shape over here without help from us, or men in the village. Your Girl Scout Troop has been claiming that you could accomplish all the things we do and a few other things beside. We did not believe you and wished to see for ourselves. I was sorry and mad as Don when some of the fellows went too far. We had a call-down from our Captain and have been looking for a chance to apologize. Do try and forget it, won’t you? If your Girl Scouts will swoop down on us unexpectedly and be double the nuisance that we were, we are willing to call it square.”

Sheila Mason laughed. Margaret Hale, the Patrol leader and one of Victoria Drew’s intimate friends, who had joined the group during Lance’s speech, shook her head. She was a tall, serious looking girl with clear-cut features and a graceful manner.

“Lance, I don’t believe a Boy Scout Troop is supposed to employ a lawyer. You strike me as a special pleader. You had better go in for the law instead of music. We are not so cranky that we would have objected to an ordinary descent upon us, even with the idea of showing us what inferior creatures we are. But when it comes to trying to frighten us, and some of the more timid girls were frightened, you behaved as if you were wild Indians.”

Lance held up a white handkerchief.

“This is a token of complete surrender. We ask the courtesy due the defeated, Miss Mason. Please don’t allow Margaret to rake up the past. Don and I must be off now to camp. Sorry you won’t give us a message of forgiveness to carry back. May we speak to Dorothy? Evidently she is more interested in her breakfast than in her brothers.”

“Nonsense, Lance, you and Don must have breakfast with us before you leave,” Miss Mason answered. “I cannot bury the hatchet, Indian fashion, because the Girl Scouts must decide themselves whether or not you are forgiven.”

Approaching in their direction at this moment, her face flushed and holding a long toasting fork in one hand, was Dorothy McClain.

She was only a year and a few months younger than her two brothers and looked very like Don, save that her hair was chestnut and her eyes a darker blue.

“Don, Lance, how glad I am you had the good luck to come to Tory’s and Kara’s aid! I have made a double amount of toast and there are six more eggs added to our usual supply for breakfast. I thought you would appreciate this sisterly attention more than rushing to greet you at once. I saw you were not lonely.”

“Good to see you, Dot. You are looking in great shape, only we must be off at once,” Donald answered, still appearing uncomfortable and obstinate.

Between Dorothy and Tory Drew a signal was flashed of which no one of the small group save Lance McClain was aware.

“Please stay, Don,” Tory begged, moving forward and standing beside him. She scarcely came up to his shoulder. “Edith Linder has gone to Miss Frean’s cottage to ask her to come to Kara at once. She is to try to telephone for your father. If not, one of us must ride in to town for him. But perhaps he might want you to be here when he arrives in case there is anything to be done, if Kara has to be lifted. Oh, I don’t know anything, except that I am dreadfully worried over her.”

Don softened.

“Oh, of course if there is any chance Lance or I can be of further use we’ll be glad to stay. You ought to go to bed, Tory, and not wait for father.”

Tory shook her head. Her face was whiter than usual from anxiety and fatigue, yet Donald McClain liked her appearance.

His brothers and other people might insist there were several girls in the Girl Scout Troop of the Eagle’s Wing far prettier than Victoria Drew—Teresa Peterson, with her half Italian beauty, his own sister, Dorothy, Joan Peters, with her regular features and patrician air. Don knew that Tory possessed a charm and vividness, a quickness of thought and a grace of movement more attractive to him than ordinary beauty.

Forgetting their companions, they walked off together, leaving the others to follow.

“If you only knew how I have been longing to show you our camp in Beechwood Forest, Don! Please say you think it is wonderful,” Tory pleaded.