Victoria Drew sat on the lowest step leading into the evergreen cabin. This was the name she preferred to call it. Inside Kara lay asleep.

There was no one else at the camp in Beechwood Forest at this moment.

The other girls and the Troop Captain had departed for a day’s hike, not to return until late afternoon.

Nevertheless Tory and Kara had not been alone. This never occurred; Edith Linder had remained to be useful and to relieve Tory. As a matter of fact, the Troop Captain, Miss Mason, and half a dozen girls had insisted that Tory go forth for the long hike. The day was a perfect midsummer day and each and every one of them would gladly remain with Kara.

Tory had declined. In face of the argument that it was her duty to give the other Girl Scouts the opportunity to be useful to Kara, who was their friend as well as her own, Tory insisted that to-day she was too tired for a long tramp. In any case she would stay on at camp. Some other day she would be glad to change places.

At present Edith Linder had gone the half mile or more away to the little House in the Woods on an errand. She had promised to help prepare supper before the camping party could return. Finding herself in need of supplies she had explained to Tory and slipped away. Kara would not be apt to awaken soon and there appeared no immediate need for her.

In truth Tory was glad to be alone for an hour.

In a short time the sun would set.

Weary Tory believed she wanted an hour for quiet thinking.

Earlier in the day Teresa had confessed that she was feeling a degree of disappointment in the summer camp.

Tory Drew was disappointed, but for different reasons.

The past winter had been the most difficult she could remember. After a wandering existence abroad with her artist father, it had not been simple to find her place and to make friends in Westhaven. Yet she had accomplished both. Her aunt, Miss Victoria Fenton, did not regard her with great affection, nevertheless at least she had agreed that the younger Victoria had become slightly less trying. And she and her uncle, Mr. Richard Fenton, at first not liking each other, had become devoted comrades.

Save for his interest and aid the summer camp, now surrounding her like a quiet guard, would never have been a possibility.

Growing a little restless, Tory changed her position.

Would it not have been better had she gone on the errand to Miss Frean and asked Edith to watch beside Kara. Of late Kara frequently showed that she was weary of so much of her society.

Moreover, without confessing the fact, Tory appreciated that she was suffering from the strain. She was tired and nervous oftener than she was accustomed to feeling.

A quiet talk with Memory Frean and a walk to the House in the Woods would have done her good.

Her uncle had said that he hoped this summer would give them an opportunity for a closer intimacy. He believed that her influence would be of benefit to Tory. If their friendship of long ago had ended, he had not for that reason ceased to admire Miss Frean.

At this moment a breeze swept through Beechwood Forest, setting the leaves shimmering with a fairylike enchantment.

An instant Tory was aroused from her reflections.

She was alone with no one to disturb her. Why not slip into her tent and find her sketch book? She probably would have time for a sketch before Kara awakened or Edith Linder returned.

Unaware of her own action, Tory shook her head.

She was too tired to sketch, and worse, felt no inspiration or desire. Next to her grief over Kara was her disappointment in regard to her summer’s work.

Miss Mason had agreed that she might try for a Merit Badge as an artist during their camp. Surely she had sufficient talent to have won it. She had looked forward to having an arm filled with worth-while sketches of her outdoor summer to show her father upon his return to Westhaven.

Now she must face the fact that she would have not a single drawing she would care to submit to competent judges, not even a sketch she would be willing to have her father criticize.

Of course she would be glad to have sacrificed her summer to Kara, if Kara had revealed a moderate amount of appreciation.

In truth Kara was not even as fond of her as she had been in the past before she had been able to show her devotion. To do one’s best and always seem inadequate is not a condition many persons can face cheerfully.

Inside, in the room beyond the open door, the other girl stirred, and Tory glanced in.

On a cot by a window Kara lay asleep.

The room had changed since her coming. Formerly it had been the Girl Scout living room. Here they had eaten their meals and held their Scout meetings on the occasional rainy evenings when their more splendid outdoor meeting place had been less comfortable.

This could still be managed if Kara were well enough or in the mood to take part. But always her comfort and her wish were first.

Thrown over her at this moment was a gay woolen cover made by her own Troop of Girl Scouts. During the past winter each of them, who had not known how previously, had learned to knit as a part of their home training. The suggestion had come from Teresa that each girl knit a square of her favorite color, and thus a rainbow scarf might shed good fortune upon Kara.

So far, Tory decided, with a sudden trembling of her lips, the promise had not been fulfilled.

Kara was no happier in body or mind since her return to the camp.

Yet the room in which she was lying at present asleep was altogether charming.

The sunlight, fading into its last brilliancy, shone through pale yellow curtains. On the mantel above the fireplace was a brown bowl of yellow wild flowers. Perched above, with wings outspread, was Mr. Richard Fenton’s last gift to the evergreen cabin, the stuffed figure of an American eagle. A splendid specimen, one instinctively looked up toward it on entering the room. Over it were the words, “The Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing in Beechwood Forest.”

A table drawn up near the couch was filled with flowers, books, magazines and small articles. Scarcely a day passed that Kara did not receive a gift of some kind, not only from the Girl Scouts and their families, but from her many friends in Westhaven.

Yet, apparently, Kara no longer cared for what in the past would have given her happiness. At one time she had been glad to feel that Westhaven did not regard her merely as a little waif who had been left upon their bounty and brought up at the “Gray House.” She was the ward of the entire village. Now this was of no further concern to her.

Tiptoeing softly into the room, Tory closed a window without arousing the sleeper.

Strange to think that Kara long ago had slept in this same room and been rescued by a stranger! What would be her emotions if she knew that in this house, tumbled down and uncared for, she had been deserted as a baby?

Tory decided that she must remember to warn Mr. Jeremy Hammond, who had rescued Kara, never to recall the fact to her mind. Dr. McClain had agreed that for the present this would be wisest, as in no possible way must Kara be excited or depressed.

True, Mr. Hammond had never been to see Kara since her accident! He must have learned of her misfortune. A large box of roses had arrived at the “Gray House.” Yet neither Mr. or Mrs. Hammond nor Lucy had come personally to inquire.

At the thought Tory’s face flushed with annoyance. Mr. Hammond had not been attracted by Kara when he appeared at the orphan asylum with the idea of adopting the little girl he had discovered long ago. Instead he had chosen Lucy, the little girl whom Kara had cared for as if she were a small sister. Lucy, at least, should have paid daily visits to see if she could be useful. Possibly she had forgotten Kara amid her new wealth.

“Well, she would never forget or be unfaithful,” Tory thought with a sudden intensity of feeling characteristic of her. Some day Kara must surely find someone or something to compensate her for her difficult girlhood!

If only there might be a treasure, some fortunate inheritance, hidden away in the little evergreen house, left there by the parents who seemed to have cared less than nothing for their baby!

At her own dreaming Tory smiled. She then tiptoed out of the room again. The place had been thoroughly searched for information and not a line had been discovered save the slip of paper with Kara’s name, “Katherine Moore.”

Outside on the veranda Tory did not sit down at once.

She could see some one approaching toward the camp down the long path. Edith Linder was probably returning. It was, perhaps, as well. Miss Mason, the Troop Captain, insisted that the girls never be at camp or in the woods alone.

If Miss Frean knew she would doubtless come back with Edith. Tory hoped this might be true. There were so many questions to discuss. Kara had proposed an interesting suggestion earlier in the day. Evan Phillips’ mother might be induced to teach their own little group of Girl Scouts outdoor dancing. Where could there be a more perfect opportunity than here in the heart of Beechwood Forest in their own “Choros,” or dancing-ground?

The figure approaching was not a girl’s.

At some distance off Tory recognized Lance McClain. He was strolling calmly along in the most unconcerned fashion, a book open in his hand. Now and then he glanced down and read a few lines.

Not the slightest intimation did his manner reveal that he ought to regard himself as an unwelcome visitor in the Girl Scout camp.

Tory had not seen him since the morning when he had aided in bringing Kara home. On that occasion he had been told that the girls were still undecided whether they wished to have anything further to do with Lance’s group of Boy Scouts during their summer camping season.

“Hello, Tory; I hoped I would find you outdoors,” he called out amiably when within a few yards of the evergreen house.

Tory ran down the steps.

“Don’t make a racket, Lance! What in the world are you doing here? Kara is asleep and I am on guard. You know you are not supposed to come to our camp. I feel as people used to in the old fairy stories and legends. Somehow I must try to save you from having your head chopped off, or some other fearful end. I do consider you deserve it, but somehow it would be unpleasant.”

“Your gentleness and kindness of heart overpower me, Oh, Victoria of Beechwood Forest,” Lance answered. He bowed in the graceful fashion that for some unexplainable reason often aggravated Tory, and Dorothy and Donald McClain; Lance’s own sister and brother.

Lance was too unlike other boys at times not to be trying.

“Come down to the shore of the lake with me, won’t you Princess Nausicaa?” he demanded. “See how well I remember the name some one bestowed upon you when I was here before. I have another reason for recalling it. I shall explain in another instant if you will be so good as to listen.

“What a pleasure to find you alone! Of course I expected it. I can’t say I should have cared to enter this particular camp if I had been forced to face the entire troop of disapproving maiden Scouts. Still, there is something I am anxious to have brought to your attention. Come along, Tory.”

The girl shook her head.

“Not so far away as the lake, Lance. I’ll come to the big beech here near the cabin. I’ll know then if Kara wakes and wants me, yet we will not be near enough to disturb her.”

Under the deep green shelter Tory looked more searchingly at her companion.

“You say you expected to find me at camp with most of the other girls away. Did you see them on their hike or did Dorothy tell you we were planning an all-day tramp?”

Lance shook his head.

“No, I have seen no one and heard nothing from Dorothy. If I have a secret source of information isn’t that my affair? In any case you would not have me betray another?”

Tory sighed.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Lance, do say what you intend to say in a straightforward fashion. I wish you were more like Don. One can always understand and depend upon Don.”

Then, when she saw Lance flush, Tory regretted her speech.

“I am all too accustomed to that remark, Tory. I assure you that if I have seen any one from your camp or received any information concerning you, it is not because I desired to be disagreeable. I was hoping I might be allowed to extend you the olive branch.

“In fact, I have the olive branch with me. It is hidden away in my book.”