Outside the opening into her tent Teresa Peterson sat presumably playing upon the banjo. The sounds she was making were not particularly pleasing. Yet the camp was fairly deserted. Only a few of the other girls were to be seen and they were busy and nowhere near Teresa.

In fact, the camp in Beechwood Forest would be vacant within the next few days. Summer was closing with the soft loveliness that makes one forgive and forget her less charming moods.

Already the evergreen house, which had been the center of the camp life, was being dismantled.

Katherine Moore had returned to the Gray House on the Hill. After the performance of the Greek tableaux she had not been so well and Dr. McClain had additional reasons for desiring her presence in town at this time.

Impatient always to fulfill his own wishes, no sooner was Mr. Hammond aware of Kara’s departure to town than he requested permission to have the floor of the old cabin removed and the search begun. Kara was not to be told of the effort until the work was accomplished. Not one chance in a thousand, Mr. Hammond agreed, that any trace of Kara’s past history be located here, therefore she had best not be excited or worried until the task was finished.

This afternoon, as Teresa twanged at her banjo strings, she looked oftener than was good for her music at the group of men who were at work in the evergreen cabin.

So far they had only started the removal of the old boards.

When this was concluded the Girl Scouts had determined to organize the searching parties among themselves. Mr. Hammond would join them; no one else was supposed to feel a sufficiently keen interest in the investigation to be allowed to take part.

In spite of her music Teresa observed Lance McClain coming toward the Girl Scout camp when he was still some distance away. He was not wearing his Scout uniform as might have been expected.

Even at a distance Lance appeared unlike the other boys. He was smaller than a number of them, more slender and graceful. He had a peculiar carriage of the head. He seemed to bend forward slightly and yet his eyes were nearly always upturned. He apparently did not look at the objects directly in front of him.

“Hello, Lance, I am awfully glad to see you! I was feeling dull,” Teresa called out. “How did you happen to walk over to camp and not be wearing your uniform? Miss Mason is lying down in her tent; if you like I’ll tell her you are here and then you can stay and talk to me, or else I’ll play to you.”

Lance made a funny grimace.

“Thanks awfully, Teresa, but I want to see Dorothy for a special reason. I can’t stay long. I wonder if you will tell me where I can find her?”

Teresa frowned.

“I thought you always claimed to be fond of music, Lance, so I don’t see why you need be in such a hurry.”

Again Teresa twanged at her banjo, a little angrily on this occasion, so that the boy’s sensitive face twitched.

“Oh, for goodness sake don’t make that noise, please, Teresa, and don’t be annoyed. I’d like to talk to you if I had time. I don’t think I am fond of the banjo as a musical instrument, but I’ve simply got to find Dorothy. If you don’t know where she is will you ask Miss Mason? Tell her it is important or I would not have appeared. Oh, yes, I know the Boy Scouts are more welcome visitors at present than they were, still I really have too much else to do ordinarily!”

So worried was Lance’s expression that Teresa relented.

“You might tell me what you have on your mind. If you don’t wish to, why, I do know where Dorothy is. She and Tory Drew and Louise and little Lucy rowed over to the other side of the lake, not far off. If you are in a hurry you can take the other canoe and join them. It will require less time than walking around the shore and I’ll go with you if you’d like to have me come.”

Lance flushed.

“You will think I am rude I am afraid, Teresa, but it is rather a private matter I want to talk over with Dorothy, so if you don’t object I’ll row over alone. Some other time you and I——”

The girl shrugged her shoulders.

“Oh, it does not make any difference,” she returned, and began humming a gay little tune and playing more softly.

As he entered the silver canoe and started paddling across the shallow lake Lance regretted his decision. His was a nature not so uncommon as people suppose. He disliked hurting people in small ways, in larger and more important ways he was apparently indifferent.

He liked Teresa and thought her extremely pretty.

After all, Dorothy would not be alone, although they could go off somewhere nearby together. Yet Lance knew he would not particularly object to the presence of Louise Miller and Tory Drew.

No difficulty arose in discovering the group of girls. Before Lance shoved his boat from the shore he observed them at a point about three-quarters of the way down the opposite shore. He could not distinguish one from the other nor tell the exact number.

As he approached nearer he observed that Tory was seated with an easel in front of her, and at a short distance away Lucy was posing. The other girls were not in sight.

So intent was Tory upon her work that she did not see Lance until he was within a few yards. Then he called out to her, and Lucy, glad of a chance to change her position, ran down to meet him.

They came up hand in hand.

“Not so bad, Tory, for a girl, and one no older than you!” Lance murmured, staring at the drawing of the youthful artist, his brows drawn into a fine line, half of criticism, half envy.

Donald and Dorothy McClain and most of her younger companions would have felt only enthusiastic admiration for Tory’s work. Had they known, Lance’s attitude was more flattering. He expected more of Tory’s ability than the others knew how to expect.

She shook her head.

“This is my third attempt, Lance, to make a picture of Lucy that I shall be willing to submit to the judges in our Council or show father. I can’t try again, we are going away from camp so soon. Now and then I think this may do, and at others I am discouraged. I must not talk about myself. How did you happen to turn up here? Are you looking for Dorothy? I hope there is nothing the matter, you are so serious.”

Before it became necessary for Lance to reply a voice interrupted him.

Overhearing the conversation, Dorothy and Louise Miller, who had not been far away, were returning.

With an unexpected display of affection, Dorothy McClain, not accustomed to showing her emotions, put her arm through her brother’s and held tight to him.

“What are you doing not in your Scout uniform, Lance? We were just saying that it was too dreadful to think that our summer camping days in Beechwood Forest would soon be a thing of the past. Nevertheless, I will be kind of glad to return to my own family. Tory and Ouida and I have been making all sorts of plans for the winter. You must help us with some of them, Lance, you and Don.”

“Afraid I won’t be able to, Dorothy,” Lance answered in an odd voice.

The three girls studied him more intently.

Lucy, seldom interested in the conversation of older persons, had wandered away and was throwing pebbles into the clear water.

“Why not, Lance? You are not usually unaccommodating, and though you may consider you are wasting your valuable time to spend any of it with girls, you won’t count Tory and Ouida and me with the others?”

“I won’t be at home next winter, Dorothy, at least I think not. I came out to camp this afternoon to have a private conversation with you, but if Ouida and Tory won’t be bored I don’t mind if they hear what I wish to say. Perhaps if you don’t see things my way to the extent I want you to, they may help me.”

Dorothy looked frightened. “Oh, Lance! What in the world are you going to propose? Please don’t ask me to take your part if you have been having an argument with father. I may not think you are in the right. Suppose we have afternoon tea before you tell us anything. We brought the tea things over in the canoe and Ouida and I have been collecting the materials for a fire.”

Doggedly Lance shook his head.

“No, it will take more than a half hour before the water can possibly boil. I can’t wait so long.

“I have had an argument with father, Dorothy. I don’t see how you managed to guess. I went in to see him yesterday and stayed all night at home. We talked until after midnight. I am going back home now after I have confided in you, so I did not care to wear my uniform.”

As if she suddenly had grown tired, Dorothy seated herself on the ground, Lance standing above and staring down at her an eager, appealing light in his brown eyes.

Embarrassed by their own position, Tory and Louise were moving away when a swift inclination of Lance’s hand beckoned them to remain.

“I want you to stay, please do. I believe Dot is going to be difficult. I did not think so when I came out to talk things over with her. She is always claiming that I am her favorite brother yet when it comes to a test she is far oftener on any one’s side than mine.”

“That is not because I do not care for you but because I feel you are often wrong, Lance, and for your own sake I am obliged to differ with you,” Dorothy answered, as if she were on the defensive.

“Oh, well, all right, here goes. Perhaps I am wrong again,” Lance returned. “Nevertheless you and father might as well understand that I am in earnest and sooner or later mean to have my way.”

At this instant Lance sat down beside his sister, Tory and Ouida following his example, but a few feet away as if they were interested but reluctant.

Persuasively Lance placed his arm around his sister.

“Dot, does it ever occur to you that a fellow may have a right to his mistakes? The rest of my family is so almighty sensible that if I am never to be allowed to have my own way I’ll never learn anything.

“Do you remember about two weeks ago when Mr. Fenton talked to us about the Greek spirit? He said that to him it represented, beauty, adventure and freedom.”

Dorothy sighed.

“Dear me, Lance, I was afraid at the time you might take Mr. Fenton’s speech personally! What are you planning to do in quest of beauty, freedom and adventure?”

Dorothy’s expression was worried but amused, and Lance flushed. Upon only one subject was he particularly sensitive, his devotion to music and his own lack of any knowledge of it.

In a measure his sister could surmise something of what he had in mind.

“My effort was not to be a very serious one, Dot,” he said slowly; “at least I did not feel it go until after my talk with father. He seems to have gone up in the air. I don’t want to spend next winter in Westhaven. I simply can not endure any longer never having music lessons from any one who knows how to teach and not even hearing any music worth listening to.”

Lance set his teeth.

“I don’t ask anyone to understand, you can’t if you try.”

Dorothy’s blue eyes grew more troubled.

“I know, Lance, but I do try,” she returned. “And I would give anything, make any sacrifice I knew how to make if father were willing or had the money to send you to New York to study. But he is not willing and he has not the money.”

“I know, that is just it. I don’t mean to ask him for money. I have been writing letters to people in New York and trying to get work and now I have succeeded in landing something that will give me enough to live on, so you won’t have to worry.”

“But, Lance, there is school. You are only fifteen and you can’t stop school, it is even against the law. You must have pretended you were older.”

“I can go to school at night when I have finished working; I explained this to father,” Lance argued patiently.

“What about the music? When will you have money or time for lessons?” Tory interrupted, not intending to intrude upon the discussion, but in her interest forgetting her resolution.

A little less self-confident Lance appeared.

“Honestly, I don’t know, Tory,” he replied. “I think I feel that if once I get where music is, the opportunity will come to me as rain and sunshine come to trees and the things that need them. Gee whiz, I am talking like a poet or a girl! Father would not think this line of conversation convincing. You’ll think up a better line of argument, won’t you Dorothy? Then when your time comes and you want something a whole lot I’ll do my best for you.”

“But, Lance, I—” Dorothy hesitated—“I don’t want you to go away from home; I don’t think it best for you. You ought to wait several years anyhow. You are not strong and you’d be ill. You don’t believe it, but father cares more for you than for the rest of us because you are more like mother. Please put things off a while longer in your own mind. Truly, father will not consent for the present.”

Lance got up.

“All right, Dorothy, don’t say anything to father on the subject. If you try to do your best for me what you really think will be plain enough. I am sorry to have interrupted you; I’m off.”

Nor would Lance remain in spite of the pleading of his sister and friends.

Disconsolately they watched the slender figure in the canoe push away from shore.

Afterwards they made no pretence of cheerfulness. Tory would not return to her drawing; Dorothy was too depressed even to assist in making tea.

An hour later they were on the way back to their own camp.