NOT long after, the Christmas holidays began. Any number of entertainments would be given in Westhaven in which the Girl Scouts of the Eagle’s Wing would be included. One evening they intended to make peculiarly their own.

In several homes in the village they felt perfectly privileged to hold their meetings, to give parties, or do whatever the occasion required.

Miss Victoria Fenton having learned the purpose and the influence of the Scouts, the old Fenton house was at any time at their disposal. Mrs. Peters, Joan’s mother, had urged the girls to come at any time to their old-fashioned cottage, wide and empty, which sat some distance back from the street, offering a fine, open space for the outdoor drill and signalings.

Sheila Mason, the Troop Captain, was an only daughter, and her parents among the wealthiest families in Westhaven. If for no other reason than the miracle Mrs. Mason insisted had been wrought in her daughter’s life by her work among the Girl Scouts, she would have freely given up her home to their use at a moment’s notice. Months before Sheila Mason seemed to have lost all interest in life, when her lover, to whom she had been engaged, was killed at the battle of ChÂteau-Thierry. Persuaded by the first Patrol of Girl Scouts in Westhaven to become their Captain, so engrossed had she grown in her work and in the girls themselves that oftentimes her former happy nature reappeared.

Members of their Council, made up of the most prominent and interesting people in Westhaven, were glad to be of service at any time.

Nevertheless, when a choice had to be made of a place for their Christmas entertainment there was not one dissenting voice: Memory Frean’s little House in the Woods! Here was an intimacy and an atmosphere they found nowhere else.

Moreover, as the character of the entertainment was to be a secret from all outsiders, it was much simpler to manage at a distance from town. Memory Frean was well again and as interested in their idea as the girls themselves.

Certainly the living-room at the House in the Woods was so transformed on the afternoon of Christmas Eve that one would never have recognized it. The walls were massed with pine and cedar and holly.

Raised upon a dais was an arm chair covered with a piece of tapestry worked in gold dragons.

Below, and filling the entire center of the room, was a circular table.

Extending around the walls of the room were eight banners of silver cloth, bearing no inscriptions save an embroidered design of an eagle’s wing.

Crossed over the mantel were the American flag and the flag of the Girl Scout Troop.

At nine o’clock there was a pealing of Christmas bells that swung like a censer above the round table from which a white dove also was suspended.

“Shall we read Kara’s poem that she sent from the hospital in New York as a greeting to us before we begin the other ceremony?” Tory Drew inquired.

She wore an unusual costume, but one exactly like the rest of the girls. It was composed of a stiff material, a silver cloth of cotton and silk. Cut in straight lines, it had no ornamentation save a silver girdle about an inch wide and loosely tied about the waist.

Undoubtedly the costumes were striking and original and strangely becoming.

“I have asked Margaret Hale to read Kara’s verse, for one reason because she will do it so much better than I, and for another because I so regret Kara’s not being with us to-night of all nights that I do not trust myself. I was to tell you that Kara writes she is not under the impression that she is a poet. Being in a hospital several months has forced her to spend so much time alone that she devotes many hours to thinking of us and our holiday together last summer in Beechwood Forest.[B] Small wonder that Kara is more devoted to the evergreen cottage than the rest of us because of its association with her past!”

Margaret Hale arose. She was a tall, fair girl of about fifteen who had been first chosen Patrol Leader because of her influence over the other girls. To-night her hair was bound close about her head in broad plaits. With her simple, severe costume the effect was more like an old picture than a modern girl. She read in an agreeable voice:

When the girls had ceased discussing the little poem and Kara’s accident the summer before, followed a sudden silence of intense and almost painful suspense.

Sheila Mason, the Troop Captain, leaned over. Her hands were clasped tightly together. Only a few years over twenty, with pale-gold hair and delicate features, she was not much older in appearance than several of her own Scouts. In fact, her own unfitness for her position had troubled her greatly in the early days of her work as a Captain. Of late she had become so absorbed in the work that the fear of her own unfitness only affected her occasionally.

“Before we begin what I think is going to be a rare and wonderfully beautiful occasion, I want to talk to you for a few moments.

“We were all, and I equally so, fascinated with Tory’s idea that for this winter we organize our Patrol of Girl Scouts into ‘The Girl Scouts of the Round Table’—each one of us to bear the name of one of the Knights of the Round Table and to promise among ourselves to perform whatever acts of valor and service we are able.

“The suggestion was fanciful, as most of Tory’s suggestions are, yet at first I saw no reason to object. Later I began to be troubled for fear it might in some fashion interfere with our Girl Scout principles and organization. I wrote to the National Headquarters explaining the situation and asking for information and advice. I assured them that under no circumstances would we be willing to break any rule of the organization. Our desire was to play a kind of idealized game, or something more than a game, which would last through the winter rather than through a single evening.

“I merely wanted to tell you we have received their consent and they are deeply interested. Now it is growing late and we must begin.”

An unusual solemnity fell upon the little company.

The girls remained seated at the round table.

Sheila Mason arose and, flushing, partly from embarrassment and partly from nervousness, slowly ascended the raised platform and took her seat in the chair covered with a cloth of gold. She was wearing a costume strikingly unlike any other. It was bright red in color, while about her fair hair was a band of gold.

Withdrawing from the group, Miss Frean found a place nearer the fire, but facing the eight girls about the round table. To-night her dark hair was powdered to give a suggestion of greater age. Her toilet was a strange one, a green and brown smock, with strange symbols covering it, the moon and stars, and signs of the Zodiac. She was not to be one of the Knights of the new Round Table, knighted this evening in the House in the Woods. Instead she represented Merlin, the wise man, who “ever served the King through magic art.”

Sheila Mason was King Arthur, “robed in red samite easily to be known.”

No formal rehearsal had taken place of the mystic ceremony the Patrol of Girl Scouts intended to reproduce upon this Christmas Eve. Certain details and preparations, of course, had been arranged.

A misfortune that there was no audience to behold the little company at this moment!

The big room was beautiful with banners and evergreens. There were no lights save the firelight and the seven branched candlesticks upon the mantel and table. The odd costumes, the strange colors, the ardent faces about the round table made an unforgettable picture.

Outside, the night was clear and cold and still, with a crescent moon in the sky.

Great had been the discussion of the choice of Knight to be allotted each Girl Scout. In the end the final decision had been left to the Troop Captain. At present no girl knew the Knight she would portray until her name was called and she went forward to receive her investiture. From her chair by the crimson and golden flames Memory Frean at this instant repeated:

“Margaret Hale.”

Surprised by hearing her own name before the others, Margaret Hale hesitated. She then arose and, biting her lips to hide their trembling, went forward and kneeled before the Troop Captain.

Lightly Miss Mason, as King Arthur, touched her upon the shoulder with the point of a silver sword, exclaiming: