The two girls sat and thought hard for a moment; then Winnie suddenly thought of something.

“Just a minute, Adelaide!” she whispered, and she went over to the corner where Mrs. Bryan and Marie Hunter were discussing business together. The rest were still all talking dance excitedly by the fireplace.

“Opeechee,” she said, “may I ask you something? Would there be any reason why the girls couldn’t wear their ceremonial dresses to the dance?”

Mrs. Bryan thought for a moment.

“There’s no actual reason why we shouldn’t,” she said. “Only the idea is that the dresses should be kept for rather intimate and private things.”

“But it would be such a good idea if we wore them,” insisted Winona eagerly. “You see, perhaps—perhaps some of us mightn’t be able to afford new party dresses, and maybe we mightn’t have any old good ones, either.”

“Why, Winnie, you have that blue——” began Marie, and checked herself as she saw a light.

“Some of us mightn’t have any new party dresses,” repeated Winona obstinately, but with an appealing look at Mrs. Bryan. She did so hope she would understand! “Anyway, the boys expect us to,” she went on eagerly. “Tom said this afternoon that we’d better get the dresses ready, only we didn’t know then what he meant.”

Mrs. Bryan looked at Winona’s vivid, earnest face, and—understood.

“I think you are quite right, Ray of Light. I’ll speak to the girls.”

She stood up and struck lightly on the little Indian drum to call the girls’ attention.

“Girls!” she said, “as the dance that the Scouts have asked us to is an affair to which we have been invited as an official body, it seems to me that it would be only courteous for us to wear our ceremonial gowns. So I am going to ask that you all do it.”

There was a murmur of approval all over the room. When you have just acquired a beautiful new costume it’s human nature to want to wear it early and often. There was only a plaintive wail, which Marie suppressed, from Edith Hillis:

“Oh, my lovely new green messaline!”

Winona crossed over to the place where Adelaide still sat.

“Well?” she said triumphantly.

“Did you tell Mrs. Bryan anything about me?” Adelaide demanded suspiciously.

“No, I didn’t,” replied Winona rather indignantly. “What do you take me for, when I said I wouldn’t?”

“Well, I didn’t know,” apologized Adelaide. “And—thank you, ever so much, Winona! You—you don’t know!”

Winona laughed.

“Why, yes, I do. At least, I’ve often wanted new clothes when I couldn’t have them. But mother says if you can’t the next best thing is to go on wearing what you have, and be so cheerful nobody has time to think what you have on!”

“Nobody ever told me that,” pondered Adelaide, as if it were an entirely new idea to her. “But my mother’s dead, you see. And, anyway, it doesn’t sound as if it could be true. Did you ever try it?”

“Yes,” Winona said, and laughed. “I did—it was funny, too. I was visiting some cousins of mine. I hadn’t expected to stay, and I hadn’t brought a single party thing, and none of their clothes would fit me. They had perfectly lovely dresses. And suddenly we were all invited to a party, and I had nothing but a blue linen; and all the rest of them in the fluffiest clothes you ever saw!”

“Well,” said Adelaide, “didn’t it feel horrid.”

“Yes, it did for awhile,” owned Winona. “But everybody was sitting around as stiff as stiff—you know, some parties are like that at first. And somebody just had to say something. And pretty soon I thought of a game that just fitted in, and asked them to play it. After that I was so busy thinking up games that I never remembered a thing I had on till we got home that night. And I only did then because my cousin Ethel said, ‘Oh, I’ve torn my dress!’ and I said it was queer I hadn’t torn mine, too—and then I remembered that it was linen and wouldn’t tear. We certainly had a good time at that party!”

Adelaide looked at Winona’s shining eyes and flushed cheeks enviously.

“Yes, you could do that,” she said, “and people would be so busy watching you that they wouldn’t know whether you had a flour-sack on or a satin. But I can’t, because I keep worrying all the time about what people think of me.”

“Oh, I should think that would be horrid,” Winona sympathized.

“It is,” said Adelaide, “only I——”

The rest that Adelaide had been going to say was drowned, because just then came the signal for the closing song, and soon the Council Fire was over.

“What on earth were you talking to Adelaide Hughes so long about?” demanded Louise curiously as they walked home, for their ways lay together.

“Oh, just things,” was Winona’s answer. “I think she’s awfully shy, and a little afraid of the rest of us, Lou.”

“And you think we ought to make a special fuss over her?” said Louise mournfully. “I knew that was coming. Well, I suppose we will—Helen and I always do what you tell us to. I wish I were shy, and people ran around saying, ‘we really must make an effort to draw poor little timid Louise out!’”

Winona burst out laughing—the idea of “poor, little, timid Louise” was so irresistibly funny.

“It’s going to be a gorgeous dance, though.” Louise went on. “Wasn’t it splendid of the Scouts to think of doing it? And what about my being right?”

“You certainly were right,” Winona admitted. “Are you sure you don’t mind going on alone?”

For they had reached the Merriam house.

“Not a bit,” said Louise cheerfully. “It’s only a block, anyway. Good-night, honey.”

“Oh, it’s lovely!” exclaimed Winona next morning when she ran downstairs. She flung herself on Tom bodily and hugged him hard as she spoke.

“What’s lovely?” asked Tom, detaching himself, or trying to. “Go easy, Winnie; it was just sheer luck that you didn’t break any ribs or my collar-bone or something. Affection’s all right in its place, but——”

“But its place isn’t on you, you mean?” retorted Winona, unwinding herself cheerfully from her brother. “Why, I mean the dance, of course.”

“Oh, that!” said Tom. “That’s nothing! It ought to be pretty good fun, though, don’t you think so?”

“Oh, I know it will!” cried Winona fervently. “Are the boys going to wear their uniforms?”

“Well,” said Tom doubtfully, “we don’t know. You see, we’ve hiked in ’em, and rolled around on the grass in ’em wrestling, and done about everything to those poor old uniforms that you can do to clothes, and they really aren’t fit for civilized society.”

“Meaning ours?” said Winona. “Thanks for the compliment! Why don’t you have them cleaned? I suppose even khaki cleans!”

“I don’t know,” said her brother, “I’ll ask mother. Maybe we can manage it. But—oh, say, Winnie, there’s something I wanted to speak to you about. You know, there are new people moved in next door. They’re Southerners, here for the mother’s health or something. There’s a boy about my age, and a girl somewhere around yours. I don’t know much about the girl, but Billy Lee’s an awfully decent fellow, and we’ve got him in the Scouts. Now what do you think about taking his sister into your Camp Fire? She’d just about fit in as far as age goes, and it would be nice and neighborly. We’ll have to ask her for the dance anyway, because there aren’t enough of you Camp Firers yet to go around. The girl must need something to do, because Billy seems to worry about her rather. Stands to reason it isn’t natural for a fellow to fret about his sister having a good time unless she needs it pretty badly.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Winona. “When you come to a strange place things are bound to be stupid till you get to know people. We’ve lived here always, you know. But I’ll go over and see her as soon as I’ve done the breakfast dishes.”

Accordingly, when the breakfast dishes were done and the dining-room tidied, Winona washed her hands over again very carefully, and put cold-cream and talcum powder on them, for she did not like the smell of dish-water, especially when she was going calling. Then she made her way to the house next door.

All the houses on that block stood in deep yards, which went all around them. Winona crossed the path and went up the porch, feeling a little shy. She had not asked anyone to join the Camp Fire before. They were to take in five new girls at the next monthly meeting, just before they went camping, but all of them had let the girls know that they wanted to join. Winona was a moving spirit in Camp Karonya, and she knew that anyone she vouched for would be welcome. But she did hope the next-door girl would fit in with the rest of them.

The door was opened by a colored maid, but before she could say whom she was, a dark, handsome boy of about fifteen, in a Scout uniform, came running down the stairs.

“You’re Winnie Merriam, aren’t you?” he asked eagerly. “I’m Billy Lee. I asked your brother to send you over to see Nataly.”

Winona liked Billy on the spot, he was so friendly and natural and nice, and very good-looking besides.

“If his sister’s like him she’ll be splendid to have in the Camp Fire,” she thought, and her spirits went up with such a bound that she was able to smile brightly, and say enthusiastically as she held out her hand to Billy Lee:

“Yes, indeed, I’m Winona Merriam, and I’m so glad Tom did send me. I know your sister and I are going to be friends.”

“Well, I do hope so,” said Billy as confidentially as if he had known her for years. “I’m having a gorgeous time in the Scouts—went on a hike yesterday, and we never got back till nine o’clock, and three of the fellows got all stung up with a hornet’s nest.”

This didn’t sound much like a fine time to Winona, but she supposed boys knew what they liked. She couldn’t help laughing, though.

Ifthat’syourideaofawonderfultime
Takemehome—takemehome!

she hummed. She thought she’d sung it under her breath, but it was evidently loud enough to be heard, for Billy Lee burst out laughing, too.

“Well, I didn’t mean that getting stung was a pleasure exactly,” said he, “but we do have dandy times.”

All this time they had been standing in the hall. Suddenly it seemed to occur to Billy that Winona had come to see his sister, not him. He ushered her hurriedly into the living-room.

“I’ll send Nataly down to you,” he promised. But in another minute he came tearing downstairs again.

“She says, would you mind coming up to her room?” he panted. “She hasn’t felt so awfully well to-day, and she isn’t exactly up.”

Winona followed him, consumed with curiosity as to what could ail a girl, not to be up on a beautiful spring morning, and what “not exactly up” meant. She found out in another minute.

The bed-room where Nataly was had all its windows closed, and there was a close scent of toilet-water and sachet-powder and unairedness through the whole place.

“Here’s Winnie Merriam, that I told you about, sister,” said Billy Lee, and bolted. He never seemed to walk, only to run.

Nataly Lee rose from the couch where she had been lying, and came toward Winona.

“I’m very glad to see you,” she greeted Winnie languidly. “I think I have seen you—out in your back garden yesterday.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Winona. “I was playing tag there with my sister Florence and little Bessie Williams.”

“Do you still play tag?” asked Nataly, gesturing her visitor to a seat, and lifting one weary eyebrow.

“Not as a confirmed habit,” said Winona mischievously. “But you can’t play it well with only two, and the children wanted me to, so—well, I just did, that was all. Don’t you like tag?” she added. (“I was morally certain she’d faint,” she confided to Tom afterwards, “but she didn’t.”)

As a matter of fact, Nataly pulled closer the blue brocaded negligee that was obviously covering up a nightgown, and said, “I don’t know much about games. I like reading better.”

“Oh, do you?” exclaimed Winona, interested at once. “I love reading, too, but somehow there’s so little time for it except when it’s bad weather. Don’t you do anything but read?”

“Not much,” replied Nataly languidly. “Sports bore me.”

Winona gave an inward gasp of dismay.

“Mercy!” she thought, “what a queer girl!” But outwardly she persevered. “Don’t you ever dance?”

Nataly opened her heavy hazel eyes with a little more interest.

“Oh, yes, I dance, of course.”

“So do I,” said Winona. “I love it.”

“Do you?” said Nataly. “I shouldn’t think so—you seem so—athletic.”

“Oh, I’m glad,” said Winona innocently, beaming with pleasure. “But I’m not, particularly. I can swim, of course, and row and paddle a little, and play tennis a little. But I’ve never played hockey or basket-ball, either of them, much. Or baseball.”

“Do girls play baseball up here?” demanded Nataly, sitting up and letting a paper novel with a thrilling picture on the cover slide to the floor.

“They do,” averred Winona solemnly, but with sparkling eyes. She was tempted to go on shocking her hostess by thrilling stories of invented boxing-matches between herself and her little schoolmates, but she thought better of it. “But that wasn’t really what I came about,” she went on, looking longingly at the closed window, for the airless room was beginning to make her cheeks burn. “Next week the Scouts are giving us Camp Fire Girls a dance, you know—and you are coming, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I think so,” Nataly spoke slowly, lying back on the sofa and beginning to finger her paper novel again.

“Well”—it came out with rather a rush—“would you like to join the Camp Fire? I think you’d like it.”

She went on enthusiastically telling Nataly all about it, till she was brought up short by a genuine and unsuppressed yawn on Nataly’s part.

“All that work?” said Nataly plaintively. “Oh, I couldn’t do any of those things—I’d die!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Winona was a little taken aback. The idea of considering whether things were too much trouble or not was a new one to her. She had always gone on the principle that—why—you wanted to plunge into things head-foremost, and do them with all your might—that was the way to have fun! So the idea of lying on a sofa and shuddering at the idea of work was a great surprise.

“No, I really couldn’t join,” said Nataly, with the first energy she had shown. “But I’m very glad you came to see me.”

“Yes, so am I,” said Winona politely. “And you will come and see me as soon as you can, won’t you?”

“Yes, indeed,” promised Nataly. She threw up her hand and pressed a button back of her sofa as she spoke, for Winona was rising to go.

“Emma will show you the way downstairs,” she said languidly, “and don’t you want this? It’s very interesting—I’ve just finished it.”

“This” was the paper novel with the melodramatic cover.

“Why, thank you!” said Winona, taking it politely. “It’s very kind of you. And you will come over?”

“Oh, yes,” responded Billy Lee’s sister, “I shall be very glad to call.”

“Well, how was it?” demanded Tom of his sister that evening.

Winona laughed and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why, very nice. Only Nataly Lee’s about a million years older than I am, and she made me feel as if I were seven instead of fourteen. And she certainly is the queerest girl! She doesn’t seem to want to do anything for fear it will be too much trouble!”

“What about joining up with your Daughters of Pocahontas?” inquired Tom.

Winona didn’t stop to rebuke him for his flippancy.

“Well, about that,” she replied, “she reminded me of one of the haughty ladies in the Japanese Schoolboy’s housework experiences—don’t you remember? ‘I have not the want to,’ she sniffed haughtily with considerable frequency! But she’s coming to the dance.”

“Queer,” said Tom. “There’s no nonsense about Billy—he’s a good all-around fellow. Well, you never can tell.”

“No,” acquiesced Winona philosophically, “you can’t, and it’s rather a good thing, too!”