The Camp Fire Girls Amid the Snows

Dick Ashton gave no individual presents, not even one to Betty, but to the club he gave a reading lamp so brilliant that half a dozen girls might do their studying around it at night. If it were placed on the piano Esther might be able to read her most intricate music without difficulty.

Then there were other more valuable gifts, Mr. Wharton, Sylvia’s father, who had unexpectedly gone to Europe for a few weeks, left a check to supply the winter’s coal bill, while Mrs. O’Neill from over in Ireland sent a set of kitchen aprons, which she had made during that winter, for each member of the Sunrise club including Mammy.

There was a mysterious communication received by Betty Ashton, however, of which she did not speak to any one, not even to Polly. She was not at all sure from whom it came, but naturally there was but one person whom she could suspect. The post-mark was a near-by town, and it was a common looking gift – just a card with the picture of a ladder rising in the air, apparently by its own volition, and very slowly ascending it the figure of a young man. Yet the words written below were of far finer significance than the picture and Betty really wondered how they had ever made their appeal.

“And men may rise on stepping-stones of their dead selves to higher things.”

At four o’clock, when the girls were resting for an hour before getting ready for the evening’s entertainment, convinced that there was nothing more to come for any one of them, there appeared at the cabin door certainly the most unlooked-for gift.

Rose happened for the moment to be alone in the living room, having firmly ordered the girls off to their bedrooms to lie down while she attended to some final arrangements, such as finding space for a few more chairs for their audience than had been sent out from town an hour before.

So the sounds outside did not at first attract her attention, though they were most unusual. But suddenly, when a large form apparently flung itself against the door and there followed a low muffled cry, Rose, without a thought of Christmas, ran hastily to the rescue. Fortunately she was not nervous, else she might have been frightened when an unexpected object leapt up to her shoulders and a warm wet tongue caressed her cheek. Straightway her cry of surprise and admiration brought half a dozen girls to her side, who had found sleep at so critical a time quite out of the question. Imagine their surprise at finding their new guardian being embraced by a cream and brown and gold St. Bernard dog, already a tremendous fellow and yet still in his puppyhood.

Polly, who was ever a lover of dogs, got down on her knees before him.

“Whose ever can he be and how has he found his way to our cabin?” she cried, but before her question was ended Polly herself discovered a small envelope attached to the dog’s collar and tearing it off hastily presented it to Rose with an eastern salaam, as she happened to be already seated on the floor.

“From an unknown admirer, Rose? Isn’t this like a story book?” Betty commented with an unnecessary expression of demureness, for she had noticed an evident though faint blush touching their guardian’s cheeks. But Rose answered with a dignity that somehow made Betty feel ashamed of herself.

“No, Betty, the dog is for our club if you girls wish to keep him. Dr. Barton writes that he feels we are too much alone in these woods in the winter and that if we will forgive his solicitude he has sent us a third Camp Fire guardian.” And Rose slipped the stiff little note she had just received inside her pocket, realizing that it was as near an apology as the severe young doctor could bring himself to make.

CHAPTER XII

The Camp Fire Play

By eight o’clock on Christmas evening every seat in the Sunrise cabin living room was filled except two, and toward these the eyes of every girl hidden behind the khaki curtain turned questioningly for the last fifteen minutes before their Camp Fire play was to commence. However then, to Polly’s despair, their last hope died away – the great lady and the great actress in one – would not form a part of their Woodford audience, even her own Miss Adams had likewise failed her.

Nevertheless their entertainment was to begin promptly (on this Miss McMurtry and Miss Dyer had both insisted), since punctuality was so seldom a feature of amateur plays they wished thus to show one of the superior results of the Camp Fire training.

A Camp Fire Morality Play: These words were printed on the Christmas programs and it was an old time morality play such as we have seen and read in “Everyman” that Polly and Betty had attempted to write, assisted of course by both their guardians and with suggestions from every girl in the Sunrise club. Whether they were successful in keeping close to the old model was not so much their ideal as the desire to show both by words and tableaux the aims and the influence of the Camp Fire organization, and what women have given to the world since the primitive time when human life centered about the camp-fire.

At a quarter past eight the curtain arose slowly, showing the stage in semi-darkness and representing a scene in a primeval forest. In the corner is the bare pine tree, the ground is strewn with twigs, fir cones and needles, and there within the instant the figure of a woman enters. It is Polly! And because of her great disappointment there is a tragic droop to her shoulders, a pathetic expression in her great wide-open Irish blue eyes. She had hoped so much from Miss Adams’ promise and now – well, she must not forget her part, she must try to do her best for her friends’ sakes.

Polly is dressed in a short skirt with a fox’s skin fastened from one shoulder to her belt, there are sandals on her feet and her straight black hair is hanging about her shoulders. Unhappy, she gropes her way about the stage shivering and finding nothing to do, no place in which to rest herself. It is December, the month of the long moon, and the night promises to be bitterly cold. In another moment there is heard from the outside the crying of a child and next “Little Brother,” very proud of his rabbit coat and cap, runs forward throwing his arms about the woman’s knees and evidently begging for warmth and shelter. Still in pantomime the mother mournfully shakes her head, and with this Eleanor Meade appears representing a primitive man and carrying a brace of freshly killed game over her shoulder. This he presents to the child and the woman, but both of them shake their heads and a moment later the man drops despairingly down on the frozen ground burying his face in his hands, the child hiding between his parents for warmth. However the woman does not cover her face and by and by, picking up two dry twigs from the ground, she begins in an idle fashion to rub them together. Suddenly there is a tiny spark of light and then darkness.

It was a wise selection on the part of the Sunrise club girls to have chosen Polly O’Neill to represent the mother of all the Camp Fire women, for though she had when needful the Irish gift of expression, she had also a face so vivid and so emotional that to Polly’s own chagrin it was seldom possible for her to hide from other people what was going on in her mind. Now, however, this characteristic was of excellent service, for there was not a member of her little audience who did not in this instant guess the inspiration that had just been born in the woman.

In a seat toward the back of the living room, in as inconspicuous a spot as possible, a fragile looking woman, an unknown member of the small Woodford audience, turned suddenly to the companion beside her, nodding her head quickly. She had a plain, yet remarkably youthful looking face illumined by a pair of wonderful gray eyes with an indescribably wistful and yet understanding expression. And from now on she watched the girl on the stage more attentively.

Rising quietly, Polly seemed almost to be holding her breath. Then with eager fingers she can be seen searching along the ground until by and by she has gathered together a few twigs, and now kneeling before them appears to be uttering a silent prayer. A moment later and she picks up her former sticks, again repeating the rubbing of them together. For a while Polly seemed to be unsuccessful in making them ignite, so that in the background and well out of sight the other Camp Fire girls hold their breath with a kind of sick horror, fearing that she is going to fail here and so make a fiasco of the entire scene. But the little waiting has only made the final result more dramatic. There is a tiny flare of light, and then bending over her pile of twigs the woman lights the first Camp Fire. She guards it with her hands until there is a crackle and many spurts of yellow flame and the instant after is across the stage shaking the man by the shoulder and drawing the child toward the blaze. Together then they heap on more fuel until a really splendid fire is a-light. (And for fear any one may think that this fire in the middle of the wooden platform would probably have put an end to Sunrise cabin it must be explained that a sheet of iron had been fastened on the floor that the fire might be built with entire safety.)

Like a flame herself the woman then flies from one home duty to the other, making a bed of pine branches for the child near the fire, appearing to roast the game for her husband. Far better by her actions than by any possible words Polly told her story, until the curtain at last goes down on the beginning of the first home with the woman as its genius and inspiration.

But before the curtain has finally descended, for a moment Polly’s attention, as though drawn by an invisible magnet, centered upon the face of a stranger in the back of the living room beyond the more familiar ranks of her friends; and with a quick intake of her breath and a feeling of thankfulness that her first trial is over and that she is not obliged to speak, the young girl recognizes the famous actress. She is glad then that she had not known of her presence sooner and also that her first appearance before her has been made in pantomime, for she guesses it to be a surer test of dramatic ability than any recitation an untrained girl might be able to repeat. If she had the necessary temperament somehow in the scene just past it must have revealed itself.

But now an intermission of twenty minutes passes and the second act represents a scene wholly different from the first, for now the stage is intended to present as nearly as possible the picture of an ideal home. It was difficult to portray, of course, but then the bigger things must always be trusted to the imagination, for this home was not intended to suggest merely a single home but a kind of universal and representative one. There were beautiful pictures in it and soft rugs and many books and windows everywhere, supposedly letting in all the possible sunlight, while over in the corner the solitary pine tree still stood, but now covered with many white candles, although none of them were yet a-light.

Then the door opens and the first spirit of the home enters. This is Esther Clark wearing a kind of blue tunic with a silver band about her unloosened red hair. With swift steps and busy fingers she moves about, bringing a bunch of winter roses to a table, putting fresh logs on the fire, drawing chairs nearer to the inspiring blaze, which is now no longer a primitive camp fire but a great, hospitable open hearth.

Then Esther goes to the front of the stage and waits there for a moment in silence before beginning her speech, and there are but few persons watching her who have yet guessed what spirit she is illustrating.

Esther is awkward and not handsome; nevertheless, because she has a clear and beautiful speaking as well as singing voice she had been chosen for this particular part. Now she is plainly heard throughout the room.

“I am Work, the great Mother Spirit of the earth.I have borne many children with a fairer fame,Service, who is my daughter with a gentler name.”

And here Nan Graham in a yellow costume with her black hair flowing over her shoulders and her dark eyes shining walks forward and takes her place at one end of the stage just a little back of the speaker, followed by Eleanor Meade in a white robe with a wreath of laurel on her head and a scroll in her hand, who is seen by the audience as Esther continues:

“Knowledge, who needs no word of mine to prove her worth,Beauty that shall not fade, surely it lives through meIn music, books and art, a noble trinity.”

Then Betty Ashton, whom there is no difficulty in recognizing as the spirit of Beauty, approaches the front of the stage in a dress of some soft silvery material with three stars in her hair and stands beside Eleanor.

“And Health and Happiness, would they deny their birth?Then let them seek it in some nobler form than mine,The quest is everlasting but the choice is thine.”

Sylvia and Beatrice Field then advance together and take their places in the center of the group, Sylvia as Health dressed in the green of the open fields and Beatrice in deep rose color.

“Trustworthiness and Sympathy dwell by my hearthWith Purity; we are the graces of the home.And yet there is one other fairer still to comeWhose handmaids are these spirits named above;To her alone I yield my gracious place,The inspiration of the home – the world – is Love!”

While Esther has been finishing her verse, Juliet Field has come forth to portray the spirit of Trustworthiness in a dress of deep violet, carrying a sheath of purple lilies. Meg, with her charming face so full of humor and tenderness, is the embodiment of Sympathy, and Edith Norton as Purity has her long fair hair falling almost down to her knees and wears a dress of the palest green – like Undine when she first comes forth from the sea.

And now a crescent has slowly formed about the figure of Esther who is a little in advance of the other girls, but now as she speaks the final word – Love – she steps quietly backward and Mollie O’Neill as the spirit of Love occupies the center of the stage. She has never looked half so lovely in her life as she does to-night. Her gown is of pale pink, she has a wreath of roses in her black hair, her usually too grave expression is illumined by a smile born partly of fear and the rest of pride, which has nothing to do with her own appearance, but is a kind of shadowy pleasure in the beauty and the significance of the tableau surrounding her.

From his place behind the curtain Billy Webster wonders how he was ever able even at the beginning of their acquaintance to confuse the twin sisters. Polly in all her existence has never looked so pretty as this and probably never will, and then Billy comes to his senses in a hurry, realizing that it is now his duty to assist in letting the curtain drop on this second scene in the Camp Fire allegory.

In the last act the Christmas tree is all a-blaze with pure white candles and silver tinsel and above it is suspended a great silver star, while the girls in their many colored costumes are seen dancing before it. Then at the close of the dance Polly again enters. She is to recite the epilogue, to make plainer the ideals of the Camp Fire. But some change has come over her since the first scene, her color is entirely gone, her eyes are rimmed and, worst of all, she feels that a deadly weight is settling on her chest and that her voice is nowhere to be found. She is having an attack of stage fright, but Polly does not yet know it by that name. The truth is that she has grown desperately tired, the strain and excitement of waiting after the long day’s pleasure with the very foolish thought that her fate is probably to be decided by one person’s judgment of her abilities has proved too much for her. She tries pulling herself together, she sees many eyes turned up toward her, with one face shining a little farther off like a star. Polly opens her mouth to speak, but there is a great darkness about her, the world is slowly slipping away. She puts out both arms with a pathetic appeal for silence and patience and then suddenly some one is holding her up and the other girls are forming a rainbow circle about her so that she is safely hidden from view.

For in a flash Betty Ashton has guessed at Polly’s faintness, has signaled her companions and then reached her first, so that the curtain finally fell on perhaps the prettiest scene of all.

CHAPTER XIII

An Indian Love Song

Although Polly O’Neill could never afterwards be persuaded that her failure had not marred the Camp Fire play, nevertheless there were many members of the audience who never realized that anything had gone wrong, so promptly had the other girls acted and so swiftly had the curtain been rung down.

And then, within a remarkably short space of time, Esther had reappeared to close the entertainment with her song. The stage had been left as it was in the final act, the piano was already there, and almost immediately the accompanist, Esther’s music teacher in the village, seated herself before it.

The only delay was of a few minutes, caused by the fact that Esther had insisted on wearing her ordinary clothes. A week before, therefore, Betty had had made for her a simple white dress and this Miss McMurtry very quickly helped her into, braiding her red hair into a kind of crown about her head. Her toilet was of course made in a great hurry, but then Esther was so convinced of her own homeliness that she cared very little except to look neatly and appropriately dressed.

Herr Crippen and Esther then walked out on the platform together, the man leading the girl with one hand and carrying his violin with the other, and it was curious the similarity in their coloring.

Very little of the Indian idea had the girls thus far brought into their Christmas Camp Fire entertainment, but now Esther’s song was to bring with it this suggestion, although it had been chosen chiefly because of its beauty and suitability to Esther’s voice. It was, however, a wonderful Indian love song, which Dick had found quite by accident the summer before for his sister’s friend.

Esther was also dreadfully nervous and frightened at the beginning of her song, but fortunately for her she was thinking more of the music itself than of the effect she was to produce. Nevertheless, it was with sensations of disappointment that the friends, who cared most for her singing, listened to the first verse of her song. Dick Ashton, who had found himself a seat in the back of the room, when he was no longer needed to assist with the management of the curtain, moved impatiently several times, thinking that Betty had probably been making unnecessary sacrifices to cultivate her friend’s voice and that they had all probably been mistaken in the degree of Esther’s talent.

However, Dick changed his mind so soon that he never afterwards remembered this first thought, but sat spellbound with delight, feeling every nerve in his body thrill and quiver with the pathos and loveliness of a voice that was so clear, so true and so sympathetic that not a single member of Esther’s audience failed to respond to its beauty. The song had a kind of plaintive cadence and had been arranged either for a tenor or soprano.

“Fades the star of morning, west winds gently blow,Soft the pine trees murmur, soft the waters flow.Lift thine eyes, my maiden, to the hill-tops nigh,Night and gloom will vanish when the pale stars die.Lift thine eyes, my maiden, hear thy lover’s cry.“From my tent I wander seeking only thee,As the day from darkness comes for stream and tree.Lift thine eyes, my maiden, to the hill-top nigh;Lo! the dawn is breaking, rosy beams the sky.Lift thine eyes, my maiden, hear thy lover’s cry.“Lonely is our valley, though the month is May,Come and be my moonlight, I will be thy day.Lift thine eyes, my maiden, oh, behold me nigh;Now the sun is rising, now the shadows fly.Lift thine eyes, my maiden, hear thy lover’s cry.”

Hearing the applause which broke out like a storm at the close of Esther’s singing, Betty managed to get away from Polly and to find Esther shivering in the kitchen which opened just off their stage and had been used for the entrance way that evening. But no power or persuasion could have induced Esther to go back upon the stage, not even when Herr Crippen added his entreaties, nor when Dick slipped out into the cold and came around through the back door to congratulate her. If Esther had pleased Betty and Dick and Miss McMurtry, really she cared very little for any one else’s criticism.

Nevertheless, later that evening, when the company was enjoying a kind of informal reception, she could not refuse to be introduced to the celebrated Miss Margaret Adams, who sent one of the girls especially for her. Esther was awkward and tongue-tied and nervous as usual when the great lady congratulated her, very different from Polly, who when she had recovered from her faintness had come immediately out into the living room and gone straight up to Miss Adams and taken her hand.

“If I wasn’t so used to failing at most of the important moments of my life, I think I couldn’t bear to live after to-night,” she said with characteristic Polly exaggeration. Then, with one of the sudden smiles that so transformed her face and made her fascinating both to strangers and friends she added: “But, after all, I have seen you and I am talking to you now, and as that is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, I am going to try and not care about anything else.”

Then the older woman pressed Polly’s hot hand in both of hers, looking keenly into the girl’s expressive face. Only she knew how much Polly did care about her failure and also that her suffering had not yet fully begun, because until the excitement of the evening was well over the girl would not fully realize all that she at least believed this failure meant.

“Come and see me for half an hour to-morrow, I can judge nothing by to-night. And do please remember, child, that one person’s judgment in this world fortunately does not count for much at best. I want to have a little talk with you just because my cousin, whom I love very dearly, has told me so much about you.”

“And because,” Polly added with her lips trembling, “because you are sorry for me. But I don’t care so much why you want me, I only know I want to come more than anything in the world.”

Of course at the close of the Camp Fire play it was then impossible for Miss Adams to escape recognition, so she was evidently tired on her way back home from the cabin and therefore did little talking. However, after the cousins had undressed for the night she called softly into the next room:

“My dear Mary, I think your Polly is charming, but I am afraid your little girl has the dream and the temperament and that the other plainer girl has the talent. But, then, who can tell when they are both so young?”

CHAPTER XIV

Mollie’s Confidant

Of her visit to Miss Adams, Polly never afterwards spoke, except to Betty and her sister Mollie, asking that they tell Rose Dyer that it was right that she as their guardian should know and promising to write her mother; however, several of the other Camp Fire girls believed that they saw a slight change in Polly dating from her visit. Afterwards she never seemed to give up, at least without some struggle, to her old, utterly unreasonable changes of mood.

To Betty and Mollie, however, Polly confessed that, although Miss Adams had been kind beyond her wildest dreams, she had not said that she had seen any evidences of genius or even of marked ability in her interrupted dramatic efforts; although she had suggested that only the most remarkable people the world has ever known have betrayed exceptional gifts at the age of sixteen, that most people only achieve success by endless patience, faith and work and by what sometimes looks at first like failure. She had then told Polly something of her own early struggle, but this Polly of course did not reveal even to her sister and dearest friend. However, to Mollie’s relief, she did announce that she meant to spend the next two years in doing everything she could for her health by obeying every single Camp Fire rule, that she meant to learn more self-control, to study harder and also to memorize all the plays and poems that she possibly could. For at the close of her graduation at the High School the wonderful Miss Adams had asked that Polly write her and then if her mother was willing, if Polly was well and of the same desire, she would see that she had an opportunity for the kind of study she would then need should she adopt the stage for her profession. For the truth is that though the great actress had not been particularly impressed by Polly’s acting she had discovered two things about her, one that she had the expressive face with quick mobile features and the graceful carriage more to be desired on the stage than either beauty or stateliness and, moreover, like most other people, she had taken a decided fancy to the girl herself.