The Camp Fire Girls in After Years

Now was it the miracle rather than the sound of Bobbin's speaking her name that penetrated slowly to Polly's consciousness, or was it the noise of the repeated pounding of the heavy chair against her door? Whatever the cause, she came back to the world, choking, blinded, fighting with her hands to keep off the black substance that was crowding into her lungs.

Then somehow she managed to crawl across her room, remembering that the smoke would be denser higher up in the atmosphere. Unlocking the door, she turned the handle and Bobbin caught her as she half fell into the hall.

With a quick movement the girl put her arm about the older woman's waist and started for the stairway, for the hall was dense with smoke and now and then a tongue of flame leaped up from below and seemed to dance for a moment in the air about them.

It was overpowering, unendurable. Polly was already dazed and exhausted and her lungs were always delicate. At the top of the stairs she became a dead weight on her companion's arms. Besides, by this time Bobbin too was very weary.

CHAPTER XX

The Discovery

A FEW moments after Bobbin's disappearance inside the house Mollie O'Neill had suddenly torn herself away from the people closed about her in their effort to hide from her eyes the possible destruction of her home.

She looked searchingly around her.

"Polly!" she called, "Polly!" For the first moment since the fire started, she seemed to be losing her self-control. For all at once it had come to her in a terrifying flash that she had not caught a glimpse of her sister since the moment when she had gone up-stairs at eight o'clock to retire to bed.

Nevertheless Polly must be somewhere near by. She must have heard her calling and she had had plenty of time to escape, more than any one else, as she had no one else to look after save herself. Yet it was not like Polly not to have come at once to her aid with the children!

Mollie ran here and there about the yard, still crying out her sister's name, horror and conviction growing upon her at every step.

At last she caught sight of her husband directing half a dozen men and caught hold of his arm.

"Billy, Polly is still inside the house, locked in her own room. Don't ask me how I know it, I do. We have got to go in and get her." And Mollie started quickly toward the front porch, until her husband flung his arms about her.

"Wait here, Mollie," he said sternly. "You will do no good, only make things harder for me. If Polly is inside the house, as you say, I'll have her out in a jiffy."

Then he called to one of the men. "Keep Mrs. Webster here. On no account let her follow me," he commanded, and glancing about in every direction as he ran, he too made for the house.

Assuredly Mollie was right. Neither had he gotten even a passing glimpse of Polly since the alarm of fire. But was it going to be so simple a matter to rescue her as he had pretended to his wife? For certainly if Polly had heard nothing of the tumult and danger surrounding her she must be already hurt and unconscious.

Once inside his own hall Billy Webster squared his great shoulders. The way ahead of him now looked like a pathway of flame and yet the smoke was harder to endure than the heat. Nevertheless go through it he must, since Polly's room lay at the head of the stairs.

She must be saved. Billy had a sudden vision of Polly from her girlhood until now; her wilfulness, her charm and her great talent. How stupidly he had opposed her desire to be an actress in the days when he had supposed himself in love with Polly O'Neill instead of her twin sister! Well, now they understood each other and were friends and she should not come to grief in his house.

In his pocket there was a wet handkerchief. Indeed, all his clothes were fortunately damp from the water that had been splashed upon him in the work outdoors. Quickly the man tied the handkerchief about his mouth. Then he took a few steps forward and paused. There was a noise of something falling from above; possibly some of the timbers of the old house were beginning to give way. Could they be under Polly's room?

But even while he thought, Billy Webster fought his way deliberately forward until he at last reached the bottom of the stairs and then his feet struck something soft and yielding. Stooping down, he caught up two figures in his arms, not one!

For in that moment at the head of the stairs when Polly had lost consciousness Bobbin had managed to half carry, half drag her on a part of the way. Then realizing that her own strength was failing, with instinctive good sense and courage she had flung them both forward, so that they both slid inertly down to the bottom of the stairs.

Instantly and without feeling their weight the man carried the woman and girl out of doors.

Poor Bobbin, whom in these last terrible moments they had forgotten! Yet she it was who had remembered better than them all!

Nevertheless, although both Polly and Bobbin were unconscious, neither of them was seriously burned. Yet Mollie was dreadfully disturbed. Polly had come to visit them on account of her health, and there was no way of foretelling what effect this night's experience might have upon her. Here she was in her night dress, outdoors in the cold, when the rest of them were warmly clothed.

However, in another moment Polly was comfortably wrapped in a long coat and carried to the nearest house of one of the farm assistants. Bobbin too was equally well looked after, and as soon as she had been in the fresh air for a few moments the girl's breath had come back to her and she was soon almost herself again.

Yet by this time all the women and children had grown tired, for there was nothing that they could do. Five minutes before, Mollie's two boys and little girl and nurse had been taken away and put to bed by one of the farmer's wives. Moreover, real assistance was arriving at last.

In the excitement some one had been intelligent enough to get to the telephone in the dining room before the fire had crept in that direction. The town of Woodford had promised to send help. Even now the volunteer fire department of the village with an engine and hose carriage was trampling over the snow-covered lawns of the old Webster homestead.

A quarter of an hour later a physician appeared and also Betty and Anthony Graham. Afterwards actually there were dozens of Mollie's and Billy's friends who drove out in their motor cars to take the family home with them, or to do whatever was possible for their relief and comfort.

By this time the fire in the old house had been vanquished and the earth was filled with the cold grayness of approaching dawn.

Mollie would see no one but Betty, who stayed on with her and the physician in the room given up to Polly. Mrs. Wharton had been persuaded not to come, and Anthony Graham had gone back to town to make things clear to her.

"It is just like Polly to be such a ridiculously long time in coming to herself," Betty explained to her frightened friend. "I don't think it means anything in the least alarming." Yet all the time she was wishing that the physician who held Polly's thin wrist, counting her pulse, would not look so deadly serious.

However, no matter what she might fear herself, Mollie must be strengthened and comforted. Her nerves had given way under the recent strain and fright. It was almost impossible for her to keep her teeth from chattering and she was unable to stand up. Notwithstanding, nothing would persuade her to leave her sister's room.

"For if anything serious is the matter with Polly, of course if will be my fault and I shall never forgive myself," she would repeat over and over. "You see, I forgot Polly; it was only Bobbin who remembered."

Finally, however, there was a sign from the doctor by Polly's bedside which Betty managed to intercept. Without a word to Mollie she slipped across the room to find Polly's eyes wide open and staring in perplexity at her.

"What on earth has happened, Betty?" she demanded impatiently, although her voice was so faint it was difficult to hear. "What are you and Mollie and I doing in a room I never saw before, with me feeling as if I had been out of the world and then gotten only half-way back into it again?"

At the sound of her sister's voice Mollie had also moved toward the bed. She was distressingly white, her soft blue eyes had dark circles around them and she seemed utterly spent and exhausted.

Quickly Polly reached out her weak hand.

"What is it, Mollie Mavourneen?" she asked nervously, using the name of their childhood.

Then before either woman replied: "Oh, I remember," she said faintly. "There was a dreadful lot of smoke in my room and I got to the door somehow. Bobbin was there and I can't recall anything else."

This time Polly's fingers clung tightly.

"Was any one injured? Was your lovely house burned down?" she inquired.

But Mollie could only shake her head, while the tears ran slowly down her soft cheeks.

However, Betty spoke reassuringly. "It is all right, Polly dear. No one is in the least hurt. We were afraid for a while you had been stifled by the smoke, but you are perfectly well now. And Billy says the house has been saved. Of course, it has been a good deal damaged inside, but that can soon be restored."

Polly smiled. "Then for goodness sake do put Mollie to bed! She looks like a ghost and I am terribly sleepy myself. I have been ever since eight o'clock last night and I've no doubt it is now nearly morning."

Yet, as her sister and friend were tiptoeing softly away, Polly beckoned Betty to come back to her.

"Bobbin saved my life, didn't she?" she inquired gently. "I don't think I should ever have gotten down that dreadful smoke-filled hall except for her."

Silently Betty nodded; for the moment she did not feel able to speak, because the story of Bobbin's courage and devotion had touched her very deeply.

"It is like bread cast upon the waters, isn't it?" Polly murmured faintly. "It returns to one buttered."

CHAPTER XXI

Once More in Concord

BUT as Polly did not immediately recover from the shock and exposure of the fire, Betty Graham did not return home with her family to Concord.

Anthony took the nurse and children and Faith Barton accompanied them, in order to keep Angelique from being lonely, she explained. However, her real desire, of course, was to be able to see as much as possible of Kenneth Helm.

Nevertheless, the carrying on of her romance with the same secrecy as she had first observed was not so easy now, nor did it seem to Faith so desirable as in the beginning. Yet Kenneth still implored her to say nothing for a short while longer. In a few weeks perhaps things would be all right with him, so that he would have sufficient money not to worry over the future. Then, of course, they could explain the reason for their silence. In the meantime, however, perhaps they had best be a little more careful, for people were noticing their intimacy and beginning to talk. Indeed, Faith's chief difficulty was that her foster parents, Rose and Doctor Barton, had observed her marked interest in Kenneth Helm during his Christmas visit with them and had asked Faith if there was anything between them.

Naturally this placed the girl in a painfully trying position. She was devotedly fond of both Rose and Doctor Barton, who were in reality not old enough to be her parents, although they had always treated her like an adored child, giving in to most of her whims and wishes. But while Faith was selfish and considered her own dreams and desires of the utmost importance, she was neither ungrateful nor unloving, nor fond of deceiving the people for whom she cared. The trouble was that she was too much under Kenneth Helm's influence, else she would never have consented to keeping their engagement a secret.

Faith was not aware of the fact, but in reality it was Kenneth who had made the concealment of their affection for each other appear romantic and alluring to her eyes. Often she had longed to confide the news to Betty after Angel had proved so unexpectedly unsympathetic. However, having given her word to Kenneth, she felt in duty bound to keep it, and moreover she was the least bit afraid of him.

The real truth of the matter was that Faith Barton was more in love with Kenneth than he was with her. Not that Faith was unattractive, but because Kenneth was incapable of caring a great deal for any one except himself.

In the beginning he had been greatly interested, for Faith was pretty and full of a great many amusing ideas and ideals. Moreover, at the time she was a favored member of Governor Graham's family and might turn out to be useful. But Kenneth had no actual desire to marry any one for the present and had not at first taken their engagement seriously. Recently, however, discovering that Faith was desperately in earnest and that she might at any moment announce the fact to her family and friends, the young man had been extremely uncomfortable. More than once he had reproached himself for not having made a friend of Angelique instead of Faith. She was not nearly so pretty, but she was cleverer and she might have been more helpful.

Indeed, Kenneth rather admired the fashion in which Angel had kept her word with him and had not reported the fact of his presence in the Governor's study on the night of the Inaugural Ball. Besides she had never referred to his accusation against her, so there was no doubt that the little French girl was a true sport, whatever else she might be.

Moreover, when Governor Graham and his family returned to the Governor's mansion it was plain enough that Angel must have enjoyed some good fortune in their absence. She seemed to have cast off her embarrassment and chagrin over the suspicion which had rested upon her, and no one had ever seen her so happy or so gay.

Before little Bettina had been at home five minutes she and Angelique had vanished up-stairs together and were soon locked fast in the big nursery.

Then Angel straightway drew a large envelope out of her pocket and began waving it before Bettina's astonished eyes. Naturally the little girl had no idea that a letter could be so very important, not even so large a one as Angel's.

An instant later and she was the more mystified, for her companion had slipped a long, rather narrow piece of paper, with queer scrawls written upon it, out of the envelope and was also holding it up for her audience to admire.

Bettina smiled politely although a trifle wistfully. It was hard luck not being able to read anything except printed letters when one was as old as six. However, her mother and father did not wish her to become a student too early in life.

"It is a very nice letter, Angel, if it makes you so glad," Bettina remarked gently; "only there does not seem to be a great deal of writing on it."

Then the older girl threw her arm about her little friend's neck and hugged her close.

"Of course you don't understand, darling, and it's hateful of me to tease you," she protested. "But that piece of paper is a check; it represents two hundred whole dollars, the most money I have ever had at once in my life. And do you know how I got it? Our little picture of 'Snow White and Rose Red' received the prize in the magazine contest. I had a letter, too, saying that though it was not the best drawing, it was the loveliest little girl. So you see it was really all because of you, Bettina, that I got the prize!"

Then Angel did another mysterious thing. She made Bettina close her eyes very tight and while they were closed she clasped something around her neck which fastened with a tiny click. Then on opening them the little girl discovered a shining gold heart outside her white dress, and in the center of the heart a small, clear stone that glittered like a star.

"I got it for you; it is your Christmas present from me, Bettina," Angel explained. "And I want you to try and keep it always so that you may not forget 'Snow White and Rose Red.' Only please don't tell any one of my having gotten the prize until your mother comes home; I want her to know first."

Naturally Bettina promised and having promised she was not a child who ever broke her word. Perhaps the request was an unfortunate one under the circumstances, and yet how could Angel ever have imagined such a possibility?

A few days later, coming into his wife's private sitting room, which was next her bedroom, quite by accident Governor Graham happened to catch sight of a beautiful new silver bowl which he did not recall having seen before. Then besides its newness it had a card lying inside which attracted his attention.

"Some one has sent Betty a Christmas gift which she probably knows nothing of," Anthony thought carelessly. "I must write and tell her of it." Casually he picked up the card and saw Angelique Martins' name engraved upon it.

The next moment he looked at the bowl more attentively. Of course he knew very little of these matters, yet this present struck him as being an exceedingly expensive one from a girl in Angelique's position. She received a very small salary for her work and she must have many needs of her own.

Then Governor Graham frowned uneasily, for he had suddenly remembered that Bettina had exhibited a beautiful little gold chain and necklace which her adored Angel had recently given her. How had the girl acquired so much money all at once? Really he preferred not to have to consider such a question, and yet it might possibly become his duty.

Sitting down in front of the fire, Anthony tried to forget his annoyances in smoking a cigar, but found it impossible.

The close of the Christmas holidays had not made his responsibilities less; indeed, they were crowding more thickly upon him. The lost papers had not been found and in another week ex-Governor Peyton, Jack Emmet and John Everett would have their bill before the Legislature. They had many friends and unless he were able to prove their dishonesty the bill might be passed in spite of the Governor's objections.

Finally Anthony glanced toward the mantel-piece where by chance his eyes rested upon a photograph of Betty.

Immediately his expression changed. "I shall write Betty of this whole business tonight," he announced out loud, in his determination. "I have been an utter idiot to have kept the situation from her for so long a time. I have wondered recently if perhaps she was not quite so fond of me because I was taking her less into my confidence? Goodness knows, that is the only sensible thing for a man and wife to do! Besides, Betty seemed more like her old self when we were in Woodford and so perhaps I can make her understand how I hate to seem hard on her old friends. But in any case this suspicion that Kenneth Helm has fastened in my mind against Angel must be looked into by Betty. Angel is a young girl and Betty has been like her older sister. Whatever she has done, I don't know that I would have the courage to disgrace her, but perhaps Betty may be able to persuade the child to return the letters to us if she has taken them. Heigh-ho! It will be a relief to me at least to have the Princess take hold of this situation for me."

And Governor Graham spent the entire evening in his sitting room writing to his wife until after midnight.

CHAPTER XXII

Things Are Cleared Up

AS Polly was a little better, immediately upon receipt of her husband's letter Betty hurried home.

First she and Anthony had a long talk together until things were once more quite clear and happy between them.

Of course Anthony insisted that he had been unreasonable and that Betty was a "Counsel of Perfection" just as he had always believed her; nevertheless the Princess was by no means ready to agree with him; nor was Polly's little sermon in Sunrise Cabin ever entirely forgotten.

Naturally Betty was grieved to hear that Anthony considered her old friend, John Everett, and also Meg's husband, Jack Emmet, dishonest; yet when he had carefully explained all his reasons for thinking so, she was finally convinced.

Not for a single instant, however, would she consider the bare possibility of Angelique Martins' having had anything to do with the loss of the Governor's important letters. She had known Angel too long and too well and trusted her entirely. Besides, she had been one of her own Camp Fire girls who had kept the Camp Fire laws and gained its not easily acquired honors.

So Betty Graham did the only intelligent thing in all such difficulties and suspicions – she went directly to Angel and told her that she believed in her, but asked that they might discuss the whole matter. She even told her that she and Governor Graham had both wondered at her having a sum of money which she could scarcely have earned through her work.

The woman and the girl were in Betty's pretty sitting room when they had their long talk. It was their first meeting without other people being present since Mrs. Graham's return. And Angel sat on a little stool at her friend's feet with her dark eyes gazing directly into those of her dearest friend.

It was good to have this opportunity for confidences. Angel breathed a sigh of relief when she learned that the Governor had confessed his own suspicion to his wife. For she had never a moment's fear that Betty might fail in faith toward her. Of course, she had never seen the missing letters and had no idea what could have become of them.

Perhaps it was curious, yet not even to the Governor's wife did Angelique during this interview speak of her own distrust of Kenneth Helm. She was hardly conscious of the exact reasons for her reticence, except she had no possible proof against Kenneth, and Betty and the Governor were both fond of him. Moreover, it seemed a disloyalty to Faith Barton to suspect the man to whom Faith had given her affection.

But Angel was very happy to explain where she had acquired her recent wealth and Betty was as happy and proud as only Betty Graham could be of her friends' good fortunes. She could hardly wait to see the picture, of course, and registered an unspoken vow that Angel should have art lessons when she had so much talent, no matter how much the girl herself might oppose the idea. Certainly she and Anthony would owe this much to their little friend for even the faintest doubt of her.

But Angel had other information which she was even more shy in confessing. It did not amount to very much at present, only she and Horace Everett had taken a great fancy to each other during Horace's stay in Concord for the Christmas holidays. She had seen him nearly every day and Horace had made no secret of his liking for her. He had not exactly proposed, but had told her that he meant to as soon as he had known her long enough to make it proper.

It was all very beautiful and unexpected to Angelique, for she had seldom dreamed of any one's caring for her in just this particular way. And that it should be so splendid a person as Horace Everett made everything more wonderful. Of course, Angel could not be so unhappy as she had been before Christmas; nevertheless, for Betty's and Governor Graham's sake she felt that the mystery of the lost letters must be cleared up within the next few days.

There was only one piece of information, however, which Betty had given her that offered any possible clue to the enigma. Governor Graham believed that whoever had taken the letters had probably sold them to the three men who would most profit by their disappearance.

Yet Angel had no experience in the work of a detective and could only hope to be of use, without the faintest idea of how she might manage it.

There was one thing, however, which Angelique regarded as her absolute duty after her own talk with Betty Graham. She simply must endeavor to be better friends with Faith Barton. For somehow Betty's faith and affection for her had served to remind her of her almost forgotten Camp Fire loyalties.

Kinder than any one else except Betty, Faith had certainly been to her long ago, when she had first come, ill and a stranger, to Sunrise Cabin. Besides, what had Faith ever done except be a little selfish and unreasonable of late, and Angel knew that she was troubled by her own affairs?

It was only a few nights after her own interview with Betty, when one evening immediately after dinner, Angel went up alone to Faith's room for the first time since their misunderstanding. She did not know whether Faith would care to see her, but she meant to try. For Faith had not dined with the rest of the family; she had sent down word that she had a headache and desired to be left alone.