The Camp Fire Girls' Careers Part 15

"After that extra avalanche of cold water nothing matters," she remarked icily. However, her companion did not even hear her.

Safe on land again, Polly waited under a tree while the young man pulled his boat ash.o.r.e. Her sister had gone ahead to send some one down with blankets and umbrellas. In spite of the rain, damp clothes and the shock of her recent experience, Polly O'Neill was not conscious of feeling particularly cold.

"I hope you are not very uncomfortable, and that our accident won't make you ill again," Billy Webster said a few moments later as he joined her.

"I suppose I do owe you a little more explanation for having ignored you so completely. But you see, just about five minutes before you insisted on getting into our boat Mollie had promised to be my wife. We did not dare talk very much after you came on board, but you can understand that I simply wasn't able to think of any one else. You see I have loved Mollie ever since that day when we were children and she bound up the wound you had made in my head."

Once more Polly gasped slightly, and of course she was beginning to feel somewhat chilled.

Billy Webster looked at her severely. "Oh, of course I did think I was in love with you, Polly, for a year or so, I remember. But that was simply because I had not then learned to understand Mollie's true character. I used to believe it would be a fine thing to have a strong influence over you and try to show you the way you should go." Here Billy laughed, and he was very handsome with his damp hair pushed back over his bronzed face and his wet clothes showing the outline of his splendid boyish figure, matured and strengthened by his outdoor life.

"But you see, Polly, I believe n.o.body is ever going to be able to influence you to any great extent," he continued teasingly, "and at any rate you and I will never have half the chances to quarrel that we would have had if we had ever learned to like each other. I forgive you everything now for Mollie's sake."

For half a moment Polly hesitated, then, holding out her hand, her blue eyes grew gay and tender.

"Thank you, Billy," she said, "for Mollie's sake. If you make her as happy as I think you will, why, I'll also forget and forgive you everything."

Fortunately by the time Mrs. Martins and Ann had arrived with every possible comfort for the invalid. And so Polly was borne to the cabin in the midst of their anxious inquiries and put to bed, where neither her sister nor Betty were allowed to see her during the evening.

If either of the girls suffered from the deprivation of her society there was nothing that gave any indication of unhappiness in either of the two faces.

CHAPTER XXI-At the Turn of the Road

"By day, upon my golden hill Between the harbor and the sea, I feel as if I well could fill The world with golden melody.

There is no limit to my view, No limit to my soft content, Where sky and water's fairy blue Merge to the eye's bewilderment."

Polly read from the pages of a magazine, and then pausing for a moment she again repeated the verse aloud, giving each line all the beauty and significance of which it was capable.

She was walking alone along a path beyond the grove of pine trees one Sunday morning about ten days later. She wore no hat and her dress was of plain white muslin without even a ribbon belt for decoration. She had a bunch of blue corn flowers, which she had lately gathered, pinned to her waist and was looking particularly young and well.

Yet for the first time since her home coming Polly had recently been feeling somewhat lonely and neglected. There was at present absolutely no counting on Mollie for anything. Billy had always made demands upon her time when they were simply friends, but since their engagement had been announced there was never an entire afternoon or even morning when Mollie was free. In answer to Polly's protests that she was only to be at home during the summer and so would like to see her only sister alone now and then, Billy had explained that early August was the only month in which he had any real leisure and that he and Mollie must therefore make plans for their future at once. Moreover, as it was self-evident that her sister preferred her fiance's society to her own, Polly had been forced to let the matter drop.

Then a week before, Betty had gone to Boston to see Esther and her new nephew, which was discouraging for her friend. For as Anthony had been too busy to come to the cabin except in the evenings, Polly had the Princess to herself during the day time.

She had promised Betty to stay on at the cabin until her return, as the simple, outdoor life seemed to be doing her so much good; nevertheless, Polly had determined to go into Woodford in the next few days and persuade her mother to take her away unless things at the cabin became more interesting. She was now rested and entirely well and more than anxious to get back to her work again, since the friends on whom she had depended were at present too absorbed to give her much of their time or thought.

"Well, Margaret Adams always told me that 'a career' was a lonely kind of life," Polly thought to herself. "But oh, what wouldn't I give if Margaret should appear at this moment at the turn of that road. She must have had my letter on Friday begging her to come and perhaps she had no other engagement. It will be delightful, too, if she brings Mr. Hunt along with her. I told her to ask him, as Billy can make him comfortable at the farm. I should like him to see Sunrise cabin and the beautiful country about here."

Polly had finally come to the end of her lane and beyond could see the road leading out from the village. She was a little weary, as she had not walked any distance in several months until this morning. There was a convenient seat under the shade of a great elm tree that commanded a view of the country and she had her magazine with her and could hear the noise of an approaching motor car or carriage, should Margaret have decided to come.

Again Polly fell to memorizing the poem she had been trying to learn during her stroll. It was good practice to get back into the habit of training her memory, and the poem seemed oddly descriptive of her present world.

"Tonight, upon my somber gaze With gleam of silvered waters lit, I feel as if I well could praise The moon--"

Here Polly was interrupted by the sound of a voice saying:

"My dear Miss Polly, I never dreamed of finding you so well. Why, if you only had the famous torn hat and rake you would pa.s.s for Maud Muller any day!"

With a cry of welcome Polly jumped to her feet.

"Mr. Hunt, I am so glad to see you and so surprised!" she exclaimed.

"Please explain how you managed, when I have been watching for you and Margaret all morning, to arrive without my knowing?"

"But we have not arrived, and I hope you won't be too greatly disappointed at my coming alone. You see it is like this. I happened to be calling on Miss Adams when your note came and she told me that I had been included in your invitation. Well, it was impossible for Miss Adams to spend this week end with you as she was going off on a yachting party with some of her rich admirers, so I decided to run down and see you alone. It was not so remarkable my coming upon you unawares, since I walked out from the village. Please do sit down again and tell me you are glad to see me."

Polly sat down as she was bid, and Richard Hunt, dropping on the ground near her, took off his hat, leaning his head on his hand like a tired boy.

"Come, hurry, you haven't said you were glad yet, Miss Polly," he protested.

Polly's eyes searched the dark ones turned half-teasingly and half-admiringly toward her.

"Do you mean, Mr. Hunt, that you came all the way from New York to Woodford just to see me?" she asked wonderingly. "And that you came alone, without Margaret or any one else?"

Her companion laughed, pus.h.i.+ng back the iron gray hair from his forehead, for his long walk had been a warm one.

"I do a.s.sure you I haven't a single acquaintance concealed anywhere about me," he declared. "But just the same I don't see why you should feel so surprised. Don't you know that I would travel a good many miles to spend an hour alone with you, instead of a long and blissful day. Of course I am almost old enough to be your father--"

"You're not," Polly interrupted rather irritably. Yet in spite of her protest she was feeling curiously shy and self-conscious and Polly was unaccustomed to either of these two emotions. Then, just in order to have something to do, she carelessly drew the bunch of corn flowers from her belt and held them close against her hot cheeks.

"Mr. Hunt," she began after a moment of awkward silence, "don't think I am rude, but please do not say things to me like-" the girl hesitated-"like that last thing; I mean your being willing to travel many miles to spend an hour alone with me. You have always been so kind that I have thought of you as my real friend, but of course if you begin to be insincere and flatter me as you would some one whom you did not honestly like, I--"

Polly ceased talking at this instant because Richard Hunt had risen quickly to his feet and put forth his hand to a.s.sist her.

"Let us go on to your cabin," he replied gravely. "You are right. I should not have said a thing like that to you. But you are wrong, Polly, in believing I was insincere. You see, I grew to be pretty fond of you last winter and very proud, seeing with what courage you fought your battles alone." Richard Hunt paused, walking on a few paces in silence.

"I shall not worry you with the affection of a man so much older than you are," he continued as though having at last made up his mind to say all that was in his heart and be through. "Only at all times and under all circ.u.mstances, no matter what happens, you are to remember, Polly, that you are and always shall be first with me."

"I-you," the girl faltered. "Why I thought you cared for Margaret. I never dreamed-" then somehow Polly, who had always so much to say, could not even finish her sentence.

"No, of course you never did," the man replied gravely. "Still, I want you to know that Margaret and I have never thought of being anything but the best of friends. Now let us talk of something else, only tell me first that you are not angry and we will never speak of this again."

"No, I am not displeased," Polly faltered, looking and feeling absurdly young and inadequate to the importance of the situation.

Then, walking on and keeping step with her companion, suddenly a new world seemed to have spread itself before her eyes. Shyly she stole a glance at her tall companion, and then laid her hand coaxingly on his coat sleeve.

"Will you please stop a minute. I want to explain something to you," she asked. Polly's expression was intensely serious; she had never been more in earnest; all the color seemed to have gone from her face so as to leave her eyes the more deeply blue.

"You see, Mr. Hunt, I never, never intend marrying any one. I mean to devote all my life to my profession and I have never thought of anything else since I was a little girl."

Gravely Richard Hunt nodded. Not for an instant did his face betray any doubt of Polly's decision in regard to her future. Then Polly laughed and her eyes changed from their former seriousness to a look of the gayest and most charming camaraderie. "Still, Mr. Hunt, if you really did mean what you said just now, why I don't believe I shall mind if we do speak of it some day again. Of course I am not in love with you, but--"

Richard Hunt slipped the girl's arm inside his. There was something in his face that gave Polly a sense of strength and quiet such as she had never felt in all her restless, ambitious girlhood.

"Yes, I understand," he answered. "But look there, Polly, isn't that Sunrise Hill over there and your beloved little cabin in the distance?

And aren't we glad to be alive in this wonderful world?"

The girl's voice was like a song. "I never knew what it meant to be really alive until this minute," she whispered.