The Girl Scouts of the Round Table 19
“I’ll try to remember,” she returned apologetically, “but really,
Sheila, don’t you think you are young to talk as if love and romance
have ended for you? Think of Uncle Richard and Memory Frean! They never
_say_ anything and yet now and then I cannot help guessing they must be
a little sorry. I have been considering the men I have met in Westhaven
and really no one of them is half as nice as you are; but Mr. Winslow
is different. I beg your pardon. I won’t speak of this again. Don’t
be angry; I’ll change the subject and never refer to it. There are
several other things I really want dreadfully to talk to you about.
“Don’t you think it odd that I have never heard a word from Dorothy
or Kara since Dr. McClain and Dorothy reached New York? I can’t
imagine whether it is because Lance is so ill, or because something
has developed about Kara. Still, I don’t see how a letter from Lance’s
friend, Mr. Moore, can have any connection with Kara. I don’t really
think so. Only, I nearly always am thinking of her.”
A silence fell between the girl and her companion and the sensation
of annoyance passed from Sheila Mason. Girls of Tory’s age and the
other Girl Scouts were inclined to be sentimental, not in regard to
themselves but their older friends. The sentiment Tory had just uttered
was not hers alone. Now and then Sheila’s own mother protested that she
must not sacrifice her entire life to a memory. She was altogether too
young and pretty.
Either with her mother or Tory, Sheila did not agree. The other girl’s
devotion to Katherine Moore always made an appeal to her.
At this moment she slipped her hand inside her companion’s.
“I would not believe there is anything serious the matter with Lance
or Kara until you hear. You are sure to have a letter from Dorothy
by to-morrow. She has only been away a short time and is probably so
distracted by New York. Remember your Knighthood, Tory, and be brave as
possible.”
The girl smiled ruefully, but afterwards her __EXPRESSION__ brightened.
“We have one Knight of our Girl Scout Round Table whose banner can
be inscribed with the story of a noble deed. Isn’t it wonderful to
think of Edith Linder’s bravery? Memory Frean says that the people
of Westhaven wish to offer her a reward of some kind to show their
appreciation of what she accomplished as a Girl Scout. We have no right
to share in the honor, I least of all, who objected to Edith’s joining
our Patrol when her name was first proposed! Don’t you think she has
earned the Golden Eaglet?”
The Troop Captain nodded.
“I have been thinking the same thing. No one would dispute the justice
of Edith’s claim to the highest honor a Girl Scout can attain. How
often the people who do the bravest acts are those we least expect it
of!”
“Yes, and Edith is unconscious as if she had done nothing at all. She
does not wish to be praised or to discuss the question. Margaret and
Louise declare that Edith did not refer to anything unusual when they
went to see if she were safe. She looked used up, but then so did every
one else who had been helping.”
“Can you tell me a clear story of what Edith did?” the Troop Captain
inquired. “I wish to write an account to the Scout magazine and to make
no mistake.”
Tory Drew closed her eyes. Her mental impression was always clearer
with nothing to distract her from the outside.
“I think I can tell you briefly.
“When Edith entered the factory building there was no one in the
office. The alarm of fire had just been shouted through the building
and the superintendent had rushed out. Edith ran into one of the rooms
on the ground floor where the men and women were already making their
escape. She overheard some one say there was no danger; everybody would
be able to get out. Her mother and father she believed at work on the
top floor, and Edith started up the stairs. As she ran some one shouted
to her to come down, as the stairways were filling with smoke. She kept
on, although nearly knocked down any number of times by frightened
people rushing past. Once Edith believed she was overcome by the smoke
and dropped on the floor, and some one trampled over her. This seemed
to bring her to her senses, for she got up and continued struggling up
a flight of steps, black and thick with acrid fumes. She could hear
people shouting and beating on a door at the top of the stairs.
“Edith insists that she had no idea of this door being locked or what
she was going to accomplish, and for this reason deserves no special
praise or reward. She was only fighting her way to her mother and
father.
“She says she recalls puzzling over the fact that no one was running
down these stairs as she dragged herself up. Then she put out her hand
and touched a heavy steel door. She could see nothing and was scarcely
conscious of what she was doing. The door would not move, so she threw
herself against it blindly, searching for the key, found and turned it
in the lock. The door seemed to fall open from the weight of the men
and women who had been trying to rush it. Her mother happened to be
on a lower floor. Edith’s own father carried her downstairs when the
others were so crazed with fear they might have trampled her.”
Tory put her gloved hands against her hot cheeks and leaned over toward
the open window of the car for a breath of the winter air.
“Please do not let us talk of the fire again, Sheila, not for some
time anyhow, certainly not to Mr. Winslow. I dread the thought of it;
I think of nothing else, waking or sleeping. It may seem absurd, but
Edith Linder was much calmer than I when we talked of it.”
The Troop Captain put her arm about the younger girl.
“No, Tory dear, we won’t speak of it again; I am sorry I troubled you.
You are more sensitive and impressionable than the other girls and I
ought to have remembered!”
Tory’s lips were trembling.
“That is a kind way of expressing things, Sheila, when the truth is I
am a bigger goose. A good many people were injured. The Girl Scouts
will have no difficulty now in finding people who need their care. I
am giving nearly every cent of my allowance to the fund that is being
raised.”
Fortunately the automobile had reached the end of the country road. To
arrive at the evergreen cabin one must now follow a footpath.
With pleasure and relief the Troop Captain and Tory started along the
familiar trail, leading to the heart of their former summer encampment
in Beechwood Forest.
This afternoon the little house showed more plainly. Many of the leaves
were frosted and fallen, revealing the heavy tangle of the vines.
“Do you wish _we_ were living here, instead of Mr. Winslow?” Tory
demanded.
“No, I am afraid it would be too lonely unless one were a genius or a
lover of nature like Memory Frean. I believe she is lonely herself now
and then, although she will never confess it. She and Mr. Winslow are
close neighbors. Why can’t you develop a romance between them?”
Emphatically Tory shook her head.
“Certainly not. Memory is years older! Besides, her romance belongs
in our family! Goodness, there is Mr. Winslow at the door! He is
dreadfully shy and if he should dream I have been romancing about him I
am afraid would go back at once to New York.”
A tall, slightly stooped man with the fine brown eyes and sweep of
darker brown hair walked down the path to meet them. He was not
like Sheila’s mental impression of him. He was younger and had more
courtesy, more sense of humor, than she had imagined.
He seemed appreciative of her call without taking it too seriously.
He had been expecting Tory and one of her friends, so had made
arrangements for tea.
A fair amount of inexpensive china had been left in an old cabinet at
the cabin when the Girl Scouts returned to their homes.
The little stove, set up inside the fireplace, was warmer than an open
fire, if not so picturesque.
Mr. Winslow had brought but few of his personal possessions. He had
several favorite pictures hung against the rich brown wood of the cabin
walls.
A sketch book lay open on a table.
Sheila Mason saw it at once and asked to be allowed to look at the
sketches.
In spite of his beautiful manners she had discovered that her new
acquaintance was shyer than she had imagined. Dorothy and Tory were
not so far from the truth, for he did give one the impression that he
suffered from a disappointment that had had a deep influence upon his
nature. Whether his disappointment was due to his lack of success or
to some other reason, Sheila had no way of estimating. When they knew
each other better he might confide in her. She felt they might become
friends, as he would recognize that she too had been more unhappy than
most people.
These were the Troop Captain’s unspoken impressions as she and Mr.
Winslow sat by the window of the cabin studying his book of sketches.
Already he had made a drawing of the cabin with the beechwood forest as
a background which she greatly admired and coveted.
As they talked Tory was making the final preparations for tea.
She insisted the privilege be granted her, as she knew the resources
of the cabin better than its present host. Moreover, her aunt, Miss
Victoria Fenton, had sent the newcomer a number of gifts for his
present and future comfort.
Tory had carried them packed in a basket.
She placed the cake and the home-made jam on the table, glancing
frequently at her two companions.
They seemed to be getting on very well, considering their brief
acquaintance.
It occurred to Tory that she was being ignored more than she
anticipated, considering the fact that she had first met Mr. Winslow
and that his presence in the evergreen cabin was due to their
friendship.
The Troop Captain had taken off her velvet coat and hat, as the room
was warm. The two heads were bent close over the sketch book.
Studying them, Tory smiled.
Not half an hour before she had been reproached for being romantic and
made to promise never to offend again. Certainly she had not dreamed
that Miss Mason and Mr. Winslow would develop a liking for each other so promptly.
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기