The Camp Fire Girls at School by Hildegard G. Frey

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Nyoda finally noticed it. Migwan failed to recite in English class for
two days in succession, which was an unheard-of thing. Nyoda thought
that Migwan had her head so full of the coming party that she was
neglecting her lessons, and said so, half banteringly, as Migwan
lingered after class to pick up some papers she had dropped on the
floor. That was the last straw, and Migwan burst into tears. Nyoda was
all sympathy in a moment. Now Nyoda happened to have the "seeing eye,"
with which some people are blessed, and had surmised, from certain
little signs she had observed, that Migwan had written something or
other, and sent it away to a magazine. She knew only too well what the
outcome would be, and her heart ached when she thought of Migwan's
coming disappointment. Therefore, when Migwan, quickly recovering her
composure, said calmly, "It's nothing, Nyoda; I simply tried to do
something and failed," Nyoda asked quietly, "Did your story come back?"

Migwan looked at her in amazement. "How did you know I had written any
story?" she asked.

"Oh, a little bird told me," replied Nyoda lightly. "Cheer up. All the
famous authors had their first work rejected. You have achieved the
first mark of fame." Migwan smiled wanly. Her tragedies always seemed to
lose their sting in the light of Nyoda's optimism. She told her about
the necessity for a typewriter. "I could have told you that to begin
with, if you had asked my humble advice," replied Nyoda. "But if a
miserable writing machine is all that stands between you and fame and
fortune, your fortune is already made. The woman whose rooms I am living
in has one in her possession. It belongs to her son, I believe, but as
he is at present in China there is no danger of his wanting it for some
time. She has offered to let me use it on several occasions, and I don't
doubt but what we can make some arrangement to accommodate you."

The world seemed a pretty good place of habitation after all to Migwan
that day when she went home from school, in spite of the fact that she
had no dress to wear to the party. The situation began to appear faintly
humorous to her. Here was all the interest centered on what Gladys was
going to wear, when all the time the real, vital question was what _she_
was going to wear! What a commotion there would be if the other
Winnebagos knew the truth! Her thoughts began to beat themselves, into
rhythm as she walked home through the crunching snow:

"Broke, broke, broke,
And such clothes in the windows I see!
And I would that my purse could answer
The demands that are made on she!

"O well for the millionaire's wife,
Who can pay eighty bones for a shawl,
And well for the African maids,
Who don't need any clothes at all!

"And the pennies, they all go
To the grocer, and so do the dimes,
But, O, for the little crepe meteor dress
I saw down in Oppenheim's!

"Broke, broke, broke,
And such styles in the windows I see!
What would I not give for the rest of the month
For the salary of John D!"

"Would you just as soon run up to the attic and get the blanket sheets
out of the trunk?" asked her mother when she had finished her dinner. "I
was cold in bed last night." Migwan went up promptly. She found the
sheets and laid them out, and was then seized with a desire to rummage
among the things in the trunk. She pawed over old valentines, bonnets of
a by-gone day, lace mitts, and all the useless relics that are usually
found in mother's trunk that had been _her_ mother's. Down at the
bottom, however, there was a paper package of considerable size. Migwan
opened it carefully and brought to view a dress made of white brocaded
satin, yellowed with age. A sudden inspiration struck her, and, laying
it carefully on top of the blankets, she ran downstairs to her mother.
"What is this dress?" she asked eagerly.

Mrs. Gardiner's face lighted tenderly when she saw it. "Why, that's my
wedding dress," she said.

"Oh," said Migwan in a disappointed tone, laying the dress down.

"What did you want with it?" asked her mother.

"Why, I thought if it was just a dress," replied Migwan, "I could make
it over to wear to Gladys's party, but of course if it is your wedding
dress you wouldn't care to have it changed."

"I don't see why not," said Mrs. Gardiner. "It's no good as it is. I've
never had it on since my wedding day. The material in that dress cost
two dollars a yard and is better than what you get at that price
nowadays." A sudden recollection illumined her face. "The night of the
party is my wedding anniversary," she said. "There couldn't be a better
occasion to wear it!"

"Would you really be willing to have me cut it up?" asked Migwan
rapturously clasping her hands. That afternoon her head really was so
full of party plans that she forgot to get her lessons. The dress was
laid out on the dining room table and examined as to its possibilities.
"I don't know but what it would be best to dye it some pretty shade of
green or blue," said Mrs. Gardiner, after thinking the matter over. "It
is too yellow to use as it is, and there is no time to bleach it
properly." So it was ripped up and dyed Nile green, a shade which was
particularly becoming to Migwan. There was enough goods in the train to
make the entire dress, so there was no need to do any piecing.

Instead of avoiding the subject of the party, Migwan now joined happily
in the discussions, and asked questions right and left about the best
style in which to make her dress. She said nothing about the former
function of that particular piece of goods. "Extravagant Migwan!" said
Sahwah, "getting a satin dress for the party. My mother made me get silk
poplin," Gladys's dress had arrived from New York, but she would not
breathe a word in regard to it and the girls were wild with curiosity.
Only Hinpoha was allowed to behold its glories, as a consolation for not
being able to come to the party. Of course Hinpoha had been sworn to
secrecy regarding it, but that did not keep her from rhapsodizing about
it on general principles and pitching the girls' curiosity still higher.

Now there was one girl who had been invited to the party who said very
little about it. This was Emily Meeks, who sat beside Gladys in the
session room. Emily had also entered the class this fall, but, unlike
Gladys, her path had not been marked by triumphs. She was timid and
retiring, and after being three months in the class was little better
known than she had been at first. The truth was that Emily was an
orphan, working her way through High School by taking care of the
children of one of the professors after school hours, and had neither
money nor time to spend in the company of her classmates. Gladys was
sorry for her because she always looked so sad and lonely, and, thinking
to give her one good time at least to treasure up in the memory of her
school days, invited her to the party. Emily accepted the invitation
gratefully.

The night of the party came at last. Migwan's dress was finished and
when she was finally arrayed in it she could compare favorably with the
wealthiest girl in the crowd. She even wore her mother's high-heeled
white satin wedding slippers with the little gold buckles, which fitted
her perfectly. She skipped away happily with a good-bye kiss to her
mother, who was tired out with her labors.

Gladys had relented at the last minute, and promised the Winnebagos that
if they would come a half hour early they might help her dress. That was
because the Winnebagos were closer kin to her than the rest of the
girls, and it would be a shame to have any one else see the dress first.
So they all gathered in Gladys's room, where the dress lay on the bed.
It was of light blue chiffon, exquisitely hand embroidered in
dainty-colored butterflies. "Oh-h," they gasped, not daring to touch it.

"There goes the bell!" exclaimed Gladys, "and I'm not even dressed. It's
some of the boys, I hear their voices," she said presently, after
listening for the sounds from below. "Run down, will you, girls, and
entertain them until I come?"

The Winnebagos departed to act the part of hostesses for their friend
and Gladys got hurriedly into her dress. Before she was ready to go down
she heard a large group of girls arriving, then another delegation of
boys. The orchestra had begun playing. Gladys's foot tapped the floor in
time to the music as she fastened up the dress. "Just wait until they
see me dance the Butterfly Dance," she was thinking, with innocent
pride. She clasped the butterflies on her shoulders in place and with a
last survey of herself in the glass she set forth to greet her guests.
When she reached the head of the stairs the bell rang again and she
paused to see who it was. From the hall upstairs she could get a view of
the entire reception room without being seen herself. The last comer was
Emily Meeks, whom the maid was relieving of her wraps. She was all
alone, apparently at a loss what to do in company, and--dressed in a
white skirt and middy blouse! Gladys could see the coldly amused glances
some of the girls were bestowing on her, and the indifference with which
she was being treated by the boys. Why did she come dressed in such a
fashion? Gladys felt a little indignant at her. Then she reflected that
Emily probably had nothing else to wear, and, besides, it didn't make
any difference if one was dressed so plainly; there were enough brightly
dressed girls to make the brilliant scene that she loved.

But at the same time a thought struck her which made her decidedly
uncomfortable. It was, "How would you like to be the odd one in the
crowd, and have all the others take notice of you because you didn't
match your surroundings? To face a battery of eyes that were amused or
scornful or pitying, according to the disposition of the owner of the
eyes? To feel lonesome in the midst of a crowd and wish you were miles
away?" With one foot on the top step Gladys hesitated. In her mind there
rose a picture--the picture of her first night in camp when she had seen
a Camp Fire Ceremonial for the first time, when she felt lonesome and
far away and out of place. Again she saw the figures circling around the
fire and heard the words of their song:

"Whose hand above this blaze is lifted
Shall be with magic touch engifted
To warm the hearts of lonely mortals
Who stand without their open portals.

* * * * *

"Whoso shall stand
By this hearthstone
Flame fanned,
Shall never stand alone----"

And later the flame had been given into her keeping, and she was
supposed to possess the magic touch to warm lonely hearts. She glanced
at herself in the long mirror in the hall, and was struck afresh by the
beauty of the dress. The shade of blue was just the right one to bring
out the tint of her eyes and the gold of her hair. From head to foot she
was a vision of loveliness such as delighted her dainty nature. One
interpretation of "Seek Beauty" was to always dress as beautifully and
becomingly as possible. Her mother was impatiently waiting for her to
come down and show herself. Then she looked over the railing again.
Emily Meeks had withdrawn from the groups of laughing girls and boys and
had crept into a corner by herself. The words of the Fire Song echoed
again in her ears:

"_Whoso shall stand
By this hearthstone
Flame fanned,
Shall never stand alone!_"

Gladys turned and fled to her room and resolutely began to unclasp the
fasteners of her butterfly dress. A ripple of astonishment went through
the rooms downstairs when she descended clad in a white linen skirt and
a middy blouse. All the girls had heard about the dress from New York
and were impatient to see it. Frances Jones and Caroline Davis stood
right at the foot of the stairs waiting for Gladys to come down so they
would not lose a detail of it, and Mrs. Evans was watching them to see
what effect the butterfly dress would have on them. When Gladys came
down dressed in a white skirt and middy she could not believe her eyes.
She hurried forward and asked in a low voice what was the matter with
the new dress.

"Nothing, mother," said Gladys sweetly, with such a beautiful smile that
her mother dropped back in perplexity. Gladys advanced straight to Emily
Meeks and greeted her first of all, with a friendly cordiality that put
her at her ease at once. Emily, who had been dismayed when she found
herself so conspicuous among all the brightly gowned girls, was
reassured when she saw Gladys similarly clad, and never found out about
that quick change of costume that had taken place after her coming. The
other girls of course understood this fine little act of courtesy, and
shamefacedly began to include Emily in their conversation and
merrymaking.

So, if Mrs. Evans had counted on Gladys's dress that night to testify to
the soundness of the Evans fortune she was destined to be disappointed;
but on the other hand, if inborn courtesy is a sign of high birth and
breeding, then Gladys had proven herself to be a princess of the royal
blood.

CHAPTER VII.

HARD TIMES FOR POETS.

True to her word, Nyoda brought it about that Migwan might use the
typewriter which belonged to her landlady, and every evening after her
lessons were learned she worked diligently to master the keys. In a week
or so she managed to copy her story and sent it out again. It came back
as promptly as before, with the same kind of rejection slip. She sent it
to another magazine and began writing a new one. She worked feverishly,
and far beyond her strength. The room where the typewriter was was
directly below Nyoda's sitting room, and hearing the machine still
rattling after ten o'clock one night she calmly walked in and pulled
Migwan away from the keys. Migwan protested. "It's past closing time,"
said Nyoda firmly.

"But I must finish this page," said Migwan.

"You must nothing of the kind," said Nyoda, forcing Migwan into her
coat. "'Hold on to Health' does not mean work yourself to death.
Hereafter you stop writing at nine o'clock or I will take the typewriter
away from you."

"Oh, mayn't I stay until half past nine?" asked Migwan coaxingly.

"No, ma'm," said Nyoda emphatically. "Nine o'clock is the time. That's a
bargain. As long as you keep your part of it you may use the typewriter,
but as soon as you step over the line I go back on my part. Now
remember, 'No checkee, no shirtee.'" And Migwan perforce had to submit.

The stories came back as fast as they were sent out, and Migwan began to
have new sidelights on the charmed life supposedly led by authors and
authoresses. The struggle to get along without getting into debt was
becoming an acute one with the Gardiner family. Tom delivered papers
during the week and helped out in a grocery store on Saturday, and his
earnings helped slightly, but not much. Midwinter taxes on two houses
ate up more than two weeks' income. With almost superhuman ingenuity
Migwan apportioned their expenses so the money covered them. This she
had to do practically alone, for her mother was as helpless before a
column of figures as she would have been in a flood. Meat practically
disappeared from the table. The big bag of nuts which Tom had gathered
in the fall and which they had thought of only as a treat to pass around
in the evening now became a prominent part of the menu. Dried peas and
beans, boiled and made into soup, made their appearance on the table
several times a week. Cornbread was another standby. Long years
afterward Migwan would shudder at the sight of either bean soup or
cornbread. She nearly wore out the cook book looking for new ways in
which to serve potatoes, squash, turnips, onions and parsnips.

She soon discovered that most provisions could be bought a few cents
cheaper in the market than in the stores, so every Saturday afternoon
she made a trip downtown with a big market basket and bought the week's
supply of butter, eggs and vegetables. At first the necessity for
spending carfare cut into her profits, but she got around this in an
adroit way that promised well for her future ability to handle her
affairs to the best advantage. She tried a little publicity work to
swing things around to suit her purpose. She simply exalted the joys of
marketing until the other Winnebagos were crazy to do the family
marketing, too. As soon as Gladys caught the fever her object was
accomplished, for Gladys took all the girls to market in her father's
big car and brought all their purchases home. So Migwan accomplished her
own ends and gave the Winnebagos a new opportunity to pursue knowledge
at the same time.

At Christmas time she had also fallen back on her ingenuity to produce
the gifts she wished to give. There was no money at all to be spent for
this purpose. Migwan took a careful stock of the resources of the house.
The only promising thing she found was a leather skin which Hinpoha had
given her the summer before for helping her write up the weekly Count in
Hiawatha meter, which was outside of Hinpoha's range of talents. She
considered the possibilities of that skin carefully. It must yield seven
articles--a present for each of the Winnebagos. She decided on book
covers. She wrote up seven different incidents of the summer camping
trip in verse and copied them with the typewriter on rough yellow
drawing paper, thinking to decorate each sheet. But Migwan had little
artistic ability and soon saw that her decorations were not beautiful
enough to adorn Christmas gifts. After spoiling several pages she gave
up in disgust and threw the spoiled pages into the grate. The next
morning she was cleaning out the grate and found the pieces of paper,
only partially burned around the edges. She suddenly had an idea. The
fire had burned a neat and artistic brown border around the writing. Why
not burn all her sheets around the edges? Accordingly she set to work
with a candle, and in a short time had her pages decorated in an odd and
original way which could not fail to appeal to a Camp Fire Girl. Then
she pasted the irregular pieces of yellow paper on straight pages of
heavy brown paper, which brought out the burned edges beautifully. On
the cover of each book she painted the symbol of the girl for whom it
was intended, and on the inside of the back cover she painted her own.
The Winnebagos were delighted with the books and took greater pride in
showing them to their friends than they did their more expensive
presents.

That piece of ingenuity was bread cast on the water for Migwan. Nyoda
came to her one day while she was working her head off on the
typewriter. "Could the authoress be persuaded to desist from her labors
for a while?" she asked, tiptoeing around the room in a ridiculous
effort to be quiet, which convulsed Migwan.

"Speak," said Migwan. "Your wish is already granted."

Nyoda sat down. "You remember that cunning little book you made me for
Christmas?" she asked. Migwan nodded. "Well," continued Nyoda, "I was
showing it to Professor Green the other night and he was quite carried
away with it. He has a quantity of notes he took on a hunting trip last
fall and wants to know if you will make them into a book like that for
him. There will be quite a bit of work connected with it, as all the
material will have to be copied on the typewriter and arranged in good
order, and he is willing to pay two and a half dollars for your
services. Would you be willing to do it?"

Would she be willing to do it? Would she see two and a half dollars
lying in the street and not pick it up? The professor's notes were
speedily secured and she set to work happily to transform them into an
artistic record book. Her sister Betty grumbled a good deal these days
because she was asked to do so much of the housework. Before Migwan took
to typewriting at night Betty had been in the habit of staying out of
the house until supper was ready, and then getting up from the table and
going out again immediately, leaving Migwan to get supper and wash the
dishes. It was easier to do the work herself than to argue with Betty
about it, and if she appealed to her mother Mrs. Gardiner always said,
"Just leave the dishes and I'll do them alone," so rather than have her
mother do them Migwan generally washed and wiped them alone. But now
that she was working so hard she needed the whole afternoon to get her
lessons in, and insisted that Betty should help get supper and wipe
dishes afterwards. For once Mrs. Gardiner took sides with Migwan and
commanded Betty to do her share of the work. In consequence Betty
developed a fierce resentment against Migwan's literary efforts, and
taunted her continually with her failure to make anything of it. Since
she had been working on Professor Green's book Migwan had done nothing
at all in the house, and her usual Saturday work fell to Betty.

Mrs. Gardiner was not feeling well of late, and could do no sweeping, so
Betty found herself with a good day's work ahead of her one Saturday
morning. Instead of playing that the dirt was a host of evil sprits, as
Migwan did, which she could vanquish with the aid of her magic broom,
Betty went at it sullenly and with a firm determination to do as little
as possible and get through just as quickly as she could. She made up
her mind that when Migwan went to market in the afternoon she would go
along with her in the automobile. So by going hastily over the surface
of things she got through by three o'clock, and when Gladys called for
Migwan, Betty came running out too, with her coat and hat on, dressed in
her best dress.

"Where are you going?" asked Migwan.

"Along with you," answered Betty.

"I'm afraid we can't take you," said Migwan; "there isn't enough room."

"Oh, I'll squeeze in," said Betty lightly. Now seven girls with market
baskets in addition to the driver are somewhat of a crowd, and there
really was no room for Betty in the machine. Besides, Betty was a great
tease and the girls dreaded to have her with them, so no one said a word
of encouragement.

"You can't come, and that is all there is to it," said Migwan rather
crossly. She was in a hurry to be off and get the marketing done. Betty
stamped her foot, and snatching Migwan's market basket, she ran around
the corner of the house with it. Migwan ran after her, and forcibly
recovering the basket, hit Betty over the head with it several times.
Then she jumped into the automobile and the driver started off, leaving
Betty standing looking after the rapidly disappearing car and working
herself into a terrible temper. She ran into the house and slammed the
door with such a jar that the vases on the mantel rattled and threatened
to fall down. She threw her hat and coat on the floor and stamped on
them in a perfect fury. On the sitting room table lay the pages of the
book which Migwan was making for Professor Green. The edges were already
burned and they were ready to be pasted on the brown mat. Betty's eyes
suddenly snapped when she saw them. Here was a fine chance to be
revenged on Migwan. With an exclamation of triumph she seized the
leaves, tore them in half and threw them into the grate, standing by
until they were consumed to ashes, and laughing spitefully the while.

Migwan came in briskly with her basket of provisions. Betty looked up
slyly from the book she was reading, but said not a word. Migwan went
into the sitting room and Betty heard her moving around. "Mother,"
called Migwan up the stairway, "where did you put the pages of my book?
I left them on the sitting room table."

"I didn't touch them," replied her mother; "I haven't been downstairs
since you went out."

"Betty," said Migwan sternly, "did you hide my work?" Betty laughed
mockingly, but made no reply. "Make haste and give them back," commanded
Migwan. "I have no time to waste."

Betty still maintained a provoking silence and Migwan began looking
through the table drawers for the missing leaves. Betty watched her with
malicious glee. "You may look a while before you find them," she said
meaningly; "they're hidden in a nice, safe place."

Migwan stood and faced her, exasperated beyond endurance. "Betty
Gardiner," she said angrily, "stop this nonsense at once and tell me
where those pages are!"

"Well, if you're really curious to know," answered Betty, smiling
wickedly, "I'll tell you. They're _there_" and she pointed to the grate.

"Betty," gasped Migwan, turning white, "you don't mean that you've
burned them?"

"That's what I do mean," said Betty coolly. "I'll show you if you can
treat me like a baby."

Migwan stood as if turned to stone. She could hardly believe that those
fair pages, which represented so many hours of patient work, had been
swept away in one moment of passion. Blindly she turned, and putting on
her wraps, walked from the house without a word. It seemed to her that
Fate had decreed that nothing which she undertook should succeed.
Discouragement settled down on her like a black pall. With the ability
to do things which should set her above her fellows, she was being
relentlessly pursued by some strange fatality which marked every effort
of hers a failure. She walked aimlessly up street after street without
any idea where she was going, entirely oblivious to her surroundings.
Wandering thus, she discovered that she was in the park, and had come
out on the high bluff of the lake. She stood moodily looking down at the
vast field of ice that such a short time before had been tossing waves.
The lake, to all appearances, was frozen solid out as far as the
one-mile crib. There was a curious stillness in the air, as when the
clock had stopped, due to the absence of the noise made by the waves
dashing on the rocks. Nothing had ever appealed so to Migwan as did the
absolute silence and solitude of that frozen lake. Her bruised young
spirit was weary of contact with people, and found balm in this icy
desert where there was so sound of a human voice. As far as the eye
could see there was not a living being in sight. A skating carnival in
the other end of the park drew the attention of all who were abroad on
this Saturday afternoon, and kept them away from the lake front.

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